Plurk paste

"Worthy! Been awhile, hasn't it?"
Miles blinked apprehensively at the booming, laughing voice that filled the entirety of the private office, craning his neck to look all the way up at the face of the looming, broad-shouldered man shaking his father's free hand enthusiastically. He found that he had to step back a little to accomplish the feat, eyes traversing up a seemingly endless expanse of startling orange trousers and suitcoat before resting on a tanned face and graying black hair.
"Not so long, commander – and congratulations on that, by the way," Gregory demurred, tugging Miles forward. "Anyway, I didn't anticipate coming over from the office today, so my son's come along with me today, if that's not a problem–?"
"Ha, 'course not. I had to see him outside of pictures eventually, right?" The looming figure folded himself down in a crouch with an ease that belied his age, extending a callused hand. "I'm Damon Gant," he introduced himself, grinning at the still somewhat-apprehensive child.
"Miles Edgeworth." He reached forward and shook the proffered hand in spite of the way it dwarfed his, full of the unnecessarily solemn manners only a child could muster. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gant," Miles recited, frowning briefly at the way the older man chortled with amusement and looked up at his father. He was greeted with the little half-smile and hand-squeeze that meant he'd done something right, and that he shouldn't worry about it.
"God, he's just like you."
Gregory chucked, demeanor relaxing however slightly. "For better or for worse, yes. I suppose he is."
The orange man straightened again, still grinning to himself. "Little Worthy, in the flesh."
Gregory cleared his throat. "At any rate, about that case . . . ?"
"Oh, right, right!" Damon half-turned, paused, then glanced down at the child and stopped. "That's the sort of thing that's gonna bore Little Worthy to tears, though." All of Gregory's it's-really-not-a-problem protests went unheeded as the officer leaned his hands on his knees, bending closer to the boy to question him. "Do you like solitaire?"
Miles hesitated. "I -- I guess."
"Come over here, then. This is my desk." He'd barely finished talking before he was striding over to the old steel desk pushed up against one wall, stooping over the desktop and clicking at something on the monitor. Miles trailed him at a distance, watching as he opened a deep drawer alongside the footwell and pulled an opened bag of dum-dums from behind several files. "Have a lollipop, as long as you're at it. Your dad and I are just gonna be a few minutes."
Miles gave his father a cursory backward glance, just enough to secure a nod of approval before pulling out the towering black chair and clambering up. Gradually, he grinned, pulling the weathered bag of candy closer. This was a lot better than the usual running around he had to do when he came to work with his dad. The adults continued some sort of generally uninteresting conversation in the background ("Have you started running the precinct day care?" "Why? Do you want a lollipop too, Worthy?" "I'm more interested in those autopsy results, though if there's a root beer in there I won't argue."), taking his time rooting through the bag before settling on butterscotch and turning to the open game of solitare on the monitor.
He'd nearly finished the game, and was clicking intently three-at-a-time through the deck in search of a red seven when he realized that the adults were practically behind him.
Damon watched the game in progress for a few seconds, then bent down and picked up the bag of lollipops. "Riddle for you, Worthy."
"Hm?" He'd put down his briefcase on the desk and popped it open, and only now looked up with a cocked eyebrow.
"You're stranded on a desert island. What one thing do you bring along?"
The attorney thought for a moment, then shrugged, returning the riddle with a curious look. "I don't know. What?"
"Pack of cards." Damon grinned, gesturing in a rustle of plastic at the cards on the screen. "The minute you wash up, you start playing solitaire. It won't be five minutes before somebody shows up to suggest a move and bam, you're rescued."
Gregory looked heavenward, but found himself smiling a little regardless. "That's a good one." He straightened the few papers and files under his arm, tucked them away in the briefcase. "Thank you for letting him use your computer."
"Not a problem, Worthy."
Miles glanced up as something poked at his arm under the desk, looked down, and found a handful of suckers in was Damon's gloved grasp, pushing into his sleeve. He looked up, saw the policeman wink, and grinned as he took the offering and shoved it into his pocket.
Gregory looked up, pressing the locks on his briefcase shut. "Come on, Miles. We'll pick up lunch on the way back."
"Alright." He hopped down from the chair, grasping his father's hand and trotting alongside him as he strode out the door. "Thank you, Mr. Gant!" he called backward, still trying to tug straight the spiny lump in his jacket pocket.
"Take care of yourself, Worthy. Little Worthy," he called after them cheerfully, waving. The pair disappeared through the door and he shook his head with a chuckle, muttering to himself as he stooped and closed out the game. "Cute kid."