Chapter 26

A Minor Distraction

Miles stood and stared at the smooth brushed steel doors of the courthouse elevator. There was tape on the small glass window—had it been replaced? Miles couldn't remember. It was too much to try and think about all at once.

"Just push the call button, boy," Mister Von Karma said. He sounded distracted—indeed, they had just come from the courthouse records room, and Mister Von Karma had a stack of folders under his arm. He stood next to Miles and looked down on the boy with a small smile. Miles shuddered slightly and pushed the call button.

Mister Von Karma was creepy even when he trying to be nice.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened with something like a sigh. Miles jerked his hands out of his pockets and brought them up toward his chest. For a moment there was blood in those shadows—his father's blood. Mister Von Karma gave him a nudge on the shoulder to stir him into walking forward, but Miles didn't move.

"What is it? I have a meeting upstairs—we mustn't be late, after all."

Miles took a deep breath and stepped into the car. It was empty. The light overhead was warm and cheery. Miles watched as Mister Von Karma followed him in and then paused to read the button panel. Miles took a deep breath; he'd been on this elevator before.

Mister Von Karma punched a button and then stood back. Miles mimicked him bravely—and then the car lurched into motion. Miles was afraid. So he screamed.

They'd only gone up three floors. But the ride was long enough to reduce Miles to blubbering and tears. He was shaking from fright. Mister Von Karma stared at the boy agape.

"What is wrong with you?"

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Miles ran into the corridor and huddled against the wall still sobbing. A courtroom clerk went to his aid immediately.

"Oh dear," she said, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Leave him be," Mister Von Karma said, "He's only looking for attention. Miles get up, stop acting like a baby."

"Don't shout at him," the clerk said, "He's only a boy. He's frightened."

"Miles come on," Mister Von Karma said, "You mind your business."

Mister Von Karma took Miles by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. Miles covered his face with a sleeve as if that could quell his sobbing. He followed Mister Von Karma without a word.

"I can't believe it," Mister Von Karma grumbled at him as they walked down the corridor. "Crying like a baby over a ride in the elevator."

Mister Von Karma stopped in front of an office and Miles nearly ran into him. He looked up to find Von Karma glaring down at him again.

"Is that?" Mister Von Karma said, and he knelt suddenly and set his files on the floor. He pulled out a handkerchief; "You picked the worst time in the world to panic, boy."

Mister Von Karma wiped roughly at Miles' face and Miles was shocked to see it come away red with his blood.

"A nosebleed," Mister Von Karma said, "They'll think I hurt you or something… Did you have to do this now?"

"I'm sorry," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma gave him a few more dabs with the handkerchief and then squeezed his nose with it roughly, "Put your head back."

Miles did as he was told.

"The absolute worst timing, you know?" Mister Von Karma said.

"I'm sorry," Miles said again, "I couldn't help it."

"You can help it, boy," Mister Von Karma said, "I'll make sure you learn how—I promise you that."

Miles was early to breakfast and was enjoying his cereal at a quiet table when Prince and Marshall joined him.

"Good Morning, Mister Edgeworth," Prince said, he looked tired and a little disheveled.

"Is it true Edgeworth?" Marshall said rather loudly. He still smelled like spirits and Miles wondered if he was still drunk. Miles looked at him quizzically and sipped his tea.

"There are many things in the world that are true, Marshall," Miles said, "But it is certainly not true that I can read your mind."

"Calm down Marshall," Prince said, "I'm going to get some coffee, I think you should come."

Marshall glared at him, eyes rimmed red, and his cheeks flushed with emotion—or drink, Miles couldn't really tell. Marshall sniffed and leaned back in his chair and glared at Miles. He didn't follow Prince to the breakfast buffet.

Miles had nothing to say to the man, if anything he was appalled—if not overly surprised at his behavior the previous night—but he had nothing to gain for lecturing the man. So he went back to his cereal.

"I went by to visit Bruce this morning," Marshall said, "He said you'd gone to the gym."

Miles shrugged in reply.

"I guess you like to look good for the ladies..."

That made Miles smirk a little, "That's not why..."

"He said you took him up in the elevator last night," Marshall said and Miles noted with some curiosity that in his anger, Marshall had quite forgotten about his cowboy shtick. Miles paused and met his eye for a moment and then picked up his teacup.

"Bruce said Lana was in there with you. He said she—"

"Really Marshall, I didn't think you were one to go about spreading office gossip."

"You know, Edgeworth," Marshall said leaning forward, "I don't care. You slimy little lawyers can do whatever you want—I don't care."

Miles put down his cup and glared at Marshall directly, "Good. So say nothing further on the subject."

"I won't, amigo—no sir-ree—I won't," Marshall crossed his arms and met his glare. Miles looked down at the dregs in his bowl and stirred them disinterestedly. He could feel Marshall watching him. Miles hoped he couldn't see that it bothered him. He couldn't explain what happened last night—but honestly, it would've been better if it hadn't happened that way, and since it was too late to undo it, he might as well pretend it never happened. Marshall stuck out a finger and tipped his bowl to peer into it.

"Why are you eating cereal?" Marshall said.

"I like cereal," Miles said. Good, change the subject.

"I bet you do…" Marshall said with not a little malice in his tone.

Miles shrugged, "I don't understand what you're trying to imply..."

Marshall started laughing at him.

"Officer Marshall, there's no reason you should always be rude," Miles said.

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings buckaroo?" Marshall said. He grabbed up one of the mini boxes of raisin bran and studied it. Miles didn't feel the need to respond.

"Oh, I know… You don't have any feelings…" Marshall muttered bitterly.

"Hey, they make omelets to order," Prince said when he returned and set down his plate. He looked at Marshall and then Miles, "Eh? What's going on?"

Marshall was glaring hard at Miles. Miles stood to leave, "I was about to leave," he said and nodded politely at Prince, "We have to be over at the courthouse before nine."

"Do we?" Prince said.

"No, I meant—" Miles began but Marshall interrupted him.

"He means himself and Chief Prosecutor Skye," Marshall said.

"Oh, right," Prince said, "Jake, you ought to have some coffee."

Miles left the two of them alone and headed back out toward the lobby and the now familiar stairwell door. Doctor Young and Chief Skye were walking from the direction of the elevators. He put his head down and hoped they wouldn't notice him.

"Good Morning, Miles," Doctor Young said. He looked up and nodded a greeting without pausing.

"Chihiro," Chief Skye said, "save me a seat, will you? Miles!"

Miles stopped walking—and he was so close to the door too—but he didn't look up or turn to greet her.

"Miles," Chief Skye put a hand on his arm, "What's wrong?"

"Chief," Miles began.

"Please, you can call me Lana—"

"Chief Skye," Miles said coldly, "You and I shouldn't be so familiar—especially not in present company."

Chief Skye looked around and then glared at him a moment in the cold guise of the Chief of Prosecutors. Then she shoved him toward the stairwell door. They went in together. One of the maids was sitting on the landing above them smoking a cigarette. She squeaked and put it out before going back into main corridor. Miles frowned. He didn't like cigarette smoke—especially if it was trapped and collected indoors.

"Miles about last night," Chief Skye said. She paused as if unsure of how she should continue.

"You don't have to explain it," Miles said, "You thought it might distract me—and it worked. That was the first time I've ever enjoyed an elevator ride."

"Yes," Chief Skye said, "So… Don't think I… I don't want it to be weird between us."

"Right," Miles said. But it would be weird, Miles thought; it was already weird. She must've gathered some of what he was thinking because she frowned at him.

"I didn't plan it like that," she said, "It just sort of happened. But it worked."

"Yes," Miles said.

"That's all that really matters," she said.

"But," Miles said shaking his head, "You have a witness."

"Yeah," Chief Skye said. She was wringing her hands and gazing at the floor now, "About that…"

Miles only shrugged.

"I kind of wish we could throw him down the stairs," Chief Skye said.

"That's horrible!" Miles glared at her. She grinned sheepishly.

"It was a joke, Miles," she said, "Lighten up."

He shot her another look, one that plainly said, 'that's not funny.'

"Miles," Chief Skye said, "I hope you don't think less of me because I… I don't normally go around kissing men I…"

Miles watched her as she tried to dance around the subject—she seemed so vulnerable all of a sudden. He shrugged again.

"You don't have to apologize, Chief," Miles said, "In fact Goodman tried to kiss me after you left—so obviously, it's my fault."

Miles smiled at her and turned to start up the stairs. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. Miles swallowed. Alarm bells went off in his head and somewhere, Mister Von Karma was frowning and shaking his head. But he knew he would like it, and sometimes it's okay to have what you liked, even if it was frivolous—even if it went nowhere.

He didn't fight her when she put her arms around his neck and pulled his face toward hers. She didn't seem to mind when his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to him. Neither of them noticed the door opening or the look on Marshalls face—eyes rimmed red from drink; stubble longer than usual.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Marshall shouted.

Miles and Lana did notice that.

"So… You're Miles Edgeworth," Prosecutor Neil Marshall said, smiling cockily from his desk. He wore a leather vest and his boots were made of snakeskin—at least it looked like what Miles imagined snakeskin might look like.

Miles stepped further into the office at Prosecutor Marshall's command and he sat on the leather bound couch when Prosecutor Marshall nodded toward it.

"So you're the little prodigy the High Prosecutor keeps raving about," Marshall noted with a grin. Miles frowned; he was having trouble imagining Mister Von Karma raving about anything.

"Drink?" Marshall asked and he stood and walked over to the window where the bar was cleverly hidden in the bookcase. Marshall set a tumbler on the ledge and glanced over his shoulder at Miles, "No… wait… You're not old enough to drink, are you?"

"No," Miles said.

Marshall laughed as he poured three fingers of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm nineteen," Miles said, "nineteen and a half."

Marshall laughed again, "Don't forget that half, it's gotta count for something."

He shook his head and sipped his drink while he stared out the window, "What is this world coming to…?"

Miles stared at Prosecutor Marshall's back, not sure if he was expected to answer—the question certainly seemed rhetorical to him. He wasn't really sure why he'd been told to visit Prosecutor Marshall—Mister Von Karma didn't seem to think too highly of the man. But everywhere else, Marshall was spoken of as a prodigy, and Miles, the newest up-and-coming, was being compared and contrasted against him on a regular basis.

"They started you young, then?" Marshall said, turning so suddenly to look at Miles that he nearly jumped up from his seat in surprise. Miles only nodded in reply—he was still young—it stood to reason that he had begun his training at an early age.

"Poor kid," Marshall said swishing the contents of his glass and staring oddly at the floor, "What do you do for fun?"

"I'm sorry?" Miles said; it was a confusing question for him.

"I mean, guys your age should be chasing girls and driving too fast—stuff like that… Sowing wild oats, as they say," Prosecutor Marshall said.

Marshall gave him a sympathetic look. Somehow it seemed to Miles that the man was less concerned with Miles' lack of misspent adolescence than his own stolen youth. Marshall sighed at the drink in his hand and then set it on his desk, barely touched.

"Come on, kid," Marshall said, suddenly chipper again, "Let's head down to the precinct. My big brother's a detective there."

"I've already visited the police department," Miles said.

"Oh," Prosecutor Marshall said, "What do you want to do then?"

Miles stared at him; he didn't know what to say. Marshall pulled off his garish fedora and scratched his head.

"Prosecutor Marshall," Miles said, "I was told you might have advice or training…?"

"Uh," Marshall said, "Sure… We could go over some stuff later… If you want…"

Miles must've let some of his disappointment leak out into his expression because Marshall rounded on him suddenly.

"Look, kid," he said waving his hands emphatically, "You can't be working all of the time, you know?"

Miles looked confused.

"You're too young to be so serious… Haven't you always wanted to do something—"

"I've always wanted to be a lawyer," Miles said, "Now I want to learn how you put criminals away."

Marshall looked deflated suddenly, "Well… I guess…"

Miles stared at him.

"Say, kid," Marshall said suddenly smiling, "Have you met Prosecutor Payne?"

Miles stood relieved in the courthouse lobby. Albert Sheinheilig was in a conference room with Doctor Young and a court Marshal. He looked up when Lana Skye came in from just outside the courthouse.

"Goodman and the rest of them are headed down to the precinct. Looks like we're getting a van. Two guys from the Marshals are coming with us—mostly so they can bring the van back."

Miles frowned at her, "You and I can fly back, though… There's no reason—"

"I don't want to stir things up, Miles," Lana said, "You saw Jake's reaction…"

"Yes, but," Miles said, "I don't see how my sitting in the same vehicle with him for five hours is going to make things any better."

"I just don't want anyone to think there's a conflict of interest," Lana said.

"So I'll take a different flight," Miles said. He was starting to get irritated with her.

"The City won't authorize it," she said.

"I'll pay for it myself," Miles said.

"The City also won't authorize the use of personal funds for official travel," Lana said with a small sigh.

"Right," Miles moved away from her and walked toward the window to stare out at the bare desert, "I suppose I can just sleep the whole way."

"Or you might try to get to know those guys better," Lana said.

Miles glared at the window, her reflection was giving him a worried look. Somehow, it felt like he was being manipulated. He felt it; he could recognize it easily enough—and yet there was nothing he could do about it. Miles watched her reflection turn away to speak with a clerk; maybe this has been going on longer than he'd realized.

He was in the middle of cursing himself for his own stupidity when Doctor Young burst from the door grinning and reported her findings to Chief Skye. Miles frowned. At least this case was going to trial soon—he'd have a distraction.

"Hello Miles," Chihiro said—she seemed to pop out of nowhere. Miles threw her an apathetic glance before turning his gaze back toward the window.

"Doctor Young," he said by way of greeting and dismissal. She never seemed to take the hint.

"Mister Sheinheilig isn't crazy," she said. At least her idea of small talk was relevant today.

Miles frowned at the window, but didn't respond. He was watching Lana's reflection where she was discussing something with the court Marshal.

"He can stand trial next week like you planned. I'm also putting together a report on his and his brother's mental profiles, you might be able to use them—"

"Edgeworth, a word," Lana said coldly. Miles didn't mind; it was an excuse to walk away from the chatty doctor.

She led him out of earshot of the rest of the group and out of sight of the doorway. Miles frowned watching her red muffler lift a little with the movements of her walking.

"Miles," she said and she stopped so suddenly he nearly ran into her, "I wanted to make sure I was perfectly clear before we get back… Nothing happened, okay? You and I—it was nothing."

Miles gave her a searching look before nodding, "Right, Chief."

She looked a little relieved and her visage softened a little, "I could always count on you and your scruples, Miles Edgeworth."

Miles shrugged.

"I think the van is here," Lana said, "I'll see you back at the office tomorrow?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"Will you let me know when you guys get in?"

"Yes."

"Will you be coming by to pick up Franziska?"

"Are you sure you don't want to keep her?" Miles smirked a little, "If it's not to late. Otherwise, I'll be by in the morning."

"That will be fine, too," Lana said, "Drive safely."

"Thank you, Chief," Miles said. He turned to join the others but Lana had a hand on his arm suddenly. He looked at her and she stared up at him.

"You know," she said, "It never would've worked out anyway."

Miles hesitated a moment and then said, "Nothing happened," before walking away from her.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! 'Whatever happens in Vegas…'

In the first flashback, Miles is 20—just kidding—he's like 9. They're going into a custody hearing. Miles doesn't really understand that he's being adopted—so I kept it vague, since it's his POV (also, I don't really know how any of this law stuff works… My entire courtroom experience has been 'How do I get out of jury duty?')

In the second flashback, Miles is 19 (and a half); this is a little more than two years before the SL-9 incident. Neil is 24 or 25.

There you have it… it took over 105 thousand words to tell you, this is about Lana Skye and Miles Edgeworth… (Actually, I didn't know they were going to do that…)

UPDATED 9JUL2015 – Some minor edits. Sorry if some of you are offended, but that bit of profanity from Marshall was necessary...