Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Miles Edgeworth!"

    Franziska's call was insistent and demanding, as it always was, and Miles was so used to it by now that he could hardly even summon up the energy to be irritated. At least now that his kind-of-sister was an adult her voice wasn't quite so shrill. Calmly, he turned from the water cooler in the Prosecutor's lobby, paper cup still in hand, to see Franziska standing before him, whip clenched tightly in her hands, a look of absolute glee on her face. Miles resisted the urge to double-take.

    "What is it?" he asked, hoping his surprise didn't show.

    "I have a present for you, little brother," she answered him, her grin spreading, if possible, even wider. Miles thought she looked rather like a bird of prey that had just devoured its meal. A vague swell of nervousness stuck in Miles' throat and he quickly looked around for anything amiss, perhaps something irreparably damaged by a whip. Seeing nothing, he turned his eyes back to Franziska.

    "It's not my birthday," he pointed out. Not that Franziska was particularly eager to give him presents on his birthday, either.

    She scoffed. "I know that, Miles Edgeworth!" With a sharp click of heels against linoleum, Franziska turned, and inclined her still-smiling head as an invitation for him to follow. With no real alternative given Franziska's temper, and nothing better to do anyway, Miles gulped down the water in his paper cup and followed.

    He was a bit surprised when she simply led him to his office, but doubly so when he entered to find what was surely a refrigerator box tied with a large red bow standing erect in the very middle of the room. "I didn't think you'd actually gotten me something," was all he could think to say. Franziska only smirked.

    "Don't be flattered, little brother," she warned happily, and pulled on her whip with a loud snap. "It's just something foolish that I grew aggravated and tired with, so I thought I would pass it on to you. It's quite incompetent."

    "Thank you?" said Miles, beginning to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Franziska really could be quite eerie. As if to emphasize this feeling of creepiness, Franziska only gave a pretentious curtsy and strode quickly out of the office. Cautiously, Miles approached the box and pulled away the ribbon.

    Whatever was inside of it shook against the box's edges.

    Brow knitted in confusion, Miles pulled back the box's flaps, flinching a little at the sound of cardboard scraping against hardwood, and glanced inside. His head immediately whipped back toward his office door.

    "Franziska!" he called, knowing it was probably hopeless as his sister was smart enough to retreat as fast as possible. "What is Detective Gumshoe doing in a refrigerator box!"

    As expected, Mile received no reply. With a sigh, he turned back to the box; Gumshoe gave him an apologetic grimace and shrug from inside. What seemed to be a faint whip-wound stretched from the detective's left eyebrow to his jaw. Miles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why Franziska continued to see him as Gumshoe's Savior he would never know.

    "What did you do this time?" he questioned, kicking the box away as Gumshoe stepped out and ruffled his own already messy dark hair, limbs obviously stiff from lack of movement. Honestly, Miles had no idea why the man put up with all the things he did.

    "I don't even know, Pal," said Gumshoe. "I bring one wrong piece of evidence and the next thing I know I'm in a box."

    But you could have easily gotten out, thought Miles tiredly. He knew Franziska had probably ordered the Detective not to move, though, and her whip had tamed far less ludicrously loyal men than Gumshoe. I need a drink.

    "Go get me the evidence list for my case then," sighed Miles, easing onto his desk chair. "And throw that ridiculous box out. You might as well prove to her you're not incompetent." Though you kind of are, he silently added as Gumshoe bellowed a "Sure thing, Pal! Sir!" and pulled the box under his wide shoulder. At least this Dick in a box was considerably less offensive than the last time someone had thought it clever to present him with such a gift.