Miles Edgeworth had never romanced a woman in his life. Hell, Miles Edgeworth had never romanced anyone in his life.
It was when his sister, Franziska von Karma, showed up at his doorstep, pride weighing her shoulders down so she could not look him in the eye that he felt it. Some pang shot through his heart at seeing her light blue hair falling over to cloud her eyes, obscure them from view.
There were no words uttered between the two. Miles stepped aside, the door creaking softly on its hinges as he did so. Her heels hit his tile floor not a moment later, and the door was shut.
Not a word was said all evening. Not even a "hello, good night, why are you here?". Nothing. He set her up in the guest room, headed down the hall to his own, admittedly bigger room and laid down. His dog, Pess, curled up to him and he scratched the collie behind the ears. "Franziska's here," he muttered, and dog make a grunting moan, nuzzling his owner's hand. "Yeah, yeah. I know buddy. She is kind of loud but... I've missed her."
This he could admit to his dog. To the girl in question, probably not. Not yet.
Dawn came too soon for the man's liking, his thoughts having kept him awake for half the night. He was thinking about his latest case, how he was never going to win it. Even though Phoenix had lost his badge and prosecutors weren't cowering in fear anymore, the past still haunted him. I'm not perfect. Like you. Like him. You won't forgive me for that, will you, Franziska.
That thought had been his last before falling asleep, a couple hours before the sun started to come through the blinds, a dull orange and violet glow of dawn.
He dressed in his suit, fixing his cravat with little thought before the dog sat behind him and gave a soft bark. Miles smiled, turning to pat the dog's head. "Looks like you've been up," he said, checking his cell phone before putting it in his pocket. It was quarter past six. Knowing his sister, she had probably been up for at least an hour. Pess smelt of sausage, and the faint aroma of coffee filtered up the stairs to greet him as he made it to the landing.
"You slept in, fool," was Franziska's greeting, and the first words she had spoken to his since she arrived last night.
"Well good morning to you, too," he said, making a beeline for his usual seat at his dining room table.
It was quiet again, just the sounds of breakfast being made heard as Pess brought Miles the paper that had been in the entryway. "Thank you, boy," he said, giving the dog a pat before taking the paper. There was nothing new going on the world. The economy was still trying to stabilize itself, people still were killing and being killed, and things were still catching on fire. He tossed the paper onto the table, sighing as he drank a bit of the orange juice Franziska had already put out on the table for him.
Once breakfast was served, Miles still did not attempt conversation. It was better this way: less of a mess to clean up if something went badly. After all, he still had no earthly idea why the girl was here.
Dishes were cleared after a silent, tense breakfast and the two went their separate ways to the same office. They were too caught up in their own way of doing things to change for their sibling. It seemed equidistant, if arriving at the same time had anything to do with it.
But throughout the day, the two would part ways: one would go to the precinct, the other to a crime scene. Miles could tell his sister had already made her presence known at the precinct, if Gumshoe acting like a cat on a hot tin roof was any indication. Still, he was glad to know that she still had the power to terrorize Los Angeles.
After gathering all the he could from the detective and the forensics team on the case he was assigned to, he decided to return home and work on his paperwork there.
He was relieved to see that Franziska wasn't home yet. The tension from them not exchanging words was filling his body with unwanted and unneeded tension in his muscles. Pess lay at his feet, chin on his foot. "Good boy," he praised the collie, scratching behind a silky ear and receiving a slight lick to his hand.
It was dusk when Franziska walked into the door. Miles had been plowing through his paperwork all afternoon, so the female's intrusion was a welcome one. Like he had predicted, she said nothing, kicking off her boots she wore before arranging them neatly beside each other. Ever the perfectionist.
"Good evening," he said, taking his reading glasses off and putting them gingerly on the pile of papers on the coffee table. Franziska's glare was so sharp that he almost winced, though after years of living in the von Karma household, he has become desensitized to such behaviour.
Still, the younger adult said nothing, turning her back to the male and walking off silently into the other room.
This called for desperate measures.
Franziska had taken a seat in the easy chair when Miles left the living room, deciding to have a staring contest with the wall. The collie laid on his rug, watching the female from a distance. She usually raised her hand to him, and even Pess was smart enough to know not to test the female.
He gave one thump of his tail when Miles emerged around the corner. In his left hand, two wine glasses. In his right hand, a very expensive Italian wine that Franziska had never even heard of.
Miles sat down gently, opening the bottle carefully before pouring a glass for his sister and himself. He offered her the glass, and she looked at it with an arched eyebrow.
"Are you going to take it or what?"
A scowl before she snatched it from him elegantly in a fashion only the German woman could manage, swirling it in her glass before taking the tiniest sip to taste. Miles watched in amusement, envisioning the girl sitting at that long table, taking her first sip of wine at the age of seven and automatically declaring it "disgusting".
Though the girl melds to the woman now in his presence and he sees her take a mouthful and swallow. Her shoulders droop, head falling a bit forward. Only in front of Miles would she allow herself to look so worn down from a non-existent childhood, tear up from the grief of loosing the man she had admired and adored all her life right before her eyes, to let herself be human.
Miles loves her as a woman in that moment. She is his little sister, but she has grown into much more than that. And it is then he knows: he'll never want another.
"Schatzibär," he mutters quietly as he puts his wine glass down, untouched. Hers had barely been touched, put over on a small side table as she finally focused her baby blue eyes on him. The old pet name burned in her ears. Miles was creeping toward her now, knees scuffing across the wooden floor like a boy playing with his toy trucks.
Before she had time to register anything, his hands were on her knees, and his mahogany eyes were looking up into hers.
Franziska had still said anything to her brother but he didn't mind, leaning up slightly to brush his lips gently against her own. There was a jolt in his stomach and heart, like his internal organs slammed into each other as the adrenaline rushed through him. The first kiss was short, lingering, unsure. They pulled apart, looked to each other for a long moment before they were in each other's arms, kissing and grabbing at each other's clothing.
In the midst of their heavy breathing and fingers yanking at hair, Miles has pulled his newfound lover onto the floor, making quick work of her clothing as she does his. Like the past hour, still nothing is spoken between the two.
It's worth the wait, Miles mused, as he sinks into her warmth for the first time, hearing her elicit the most beautiful of moans from her painted lips. They are still half-dressed, Miles' top half completely naked, pants only unzipped in the front for his length to protrude from their confines and Franziska's panties pulled halfway down her thighs and her skirt around her waist, her blouse and bra open to bear her bare chest to the male she had regarded as her brother up until ten minutes ago.
For some reason she found it hard to look at him as he slid in and out of her, the friction between them growing as he became impatient. He was gentle, of course. Miles Edgeworth would be nothing else. She only let out a few moans when her lover would hit a spot in her that made her shiver, the breath in her throat catching whenever his lips made contact with her skin.
And it's within those final moments of jointure that she speaks, albeit raspy and a bit out of control, "M-miles..."
It does the trick. He stilled his hips, letting himself go into her welcoming body. And they collapsed into each other's arms, spent on the living room floor.
Her tears fall not too soon after, not surprising Miles at all. She wept silently into his shoulder and he lets her feel for the first time in her life.
And finally words come the two, a friendly conversation that lasted for hours as if they had never left each other at all.