Work Text:
Forging Ahead
Getting the job with Gregory Edgeworth is the best thing to ever happen to Ray.
Gregory is smart and clever and kind, handling Ray's abnormal home life and young age without batting an eye, saying that everyone deserves a chance to follow their dreams. He says that Ray earned the kindness that is being shown him, his voice deep and his eyes certain as he pronounces Raymond, treating Ray like another adult rather than like the upstart teen most people see him as.
Ray isn't sure whether he wants Gregory to be his best friend or his father, but he quickly adopts the Edgeworth office as his home, Gregory as the sun around which his life orbits. When he's having trouble with his classes, it's Gregory he goes to for help rather than the uncle who has been kind but distant for the last few years; when he needs letters of recommendation to start taking law classes after school, so that he can hopefully pass the bar early, at twenty or twenty-one, it's Gregory he goes to immediately.
He doesn't know exactly what Gregory thinks of him. Clearly the man likes him, at least a little bit—he wouldn't write letters of recommendation or keep employed someone he doesn't like, right? Ray knows that he's not actually a part of Gregory's family—not like the little boy that Gregory dotes on—but maybe, just maybe...
It's a week before Thanksgiving when Gregory gives Ray the best gift he's ever gotten.
They're both working on paperwork—Gregory on some ridiculously long document for court, Ray on the second draft of a case history for school. Ray is just starting the second draft, having eaten the first one when he found it to be a page too long and overall a disappointment.
"Raymond." Gregory doesn't look up from what he's working on. "Next week's the holiday, right?"
"Uh..." Ray taps his pen against his chin. "Yeah! I almost forgot."
"I'll need to make sure to have Thursday off, then. And to arrange for a babysitter for Friday." Without seeming to take his eyes from his work, Gregory reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small calendar, which he writes in before returning it to his pocket. "Did you want to take some time off? Have any plans with your uncle?"
Sitting up straight, Ray shakes his head. "No, sir. My uncle's going to be out of town." They aren't really ones to celebrate the holidays, anyway. Usually Ray will get a card and a gift certificate for Christmas, sometimes his birthday, occasionally for New Years, but that's about it. It's not cruelty; it's much more benign, a by-product of his uncle not really planning on having children or a family and handling getting saddled with a grieving preteen with as much grace as he could muster when it happened. I'll be available any time you need me."
"I doubt we'll need to work on the holiday. It's possible, but not likely." Raising his eyes from his paperwork, Gregory looks across the office at Ray. "It's good to take time off every once in a while, anyway. To see your family and the people important to you. To remember what it is that we're fighting to keep the legal system functional for."
Ray swallows, keeping himself from saying anything too embarrassing. He will not claim Gregory as family without being given some signal that it's all right first. "We're trying to protect the innocent. That's all."
"And a pretty big all it is, too." Gregory's pen taps against his paper. "Were you planning on going to a friend's house for the holiday, then? Or did you need extra time to travel with your uncle?"
"I was just going to see what I could do with the microwave. Since last year the oven and I got into a disagreement." Ray laughs, the sound coming out more nervous than he had intended.
"If you don't have anything else you're planning to do..." Gregory pauses, and Ray can feel his heart leap into his throat at what he hopes is going to come next. "Would you like to spend it with Miles and I—"
"Yes!" Ray forces himself to settle back down in his seat, feeling his face heating. "I mean, uh, yes, sir, if it wouldn't be a huge inconvenience, I'd love to spend the holidays with you! Maybe I could help out."
"That depends on what kind of disagreement you had with the oven." A faint, pleased smile touches the edges of Gregory's mouth as he turns back to his work. "We don't have much—it's just Miles and I—but it's a pleasant meal, and I'm definitely happy to share."
"Thank you, sir! I'll be there with bells on!"
"So long as it's not literally. Miles may think you're a villain from one of those strange shows he's started watching." Gregory shakes his head. "Dinner will be at noon Thursday; feel free to come by any time after ten. I'll give you directions before you go home."
Ray nods, not wanting to draw more attention to his probably-bright-red face and pathetic puppy-dog adoration.
After a few minutes Gregory turns back to his work, and Ray tries to focus again on his essay. The opening statement is awful, the entire flow of the first paragraph completely botched, so he crumples the page up and pops it in his mouth.
Third time will probably be the charm, and if it isn't, he's got the best mentor in the world to ask for help later.
XXX
"Hmph."
Ray looks up from where he's shelving case files at the unexpected sound.
Gregory is frowning at his computer, his right index finger tapping against his mouse.
"Is... everything all right?" Ray fumbles one of the folders while attempting to file it and look at Gregory at the same time.
"Relatively. Just a bit of a scheduling snafu." Gregory sighs.
"Something... I might be able to help with?" Ray tries not to sound too eager. If he wants to be a defense attorney like Edgeworth, he needs to learn how to be relaxed and in control of the situation like Edgeworth. It's just really hard when he wants to jump up and down and beg Edgeworth to let him help.
"I don't know." Gregory frowns at the computer for another moment before shifting his gaze to Ray. "How comfortable would you be babysitting for me?"
"Oh, uh—I'd be fine with that!" Ray has absolutely no experience working with children, but it's not like Miles is a baby. Right? He watches television shows and goes to school. That's clearly old enough for Ray to handle him for a few hours.
"I normally wouldn't ask, but my babysitter is apparently sick and I don't want to miss the state attorney's meeting this evening..." Pushing his seat back, Gregory pinches at the bridge of his nose. "Why they would schedule it for the day before a major holiday..."
"Probably hoping no one will show up." Ray clamps his mouth shut. "Uh, I mean..."
Another tiny smile flashes across Gregory's face. "You might be right. Given all the changes they're talking about implementing in the courts, it may very well just be they're hoping everyone will go be with their families and ignore them. But I'd prefer not to give them that satisfaction. It should only be for a few hours—Miles' bedtime is nine thirty—and I can pay you at the same rate as my normal babysitter."
"Whatever you think's fair." Ray almost says that he doesn't have to get paid at all. Both his near-empty pocketbook and all the business discussions Gregory has had with him over the last few months, wherein Gregory apparently tries to impress all the tricks learned over a decade of running his own business into Ray's not-quite-ready-mind, make him think better of it.
"If you wanted..." Gregory hesitates. "I don't know if it would be too strange for you, but you could always stay in the guest bedroom overnight, since the holiday's the next day."
"Yes!" The word comes out as more of a high-pitched yelp, and Ray clears his throat. "I mean, yeah, sure, that'll work out. Then you don't have to worry about getting home from the meeting at a set time, too. Plus I can—"
"Not help with the cooking unless I'm there." Gregory points a half-humorous, half-serious finger at Ray. "After your stories of catching burners on fire and exploding turkeys, I reserve the right to teach you proper kitchen etiquette before setting you loose in my kitchen. All right?"
"Yes, sir." Ray gives a sheepish smile. Normally he might droop at the admonition, but right now... well, right now he doesn't think anything can dampen his spirits.
XXX
Miles and Ray sit at the kitchen table, staring across at each other.
Ray can feel a droplet of sweat run down his back. Gregory has been gone for all of ten minutes, and Ray is already starting to feel as though he's bitten off more than he can chew. Not that Miles has done anything. That's the problem, actually. Miles has been sitting at the table the whole time, his hands folded quite neatly in front of him, his little suit more immaculately pressed than anything in Ray's wardrobe after a day of wear. His silver eyes never seem to blink as they bore into Ray's head, assessing and finding him wanting.
You're being stupid! Ray admonishes himself. He's a kid. He's Edgeworth's kid! What's he going to do, eat you?
Miles' eyes narrow, as though he can hear the thoughts, and Ray hastily drops his eyes to the list that Gregory had left him. Dinner is at six thirty, in a half hour. Homework should be completed by eight, if possible. Free time is from homework completion to nine, and then there's a list of pre-bed activities that seems rather long and involved to Ray. Then again, how long has it been since Ray did more than stumble from his computer desk to bed and collapse when he can no longer keep his eyes open?
"So." Ray tries to make his voice cheerful. "Did you want to do anything before dinner? Maybe, uh, we could go outside..."
Miles points towards the window, a quick, clean, decisive motion that looks incredibly like Gregory's objection. "It's raining outside. It has been for the last five minutes."
Ray cranes his head to look out the window and sees that the looming, ominous gray clouds have indeed decided to loose their contents. "So it is. I mean, we could still go out..."
Miles looks down at his suit and then up at Ray.
"Right. Not really the kind to get your kicks out of jumping in puddles, huh?" Ray sighs. "Okay. That's fine. Is there anything you did want to do before I get dinner warmed up?"
A smile touches the edges of Miles' mouth, but somehow it looks far more threatening than the same expression on Gregory's face as he lifts his chin. "I want you to play a game with me."
"All right." Ray speaks slowly, feeling as though he's walking into a trap. "Let's play a game, then."
Before the last word has left Ray's mouth Miles is off like a shot, pulling open a closet that appears to have bedding on the top two shelves and games and puzzles on the bottom two. The boy stares at the games for several long seconds before grinning and grabbing a box that rattles.
Trotting back over to the table and climbing back into his seat with all the grace that he can muster, Miles shoves the game into the center of the table. "Boggle. It's a word game."
"I can do that." Opening the game, Ray pulls out the instructions and gives them a quick perusal. "You sure you want to play a game like this with an adult, though? I mean, no offense, but—"
Miles leans across the table, taking two little pads of paper and two sharpened pencils from the box. The red one he sets carefully in front of himself; the blue pencil and other pad of paper he shoves toward Ray. "Let's see who the adult is."
Definitely sure that he's walking into a trap but seeing no real way out of it, Ray takes the pencil, shakes up the little cubes with the letters, and prepares his mental dictionary for contortions.
XXX
"And illustrate." Miles' finger traces out the word, his whole being beaming with pride. "Unfortunately there was no way to reach the s or the d, but I believe that still gives me the victory."
"Damn, kid." Ray looks down at his own list of crossed-out words and then at Miles' twice as long list. "I admit defeat."
"Of course you do. You were defeated." Miles settles back in his chair, his expression annoyingly smug. "Though you shouldn't swear. Father says that cursing is an admission of defeat—proof that you have no logical way of escaping the accusations being lobbied."
Tearing his little piece of paper off the pad, Ray wads it up and tosses it into his mouth. "Mr. Edgeworth's said that?"
Miles stares at him in open-mouthed horror.
"What?" Ray swallows, the taste of paper and ink and graphite familiar on his tongue.
"What did you..." Miles sputters, raising a shaking finger to point at Ray. "Did you just eat the paper?"
"Huh?" Ray looks down at his pad. "Yeah. What, don't you know that's the first skill your dad teaches at the office?"
Miles hesitates, clearly uncertain.
"It's something every lawyer has to learn how to do. Sometimes you've just got to internalize the evidence and the court record, you know?" Ray spreads his hands out to the side. It's actually something he started doing a long time ago, shortly after he moved in with his uncle. Something about the feel of the paper on his tongue, slick and smooth, and the act of taking in the information that he's written on it (taking in the grief, the loneliness, the desperation; taking in the knowledge, the statistics and plans and paths that will see him overcome) just makes sense to him.
"That doesn't make any sense." Miles studies Ray's face. "You're just making that up, aren't you?"
"I... might be exaggerating." Ray shrugs.
Miles gives a disgusted little grunt. "You're really strange. You know that, right?"
"Says the boy in the suit with the thousand-dollar hair." The retort slips out of Ray's mouth before he can stop himself—can remind himself that he's supposed to be taking care of this kid, who belongs to his boss.
Miles lifts his chin, though his cheeks flush red. "I'm going to be a defense attorney, just like my father. It's only appropriate that I dress the part and adorn myself appropriately."
Ray sighs, knowing that he's managed to fling taunts the kid's probably heard from his classmates right into the boy's face. "You don't pay any attention to what I or anyone else says about how you look. You just dress however you're comfortable. And if you want to follow in your dad's footsteps... well, he's a pretty darn awesome guy to follow."
"You're..." Miles sighs, shaking his head and crossing his little arms in front of his chest. "You're a very strange man. Has anyone told you that before?"
"More times than you can count." Ray grins. "Now come on. Let's get dinner, and then we can work on your homework. I'll help if you need it."
"I won't need assistance. I'm advanced for my age." Miles shrugs. "I could probably skip a grade, but my dad says he wants me to stay with people my age and make friends. That studies are important, but there's other things I need to learn, too, if I want to be a good defense attorney."
"He's right." Ray gives a sage nod. "There's a lot more than just book smarts that goes into this job. You've got to be able to interview people, and figure out when they're lying, and guess how people will respond to situations, and put together logic trees... there's really a lot that goes into the job that has very little to do with knowing the ins and outs of the legal system."
Miles sighs, staring down morosely at his winning sheet of words.
"Hey, come on." Ray reaches across the table to pat Miles' hand. "Could you pick up the game up while I get the food?"
Miles nods, drawing himself together, the lonely, sad look fading away as though it had never been. "I'll put it away. And remember, no metal in the microwave. There's even a little sticky note to remind you on the microwave, but in case you decide to eat it before reading it..."
"Very funny." Standing and stretching, Ray heads to the refrigerator to pull out the prepared meal and begin to get it warmed up while Miles puts away the game.
XXX
After dinner Miles finishes his homework in about ten minutes, and they follow it up with a round of Scrabble, where Ray once more has his rear handed to him by a child less than half his age.
"All right." Ray pulls the scorecard off, rolling it up and popping it into his mouth while keeping Miles' eyes locked on his. The boy's continuing mild horror at Ray's habit of eating paper brings at least a little bit of satisfaction. "You are way too good at word games."
"I've read a lot of books." Miles sits up a little bit straighter, looking intensely proud of himself. "I've checked out one-quarter of the books from the school library, and also have my local library card that I put to good use. Plus I've been trying to read the law books in my father's study. They're hard, but with the dictionary and a little bit of help I think I'm starting to get them."
Ray keeps a damn locked in his throat. He had thought he was driven and dedicated, working hard to pass the bar in as short a time period as possible, and this kid puts him to shame. "Is there a reason you want to be a lawyer so bad?"
"Because it's a good thing to do. My dad does a lot of good with his work." Miles sits up prim and proper again, his hands folded in front of him. "A lawyer's job is to ensure that the truth is known. That the innocent don't suffer for crimes they didn't commit, and that those who did commit crimes are given an appropriate sentence given the circumstances under which they committed the crime. It's a hard job, and it means my dad has to spend a lot of time away, but it's just because of how important it is."
"Aw, kid..." Ray trails off, not knowing what else to say even though he recognizes the unspoken sentences lurking behind Miles' words.
Ray has always admired the way Gregory cares for both his job and his family. If they have a client that needs them, Gregory is there; if there is a holiday or a special school event, Gregory is certain to schedule a little bit of time off work to be there for Miles. But if something comes up with a case, and Gregory needs to be there...
Gregory must still be doing something right with regards to raising Miles, because Miles doesn't begrudge Gregory the time that he spends on the job. On the other hand, a kid who hasn't been around for even a decade thinking that being a lawyer is one of the most important things in the world—
A piece of paper bounces off his forehead, and Ray reaches up in surprise to rub at the spot. "Did you just—"
Miles lifts his chin. "Don't feel sorry for me. My dad's amazing, and I'm going to be just as amazing when I grow up."
"You know what..." Gathering his spare tiles up, Ray shoves them back in the bag. "I think you're probably right. For what my opinion's worth."
"Probably a lot." Miles hunches down a bit in his seat, his eyes drifting away from Ray. "My dad... he talks about you a lot. About what the two of you are doing at work and—and everything."
"He talks about you a lot, too." Ray keeps his expression completely serious as he begins clearing off the board. "At work."
"Really?" Miles perks up a little bit.
"Really." Ray shakes the bag. "We could play another round of this, or..."
Miles tilts his head. "Or what?"
Ray smirks. "I don't suppose you know how to play chess?"
XXX
Ray stares down at the gameboard, reaching out to run his fingers over the head of a beautifully-carved black horse. He had let Miles go first, fairly certain that he'd still be able to keep control of most of the game.
That had been a mistake. Really, after how Miles kicked his ass at the last two games they played, Ray supposes he should have expected it.
He's just not going to take it lying down.
He's played chess on-line with lots of different people over the years, the game something that will usually help take his mind off whatever problems he's having. Surely somewhere in all those games he learned something that will let him—
Ah ha! Ahahaha!
Ray tries to keep his expression schooled to calm as he moves his fingers from the knight to the bishop and scoots the bishop up three spaces. If Miles takes the bait...
Miles immediately shoves his own bishop forward, claiming Ray's.
"Ach! What have I done?" Ray places a hand to his heart, reeling back in his seat.
Miles narrows his eyes, looking up at Ray suspiciously. He hasn't taken his fingers off his piece yet, Ray notices, and Ray can feel his heart jump in his chest. Maybe he overplayed it?
Miles' eyes run over the board, but he eventually settles back in his seat with a sigh, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring at Ray.
Ray slides his knight forward, pointing at Miles' king. "Checkmate."
Miles frowns down at the board. He lifts both hands, the index finger of his right pointing down at his king while his left hand runs through patterns leading from various other pieces. After about a minute and a half he sighs and knocks his king down on his side. "Indeed."
Looking over at the boy, Ray suddenly feels bad about winning. Miles is just a kid, really, even if he's far too smart for his own good. "Well played. Really and truly. That's one of the best games I've had in a long while."
"Really?" Miles lifts his head a little, and a tiny smirk touches the right corner of his mouth. "It was a pretty good game for me, too."
"I'm glad." Ray rests his elbows on the table. "And you're handling losing with aplomb—someone who can be both a good winner and a good loser is pretty rare."
Miles legitimately perks up at that, raising his head and smiling. "Dad helped me learn how to be. He said it's important when we play games, because otherwise it's no fun—especially since it's usually just him and me. 'If I either lose and have you mocking me for it or win and have you sulking, that doesn't make it much fun for me to play, now does it?'" Miles actually does a semi-decent impersonation of Gregory, though his voice is far too high-pitched still. "Plus he said it's important in real life. Like, his court appearances are summarized in a wins-loss record? But it's not whether he wins that matters, it's whether justice happens. Just like it's not whether you win a game that matters, it's whether you had fun playing it."
Ray finds that he has to take a moment and clear his throat before he can respond, his opinion of Gregory Edgeworth somehow managing to skyrocket up another few notches. "And did you have fun?"
Miles looks down at his hands, a shy smile playing across his face. "Yeah. I don't have too many people other than dad that I can play with. Just Phoenix and Larry, and they're both away with family."
A sharp kick to the table leg he's closest to emphasizes Miles' apparent distaste of the word, and Ray winces. "You don't like them having to go see family?"
Miles shrugs. "I don't like them being gone. Especially because dad and I never have anywhere to go. It's all right when Dad's going to be home, but when he's not... I just wish they didn't have to leave whenever we'd actually have a lot of time to play together."
"That's gotta be frustrating." A pang of sympathy runs through Ray. "I know it won't be anything like having your friends over, but your Uncle Ray's usually around over the holidays, too. I can always come play games with you."
"Uncle Ray?" Miles looks up at him, clearly uncertain of the moniker.
"Ahah, it seemed appropriate." Ray rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. "But you don't need to use it. And I wouldn't mind another chess rematch..."
Miles' look becomes more considering. "Well, you do play better than Phoenix—you actually remember how the knight is supposed to move. And you don't cheat like Larry... I guess it's something I can consider."
Ray struggles to keep a straight face, Miles' haughty demeanor not quite fitting with the child's body that it's coming from. "I'd be very honored. We could even do another rematch right now, if you want...?"
Miles' eyes flick to the clock, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip.
Ray also turns to look at the clock, but he hasn't lost track of time. It's only eight twenty-six, meaning they've still got a half hour to kill before he's supposed to encourage Miles to get ready for bed. "Unless... there's something else you'd like to do?"
Miles' cheeks flush a dark red and his eyes drop to his hands, which are fiddling together in his lap. He mumbles out something incomprehensible.
Ray leans across the table toward him. "I couldn't quite—"
"There's a show I want to watch in four minutes!" Miles lifts his head, and the half-panicked expression on his face doesn't fit at all with what he's asking.
"Okay." Ray pulls the note from Gregory out of his pocket, smoothing it out and skimming through it again. Nope, no strange and draconian rules about not watching television. "Is it something your father lets you watch?"
A little nod of Miles' head, and he's squirming in his seat, his eyes on the clock again.
Ray shrugs. "Then I don't see any reason why we shouldn't."
Miles bites down on his lip again. "Promise you won't laugh? Or say it's silly?"
Ah, hell, the kid's afraid Ray's going to tease him. What's he want to do, watch My Little Pegasus? Raising his right hand, Ray solemnly intones, "Should I mock the narrative we are about to watch, may my eyes fall from my head and my nose become big as a coconut tree."
A little snort of laughter escapes from Miles as he lifts one hand to cover his mouth. "You're really silly. And I'm going to go turn on the television."
Ray gestures for Miles to go ahead, picking up the chess pieces to put them away while the boy sets up for his very important show.
XXX
"And we will never bow to you, evil one!" Miles' high-pitched voice sounds out in perfect synchrony with the deep bass of the actor in the show, just as Miles' hand gestures perfectly match the character that is spitting defiance at the villain.
It's a children's show that he wanted to watch. A children's super-hero show, and though he had been stiff and uncertain during the first half of the episode, clearly not trusting Ray to keep to his word and not laugh, for the second half of the episode he has gotten more and more involved, until the climactic scene saw Miles jumping up from the couch to act out the parts with the character he clearly identifies with most.
The show cuts to its final commercial break, and Miles flops down boneless on the floor beside the couch, his face flushed bright with emotion. "I love this episode. So much."
"Yeah?" Ray hugs the cushion that he's been toying with for the last ten minutes closer to his chest. "I take it this isn't the first time you've seen it?"
Miles gives a sheepish little nod. "This is actually from last year's show. I watched all of it with Larry and Phoenix, and this is my favorite arc. Since it involves the holiday, they played it for the holiday, and I wanted to see it again..."
"It's a good arc." It is, in its own way—over the top and utterly ridiculous with regards to costumes and plot, but consistent in characterization and world and really rather endearing.
"Do you know it, then?" Miles sits up a bit straighter, his whole being seemingly energized by the possibility. "Have you seen some before?"
"Nope. Sorry." Though Ray feels as though he's seen the whole show before, Miles explaining in a quick patter everything he thought Ray needed to know at each part of the episode. "I wouldn't mind watching some more with you, though."
"Really?" Miles had begun to slump, but the idea of watching the show together sits him bolt upright faster than a lightning strike would have. "That would be amazing! Sometimes dad will watch it with me, but not often—he's super busy, and I think he doesn't really get it. It's so good, though."
"I really wouldn't mind watching more with you." Who says the spirit of justice can't sometimes be embodied by people in costumes punching each other in the face?
Miles chews on his thumb nail for a moment. "If you're serious... there's a holiday special on tomorrow at eight in the morning..."
It's a little bit earlier than Ray had been intending to get up—by a few hours—but looking into Miles' eyes, Ray doesn't have the heart to say no. "If we're both awake. Though if we're going to be awake—once these giant robots are done beating each other up, it's time to get you ready for bed."
Miles turns back to the television with a startled little squawk, watching the last three minutes of the show with the same avid attention he'd paid to the rest. When the ending theme comes on and the main characters begin dancing, Miles casts an uncertain glance back at Ray before drawing a deep breath, clambering to his feet, and joining in.
Well, then. There's really only one thing Ray can do in response to that.
Getting to his own feet, Ray throws his arms in the air and attempts to imitate the men on the television. He's not very good at it—balance has never really been his forte—but he makes Miles smile, a bright grin that makes him actually look his age, and that's worth all the dancing humiliation in the world.
XXX
Miles runs through his evening routine quickly and without much prompting for Ray. If Ray's honest it's actually Miles who prompts him a few times. After his shower Miles fights for three minutes or so with his fine silver hair, running the brush through it again and again, and once he's done he presents a comb to Ray for one final check. After he's brushed his teeth Miles smiles up a Ray, a bright, toothy expression that could easily look threatening, and demands to know if they look properly cleaned.
It's clear that Gregory has set down a strict set of hygiene standards to live by, and equally clear that Miles tries desperately to follow them all. By the time Miles is dressed in a plain gray T-shirt and shorts and tucked into bed, Ray's beginning to wonder about his own life choices.
Pulling the now well-worn list of recommended activities and times from his pocket, Ray studies it once more. Just one more thing he should do, if Miles wants it. "Did you want me to read you a bedtime story?"
Miles tilts his head to the side, studying Ray dubiously. "Can you read well enough to do a story properly?"
Ray's mouth drops open and he just sputters for a moment. "Look, kid, just because I can't make hundred-dollar words out of random letters doesn't mean I'm illiterate. I'm your dad's protege, yeah?"
"That's true." Miles looks mildly chagrined as he reaches out to pat Ray's shoulder. "I apologize and retract my statement. I'd love a story."
"Redaction accepted." Ray looks around at Miles too-immaculate room. "Any story in particular that you want?"
"Well..." Miles twines his fingers together, looking suddenly uncertain. He glances between Ray and his hands several times, and Ray has the distinct impression that the boy's trying not to fidget.
Then Miles squares his shoulders, squirms out from under the blankets that Ray just finished arranging around him, and marches over to his small, frighteningly-organized bookshelf. (Ray is going to have to be better about keeping things clean around the office. Much, much better.) He pulls a thick book from the left hand side of the stack and brings it back to Ray's side.
"Criminal Law: The First Two Millenia." Ray hefts the thick book—one that he has on his own stack of books from last year, though his was bought second-hand and is far more abused. "You sure that's what you want as a bedtime story?"
Miles rubs sheepishly at his right ear, his voice a quiet whisper. "Look inside."
Holding the book by the covers, Ray allows it fall open. Nestled within the pages of legal precedent and actually-kind-of-interesting history is a smaller, far more colorful book.
Ray can't help grinning as the same characters he saw dancing on the television a half hour ago strike an even more unlikely pose than usual on the cover of the book.
"Phoenix got it for me!" Miles makes the protest before Ray can say anything. "And I like it. It's got a lot of character."
"Hey, I'm not knocking it." Ray holds up one hand defensively, using the other to settle the legal book on the bed next to him and open the far slimmer little paperback it had hidden.
There are illustrations scrawled on the title page in crayon. One is in blue, and has added lightning bolts to an already-ridiculously-stylized picture of the team leader. Because justice will zap you!, the cheerful writing declares, and it's signed with an image that may be some kind of poor deformed hedgehog.
The other drawing is in orange, and seems to be adding a cloud of noxious gas to the posterior of one of the characters. Best attack!, orange-crayon declares, and his signature is probably supposed to be a thumb's up, though it looks more like a fat alien sitting on a UFO.
"Ignore the orange additions." Miles puts his hand over the offending image. "Sometimes Larry thinks he's funnier than he is."
Ray nods. "I take it he's not referencing something in the show, then?"
Miles turns slightly red once more. "He's being Larry."
"Which means the hedgehog is probably Phoenix?" Ray points at the image.
A smile flits across Miles' face. "Yeah. Like I said, he got copies of the book for all three of us, and he and Larry illustrated mine."
Glancing over at Miles' bookshelf, Ray suspects that this is the only book on it that looks like an actual child's been near it. "And this is what you'd like for story-time?"
Miles gives a carefully non-committal shrug. "Since you're only going to be here tonight, it seems unfair to start a longer story—you won't get to hear the end. And I like this one. Plus it'll give you more context for the holiday special tomorrow morning."
Ray settles down more comfortably on the bed, patting the area beside him. "Well, then. Let's see what we've got here."
Miles curls up next to him, a warm, intent presence at his elbow, and Ray begins to read.
XXX
Gregory comes home to a strangely quiet house.
He had expected to come in and find Ray sitting on the couch watching television, or maybe curled up with the fifty-pound brick he lugs about that is supposedly a portable computer. Instead he finds the lights on in the living room, but the kitchen and the television both dark. Ray's shoes are still by the door, meaning he hasn't left, so Gregory slips his own off and continues deeper into the house.
His heart rate wants to accelerate, but he sternly tells it not to until he knows for certain something's wrong. Just because he had a long night—a miserable night, full of arguing with people who should know better than to just bow down before suggested changes that will gut the functionality of their legal system—doesn't mean he's come home to something awful.
The light is on in Miles' room, and Gregory makes his way towards it, moving carefully to create as little noise as possible. It's an hour and a half past Miles' bed time, but if Miles decided to give Ray trouble about going to bed...
Gregory stops dead in Miles' bedroom doorway, his shoulders relaxing as a smile steals its way up to his lips. Ray is sprawled out on the bed, snoring very quietly; Miles is nestled against Ray's side, a stuffed dog toy held tight in his arms. There is a legal text that Miles borrowed from Gregory's library last month at the foot of the bed, and one of Ray's limp hands is resting atop a book Gregory definitely hadn't expected to see.
Miles must have gotten along with Ray quite well, to be willing to bring out that book.
Easing his way into the room, Gregory moves to rescue the book from its precarious position. Miles will be devastated if something happens to the little dog-eared thing.
He debates whether or not he should wake Ray. It's clear that Ray fell asleep mid-reading, his head tilted crookedly on his neck. If he does wake Ray to move Ray into the guest room, he'll probably wake Miles; if he doesn't, Ray is likely going to regret this in the morning.
It becomes a moot point, because as soon as Gregory removes the book from where it's barely brushing against Ray's fingers, Ray sits up with a start. "Huh? Who? I didn't—"
Miles flounders awake a moment later, raising one hand to rub against bleary eyes. "...Daddy? Dad! You're home!"
So much for not waking Miles. The boy's arms are around Gregory's waist before he can actually come up with a reply, and Gregory's smile widens a little bit as he uses his free hand to pat Miles' head. "I'm home, and very glad to see you. Though someone should really be sleeping at this time of night..."
Ray has flailed his way into a semi-vertical position, and at Gregory's words he stumbles his way to his feet, still looking slightly dazed. "Sorry, sir! It's my fault. I must've fallen asleep while reading to him..."
"Uh huh." Gregory holds up the book, looking down at Miles, managing to school his expression down to calm inquisition despite how much he loves the boy. "How many times did you make him read it, Miles?"
Miles' cheeks flush slightly. "He fell asleep on the third time through."
"That's about what I figured." Placing a hand on Miles' head, Gregory strokes the soft hair. "What's the rule about bedtime stories?"
"Just once through." Miles sighs. "But he wasn't doing it right! He kept making funny voices for the characters. Plus he kept forgetting things. Important things he'll need to know tomorrow. It was studying."
"Ah. Well. If it's studying..." Gregory holds up the book, looking between it and Miles' still sleep-heavy eyes. "How about I read it to you once more, and then the lights go off and you sleep?"
"Really?" Miles' whole being seems to light up, and he crawls back under the covers with a speed that Gregory would pay to see some nights.
Settling down on the edge of the bed, next to his son, Gregory offers Ray a slight smile. "You don't have to stay for this run-through. I showed you where the guest bedroom is, so if you want—"
"I'll stay!" Ray's cheeks also flush red. "Sir. If that's all right."
Gregory can feel his forehead wrinkle as he studies his assistant, but he gives a little shrug. "As you like."
Then he focuses all of his attention on the story, trying to get the characters' voices just right, acutely aware of the small hand on his knee as he reads and the silver eyes that watch him with adoration until sleep closes them for the evening.
XXX
Gregory is better at reading the story than Ray was.
Ray listens in rapt awe as Gregory turns the pages, giving each of the team-members a different voice, holding the book so that Miles can see as he reads.
Though Ray's not sure Gregory is actually reading, his eyes not seeming to touch the pages as he works his way through the story. Perhaps he's already got it memorized?
Miles finally falls asleep two-thirds of the way through the story, but Gregory finishes it anyway. He stands up as he reads, moving slowly so that the bed moves as little as possible; Ray follows suit. By the time Gregory has reached the last page of the book, he is reaching for the light, and he snaps it off while he's still reciting the final line.
Setting the book on top of Miles' dresser, Gregory retreats into the hallway, gesturing for Ray to follow. Once they're both safely ensconced in the light, Gregory closes the door behind them. "Sorry if he gave you trouble."
"It wasn't really any trouble." Ray shrugs. "We had a good evening. Sorry I didn't manage to get him to bed properly."
"Nothing's burned down and no one's missing any body parts. I'm satisfied." Gregory stretches, and Ray notices the dark circles under his mentor's eyes as they make their way back to living room. "Did you need anything else for the evening?"
Ray shakes his head. "I'm good."
"Then I'll probably bid you good night." Gregory glances at one of the clocks. "It'll be an early morning tomorrow if I want us to have an edible dinner. Sleep well, and don't hesitate to come grab me if you need me."
Ray thinks the only thing that would get him to invade the sanctity of the master bedroom would be a raging inferno, but he keeps that thought to himself. "Understood. Good night, sir."
Gregory turns his head, smiling back over his shoulder as he heads for his room. "Good night, Raymond. Thanks for everything."
Ray's pretty sure those should have been his words, his chest seeming to blaze with exultation as he moves into the guest room and slips into pajamas, but if Gregory thinks he's been useful... well, Ray certainly isn't going to disabuse him of the notion.
XXX
Ray is woken up by a small hand very determinedly shaking his shoulder.
Rolling over in bed, Ray attempts to pull the covers up over his head. His alarm hasn't gone off. That means he isn't late for work.
A disgusted sigh comes from somewhere by his right ear. "Why do adults like to sleep so much? Come on, or we're going to miss the start!"
After a moment of utter disorientation and confusion, Ray places the voice. Right. Babysitting for the boss. Some kind of plans in the morning...? "How conscious do I have to be?"
Miles' response is immediate and firm. "Just conscious enough to stand up."
Ray sighs, tossing the covers off in one smooth motion. "I think I can do that. As long as we're not going far."
Rolling his eyes, Miles reaches out to grab Ray's wrist and tug him towards the living room. Miles is still wearing his pajamas, so Ray doesn't feel quite so odd showing up in shorts and well-worn T-shirt.
Gregory is already in the kitchen, wearing a pair of dark slacks and a well-loved sweater. He offers Ray a smile and a wave before frowning when he sees the attachment still leeched onto Ray's wrist. "Miles, you didn't—"
"The special's going to be starting!" Dropping Ray's wrist as though it were suddenly burning hot, Miles dives for the remote and clicks on the television.
Gregory has come to the edge of the living room-kitchen divide, frowning as he looks from Miles to Ray. "If he woke you up, Raymond—"
Ray waves a hand as he settles down on the couch. "Nope. Planned to get up and watch this on my own, anyway."
"Really?" Excitement fills Miles' voice as he curls up on the other side of the couch, though it soon turns to suspicion. "But I thought yesterday you said—"
Ray puts a finger to his lips. "Shh! It's starting!"
Miles' attention is immediately transfixed, and Ray spends the next hour watching a very strange holiday crossover special with him, learning far more about children's super-heroes than he would have thought there even was to learn twenty-four hours ago.
By the time the end of the show is in sight, Gregory has finished whatever he was working on in the kitchen, setting things on the stove and in the oven and creating a tantalizing scent that promises good things to come. He settles on the far side of the couch, one leg crossed over the other. "Well, Miles? How do you think it rates?"
"It was amazing!" Miles is practically vibrating with barely suppressed energy. "Not quite perfect, I wish they had done more with the two yellows, but so cool! They—"
The end credits start, and Miles stops his review to jump to his feet, preparing to dance along with the characters.
Levering himself up off the couch, Ray joins in, earning a blinding smile of gratitude from Miles. "Isn't this fun, Uncle Ray?"
Ray loses the beat of the music, stumbling at the unexpected familiarity. "It's a ton of fun, kid."
"Oh really?" Uncrossing his legs, Gregory pushes himself to his feet. "Well, then, maybe I should try it, too."
Ray misses most of the rest of the song, trying very hard to keep his jaw attached to his face as Gregory Edgeworth, one of the most incredible defense attorneys in the city, dances along with his son to a child's superhero song.
Then Miles grabs his arm, urges him to throw it up in the finishing move, and Ray does, a grin breaking across his face as he does.
"Well." Gregory huffs out a breath. "You're right. That was fun. Now, Miles, how about you and Uncle Ray go get dressed, all right?"
"Yes, sir!" Miles gives an eager nod and grabs Ray's hand, tugging him toward the bedrooms at a fast march.
Ray allows himself to be dragged along, continuing to grin like an idiot.
This is the best holiday Ray can remember, and he hopes, as Miles shoves him towards the guest bedroom with an admonition for Uncle Ray to get dressed quickly so they can play some games, that it's just the first of many.