Chapter 49

Strangers in the Night

"You don't want wine?"

Miles almost didn't answer he was so lost in her azure eyes. The curve of her lips.

"I-I don't drink," he said.

"Oh," she said and tucked her chin nervously, "It doesn't offend you if I—"

"Not at all," he said. He forced a smile and hoped it wouldn't frighten her.

The harrowing ride over in her limousine hadn't prepared him for something so challenging as trying to have a conversation over dinner. Miles picked up his water glass and glanced around the restaurant while he drank.

"So do you have anything new going on?" Maddy asked.

Miles set his glass down and frowned at her, "Always," he said, "But forgive me if I can't discuss the details. After, all."

"Hmm, right darling," Maddy said, "What do you like to do besides work?"

Miles glanced up at her and nearly dropped his fork, "Oh, well, you know..."

He couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything not related to work. On days when he was out of the office, he still carried out correspondences from his home office or he read, studying precedents and old cases. He made time on weekends for an episode or two of the Steel Samurai—but he wasn't going to tell her about that.

"No I don't know, darling," Maddy said with a grin, "That's why I asked."

Miles frowned and met her eyes apologetically, "I'm... I suppose, I'm probably the most boring person I know."

Maddy made an exaggerated mock frown face at him, "Oh, Miles, you're being modest again. I can tell."

'I'm really not,' he thought and turned his attention toward his plate. He spun linguine on his fork and hoped she would change the subject.

"You said you've travelled," Maddy continued, swirling the wine in her glass, "Where have you been?"

Miles shrugged, "Mostly Europe. Codophia and Japan once or twice. South Korea, New York, Atlanta... Nothing very extraordinary."

He let her lead him through a very awkward and winding conversation until the wine had been drunk and their plates cleared away. He was definitely having second thoughts. Why would a woman like her have any interest in a man like him?

"You should dance with me, Miles," Maddy said and she was already standing.

Miles hesitated nervously, but he pulled his napkin off of his lap and placed it on the table. He stood and took her arm, and led her toward the dance floor with no small amount of trepidation.

She rested her gloved hand on his shoulder and he took her hand. The band was playing a piano heavy instrumental version of 'Strangers in the Night'. It made him smile.

Maddy mistook his change in expression and smiled back. If nothing else, she was a very pretty girl. Right now, that was good enough.

Miles buttoned the tuxedo pants and frowned. This wasn't going to do, not when this ridiculous ceremony was happening in just a few days.

"Wellington!" He shouted.

It only took the old man a minute or two to arrive at his door. He entered in cautiously looking a little apprehensive.

"Mister Edgeworth, is something the matter?"

Miles shot him a helpless look, "My pants don't fit."

Wellington's expression relaxed, "I'm sure it's not quite such an emergency—"

He came up to Miles and tugged at the waistband and frowned, "That's a good inch-and-a-half, two inches."

"How did this happen?" Miles said utterly devastated.

Wellington smiled, "You've been stressed out. Lost a little weight. It won't be a problem to take this in."

Miles grimaced, "Do I have to have all my suits taken in?"

"Sir, you could just eat better," Wellington said.

"I haven't done anything different," Miles started to unbutton his pants and slid them off, "I haven't had to get new pants since I was twenty-one."

Wellington stifled his laugh, "Come, old boy, there's worse things you should be worried about than getting a few suits altered."

Wellington gathered his tuxedo pants and then started pulling some of his other suit pants and trousers out of his wardrobe. Miles watched him in his periphery and found a pair of jeans. He put them on angrily and made a noise when he had to get a belt.

"What else am I going to lose?" He muttered.

Wellington paused in gathering the pants, "Mister Edgeworth, the worst of it is over, I think. Things will get back to normal."

"How do you know? Normal is so far from what my life has become. I don't think 'normal' exists anymore."

Wellington only frowned at him.

Miles shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, Mister Wellington. I'm just—"

"Not at all, sir," Wellington said, "You'll get past this."

Miles nodded, "I'm going to walk Pess."

"Very good, sir," Wellington returned to gathering his trousers, "Will you be back for luncheon?"

"Probably not," Miles said already exiting the room, "But maybe I'll stop and get a burger—or, you know—three."

Wellington chuckled at that, "Very good, sir."

Miles sat chewing his burger with barely concealed disgust.

"You don't like it?" Gumshoe asked before taking another bite of his.

Miles swallowed, "It's very salty."

Gumshoe's large shoulders trembled in silent laughter.

"And greasy..."

"That's what makes them so good," Gumshoe said.

Miles made a face and put the offending sandwich back on his plate. He stared at Gumshoe furtively while the other man ate.

"I can't believe she made this thing mandatory," Miles said.

"It's not mandatory," Gumshoe said.

"You're not going?"

"Of course I'm going, sir," Gumshoe said, "It's going to be fun."

Miles made a noise and turned his head away from the table, "Did you get the rest of those files moved over?"

Gumshoe almost choked on his burger and had to pause to take a drink, "You said you weren't going to talk about work."

Miles glared at him and poked at his hamburger, "I was only asking a question."

"I did, sir," Gumshoe grinned, "I think you're the only one all done."

Miles sighed and picked up his burger, "That's something at least."

"If she's making you go it's probably because you're getting an award," Gumshoe said trying to sound positive.

"I don't see how that makes it better. The last thing I need right now is to stick my face on stage in front of all those people."

"But Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe looked crestfallen, "You're the best prosecutor."

"At what?" Miles said, he leaned away from the table and crossed his arms, "Losing?"

Gumshoe only shook his head and focused his attention on his meal. Miles took what was left of his burger and offered it to Pess. The big dog took it eagerly.

"I feel these things serve only to distract us from our duties," Miles said.

"People need recognition for their work," Gumshoe said, "It makes them feel good about what they do."

Miles frowned. He didn't want to be recognized for being a losing prosecutor.

"I think I'm going to go," Miles said and he stood and picked up the wax-paper soft drink cup.

"Thanks for lunch, sir," Gumshoe said.

Miles shrugged and turned to leave, "Of course."

He didn't see the worry on Gumshoe's face at his departure.

Miles sat alone in the ballroom at the bench of the cloth covered piano and took his flute apart. It had been quiet today and Mister Von Karma seemed too busy with other business to harry him.

Miles set the parts of his flute carefully in the velvet-lined case. The old man didn't even come to scold him about his playing. No, Miles had had a relatively unmolested day. He was almost giddy—almost.

He looked up at the sound of the heavy ballroom door opening. Franziska's platinum head poked in. She glared at him and then trotted toward him, letting the heavy door slam behind her.

"Shh!" Miles said, "You'll make him angry!"

Franziska tucked her chin and frowned, "He is already angry, Brüderchen."

"What happened?" Miles said, "He's letting you go to—"

"He changed his mind!" Franziska said, "It isn't fair!"

Miles frowned at her. At twelve, the girl was thin and gawky, but tonight she was a vision in a pearlescent sequined bodice with a tea length skirt of white taffeta. He cleared his throat and closed his flute case.

"Then what happened? It seemed he had no qualms with your attendance at—"

"Yes but Papa is mean," Franziska stomped her foot, "I mentioned that I might dance with a boy and he grew livid and decided I shouldn't go!"

Miles stood and looked down at her, eyebrow raised. He grinned.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Franziska?"

"Miles Edgeworth! It's a dance. I was going to a dance, so it stands to reason that I might dance with a boy, whether or not I have a boyfriend!"

Miles couldn't stop himself from smiling at how deftly she avoided his question.

"I'm sorry," Miles said, "I wish there was something I could do."

Franziska bent to tug at the strap on one of her shoes, "There's nothing! Papa won't listen to you."

Miles sighed, "Dear girl, there's no reason for you to be angry with me. I would have let you go."

Franziska slumped her shoulders and crumpled to a seat on the piano bench. She gazed up at the chandelier in the derelict ballroom longingly.

"Perhaps you should dance with me, Miles Edgeworth," she said.

Miles gave her a sidelong look and shook his head, "I was going to go to bed."

She made a noise at him, "You are so lazy, Miles Edgeworth!"

He smirked at her and shook his head. He leaned over her to take his flute.

She put her face right into his. He pale blue eyes beseeching.

"Please, Miles? I'm sorry very disappointed."

He frowned, "I'm not dressed—"

"But I am," she said, "And no one is here."

He hesitated and then held his arm out to her. She placed one thin arm in pale white glove against his dark shirt, clutching him near his elbow and pulled herself up. She slid her little hand into his. She couldn't quite reach his shoulder comfortably and put her other hand on his upper arm instead. He put his free hand to her waist and she looked up at him through thick dark mascara laden lashes.

Miles brought his leg back and led her out onto the floor.

She smiled and then giggled. It made him smile too.

"We need music," she said.

They turned together and then he spun her before pulling her back in.

She laughed again, "You are so graceful, Brüderchen."

"You exaggerate love," he said, but he smiled, "I'm just glad you're here to show me."

She leaned against him resting her head just below his sternum against his taut belly.

"I wish I could've gone to the dance," she said.

"I'm sorry," Miles said.

"I wish there was music," she repeated.

"I can't play and dance with you at the same time," he said capriciously, "but if you'd prefer, I can find a broom for you to dance with."

She glared up at him, "I will not dance with a broom you fool."

Miles smiled again and he started to hum. They swayed together in time to it.

"Do do doo doo," he sang, "da da daa daa..."

She laughed, "You like old man music."

He smiled and spun her again, "Something in your eyes was so inviting. Something in your smile was so exciting. Something in my heart told me I must have you..."

His voice was soft and untrained for singing, but he felt Franziska tighten her hold on him. He couldn't have been doing that bad.

"Strangers in the night. Two lonely people, we were strangers in the night. Up to the moment when we said our first hello..."

They moved around the floor together. He was much too tall for the twelve-year-old. She put her arms around his neck and lifted her.

"Little did we know," he sang.

She giggled in his arms and he spun her around, "Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance uh—"

"What is going on here?"

Miles nearly dropped Franziska he hadn't even heard the door open. Franziska slid to her feet and hopped few steps away from him.

"Papa you didn't let me go to the da—"

"Stop it Franziska," Mister Von Karma said, and turned his cold glare toward Miles, "Go to your room Franziska. And make no mention of this constitutional again!"

She returned to Miles and put her thin arms around him.

"I love you, Miles Edgeworth," she said into the fabric of his shirt. Then she turned and ran out of the ballroom.

Mister Von Karma glared after her as she departed before rounding on Miles.

"Are you mad, boy?"

Miles only shook his head mutely.

"Don't encourage her! She's far too distracted as it is! And yet you always feel the need to indulge her! You would ruin her!"

"Sir, I—"

"Get out of here!"

Miles didn't have to be told twice.

Miles was flipping through the files in his desk when she knocked on his door. He'd only managed to sit upright before she let herself in. He stood solemnly.

"Chief," he said, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lana Skye did not return his pleasantry but made a beeline for the divan and sat down, tapping a few thin manila folders in her hand.

"What happened to the files for SL-9?"

He met her eye for a moment and frowned, "I'd passed them along to Goodman. I'm sure he can get them to where they need to be."

She flicked her eyes away from him and made an impatient noise, "You're responsible for those files, Edgeworth."

He smirked at her, "I understand Chief. And as it's on our clean-up list and I've handed it to the Police Department, that file is exactly where it needs to be."

She glared at him. He stared back impassively.

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth," she said looking away from him again, "I just—these things always get a little hectic."

Miles shrugged and returned to his seat behind his desk, "It really needn't be," he said.

Lana smiled, "Not everyone is as organized as you."

"Well," Miles said fumbling with his mouse and staring at the computer screen, "I appreciate the observation Chief."

"How's Franziska?"

He paused and glanced at her, "She's busy. She's got a case she's working on."

"Oh?" Lana said conversationally, "Already?"

"She hadn't planned on being delayed here," Miles said, "Is there something else you needed Chief?"

"Edgeworth why do you always shoo me out of your office? One might get the impression you don't like me."

He stared at her, flummoxed.

She smiled at his expression, "Are you looking forward to the gala?"

He sighed heavily but didn't reply.

She stood and put a hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle, "I see."

"I just don't see why it's necessary," Miles said.

"We need to recognize people," she said, "Are you bringing someone?"

He was so shocked he met her eye, mouth agape.

"It's allowed," she said, "If you wanted."

"Er," Miles said, "No Chief. I'm not... I wouldn't know who to bring."

"I see," Lana said and she smiled at him, "Did you see the memo about filing those affidavits for the case against Hardy?"

Miles' brow furrowed as he turned back to his computer, "Yes, of course, Chief. I'm just finishing them up."

He watched her turn and leave in his peripheral vision. He thought he heard her chuckling.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Please, please review! (or I'll cry...)

Are the new chapters up to par?

Did anyone notice the revisions?

What's your favorite chapter so far? (I'm torn between Pobatio Vincit Praesumtion (31) and A Heady Tale (44))

'Strangers in the Night' is written by Frank Sinatra. Apparently that constitutes 'old man' music

In the first flashback Miles is 23, and 19 in the second.

Poor Edgeworth...

Sorry the chapter is so short... It kind of hit a reasonable conclusion and—WALL!

See you next update! (it's gonna be *sob* a real doozy)