Chapter 25

Welcome to Fabulous

"Mister Tailor?" Miles looked hopefully at him as he waited at the window to receive the rest of his personal effects.

"Please, sport," the man said wearily, "Max is fine."

Max Tailor joined him outside of the detention center though neither of them said anything as they walked toward the parking lot. Miles saw Wellington standing near the black Lincoln and felt relieved that he'd have an excuse not to join Max Tailor for drinks or dinner or whatever the man was plotting.

Miles stopped walking and turned to him and Max paused, startled at the sudden change in movement, "Mister Tailor, sir," Miles began.

"Please, sport—" Max started to repeat his earlier statement.

"Why are you here?" Miles said, "Didn't she tell you that—"

"Maddy doesn't—she's just an excitable girl—certainly you know that by now?"

"Sir?" Miles said, "I don't follow…"

"I'm sure," Max said, "Now that you've been acquitted—beyond a reasonable doubt—I'm sure that we can persuade her to change her mind about—"

Miles didn't know how to reply at first, and he hesitated before he said, "I don't think I can marry a woman that doesn't trust me enough to—"

"She panicked, Miles," Max said suddenly pleading, "Please, dear fellow, just talk to her. She'll see reason. She'll come around. Since your arrest she's gone completely bat—"

"Mister Tailor," Miles said, "I've had a lot of time to think while I was in detention… And I'm quite resolved in my position on the matter."

"Miles," Max said, "She's run off to New York—with a musician… You have to talk some sense into her, please."

"What musician?" Miles couldn't help his rising anger—even though they'd been broken up for three days—he didn't think there was another man.

"He's the lead singer in some rock and roll band—I don't know," Max said, "She's only gone off because she's not thinking straight. I know if you—"

"Mister Tailor," Miles said.

"Please, sport. Max—"

"Max," Miles turned his head so he could look at Wellington, "She's old enough to decide what she wants…"

Max only frowned in reply. Miles offered a hand and the man took it reluctantly.

"I am glad you were acquitted," Max said, "Not that I doubted your innocence, mind you. I'm glad everything worked out in your favor."

Miles only nodded and broke off their handshake. He turned to leave, "Good night, Mister Tailor."

"I suppose it's difficult for you, Miles," Max said. Miles paused in his departure and turned to look at the man.

"I suppose you're wanting some time to yourself," Max continued. Miles nodded slowly, unsure of Max's intention.

"When you've come round then, sport," Max said, "Please forgive her. You and Maddy are a good match—even she doesn't fully appreciate it."

Miles frowned at Mister Tailor and after several moments' hesitation; he nodded and left to meet Wellington at the Lincoln. If he never saw Madeline Tailor again, it would be too soon.

Miles pulled into a covered parking space and entered the high-rise apartment building. He stopped at the call box and looked for Lana's name before pushing a button.

"Hello? Skye residence," the box squeaked out an adolescent girl's voice.

"It's Edgeworth," Miles said, "Is Chief Skye ready?"

"She's in her room," the box squeaked back, "Do you want to come up?"

Miles groaned inwardly. Lana Skye lived on the seventeenth floor.

"Ah," Miles began.

"Miles Edgeworth is that you?" Franziska's voice fizzled out of the call box, "Stop being lazy and come up here!"

"Franziska, I—"

"Miles don't you dare leave here without telling me goodbye in person," Franziska said.

"Fine," Miles said, "Give me a few minutes."

Miles muttered under his breath as he walked past the elevator and opened the door to the stairwell. He looked up into the narrow flights with a frown. The stairs were poorly lit and dirty. Miles started to jog up the stairs.

He made it all the way to the landing on the fourteenth floor before he paused to catch his breath. Maybe he should see a doctor about this elevator phobia. Sometimes things got a little ridiculous. Miles took the last three flights at a steadier pace, no sense in letting Chief see him disheveled and breathless.

When he opened the door Franziska was standing in the corridor with another teenaged girl.

"Miles," Franziska said, "Are you really going to make me stay here the whole time you're—"

"Don't start," Miles said brushing past the girls toward Chief Skye's apartment. The two girls followed him.

"Mister Edgeworth," the other girl said, "Are you going to be traveling with Air Marshals? They're the only ones allowed to carry guns on the plane."

"I'm not going to babysit while I'm on vacatio—"

"I don't need a babysitter! My sis let's me—"

"Plus this girl is very strange. Lana's okay but—"

"Well you're rude, you know that? You're the one who—"

"Don't condescend me you foolish little—"

Miles stopped walking and the two of them stopped arguing. He hesitated for a moment and then continued walking.

"Little brother," Franziska said to his back, "Why can't I come with—"

"It's scientifically impossible for you to be—"

Miles stopped again. He didn't turn to look at the girls.

"Franziska," he said quietly, "and you, other girl—"

"Ema," Ema said.

"Right," Miles said, "Both of you just be quiet. Please."

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye came out of her apartment dragging a wheeled carryon bag, she smiled sweetly, "and I see the girls buzzed you up already…"

"Yes," Miles said, a little curtly, "I hope Franziska hasn't made a bad impression?"

"Not at all," Chief Skye said, "I look forward to having her onboard soon, right Miss Von Karma?"

Miles made a face, but he hid it with a nod and politely motioned to take Chief Skye's bag. She started to protest but he took the bag and turned toward the stairs. Franziska tackled him into the wall and he was about to shout at her but was shocked to see her expression. She squeezed him all the more tightly in her iron grasp.

"You're being silly, I'm only going to be gone for the—"

"Miles," Franziska said, "If I don't tell you goodbye properly, and something happens to you…"

Miles frowned and looked up to find Chief and her little sister standing in the doorway of the apartment pretending to ignore them. He felt not a little dismayed at Franziska's display and cleared his throat pointedly.

"Please let go of me Franziska," he scolded her, "You like to remind me that you are not a child, so please don't do childish—"

Franziska burst into tears and Miles pulled away from her, shocked and horrified.

"That's… that… was… the… same… thing… he… said to me… this… morning," she sobbed and Miles stared, dumbfounded. After several moments, he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and offered it to her. He looked up to see Chief ushering her little sister back into the apartment to give them some privacy.

"He-he said… that ex-exactly," Franziska paused to blow her nose.

Miles put an arm over her shoulder and leaned in to talk to her quietly, "I'm only going to take care of this thing, and I won't be gone long. There's nothing to be upset over…"

"I'm not!" Franziska said rather loudly, she still hadn't regained her composure, "I don't care where you go brother. I don't care what you do. But I wish you didn't act as if nothing happened. My father is going to be in prison for the rest of his life! Don't you feel anything—"

"Franziska, please," Miles said and he stood and put a hand to his temple, "I know the timing is poor, but the world doesn't—"

"I don't care about the world! I need you—someone to… to…"

Her tears seemed to start afresh and Miles sighed audibly in exasperation.

"You're exactly like him," she muttered, "Always work… Work is more important than—"

"I don't have a choice in thi—"

"Don't you?" she said, "Lana is a prosecutor too isn't she? She can—"

"When I get back, Franziska," Miles said, "We'll take some time to—"

"Will you visit him? We can go together and—"

"Okay," Miles said—mostly to placate her. Hopefully the old man would be sent upstate before he got back—it was much easier to find excuses not to take a long drive. She relented, finally, and Miles hesitated—waiting for the last of her sobs to subside.

"Now, get in there, I'm going to be late," he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the apartment.

Chief Skye had the courtesy not to comment on Franziska's emotional state as they made their way down the stairs together—though she did make a quip under her breath about his fear of elevators. Miles felt his ears go warm, but he pretended he didn't hear her.

The plane landed at McCarran International just after nine that evening and after a bit of wrangling at the baggage claim the party met at the cab stands outside the arrivals exit. Miles was relieved to learn that Dr. Young had come on her own in an earlier flight—though she would be staying at the same hotel. Officer Marshal, Officer Prince, as well as Detective Goodman from the police department and he and Lana Skye from the District Attorney's Office, would all be staying at the Hooters resort of all places—mostly because it was off the strip and nearest to the precinct they would be visiting once he secured the paperwork needed for extradition. Miles stood apart from the group—Marshall was telling another lewd joke that Goodman and Prince were simply too nice not to laugh at. Chief Skye was also watching the policemen with a slight frown, and made no effort to invade Miles' thoughts.

He flew often and often flew far—but no matter how long—or short—the flight, it always seemed he'd been flying forever. It was early still, but he felt travel weary and looked forward to getting away from the group.

They ended up taking separate shuttles to the hotel and regrouped at the check in counter. Miles frowned as he spotted Dr. Young bounding through the crowd to greet them.

"Hello!" she said, "You guys came in pretty late didn't you? I've already had time to get a mani-pedi and hang out by the pool all day."

Marshall looked at her and smiled a crooked mischievous smile, Miles turned and stared hard at the check-in counter to avoid her. The pool? In January?

"Well, hello little missy," Marshall thumbed his ridiculous hat in greeting, "Don't recollect that I've had the pleasure—"

"Doctor Young," Chief Skye interrupted, "How was your flight? Have you spoken with the anyone from the court yet?"

"Well," Dr. Young said, "I was waiting for you. I don't even know if we're going to be able to transfer this person, so I didn't feel it was my call. Miles Edgeworth, how are you?"

"Well," Miles said curtly; he didn't bother to turn and look at her.

"I guess some people get grumpy when they fly," Dr. Young said.

"Don't mind him, Missy," Marshall said, "That young buckaroo ain't nothing if he ain't sore over some triflin' thing. How's about you come talk to me?"

"Who are you?" Dr. Young said.

"Marshall," Chief Skye said, "This is Doctor Chihiro Young, she's here to perform CST if we get the extradition worked out."

Marshall grinned again, "Ah… A medicine woman…"

"Doctor," Chief Skye said, "Detective Goodman is here to make the arrest and Officer Marshall and Officer Prince are here to assist. Prosecutor Edgeworth is here to file for extradition—so you can see, we have a lot of moving parts and a lot of things that all have to go right in one day for this to work out."

"I see," Dr. Young said, "So the only one who has to wake up early is Edgeworth?"

Miles made a noise in his throat at her comment, but was distracted by the clerk at the counter.

"How many?" the clerk asked when Miles showed him the reservation confirmations.

"Five," Miles said.

"You have two rooms for the police department and one room for the district attorney," the clerk slapped the keys on the keyboard and nodded, "Yep, that's what I have here…"

Miles turned from the counter and looked at Chief Skye. She smiled and gave a slight shrug. Miles frowned at the clerk, "I suppose I can share with one of the policemen."

"He ain't staying with me," Marshall chimed in, "Bruce you're taking one for the team."

Detective Goodman only shrugged and Miles nodded at the clerk. Key cards were handed out and the clerk continued by laying out all the amenities the resort had to offer.

"You boys behave yourself," Chief Skye said and walked away with the doctor.

"Wait," Miles said before they'd gone far from the counter, "The nineteenth floor? Don't you have anything between the second and eighth?"

"I'm sorry sir," the clerk said, "We're booked. The elevators are over there."

"I can see the damn elevators…" Miles muttered under his breath.

Marshall started laughing as he and Prince headed toward the elevators. Miles looked up to see Detective Goodman standing beside him.

"You don't like elevators, do you, Prosecutor Edgeworth," Goodman said.

Miles only frowned, searching for the stairwell.

"They were talking about it at the precinct a few weeks back," Goodman continued.

"Well, it's true," Miles snapped, "There's something else you can have a laugh about."

He stomped toward the stairwell door, Goodman followed him without a word. Miles opened the door and looked up at the dank and poorly lit stairwell. The smell of stale cigarette smoke filled the narrow space.

"So why didn't you just share Chief Skye's room?" Goodman said.

Miles startled, he hadn't realized Goodman was still following him.

"It wouldn't be right," Miles entered the stairwell and started to climb the stairs briskly, "People might get the wrong idea, and she's my boss."

"Ah," Goodman said, trying hard to keep up with Miles on the stairs.

"You don't have to come up the stairs with me," Miles said. They paused on the fourth floor landing so Goodman could catch his breath.

"Why are you running?" Goodman panted, "What's the rush?"

Miles smiled a little at the detective, but he took the next several flights at a slower pace, "I guess I'm just used to it."

"I think if stair-climbing was an Olympic sport, you'd probably make the national team—at the very least," Goodman said his breathing was still labored.

Miles laughed and paused again to wait for the detective, "I won't feel bad if you got off and took the elevator the rest of the way up."

"Am I slowing you down Edgeworth?" Goodman said defiantly, he passed Miles on the landing and started up the next flight without pause. Miles caught him up easily and stayed beside him. Goodman's pace was slow and tedious but Miles didn't want to seem rude.

"Why don't you like elevators?"

Miles frowned at the question, but gave no other reply.

"I don't like other people's cars, but that won't stop me from taking a cab or accepting a ride if it's convenient."

Miles leaned over and took Goodman's bag to ease the other man's labor, "It's more than a mere dislike."

"So it is true," the Detective said, "You really freak out in elevators."

Miles hesitated and then nodded. They trudged up the next couple flights in silence.

"Is it because of that incident when you were a kid?"

Miles didn't answer, but he frowned as the memories of his father's murder rose to the surface again. The silence seemed to grow heavy and palpable between them.

"Edgeworth!"

Miles was surprised to see Goodman had fallen behind again. The detective was paused on the landing a floor below and wiping his face with a handkerchief. Miles stopped and hesitated before going back down to wait beside the detective.

"Have you tried getting help for this… Phobia…? I can't imagine what it's like running up and down the stairs all the time…" Goodman said.

"One gets used to it," Miles said.

"Well yeah," Goodman said, "And I'm sure you have fantastic glutes—but it's not normal, kid. You aren't functioning like a normal human being."

"Human beings have been thriving long before elevators came about," Miles said.

"I'm sure the department will pay for it if you sought help," Goodman said.

Miles didn't reply, people did this to him all the time. It was no one's business but his own how he learned to cope. He didn't want advice; he didn't want help.

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth," Goodman said suddenly, "I don't mean to pry."

"Seventeen," Miles said, "We're almost there."

He all but jogged up the last three flights and entered the floor and was relieved to find their room near the stairwell door. Officer Prince was standing in the hallway frowning at the door with his hands in his pockets. His suitcase was still at his feet. He smiled genially at Miles and Miles nodded in greeting.

"Eh, Mister Prosecutor…?" Prince said.

"Is everything all right?" Miles said.

"Um, no, sir," Prince said, "Marshall said he forgot something in the lobby and he went back down to look. But he has both keys."

Miles shook his head and opened the door to the room he'd be sharing with Goodman. Miles still had both their bags and he paused to pick them up before motioning Prince inside. Goodman came out of the stairwell a moment later panting from the effort. He followed Edgeworth into the room and stared at Prince. The policeman was standing near the phone—just about to lift the receiver.

"What happened?" Goodman said.

"Nothing," Miles said.

"Something's going on here," Goodman said.

"Marshall's gone," Prince said, "He has the keys."

"Great," Goodman said, "We just got here too."

"Prosecutor Edgeworth," Miles had just exited the courtroom following his first big trial. Mister Von Karma was standing beside him and he grunted disdainfully when she called. Miles paused and turned to find the caller.

"Mister Edgeworth!" Detective Skye was shoving through the crowds leading the star witness—a girl of thirteen.

"Detective Skye," Miles said in greeting.

"Detective, this is hardly the time or the place—" Mister Von Karma began. He looked aghast at the girl as she ran up to Miles and hugged him.

"Eh?" Miles said.

"What is the meaning of this? We haven't time for this foolishness! Edgeworth you win one case after all of your false starts—I'd hardly call this a reason to celebrate—"

"I'm sorry," Detective Skye said, "Ema wanted to thank you."

Edgeworth forced a smile and patted the girl on the head, "It's not necessary," he said and pulled away from her. Ema immediately joined her sister and took her hand.

"You're a hero," Detective Skye said, "You put that evil murderer away for good."

Miles stared at the two of them, a little shocked at their reaction to the trial. Mister Von Karma took him roughly by the shoulder and shoved him toward the lobby doors.

"Don't do that, we can't let him get a big head about himself," Mister Von Karma said, "He's only won one trial yet. We're just glad he was finally able to finish one."

Miles put his head down and frowned as he followed Mister Von Karma out of the courthouse.

"Edgeworth, that was a quick trial," Mister Von Karma said, "Quick and clean."

Miles swallowed. There were doubts—carefully hidden doubts, but doubts none-the-less. "Mister Von Karma, there is something that was bothering me…"

"Let it go, boy," Von Karma said without pausing in his stride toward the parking lot, "It's over now and you got your conviction—that's ALL that matters."

"The evidence list was—"

"What did I just say, Edgeworth?" Von Karma stopped walking and rounded on him, "Are you a detective, Miles Edgeworth?"

"No sir," Miles said.

"So let the detectives do their job," Von Karma said, "You have to learn to trust them to do their jobs. You can't micromanage every aspect of a case. Your job is to present the case to the judge and convince him to make the right decision."

"I'm glad that Darke was found guilty."

""Good boy," Von Karma said and turned away and started toward the parking lot again, "You still have a lot to learn, Edgeworth."

His phone rang again and Miles turned over in the hotel bed. He buried his head in the pillows. It buzzed as a message was sent. He pressed the pillow against his ears. Miles only wanted to sleep. Las Vegas was not his idea of a vacation spot. And they were not here on vacation.

Goodman had gone downstairs with Prince and Miles declined their invitation as emphatically as he knew how. He felt he'd made it perfectly clear that he only cared about getting the witness or possible suspect back to stand trial. That meant he had to be up early to attend the hearing on extradition. That also meant he did not want drinks or a late night.

His phone buzzed again. Miles reached over to see who was calling and almost blinded himself by the light of the touch screen. It was Phoenix Wright. Against his better judgment, Miles accepted the call.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Is this Miles Edgeworth?"

"Who else would it be? You called my phone!"

"Oh, hello," Phoenix said, "This is Phoenix Wright—"

"Wright, just tell me what you need or hang up," Miles said.

"I went to see Mister Grossberg today, after you left."

"And…?"

"It wasn't him," Phoenix said, "Grossberg is way fatter than you—so you don't have to feel bad about that either."

"Did he have anything important to say?"

"Who?"

"Wright I'm going to hang up," Miles swung his thumb so it hovered over the 'end call' button.

"Oh, yeah," Phoenix said, "Um. He's never heard of anything like this. He says there's no way anyone would want to emulate me because I'm just a 'rookie' and even if there were people wanting to do so, he didn't think it was sinister."

"But you wouldn't accept the same advice from me?"

"Edgeworth, you're my age and you don't have an epic wise-man mustache like Grossberg does…"

"Umm… Right…"

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm thinking—are you going to try to meet with this head—"

"No way," Phoenix said, "I'll wait until you get back. You need to come with me."

"No," Edgeworth said, "I have a big case going to trial soon."

"Make time, Edgeworth," Phoenix said.

"Look, you little twerp—" Phoenix hung up on him.

Miles grumbled and set his phone back on the nightstand—it was serving as his alarm as well. It buzzed another message before he could pull his hand away.

"You should come downstairs to the Mad Onion," this was from Chihiro.

Miles frowned and put the phone facedown on the nightstand. He'd only just settled back down to sleep when the phone buzzed again. Miles turned his back toward the nightstand and let the phone buzz three or four times more before checking the screen.

The latest message said 'Please call if you get this' it was from Chief Skye. Miles groaned and sat up to dial her number.

"Miles?" Chief Skye said.

"Yes, Chief," Miles said without bothering to curb any annoyance in his voice.

"You need to come downstairs… Goodman… Well, he and Marshall were down here, Prince is taking Marshall up right now, but I need you to help me with Goodman."

Miles swallowed, "Chief… Elevator…"

"You can run down the stairs Edgeworth," Chief Skye said.

"Yes sir," Miles said, he was already leaving the room, "But I don't think I can carry him—not up nineteen—"

"Just get down here Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "I don't want anyone outside of the department involved."

"Right," Miles said and he hung up and dressed hastily before dashing out of his room. Miles entered the stairwell. He took the stairs three and four at a time and managed to make it to the lobby floor quickly. He only tripped once—somewhere near the seventh floor—because he wasn't wearing socks in his shoes.

He exited the stairwell only slightly winded from his dash down the stairs and found Chief Skye standing in the lobby wearing fuzzy pink fleece pants with what looked like smiley faces with weird hair and a blue badger sweatshirt. So she had the same plan he'd had.

She smiled at him like nothing was amiss and jerked her head for him to follow her. She led him to a dark corner of the lobby where several plants hid Goodman from view. He had a bruise across his cheek and was barely coherent.

"What—" Miles started to ask, but Chief Skye put a finger to her lips to silence him.

Miles leaned down and took the detective by the arm, which he draped over his own shoulder. He put his other arm around the detective's chest and pulled him upright.

"Edgeworth?" Goodman muttered under his breath and dropped out again. Miles frowned, but he didn't say anything as Chief Skye led him toward the elevators.

She hit the call button and Miles watched as the car lit up and slid down toward them. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He looked at Chief a little pleadingly and he could feel his hands grow slippery with sweat. The car dinged on its arrival and the doors whooshed open invitingly. Chief Sky stepped inside and Miles followed with Goodman. He settled the semi-conscious detective on the elevator floor in a slumped seated position and started to back out of the elevator. The doors closed behind him. Miles scrabbled for the button pad and hit the 'doors open' button. His breath was already coming in short panicked bursts.

"What are you afraid of, Miles Edgeworth?"

"Chief you know I—"

"But it's not even moving," She said.

Miles didn't respond—she was right—and he didn't want to keep sounding like a frightened little boy. Not in front of Chief Skye.

"So…" Miles said, "What now?"

"What floor are you on?"

Miles could only shake his head. He was standing in front of the buttons, so she wouldn't be able to force him to ride up in the death car like Chief Gant had done.

"Miles?" Chief Skye looked at him, "What floor?"

"Nineteen," Miles said, but he refused to move out of her way—he couldn't move out of the way. If he did that she'd hit the button and he would be trapped. The doors started to close again and he turned to hold them open.

"The elevator is only dangerous when it's moving, right?" Chief Skye said.

Miles bit his lip—no one ever understood this. He's had this phobia since he was nine. Whatever solution to the problem he'd already tried it. What made them think he'd never tried?

"It won't work," Miles said finally, "Nothing works—I can't do this—"

"You can't have tried everything," Chief Skye said.

"Please," Miles said, "Just wait up there, and I'll take the stairs. I can get up the stairs pretty fast."

"You just need a distraction," Chief Skye said.

"It won't work," Miles repeated.

Chief Skye didn't say anything to him; she just stared. Miles let the door close behind him and he stared at the wall to avoid her gaze.

"Miles," Chief Skye said, "You push the number. You're in control."

"It won't work," Miles said again, a little more loudly—as if that would bring it home to her. He clenched and unclenched his jaw in silence.

"Miles…" Chief Skye said.

"I lived with Prosecutor Von Karma," Miles said, "Don't you think he thought of this as a weakness? Don't you think he would have tried to beat it out of me? It won't work. Nothing has ever worked."

"What did Von Karma make you do?"

"What do you think? He made me ride on elevators," Miles shook his head again and ran a hand through his hair, "I can't do this."

"I think you can," Chief Skye said.

Suddenly the lights went out.

"Oh," Chief Skye said.

"Oh Hell no," Miles said.

"Mmmphf," Goodman said.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! 'Give us your dreamers, your harlots and your sin…'

Ah… Las Vegas… So tempting to do some version of the Hangover—LOL! But that would've taken this story down an irrelevant tangent…

UPDATED 9JUL2015 - Minor grammar fixes and the removal of gratuitous profanity...Speaking of irrelevant tangents...

I'm looking for guest authors to write chapters for my fic "Word of the Day" PM me or reply to the "Word of the Day" topic in my forum if you're interested. This could be fun!