![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxysquidalsoTitle: Friday Night
Series: Ace Attorney
Word Count: 6200
Pairing: Gumshoe/Edgeworth
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Romantic comedy
Notes: Written for the kink meme, for the following prompt: "Edgeworth and Gumshoe go on their first date, only neither of them is any good at this 'dating' thing, period. Awkward and embarrassing adorableness occurs."
Friday Night.
"You're late, Detective."
"Sorry, sir!" The detective stood in the doorway, out of breath, his hair messier than usual, if that could be believed. There were two plasters on his face, as if he had made an attempt (failed) to shave his face completely, for once.
"I was all ready to go," he explained, "but when I was on my way down to my car, this sweet little old lady was walking up to the building with a bunch of groceries, and I couldn't let her carry them up the stairs all by herself. But then, while I was helping her, I kind of dropped one of the bags, and there were eggs in it, and--"
Miles held up a hand. "That's enough, Detective. In future, please remember that the aged are probably better off without your assistance in most cases."
"Okay, sir."
Miles examined the man critically. Gumshoe had changed his clothes after work; that was a relief, if a small one. The detective's suit was ill-fitting and too tight across his shoulders. It had the childishly formal look of a suit a teenager might wear to his high school graduation or cousin's wedding. Miles had never seen that necktie before. He wished he had been allowed to remain innocent of its existence.
The detective was gazing at him with a slightly stupid smile on his face, and Miles realized the man was waiting for him to say something. He should say something then, shouldn't he? It would be absolutely ridiculous for the two of them to stand staring at each other in silence.
"I remembered you like Italian, so I've made reservations at an Italian restaurant. Fortunately, your tardiness was minimal, so there's no harm done."
"That's good, sir. I tried my best to get here on time."
Gumshoe continued to loom in the doorway and smile at him, and Miles shooed him back impatiently. "There's no sense delaying any longer. Don't just stand there, let's be off."
Miles paled at the sight of the detective's automobile, such as it was, parked at the curb. "We'll take my car," he said quickly.
Unfortunately, his car fit the detective about as well as the detective's own suit. Yet Gumshoe gamely drew his knees up towards his chest and hunched over in the passenger seat. "Your car sure is nice. I always thought so, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles nodded as he started up the car. Along with the car, the silence started again, threatening to overwhelm them. He realized the detective hadn't commented on his choice of restaurant. He felt an unexpected twinge of nervousness and instantly chided himself for it, stating confidently, "You do like Italian, don't you?" Hm. How had that questioning don't you? snuck onto the end of his statement?
"Cars? Yeah, they're supposed to be the best in the world, aren't they? Don't think I'll ever be able to afford one. Unless there's a cheap kind of Italian car. Do they make one like that?"
"I meant Italian food."
"You bet! I don't think there's a kind of food I don't like. Italian's definitely in the top ten. Or even the top five. Though right now, I'm so hungry, I could probably eat anything."
"Then why did I even bother making reservations somewhere?" Miles snapped. "I could simply have handed you a plateful of burgers when you came to the door." He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but by that point, it was too late to take them back.
"Oh," said the detective quietly. "I guess so. I do like restaurants, too."
Miles stepped on the gas, sending the car flying through a yellow light. It was imperative that they arrive at the restaurant as quickly as possible, traffic laws be damned.
Yet by the time they reached their destination, Miles had all but lost his appetite. If he hadn't been so irritated, he might have felt sorry for the officer who had pulled them over. The man had quickly realized his mistake, faced with both a prosecutor and a detective, and he most probably would have waved them right on. Before he could do so, the detective had started up a conversation with the officer, about a sporting match that was being televised that night. It had been all Miles could do to keep himself from shouting at the two of them. Instead, he had said in a calm, if strained, voice that they had an appointment to keep, and the officer had backed off.
It was poor timing that as soon as the officer stepped away, before Miles could roll his window up, a car had driven by, speeding through a puddle left over from the rainstorm earlier in the day. Dirty rainwater had splashed through his open car window and onto his jacket. Miles had had a few choice words to say on the subject of policemen who pulled over law abiding prosecutors while reckless vandals were allowed to drive free.
"Come along, Detective," he said as he climbed out of the car. He could rise above the damage to his jacket. He wouldn't be dragged down by stained lapels.
"Yes, sir." In a moment's time, the man was at his heels.
The restaurant was well-reviewed and of a size often referred to as "cozy", and so, as this was a Friday evening, it was also crowded. Miles felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach as he approached the hostess. "Reservation for two, Edgeworth."
She didn't need to say anything. The expression on her face spoke volumes. A lot of little delays had added up to one large delay, and their reservations had been lost. He listened to her words anyway. "I'm so sorry. We're fully booked tonight. If there was anything I could do--"
"Quite all right," he said. "I understand." There was no sense causing a scene. It wasn't the woman's fault that they'd been late. "We'll go elsewhere." Truthfully, he despaired of finding a decent place to eat this far into the evening. He and the detective both worked late, most nights, and tonight had been no different.
If Miles had been a superstitious man, he would have suspected divine intervention, but that was so much nonsense. No, the plain fact was that this was turning out to be a terrible night. He wasn't sure if there was any way to salvage it. He was so focused on this dire thought that he was out of the restaurant and halfway to the car before be realized someone was speaking to him.
"Mr. Edgeworth," said the detective.
He turned. "Yes?"
"I've got an idea."
"Oh yes? And what's that?" For some reason, he always found himself listening to Gumshoe's ideas, no matter how far fetched or nonsensical or even infuriating they were. Franziska would have cut the man off without a thought, but Miles stood still and waited to hear what the detective had to say.
"I know where we are, and if I remember right, there's a place around here that's pretty good."
"What kind of place?" Miles asked warily.
"Not as fancy as that place," said Gumshoe, glancing back towards the establishment they had so recently exited with what looked to be a mixture of trepidation and relief. "But like I said, it's pretty good."
Miles didn't see how the evening could be made worse, and he had no better ideas. "Very well. Let's try this place of yours. I confess, I am a little curious."
"I hope you'll like it--sir." Gumshoe ran a hand through his hair, making an already messy situation worse. Miles had to restrain himself, or else he would have reached up to fix it.
It felt odd to be following the detective's lead like this. Miles put his hands in his pockets. Though the day had been rainy, the clouds had departed, leaving the evening sky clear. That was one good thing about tonight. "What is this restaurant called?"
"I don't think it has a name." That didn't sound promising. Miles's doubt must have showed on his face, because Gumshoe quickly added, "Or maybe I forgot."
As it turned out, Gumshoe was right. It didn't have a name, other than "RESTAURANT", which was what the sign said. It had a door, in a wall, and what he supposed would have passed for a window, if it had been clean enough to approach transparency. Edgeworth sniffed as he passed through the door. He was expecting to regret inhaling, certain the smell would be terrible, but he found to his surprise that it was entirely inoffensive.
RESTAURANT wasn't quite what was known as a "sit down" establishment, but there were a couple tiny tables with accompanying wooden chairs. Other than that, there was a counter and a kitchen beyond, and not much else. There were several other people milling around, probably waiting for take out orders, but the tables were vacant. Miles and the detective seated themselves at one of them, Miles careful to check the seat of his chair first.
The service was quick and efficient, if not, as Gumshoe might have put it, "fancy". A man emerged from the depths of the kitchen to give them water, napkins, cutlery, and menus. Miles asked for his cutlery to be taken back and replaced with cleaner pieces, but when the replacements were no better, he concluded that they were battered rather than dirty. The cuisine was a mixture of Mexican and American. Miles ordered vegetable fajitas, wary of eating meat that came from that kitchen.
The napkins were of coarse cloth. Gumshoe wasted no time in unfolding his and dipping it into his glass of water.
"What are you doing?" asked Miles as the detective reached across the table.
"Here, let me get that for you."
Miles had not forgotten his soiled jacket, but other events had distracted him from it. He had left the jacket on because there was a draught. The door was constantly opening and shutting as people came in to pick up food and then left again. He sat still as the detective dabbed at his jacket front with the wet napkin.
"I don't think that's going to help," said Miles, though he didn't exactly tell the man to stop. When Gumshoe had finished, his jacket was undeniably a little more damp, and possibly a bit cleaner as well. "Thank you, Detective." He did appreciate the attempt, though he would have the jacket dry cleaned as soon as possible.
"It's no problem." Gumshoe put his napkin down and smiled.
Miles nodded. A moment later, he realized something was wrong. It was that silence again, returning to plague him. There seemed to be nothing he could do to banish it. The detective's gaze was on him, but he didn't say anything. The man usually talked enough for a roomful of people. Tonight, he was oddly silent. Miles was relieved when the cook acting as their waiter finally appeared with their food.
"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Gumshoe asked hopefully in one of the few moments his mouth wasn't full following the arrival of their order.
"Yes, I'd say it's fine." It was better than he'd expected. The ingredients tasted fresh, and the atmosphere had a certain rustic, if rough, charm. Miles was more hungry than he'd realized, and he found he was almost enjoying himself. "When did you--discover this place?"
The detective lowered his hand, temporarily separating his food from his mouth. Miles saw that his jacket cuff had made contact with his plate at some point and was dripping grease onto the table. "It was while I was working a case around here. Me and some of the other guys stopped in here for lunch."
"Ah, of course."
"Yeah, one good thing about being a detective is I get out a lot, even though I work a lot, too. So I've probably seen more of the city than most people. Also, I like walking around a lot, even when I'm not working."
"Walking around?" An image came to him of the detective tramping across the city, bedraggled and sweat-stained.
"Yeah, it's fun, and best of all, it's free. Stuff being free is something that's real important to me."
Eating with the detective was certainly an experience. Miles had rarely seen anyone enjoy food with such heartfelt intensity. Wright's assistant might have been a match for him, but Gumshoe's sheer size added to the grand impression of his fervent will to inhale. His eyes were shining with emotion. Such ardor didn't make for a leisurely meal, and the detective was finished his well before Miles decided he had had enough.
When he set his fork down, he saw the way Gumshoe was eying the remains of his dinner. "Do you want to eat the rest?"
"Oh yes, sir. Please."
When they were both finished, Miles paid. There was no question of Gumshoe paying, considering their respective salaries, and there was also no question of lingering in that establishment any longer than was necessary. He herded the detective outside, a task which did not prove to be difficult, as the man followed Miles's unspoken instructions, stepping back to make way for him. Miles supposed Gumshoe had grown used to reading him, since they'd been working together so long.
Now that the detective was well fed, his spirits seemed to have risen. "I've got an idea," he announced brightly.
"And that is?"
The man was grinning broadly at him. Yes, his mood was entirely altered. Miles wondered: how hungry had he been before? "Come with me--it'll be great, you'll see."
Once again, he agreed to follow the detective. Normally, Miles would have been wary about such an unspecific invitation, but the detective hadn't done such a bad job of salvaging their ruined dinner plans. It wasn't as if they had another appointment to keep. He hadn't planned beyond dinner. He should have made other arrangements, particularly considering the way the detective devoured whatever food was set before him, but he had been so focused on dinner, on the fact that he was going to dinner with the detective, that he had, uncharacteristically, failed to consider every last detail.
There was no reason it should be so difficult to figure out what to do. What else did people do on occasions like this? The idea of sitting in a close theatre for two or so hours did not exactly appeal to him, and he wasn't certain if he and the detective would enjoy the same events: concerts or exhibits or the like. There must have been an alternative.
"See, look at this!" the detective exclaimed cheerfully.
The detective had led him to a park. It was a green, open space with stands of trees, its broad, paved paths well-lit by regularly spaced lampposts. He heard the faint sound of music--a band was playing somewhere in the area. A fair number of people, perhaps inspired by the good weather following the rain, had had the same idea as the detective. The paths were busy, full of couples and groups of friends, some quite young and some quite old, and others, like himself and the detective, somewhere in between.
"I thought it would be a nice place to walk around. And we can talk and stuff. And maybe get some ice cream or something."
Talk. Oh no, not that. They hadn't been doing very well at talking tonight. Silence was not always golden. On the contrary, it could be quite unpleasant. Yet before he could stop himself, Miles nodded, and then he was trapped. Together, they strolled forward, into the park.
As he'd feared, the obtrusive silence appeared almost at once. He struggled against it, but everything he could think to say was either too banal or related to work. The last thing he wanted was to end up discussing a case, though he could feel the urge to do so rising. Work was something they both knew about, after all, and it would be so easy to resort to talk of evidence and reports, witnesses and testimonies.
"I was really surprised when you invited me to have dinner with you, sir," said the detective easily, managing to escape the oppression of the silence.
"Oh yes?"
"Yeah, but don't get me wrong, it was really nice of you."
Suddenly, Miles had a thought. A horrible thought. What if the detective didn't realize why Miles had asked him to dinner? It was an idea that had not crossed his mind before now, but it was not implausible, was it? If that were the case, he'd be mortified. To have spent this much time with the detective believing they were on a date, only to discover that in the other man's mind it was merely a social outing between two coworkers (of sorts). It would be absolutely humiliating.
Frantically, but trying not to panic, he tried to remember what he'd said when he'd extended his invitation. He'd mentioned dinner, yes, and he had suggested a time for Gumshoe to pick him up, to which Gumshoe had readily agreed, but that was the extent of it. It hadn't been a lengthy exchange. He should have been more explicit. The detective often failed to come to what should have been obvious conclusions, and he knew that was one of the man's failings.
Until he had asked him to dinner, and the man had said yes, Miles hadn't been entirely sure that Gumshoe would be interested in a rendezvous of this nature. Now Miles saw it was still entirely possible that he wasn't interested. It wasn't as if they'd ever discussed matters of that sort before, matters of preference.
"Um, sir?" the detective asked hesitantly, and Miles realized some minutes must have passed in which he hadn't said anything. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Miles said, too quickly.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, of course not. Why would you think so?"
"Well--you look pretty upset."
They had been walking all this time, but at this, Miles paused. Just there, the path passed by a fountain, and Miles stepped off the pavement, walking towards the water. Gumshoe followed. There were no benches beside the fountain, although that would have been an ideal place for them, so no one had lingered there. Miles blamed poor municipal engineering. However, it was a pleasant enough fountain. There were two lampposts situated near it, and he stood watching the play of the light over the water.
"Mr. Edgeworth?" the detective asked. When Miles didn't respond right away, he asked, "I guess I messed up somehow, huh?"
"Can I ask you a question, Detective?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure thing! You don't have to ask to ask me a question. I mean, you ask me questions all the time. Though I don't always know the answers. But I try my best."
When facing an unpleasant conversation, he had found it was best to get right to the point. Hesitation served no purpose. "Detective. You are aware, aren't you, that this is a--a date?" He wavered only because he disliked that word. It had a juvenile sound.
"Oh," said the detective.
Miles glanced at him sharply. The detective's eyes were wide; they had a startled look. He was right, wasn't he? Gumshoe had had no idea, and Miles had made a fool of himself. He'd never be able to look the man in the face again.
"Sure I am," Gumshoe said. "What else would it be? This is Friday night, right? And you asked me out to dinner. So it must be a date."
Miles supposed there was a kind of logic at work in the detective's mind. He tried not to appear visibly relieved as the detective went on.
"Nobody would ask someone out to dinner on Friday night unless it was a date. Unless they made really really sure the other person knew it wasn't a date and said something like, 'I'd like to go out for dinner with you on Friday, but it isn't a date, it's just as friends--'"
Miles had regained enough of his composure to interrupt. "Yes, I get the idea."
The detective sighed. "I must've messed up really bad if you had to ask me that."
Miles studied his face. It was never difficult to tell what the detective was feeling. He had a remarkably open manner, and there was no question that he was upset now. His eyes were shining quite pitifully. Miles was about to speak, but Gumshoe was too quick for him. "I have a confession," the detective blurted.
Miles suppressed a shudder at the sound of those words. They were usually excellent words for a prosecutor to hear, but he would rather not have heard them in a situation like this.
"You see," Gumshoe went on, "I made a terrible mistake."
This was just getting worse. Miles cringed.
"I don't go on a lot of dates, and when you asked me out to dinner, I--at first I thought I hadn't heard you right, but I asked you again, and you said the same thing again."
Miles did recall that the detective had seemed particularly hard of hearing that day.
"So I figured it must be true. But if we were really going to go on a date, I wanted to make sure I did everything right, so I thought I should buy you some flowers. I don't know a lot about flowers, though, and I wanted to buy them early to make sure I didn't forget. I'm always forgetting stuff like that. I went out and bought some really nice flowers the next day. For the first couple days that I had them in my apartment, they were okay, but when I woke up this morning, they weren't looking so good. They were all droopy, and some of the petals had fallen off.
"Still, I thought it was no big deal, I could get you some more flowers. I could afford them if I cut out food for a couple days. But I didn't have time to buy flowers before work, since I slept through my alarm, and after I got home, everything kept going wrong. First I spilled oil on myself, and then I cut myself twice while I was shaving. And it took me forever to find my going out clothes, because I'd left them in the trunk of my car a while ago and didn't remember I'd done it."
Miles was too taken aback by this gushing, shamefaced monologue to interrupt. The detective seemed so heartbroken, all because of a simple failure on his part to bring a few flowers along.
"Finally, I was ready, and because I was trying extra hard not to be late, I still had plenty of time left to get to your place. I told myself I could get flowers on the way. But then I saw that little old lady, like I told you. I had so much time left, though, sir! Like I said! I thought I could risk helping her. I didn't know I was going to drop anything. But I dropped the bag with the eggs in it, and I ended up getting eggs all over myself, so after that, I had to go back inside and clean myself up.
"At that point, I only had a little time--but there was some, so I stopped at a convenience store on the way to come get you, to see if they had any flowers there. Lucky for me, they did have flowers, but unluckily, right when I got there, some guy suddenly tried to rob the place, so I had to stop him and put him under arrest. Then a lot of other cops showed up, and it got so busy in there that I didn't feel like it would be right to make everyone stop what they were doing so I could buy you some flowers. I wouldn't think you'd want flowers that were an obstruction of justice, sir."
The detective paused, his eyes still big and shining. Miles felt he was being called upon to say something. "No. You're right. I certainly wouldn't. You did the right thing, Detective."
At this, the detective seemed a little happier, a tentative smile interrupting his frown. "I'm sorry I let you down." He paused. "Are you mad that I didn't bring anything, sir? Maybe I should have bought you some candy instead."
"No, I don't care for candy." What he really didn't care for was the kind of candy the detective could afford on his salary. There was no way Miles would willingly ingest cheap chocolate.
"But flowers are okay, right?"
"What kind of flowers were they?" Miles asked. Not that it mattered now, but for some reason, he was curious.
"Roses. Those are the best, right?"
He was sure they'd been the cheapest possible grocery store variety of roses, but despite himself, he was touched. "Roses are fine," he said. "Thank you, Detective."
"You're welcome, sir."
Miles reflected. It was absurd, wasn't it, for them to continue to address each other as "Detective" and "sir" at this stage? "What am I supposed to call you?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"What do you want me to call you? I can't go on calling you Detective when we're out here, in the park, taking a walk. That's just too ridiculous, don't you think?"
"If you like calling me Detective, sir, that's fine. I'm kind of used to it. But you can call me whatever you want. Just don't call me late for dinner, like my mom always used to say."
"I'd hardly call you late for dinner when we've already eaten."
The detective laughed. "That's a good one, sir!"
"Fine. I'll call you Richard, then." He felt embarrassed for some reason, folding his arms and looking at the fountain again instead of the detective.
"Okay, that works." The detective was quiet for a moment before asking, "And what should I call you?"
Miles hesitated. Was he ready? No, he didn't think he could do it, not yet. A first name basis was a huge step. "Mr. Edgeworth will do--for now." He added quickly, because he felt he owed the man some explanation, "I don't do a lot of dating myself."
"Really, sir? You, sir?"
"Yes. Why do you sound surprised?"
"It's just that you're so handsome, Mr. Edgeworth. I know the ladies like you a lot. And I'm sure men do, too. Or whoever you wanted to date."
"Perhaps that's true, but I don't necessarily like other people a lot."
"Okay. Gotcha. Then--" The detective sounded nervous, so he broke off before resuming uncertainly, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes, if you like."
"Why did you want to go on a date with me?" He laughed again, but it wasn't the same laughter Miles's earlier joke had inspired. This time, Miles could hear the anxiety in the sound. "Not that you have to answer if you don't want to. If you think it's a stupid question or something."
Miles continued to stare at the fountain, quite intent upon it. He didn't know what to say to that, but it wasn't a stupid question. Perhaps he didn't precisely owe the detective an explanation, but there was no good reason to deny him one. He saw no need to mention the man's build, or his height, or his jaw at this juncture, but those weren't the only factors that had influenced his decision. "You've always been kind to me," he said. "Even when I didn't deserve it."
"Don't say that. You always deserved people being nice to you. You're a great guy, Mr. Edgeworth, you're just grumpy sometimes."
Miles turned towards him, eyes widening. "I'm--grumpy?"
Gumshoe took a step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it! I don't mind grumpy people at all. I'm used to them. There are guys at the station who are way more grumpy than you. Or maybe not way more, but at least as grumpy."
"You have quite a way with words, Richard," said Miles, shaking his head. "Honestly, I don't know if I should be offended or laugh."
"I'd prefer it if you laughed, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles did chuckle at this, briefly. "I suppose your candor is refreshing. That is something else I like about you. You don't have any secrets. I dislike secrets."
"Yeah, me too. Whenever I tried to keep a secret as a kid, I'd get all mixed up about it and spill the beans by accident. That got me in a lot of trouble with my friends. They called me Bigmouth Dick, which was really embarrassing."
Miles shook his head again. He wasn't going to comment on that nickname. "I don't know if that's necessarily a good quality for a detective."
"Yeah, probably not," the detective admitted, unconcerned by his own failings as usual. "But I'm lots better about it now. Like when you tell me to keep something a secret. Most of the time, I don't tell anyone. Or if you say I should help Mr. Wright, and he tells me to keep something to myself. I'm getting good at it, I think."
Miles wanted to say that that was debatable, but it was customary to say nice things on such an outing, so he steeled himself and made an effort. "I suppose you have shown some improvement."
"Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth!"
Miles smiled briefly in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion.
"Can I ask you another question?" That nervous tone had returned to the man's voice.
"Yes. And after this, I think we can dispense with all further asking to ask questions, if you don't mind. It's growing tiresome."
"Okay, that's the last time I'll ask. Promise."
After a pause, with no question forthcoming, it was Miles who asked, "What is it you 'd like to ask me?"
"It's kind of embarrassing."
What wasn't embarrassing about tonight? "Out with it."
"Could I hold your hand?"
He was so startled, he didn't respond right away.
"If not, that's okay," said Gumshoe quickly. "I thought I'd ask, that's all."
"No, it's fine." He took a deep breath, then extended a hand. "Here."
The detective's hand enfolded his. It was warm and unexpectedly dry. Miles didn't know what to do next. It was unbelievable, two grown men standing in the park, holding hands as awkwardly as grade schoolers. Yet at the same time, he felt an unexpected warmth and had to glance away.
He stood it for as long as he could. "That's enough hand-holding for now, I think."
Gumshoe sounded slightly dazed when he replied, but he let go of Miles's hand at once. "Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."
He might not have wanted to admit it, but he was forced to, after listening to the detective say it twice in a row: the man calling him "Mr. Edgeworth" was a bit silly in this situation. "Richard, I have changed my mind. I will permit you to call me Miles. But only in private, and never while we are working. In fact, if you even once call me by my first name in a professional setting, I will revoke your right to do so." Perhaps it sounded harsh, but he had no choice. He had been trying for years to break the detective of the disrespectful habit of calling him "pal", and the man still slipped up every now and then.
He didn't think he'd ever heard the detective sound so happy, and that was saying a great deal. "Yes, Miles! I won't let you down, sir--I mean, Miles. I'll be extra careful."
"See that you are, Richard." How odd. All at once, he began to feel rather happy himself. "Now, let us resume our date."
Miles was not expecting to find himself crushed so suddenly and completely in an embrace. He temporarily lost his footing, and if not for the two large arms holding him up, he probably would have stumbled. "I'm so glad I didn't ruin it!"
Miles tried not to inhale, but he did. Just as in the little restaurant, the scent he inhaled was a good deal better than he'd expected, even if Gumshoe had strange taste in aftershave and cologne--if that was what he was smelling. It could have been something the man had accidentally spilled on himself. But overall, it was a nice scent, and surely the detective didn't notice if he waited a few moments before saying, "No, no, you didn't, but you're going to ruin me if you don't stop squeezing me like that."
As before, Gumshoe released him at once, but his excitement did not lessen. "I've got another great idea!" he announced.
Miles was surprised to find that he was looking forward to hearing this idea. "And what is that?"
"I'm going to buy you some ice cream."
"Ice cream?" The detective's ideas about dating were a trifle immature, but Miles, upon reflection, realized that he didn't mind. "All right. I have no objections to ice cream. But I can pay."
"No way. You bought me dinner, so I'm buying you ice cream. It's not a problem, pal!" In his enthusiasm, Gumshoe was forgetting which words he wasn't supposed to say, but Miles decided to let that one pass. "Remember, I didn't get a chance to buy flowers at the convenience store. I've still got that money. I can buy you as much ice cream as you want. A triple scoop, even."
"I don't think I'll be wanting that much ice cream."
"I definitely will."
"I would expect no less from you, Richard."
Miles had never enjoyed the senseless ritual of dating, but a date with the detective was no ordinary date. He was thankful for that. The rest of the evening was disaster-free, and Miles was even feeling relaxed by the time he pulled into his parking spot. Gumshoe insisted on walking him to his door, and he felt too at ease to protest.
Once he was at the door, he unlocked it, then lingered for some reason. Gumshoe stood gazing at him, as if waiting to be dismissed.
"I'll see you next Friday night," said Miles.
"Yes? You will?" Gumshoe blinked. "I mean, yes! You will!"
The man looked so ecstatic that Miles went on hurriedly before he could say something absurd. "And don't be late this time! I'm going to make reservations at that restaurant again, and I'm determined that we will get there on time."
"That fancy restaurant?"
"That's right, Richard. And I'll have to see about getting you a better suit to wear. That one doesn't fit you at all."
"My going out suit?" Gumshoe looked down at himself. "You don't like it?"
Miles felt it would be best not to say something unkind so close to the end of their date, so he said the nicest thing he could muster. "I suppose it could be worse."
"You don't have to buy me a new suit, but if you did, I'd wear it."
"I'm sure it will be more comfortable than the one you're wearing now, as it will actually fit you."
"That sounds great, then. I love comfortable clothes."
"I'm not surprised."
The detective smiled at him. He had a pleasant, open smile. In that moment, Miles made a decision.
"Richard," he said.
"Um, yeah?"
"You may kiss me now." He raised his chin.
"Oh. Yes, Mr. Edgeworth." He'd forgotten their first name basis, but Miles didn't remind him. The man leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
"Richard," said Miles, once the other man had drawn back.
"Y-yes?"
"We are not children, and I would like a proper kiss."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles closed his eyes. The kiss was unexpectedly soft. He'd thought the detective might be clumsy, but that had been an unfair assumption. The man was gentle and careful, slowly slipping his tongue between Miles's lips. Then he felt the man's hand settle on the side of his face, a light touch, almost as if he were afraid Miles would pull away.
Miles did eventually pull away, but it was more because he thought he should than because he wanted to. "That's enough kissing for now," he said, aware that he must have sounded out of breath. He felt out of breath. "I'll see you next Friday night," he said again, hurriedly.
"Yeah, and I'm sure I'll see you at work before then!"
The detective liked to state the obvious. It was usually annoying, but tonight, Miles was willing to consider it endearing. "Yes, no doubt. Good night, Richard."
"Good night, Miles."
Series: Ace Attorney
Word Count: 6200
Pairing: Gumshoe/Edgeworth
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Romantic comedy
Notes: Written for the kink meme, for the following prompt: "Edgeworth and Gumshoe go on their first date, only neither of them is any good at this 'dating' thing, period. Awkward and embarrassing adorableness occurs."
Friday Night.
"You're late, Detective."
"Sorry, sir!" The detective stood in the doorway, out of breath, his hair messier than usual, if that could be believed. There were two plasters on his face, as if he had made an attempt (failed) to shave his face completely, for once.
"I was all ready to go," he explained, "but when I was on my way down to my car, this sweet little old lady was walking up to the building with a bunch of groceries, and I couldn't let her carry them up the stairs all by herself. But then, while I was helping her, I kind of dropped one of the bags, and there were eggs in it, and--"
Miles held up a hand. "That's enough, Detective. In future, please remember that the aged are probably better off without your assistance in most cases."
"Okay, sir."
Miles examined the man critically. Gumshoe had changed his clothes after work; that was a relief, if a small one. The detective's suit was ill-fitting and too tight across his shoulders. It had the childishly formal look of a suit a teenager might wear to his high school graduation or cousin's wedding. Miles had never seen that necktie before. He wished he had been allowed to remain innocent of its existence.
The detective was gazing at him with a slightly stupid smile on his face, and Miles realized the man was waiting for him to say something. He should say something then, shouldn't he? It would be absolutely ridiculous for the two of them to stand staring at each other in silence.
"I remembered you like Italian, so I've made reservations at an Italian restaurant. Fortunately, your tardiness was minimal, so there's no harm done."
"That's good, sir. I tried my best to get here on time."
Gumshoe continued to loom in the doorway and smile at him, and Miles shooed him back impatiently. "There's no sense delaying any longer. Don't just stand there, let's be off."
Miles paled at the sight of the detective's automobile, such as it was, parked at the curb. "We'll take my car," he said quickly.
Unfortunately, his car fit the detective about as well as the detective's own suit. Yet Gumshoe gamely drew his knees up towards his chest and hunched over in the passenger seat. "Your car sure is nice. I always thought so, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles nodded as he started up the car. Along with the car, the silence started again, threatening to overwhelm them. He realized the detective hadn't commented on his choice of restaurant. He felt an unexpected twinge of nervousness and instantly chided himself for it, stating confidently, "You do like Italian, don't you?" Hm. How had that questioning don't you? snuck onto the end of his statement?
"Cars? Yeah, they're supposed to be the best in the world, aren't they? Don't think I'll ever be able to afford one. Unless there's a cheap kind of Italian car. Do they make one like that?"
"I meant Italian food."
"You bet! I don't think there's a kind of food I don't like. Italian's definitely in the top ten. Or even the top five. Though right now, I'm so hungry, I could probably eat anything."
"Then why did I even bother making reservations somewhere?" Miles snapped. "I could simply have handed you a plateful of burgers when you came to the door." He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but by that point, it was too late to take them back.
"Oh," said the detective quietly. "I guess so. I do like restaurants, too."
Miles stepped on the gas, sending the car flying through a yellow light. It was imperative that they arrive at the restaurant as quickly as possible, traffic laws be damned.
Yet by the time they reached their destination, Miles had all but lost his appetite. If he hadn't been so irritated, he might have felt sorry for the officer who had pulled them over. The man had quickly realized his mistake, faced with both a prosecutor and a detective, and he most probably would have waved them right on. Before he could do so, the detective had started up a conversation with the officer, about a sporting match that was being televised that night. It had been all Miles could do to keep himself from shouting at the two of them. Instead, he had said in a calm, if strained, voice that they had an appointment to keep, and the officer had backed off.
It was poor timing that as soon as the officer stepped away, before Miles could roll his window up, a car had driven by, speeding through a puddle left over from the rainstorm earlier in the day. Dirty rainwater had splashed through his open car window and onto his jacket. Miles had had a few choice words to say on the subject of policemen who pulled over law abiding prosecutors while reckless vandals were allowed to drive free.
"Come along, Detective," he said as he climbed out of the car. He could rise above the damage to his jacket. He wouldn't be dragged down by stained lapels.
"Yes, sir." In a moment's time, the man was at his heels.
The restaurant was well-reviewed and of a size often referred to as "cozy", and so, as this was a Friday evening, it was also crowded. Miles felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach as he approached the hostess. "Reservation for two, Edgeworth."
She didn't need to say anything. The expression on her face spoke volumes. A lot of little delays had added up to one large delay, and their reservations had been lost. He listened to her words anyway. "I'm so sorry. We're fully booked tonight. If there was anything I could do--"
"Quite all right," he said. "I understand." There was no sense causing a scene. It wasn't the woman's fault that they'd been late. "We'll go elsewhere." Truthfully, he despaired of finding a decent place to eat this far into the evening. He and the detective both worked late, most nights, and tonight had been no different.
If Miles had been a superstitious man, he would have suspected divine intervention, but that was so much nonsense. No, the plain fact was that this was turning out to be a terrible night. He wasn't sure if there was any way to salvage it. He was so focused on this dire thought that he was out of the restaurant and halfway to the car before be realized someone was speaking to him.
"Mr. Edgeworth," said the detective.
He turned. "Yes?"
"I've got an idea."
"Oh yes? And what's that?" For some reason, he always found himself listening to Gumshoe's ideas, no matter how far fetched or nonsensical or even infuriating they were. Franziska would have cut the man off without a thought, but Miles stood still and waited to hear what the detective had to say.
"I know where we are, and if I remember right, there's a place around here that's pretty good."
"What kind of place?" Miles asked warily.
"Not as fancy as that place," said Gumshoe, glancing back towards the establishment they had so recently exited with what looked to be a mixture of trepidation and relief. "But like I said, it's pretty good."
Miles didn't see how the evening could be made worse, and he had no better ideas. "Very well. Let's try this place of yours. I confess, I am a little curious."
"I hope you'll like it--sir." Gumshoe ran a hand through his hair, making an already messy situation worse. Miles had to restrain himself, or else he would have reached up to fix it.
It felt odd to be following the detective's lead like this. Miles put his hands in his pockets. Though the day had been rainy, the clouds had departed, leaving the evening sky clear. That was one good thing about tonight. "What is this restaurant called?"
"I don't think it has a name." That didn't sound promising. Miles's doubt must have showed on his face, because Gumshoe quickly added, "Or maybe I forgot."
As it turned out, Gumshoe was right. It didn't have a name, other than "RESTAURANT", which was what the sign said. It had a door, in a wall, and what he supposed would have passed for a window, if it had been clean enough to approach transparency. Edgeworth sniffed as he passed through the door. He was expecting to regret inhaling, certain the smell would be terrible, but he found to his surprise that it was entirely inoffensive.
RESTAURANT wasn't quite what was known as a "sit down" establishment, but there were a couple tiny tables with accompanying wooden chairs. Other than that, there was a counter and a kitchen beyond, and not much else. There were several other people milling around, probably waiting for take out orders, but the tables were vacant. Miles and the detective seated themselves at one of them, Miles careful to check the seat of his chair first.
The service was quick and efficient, if not, as Gumshoe might have put it, "fancy". A man emerged from the depths of the kitchen to give them water, napkins, cutlery, and menus. Miles asked for his cutlery to be taken back and replaced with cleaner pieces, but when the replacements were no better, he concluded that they were battered rather than dirty. The cuisine was a mixture of Mexican and American. Miles ordered vegetable fajitas, wary of eating meat that came from that kitchen.
The napkins were of coarse cloth. Gumshoe wasted no time in unfolding his and dipping it into his glass of water.
"What are you doing?" asked Miles as the detective reached across the table.
"Here, let me get that for you."
Miles had not forgotten his soiled jacket, but other events had distracted him from it. He had left the jacket on because there was a draught. The door was constantly opening and shutting as people came in to pick up food and then left again. He sat still as the detective dabbed at his jacket front with the wet napkin.
"I don't think that's going to help," said Miles, though he didn't exactly tell the man to stop. When Gumshoe had finished, his jacket was undeniably a little more damp, and possibly a bit cleaner as well. "Thank you, Detective." He did appreciate the attempt, though he would have the jacket dry cleaned as soon as possible.
"It's no problem." Gumshoe put his napkin down and smiled.
Miles nodded. A moment later, he realized something was wrong. It was that silence again, returning to plague him. There seemed to be nothing he could do to banish it. The detective's gaze was on him, but he didn't say anything. The man usually talked enough for a roomful of people. Tonight, he was oddly silent. Miles was relieved when the cook acting as their waiter finally appeared with their food.
"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Gumshoe asked hopefully in one of the few moments his mouth wasn't full following the arrival of their order.
"Yes, I'd say it's fine." It was better than he'd expected. The ingredients tasted fresh, and the atmosphere had a certain rustic, if rough, charm. Miles was more hungry than he'd realized, and he found he was almost enjoying himself. "When did you--discover this place?"
The detective lowered his hand, temporarily separating his food from his mouth. Miles saw that his jacket cuff had made contact with his plate at some point and was dripping grease onto the table. "It was while I was working a case around here. Me and some of the other guys stopped in here for lunch."
"Ah, of course."
"Yeah, one good thing about being a detective is I get out a lot, even though I work a lot, too. So I've probably seen more of the city than most people. Also, I like walking around a lot, even when I'm not working."
"Walking around?" An image came to him of the detective tramping across the city, bedraggled and sweat-stained.
"Yeah, it's fun, and best of all, it's free. Stuff being free is something that's real important to me."
Eating with the detective was certainly an experience. Miles had rarely seen anyone enjoy food with such heartfelt intensity. Wright's assistant might have been a match for him, but Gumshoe's sheer size added to the grand impression of his fervent will to inhale. His eyes were shining with emotion. Such ardor didn't make for a leisurely meal, and the detective was finished his well before Miles decided he had had enough.
When he set his fork down, he saw the way Gumshoe was eying the remains of his dinner. "Do you want to eat the rest?"
"Oh yes, sir. Please."
When they were both finished, Miles paid. There was no question of Gumshoe paying, considering their respective salaries, and there was also no question of lingering in that establishment any longer than was necessary. He herded the detective outside, a task which did not prove to be difficult, as the man followed Miles's unspoken instructions, stepping back to make way for him. Miles supposed Gumshoe had grown used to reading him, since they'd been working together so long.
Now that the detective was well fed, his spirits seemed to have risen. "I've got an idea," he announced brightly.
"And that is?"
The man was grinning broadly at him. Yes, his mood was entirely altered. Miles wondered: how hungry had he been before? "Come with me--it'll be great, you'll see."
Once again, he agreed to follow the detective. Normally, Miles would have been wary about such an unspecific invitation, but the detective hadn't done such a bad job of salvaging their ruined dinner plans. It wasn't as if they had another appointment to keep. He hadn't planned beyond dinner. He should have made other arrangements, particularly considering the way the detective devoured whatever food was set before him, but he had been so focused on dinner, on the fact that he was going to dinner with the detective, that he had, uncharacteristically, failed to consider every last detail.
There was no reason it should be so difficult to figure out what to do. What else did people do on occasions like this? The idea of sitting in a close theatre for two or so hours did not exactly appeal to him, and he wasn't certain if he and the detective would enjoy the same events: concerts or exhibits or the like. There must have been an alternative.
"See, look at this!" the detective exclaimed cheerfully.
The detective had led him to a park. It was a green, open space with stands of trees, its broad, paved paths well-lit by regularly spaced lampposts. He heard the faint sound of music--a band was playing somewhere in the area. A fair number of people, perhaps inspired by the good weather following the rain, had had the same idea as the detective. The paths were busy, full of couples and groups of friends, some quite young and some quite old, and others, like himself and the detective, somewhere in between.
"I thought it would be a nice place to walk around. And we can talk and stuff. And maybe get some ice cream or something."
Talk. Oh no, not that. They hadn't been doing very well at talking tonight. Silence was not always golden. On the contrary, it could be quite unpleasant. Yet before he could stop himself, Miles nodded, and then he was trapped. Together, they strolled forward, into the park.
As he'd feared, the obtrusive silence appeared almost at once. He struggled against it, but everything he could think to say was either too banal or related to work. The last thing he wanted was to end up discussing a case, though he could feel the urge to do so rising. Work was something they both knew about, after all, and it would be so easy to resort to talk of evidence and reports, witnesses and testimonies.
"I was really surprised when you invited me to have dinner with you, sir," said the detective easily, managing to escape the oppression of the silence.
"Oh yes?"
"Yeah, but don't get me wrong, it was really nice of you."
Suddenly, Miles had a thought. A horrible thought. What if the detective didn't realize why Miles had asked him to dinner? It was an idea that had not crossed his mind before now, but it was not implausible, was it? If that were the case, he'd be mortified. To have spent this much time with the detective believing they were on a date, only to discover that in the other man's mind it was merely a social outing between two coworkers (of sorts). It would be absolutely humiliating.
Frantically, but trying not to panic, he tried to remember what he'd said when he'd extended his invitation. He'd mentioned dinner, yes, and he had suggested a time for Gumshoe to pick him up, to which Gumshoe had readily agreed, but that was the extent of it. It hadn't been a lengthy exchange. He should have been more explicit. The detective often failed to come to what should have been obvious conclusions, and he knew that was one of the man's failings.
Until he had asked him to dinner, and the man had said yes, Miles hadn't been entirely sure that Gumshoe would be interested in a rendezvous of this nature. Now Miles saw it was still entirely possible that he wasn't interested. It wasn't as if they'd ever discussed matters of that sort before, matters of preference.
"Um, sir?" the detective asked hesitantly, and Miles realized some minutes must have passed in which he hadn't said anything. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Miles said, too quickly.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, of course not. Why would you think so?"
"Well--you look pretty upset."
They had been walking all this time, but at this, Miles paused. Just there, the path passed by a fountain, and Miles stepped off the pavement, walking towards the water. Gumshoe followed. There were no benches beside the fountain, although that would have been an ideal place for them, so no one had lingered there. Miles blamed poor municipal engineering. However, it was a pleasant enough fountain. There were two lampposts situated near it, and he stood watching the play of the light over the water.
"Mr. Edgeworth?" the detective asked. When Miles didn't respond right away, he asked, "I guess I messed up somehow, huh?"
"Can I ask you a question, Detective?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure thing! You don't have to ask to ask me a question. I mean, you ask me questions all the time. Though I don't always know the answers. But I try my best."
When facing an unpleasant conversation, he had found it was best to get right to the point. Hesitation served no purpose. "Detective. You are aware, aren't you, that this is a--a date?" He wavered only because he disliked that word. It had a juvenile sound.
"Oh," said the detective.
Miles glanced at him sharply. The detective's eyes were wide; they had a startled look. He was right, wasn't he? Gumshoe had had no idea, and Miles had made a fool of himself. He'd never be able to look the man in the face again.
"Sure I am," Gumshoe said. "What else would it be? This is Friday night, right? And you asked me out to dinner. So it must be a date."
Miles supposed there was a kind of logic at work in the detective's mind. He tried not to appear visibly relieved as the detective went on.
"Nobody would ask someone out to dinner on Friday night unless it was a date. Unless they made really really sure the other person knew it wasn't a date and said something like, 'I'd like to go out for dinner with you on Friday, but it isn't a date, it's just as friends--'"
Miles had regained enough of his composure to interrupt. "Yes, I get the idea."
The detective sighed. "I must've messed up really bad if you had to ask me that."
Miles studied his face. It was never difficult to tell what the detective was feeling. He had a remarkably open manner, and there was no question that he was upset now. His eyes were shining quite pitifully. Miles was about to speak, but Gumshoe was too quick for him. "I have a confession," the detective blurted.
Miles suppressed a shudder at the sound of those words. They were usually excellent words for a prosecutor to hear, but he would rather not have heard them in a situation like this.
"You see," Gumshoe went on, "I made a terrible mistake."
This was just getting worse. Miles cringed.
"I don't go on a lot of dates, and when you asked me out to dinner, I--at first I thought I hadn't heard you right, but I asked you again, and you said the same thing again."
Miles did recall that the detective had seemed particularly hard of hearing that day.
"So I figured it must be true. But if we were really going to go on a date, I wanted to make sure I did everything right, so I thought I should buy you some flowers. I don't know a lot about flowers, though, and I wanted to buy them early to make sure I didn't forget. I'm always forgetting stuff like that. I went out and bought some really nice flowers the next day. For the first couple days that I had them in my apartment, they were okay, but when I woke up this morning, they weren't looking so good. They were all droopy, and some of the petals had fallen off.
"Still, I thought it was no big deal, I could get you some more flowers. I could afford them if I cut out food for a couple days. But I didn't have time to buy flowers before work, since I slept through my alarm, and after I got home, everything kept going wrong. First I spilled oil on myself, and then I cut myself twice while I was shaving. And it took me forever to find my going out clothes, because I'd left them in the trunk of my car a while ago and didn't remember I'd done it."
Miles was too taken aback by this gushing, shamefaced monologue to interrupt. The detective seemed so heartbroken, all because of a simple failure on his part to bring a few flowers along.
"Finally, I was ready, and because I was trying extra hard not to be late, I still had plenty of time left to get to your place. I told myself I could get flowers on the way. But then I saw that little old lady, like I told you. I had so much time left, though, sir! Like I said! I thought I could risk helping her. I didn't know I was going to drop anything. But I dropped the bag with the eggs in it, and I ended up getting eggs all over myself, so after that, I had to go back inside and clean myself up.
"At that point, I only had a little time--but there was some, so I stopped at a convenience store on the way to come get you, to see if they had any flowers there. Lucky for me, they did have flowers, but unluckily, right when I got there, some guy suddenly tried to rob the place, so I had to stop him and put him under arrest. Then a lot of other cops showed up, and it got so busy in there that I didn't feel like it would be right to make everyone stop what they were doing so I could buy you some flowers. I wouldn't think you'd want flowers that were an obstruction of justice, sir."
The detective paused, his eyes still big and shining. Miles felt he was being called upon to say something. "No. You're right. I certainly wouldn't. You did the right thing, Detective."
At this, the detective seemed a little happier, a tentative smile interrupting his frown. "I'm sorry I let you down." He paused. "Are you mad that I didn't bring anything, sir? Maybe I should have bought you some candy instead."
"No, I don't care for candy." What he really didn't care for was the kind of candy the detective could afford on his salary. There was no way Miles would willingly ingest cheap chocolate.
"But flowers are okay, right?"
"What kind of flowers were they?" Miles asked. Not that it mattered now, but for some reason, he was curious.
"Roses. Those are the best, right?"
He was sure they'd been the cheapest possible grocery store variety of roses, but despite himself, he was touched. "Roses are fine," he said. "Thank you, Detective."
"You're welcome, sir."
Miles reflected. It was absurd, wasn't it, for them to continue to address each other as "Detective" and "sir" at this stage? "What am I supposed to call you?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"What do you want me to call you? I can't go on calling you Detective when we're out here, in the park, taking a walk. That's just too ridiculous, don't you think?"
"If you like calling me Detective, sir, that's fine. I'm kind of used to it. But you can call me whatever you want. Just don't call me late for dinner, like my mom always used to say."
"I'd hardly call you late for dinner when we've already eaten."
The detective laughed. "That's a good one, sir!"
"Fine. I'll call you Richard, then." He felt embarrassed for some reason, folding his arms and looking at the fountain again instead of the detective.
"Okay, that works." The detective was quiet for a moment before asking, "And what should I call you?"
Miles hesitated. Was he ready? No, he didn't think he could do it, not yet. A first name basis was a huge step. "Mr. Edgeworth will do--for now." He added quickly, because he felt he owed the man some explanation, "I don't do a lot of dating myself."
"Really, sir? You, sir?"
"Yes. Why do you sound surprised?"
"It's just that you're so handsome, Mr. Edgeworth. I know the ladies like you a lot. And I'm sure men do, too. Or whoever you wanted to date."
"Perhaps that's true, but I don't necessarily like other people a lot."
"Okay. Gotcha. Then--" The detective sounded nervous, so he broke off before resuming uncertainly, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes, if you like."
"Why did you want to go on a date with me?" He laughed again, but it wasn't the same laughter Miles's earlier joke had inspired. This time, Miles could hear the anxiety in the sound. "Not that you have to answer if you don't want to. If you think it's a stupid question or something."
Miles continued to stare at the fountain, quite intent upon it. He didn't know what to say to that, but it wasn't a stupid question. Perhaps he didn't precisely owe the detective an explanation, but there was no good reason to deny him one. He saw no need to mention the man's build, or his height, or his jaw at this juncture, but those weren't the only factors that had influenced his decision. "You've always been kind to me," he said. "Even when I didn't deserve it."
"Don't say that. You always deserved people being nice to you. You're a great guy, Mr. Edgeworth, you're just grumpy sometimes."
Miles turned towards him, eyes widening. "I'm--grumpy?"
Gumshoe took a step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it! I don't mind grumpy people at all. I'm used to them. There are guys at the station who are way more grumpy than you. Or maybe not way more, but at least as grumpy."
"You have quite a way with words, Richard," said Miles, shaking his head. "Honestly, I don't know if I should be offended or laugh."
"I'd prefer it if you laughed, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles did chuckle at this, briefly. "I suppose your candor is refreshing. That is something else I like about you. You don't have any secrets. I dislike secrets."
"Yeah, me too. Whenever I tried to keep a secret as a kid, I'd get all mixed up about it and spill the beans by accident. That got me in a lot of trouble with my friends. They called me Bigmouth Dick, which was really embarrassing."
Miles shook his head again. He wasn't going to comment on that nickname. "I don't know if that's necessarily a good quality for a detective."
"Yeah, probably not," the detective admitted, unconcerned by his own failings as usual. "But I'm lots better about it now. Like when you tell me to keep something a secret. Most of the time, I don't tell anyone. Or if you say I should help Mr. Wright, and he tells me to keep something to myself. I'm getting good at it, I think."
Miles wanted to say that that was debatable, but it was customary to say nice things on such an outing, so he steeled himself and made an effort. "I suppose you have shown some improvement."
"Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth!"
Miles smiled briefly in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion.
"Can I ask you another question?" That nervous tone had returned to the man's voice.
"Yes. And after this, I think we can dispense with all further asking to ask questions, if you don't mind. It's growing tiresome."
"Okay, that's the last time I'll ask. Promise."
After a pause, with no question forthcoming, it was Miles who asked, "What is it you 'd like to ask me?"
"It's kind of embarrassing."
What wasn't embarrassing about tonight? "Out with it."
"Could I hold your hand?"
He was so startled, he didn't respond right away.
"If not, that's okay," said Gumshoe quickly. "I thought I'd ask, that's all."
"No, it's fine." He took a deep breath, then extended a hand. "Here."
The detective's hand enfolded his. It was warm and unexpectedly dry. Miles didn't know what to do next. It was unbelievable, two grown men standing in the park, holding hands as awkwardly as grade schoolers. Yet at the same time, he felt an unexpected warmth and had to glance away.
He stood it for as long as he could. "That's enough hand-holding for now, I think."
Gumshoe sounded slightly dazed when he replied, but he let go of Miles's hand at once. "Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."
He might not have wanted to admit it, but he was forced to, after listening to the detective say it twice in a row: the man calling him "Mr. Edgeworth" was a bit silly in this situation. "Richard, I have changed my mind. I will permit you to call me Miles. But only in private, and never while we are working. In fact, if you even once call me by my first name in a professional setting, I will revoke your right to do so." Perhaps it sounded harsh, but he had no choice. He had been trying for years to break the detective of the disrespectful habit of calling him "pal", and the man still slipped up every now and then.
He didn't think he'd ever heard the detective sound so happy, and that was saying a great deal. "Yes, Miles! I won't let you down, sir--I mean, Miles. I'll be extra careful."
"See that you are, Richard." How odd. All at once, he began to feel rather happy himself. "Now, let us resume our date."
Miles was not expecting to find himself crushed so suddenly and completely in an embrace. He temporarily lost his footing, and if not for the two large arms holding him up, he probably would have stumbled. "I'm so glad I didn't ruin it!"
Miles tried not to inhale, but he did. Just as in the little restaurant, the scent he inhaled was a good deal better than he'd expected, even if Gumshoe had strange taste in aftershave and cologne--if that was what he was smelling. It could have been something the man had accidentally spilled on himself. But overall, it was a nice scent, and surely the detective didn't notice if he waited a few moments before saying, "No, no, you didn't, but you're going to ruin me if you don't stop squeezing me like that."
As before, Gumshoe released him at once, but his excitement did not lessen. "I've got another great idea!" he announced.
Miles was surprised to find that he was looking forward to hearing this idea. "And what is that?"
"I'm going to buy you some ice cream."
"Ice cream?" The detective's ideas about dating were a trifle immature, but Miles, upon reflection, realized that he didn't mind. "All right. I have no objections to ice cream. But I can pay."
"No way. You bought me dinner, so I'm buying you ice cream. It's not a problem, pal!" In his enthusiasm, Gumshoe was forgetting which words he wasn't supposed to say, but Miles decided to let that one pass. "Remember, I didn't get a chance to buy flowers at the convenience store. I've still got that money. I can buy you as much ice cream as you want. A triple scoop, even."
"I don't think I'll be wanting that much ice cream."
"I definitely will."
"I would expect no less from you, Richard."
Miles had never enjoyed the senseless ritual of dating, but a date with the detective was no ordinary date. He was thankful for that. The rest of the evening was disaster-free, and Miles was even feeling relaxed by the time he pulled into his parking spot. Gumshoe insisted on walking him to his door, and he felt too at ease to protest.
Once he was at the door, he unlocked it, then lingered for some reason. Gumshoe stood gazing at him, as if waiting to be dismissed.
"I'll see you next Friday night," said Miles.
"Yes? You will?" Gumshoe blinked. "I mean, yes! You will!"
The man looked so ecstatic that Miles went on hurriedly before he could say something absurd. "And don't be late this time! I'm going to make reservations at that restaurant again, and I'm determined that we will get there on time."
"That fancy restaurant?"
"That's right, Richard. And I'll have to see about getting you a better suit to wear. That one doesn't fit you at all."
"My going out suit?" Gumshoe looked down at himself. "You don't like it?"
Miles felt it would be best not to say something unkind so close to the end of their date, so he said the nicest thing he could muster. "I suppose it could be worse."
"You don't have to buy me a new suit, but if you did, I'd wear it."
"I'm sure it will be more comfortable than the one you're wearing now, as it will actually fit you."
"That sounds great, then. I love comfortable clothes."
"I'm not surprised."
The detective smiled at him. He had a pleasant, open smile. In that moment, Miles made a decision.
"Richard," he said.
"Um, yeah?"
"You may kiss me now." He raised his chin.
"Oh. Yes, Mr. Edgeworth." He'd forgotten their first name basis, but Miles didn't remind him. The man leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
"Richard," said Miles, once the other man had drawn back.
"Y-yes?"
"We are not children, and I would like a proper kiss."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Edgeworth."
Miles closed his eyes. The kiss was unexpectedly soft. He'd thought the detective might be clumsy, but that had been an unfair assumption. The man was gentle and careful, slowly slipping his tongue between Miles's lips. Then he felt the man's hand settle on the side of his face, a light touch, almost as if he were afraid Miles would pull away.
Miles did eventually pull away, but it was more because he thought he should than because he wanted to. "That's enough kissing for now," he said, aware that he must have sounded out of breath. He felt out of breath. "I'll see you next Friday night," he said again, hurriedly.
"Yeah, and I'm sure I'll see you at work before then!"
The detective liked to state the obvious. It was usually annoying, but tonight, Miles was willing to consider it endearing. "Yes, no doubt. Good night, Richard."
"Good night, Miles."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-02 10:43 pm (UTC)SUPERMARKET ROSES
"We are not children, and I would like a proper kiss."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Edgeworth."
Hahaha, and I'm done. So gloriously done. ♥ ♥ ♥
no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 04:31 am (UTC)Edgeworth secretly likes kisses.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 12:33 am (UTC)My life is complete.
I can't wait for more of your kinkmeme writingggg
no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 04:33 am (UTC)Hahaha, I'm sure I'll post another piece of silly writing soon. ;3
My secret trick to get myself through editing! Shhh, don't tell anyone.no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 03:53 am (UTC)I love this story and more peeps need to read it. *shakes fist at them*
no subject
Date: 2010-02-03 04:37 am (UTC)I'm glad you think I did a good job conveying their awkward first date. Awkwardness and cuteness are two of my favorite things to write about, so I couldn't resist giving it a shot. I wanted to do the idea justice!
Oh yeah, and some more people did read it and comment over at the kink meme, which was super nice of them, but of course, it's all anonymous there! :3
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 12:27 am (UTC)An... Bigmouth Dick? ... as in... a dick for... uhm
I'll shut up now...
JUST MAKE THEM HAVE SEX
PLEASE
NOW
OK?
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 12:51 am (UTC)Haha, and yes, well, since most people call him Dick, I thought he should have an awful nickname.
I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO.
And thanks for reading and commenting, that's so nice of you! <3 <3 <3
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 01:50 am (UTC)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLnWf1sQkjY
I wanna draw them so bad...
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 03:57 am (UTC)Aw, you should draw them, I bet they would look awesome in your style. I would love to see that. <3
no subject
Date: 2010-07-17 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-17 10:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-14 11:43 am (UTC)Your writing is so sweetly funny. They're awkward yet adorable.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-28 05:28 am (UTC)