The Ties That Bind

Chapter Eight: Get Your Armor

Feb 10, Très Bien Restaurant, 6:30 PM

The two prosecutors sat silently at the table of Très Bien. They had been the first to arrive at the French restaurant for the dinner celebration proposed by Dick Gumshoe after the Hazakura Temple trial. They were currently awaiting the arrival of the Detective and his new wife, Maggey Byrde, Phoenix, Pearl and Maya, and Larry Butz, who Miles fervently hoped had since ceased his pitiful weeping, as the man had left a puddle of tears in his wake at the courthouse.

Despite putting on a normal front in the presence of their friends at the courthouse, Franziska had barely looked at or spoken to him the entire ride to the place, and hadn't said a word to him in the last fifteen minutes. Miles hadn't the foggiest notion of why, and it was beginning to unnerve him. He desperately wanted to ensure any discrepancies between them would be resolved before the others arrived. He was by and large still an intensely private person, as was Franziska, so he knew she whole-heartedly appreciated and supported the discretion act of them behaving as if they were merely colleagues in front of mixed company.

Living in Europe with the love of his life meant that he'd been able to keep his affairs mostly confidential – not that he was ashamed of being with Franziska, far from it! – and not let anyone back in the States know of his personal relationship. Oh, Wright knew, of course, and consequently Maya did as well, as he'd kept in touch with both of them via phone and email, but nobody else. The surprisingly still-unofficial duo had managed to be even more astoundingly discreet with their secret knowledge. Which was just as well. There was no reason for the others to know anything at the moment. It was none of their business.

"I know Gumshoe offered to foot the bill tonight, but you know we can't let him do that, right? The man makes in a year what you and I do in a month! I think we should at least offer to cover our own tabs, Franziska. Although, from what Miss Fey and Wright told me about this place's cuisine, I believe Monsieur Jean Armstrong should be the one to pay us for consuming his apparently substandard fare," Miles joked, looking expectantly across the table at his dining companion.

"Hmmmm...." Franziska said noncommittally, while keeping her eyes glued to her menu and refusing to look at him. Confused, Miles tried again to make conversation.

"I sincerely hope Butz is done throwing himself that pity party he forced us to attend at the courthouse," he said with forced joviality. "But I think we managed to convince the poor man that he's not completely useless and is at least an adequate artist."

Still no reply from his lover.

"Well, we can at least accredit him for having good taste in artistic inspirations, meine dame. After all, he did beg to make a portrait of you!"

Still no response from Franziska. She remained sitting there in sullen silence from him across the table, arms crossed protectively across her chest as she still avoided looking at him.

Miles was officially fed up by now. They had been together nearly a year now, living in domestic bliss in Germany. It'd been the most gratifying time of his life, and he'd assumed hers as well. Franziska completed him in every way he could ever have dreamed of, mentally, emotionally and physically. She had never been the clingy type to make a fuss when at times his investigations took him around the globe for weeks at time, like his last case in Zheng Fa had. In turn he'd been very supportive of her whenever she had international assignments with Interpol – which she'd taken leave from in order to fly back to the States and prosecute in the court. They had always returned home to each other despite the long absences that parted them, closer, happier and more in love than ever.