Archive of Our Own ^beta

Trucy is nine, and Phoenix is her world. He is the best, weirdest, most annoying dad anyone could hope for. Some of her classmates only want to come over after school if her dad is working; others are only interested if she can promise that he'll be at home.

Trucy turns ten, and eleven, and twelve, and her dad remains this: a strange, immensely loveable man, a source of fascination and comfort. He is what she knows of him, and nothing more.

Then, one day, she comes home from a friend's house and the air smells weird. Trucy has just turned thirteen, and her dad has clogged the kitchen sink with vomit.

Phoenix gets sick a lot. It's embarrassing, but it took Trucy years to notice. Her first daddy, he liked to drink too, and if he didn't have a performance the next morning, he'd wake up green in the face and wouldn't let Trucy bother him until well into the afternoon.

Trucy thought Phoenix was the same, picked her way through green bottles without thinking much of it, put painkillers on the coffee table with a glass of water like her dad had taught her to do. She let Phoenix have the bathroom on those days, and went to the café on the corner if she needed to pee.

And she wasn't wrong - it was that, sometimes. But sometimes it wasn't, and it took Trucy a long time to tell the difference.

"Truce," her dad croaks. He is slumped on the kitchen floor. He's clutching his beanie, which has vomit on it from wiping his mouth. He looks pale, frighteningly so, and he says her name like he might be dying.

That, above all else, is what scares her.

"Daddy," she exhales, coming up to touch his face. His skin is clammy, burning hot under her skin, and he smells worse as she gets close - not only of vomit, but of sickness, the animal smell of infection-contagion-stay away. "Daddy, we—you're, you look—are you okay?" A stupid question, one she'd smack herself for if she could, but she refuses to pull her hand away from Phoenix's rough cheek.

He lets out a small laugh. "I'll be fine," he says slowly. His throat hurts around the words, she can see his adam's apple bob. "Just need a sec. Sorry... the mess."

"It's okay," she tells him, and does what she has done so many times before - she takes the frightened little girl standing behind her and shoos her away, putting on her big-girl gloves.

Phoenix is so much heavier than her, a stinking deadweight across her shoulders, but she manages to drag him to the couch, where he hacks up some more bile into his beanie. "A bowl, please, Truce," he begs hoarsely. Trucy runs out of the room so she doesn't have to see him cry.

She brings him a bowl and cleans up the kitchen as best she can, and then she takes out her emergency bit of paper from behind the refrigerator and puts it in her pocket. "Daddy," she says, coming back into the living room. Phoenix is sprawled on the couch, eyes shut. "Daddy, we—I think you should go to hospital."

Phoenix shakes his head, a slow, single movement from one side to the other. "Can't afford it," he says. His voice is faint and low. "Y'know that, Truce. Don't worry 'bout your old man. Been through worse…" He trails off, going eerily still, and Trucy's heart tries to do its very own vanishing act.

Another trick she learned from her old daddy - she puts a glass of water on Phoenix's chest and watches it move, trying not to shake apart at how small the waves in the glass are.

Then she goes to get her phone and calls the number on the paper.

"You've reached Maya Fey, Master of Kurain," says the person on the other line.

"Auntie Maya, it's Trucy," she says, and then - to her shame, she's supposed to be stronger than this - she starts to cry.

"Trucy!" Maya sounds alarmed. "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

"Daddy -" she sobs, struggling to get the words out, "he's ill, I don't know—I don't know what to do."

"Oh, my God, that idiot… Let me speak to him," Maya says. "What did he get up to this time? I'm sure he'll be fine, Trucy, he walks off most things."

"He's not awake," Trucy says, and that's when Maya gets it.

"Fuck," says Maya. "Pardon my language. I'm—I can't believe Nick's timing, I'm away with acolytes in the mountains, it's a two-day hike back to the car. It's a miracle I even have signal. Fuck. I can send—listen, I'll call someone and they'll send—god, who is even in town right now—he chooses the worst timing, as usual—"

"Auntie Maya," Trucy sobs, "please don't be mean about him right now!"

"Ack, I'm sorry, Trucy. Okay, I'm, actually, I know who to call, okay? You just—try to keep him awake if you can. I need to call—I'm going to call someone. If he gets worse, call 911, okay? But it probably seems worse than it is. I know you're scared, but he'll be okay, and so will you."

"Okay," Trucy says wetly, and Maya hangs up after a few more empty reassurances. Trucy wants to trust her, but she can't - not when she hasn't seen how Phoenix's eyelids flicker and the way he rattles when his body wants to throw up and his stomach is empty.

She sits on the floor next to him, watching the glass move, taking it off whenever a cough or a retch rattles the room. Five hours later, it is one in the morning, and their doorbell rings.

Trucy goes to open the door, hoping somehow that Aunt Maya found a way to get to town, but standing on the street outside the office is Miles Edgeworth.

"Hello, Trucy," says Edgeworth awkwardly. He looks harried, the belt of his trenchcoat trailing on the ground behind him. In his hand is a briefcase, and the edge of at least one sheet of paper is caught in the clasp.

"Uncle Edgeworth," Trucy replies in surprise, covering her mouth. "How are you here?"

"I was nearby," Edgeworth says, looking away, the lie too obvious to acknowledge. "And Maya Fey called me. How is Wright? May I…?"

"Oh—yes, of course, come in," Trucy says, stepping aside. "Um—sorry about the smell, I haven't…"

"I work on crime scenes, Trucy, I have doubtlessly smelled worse," Edgeworth says, distracted as he steps into the apartment. Unerringly, he navigates to Phoenix on the couch. If Trucy had anyone to talk to about her daddy and uncle Edgeworth, she'd call it their compass senses. Phoenix can always find uncle Edgeworth in a crowd, can spot him as soon as they get off the plane, and uncle Edgeworth never has to ask Trucy where her dad's gone off to. He knows which room Phoenix is in, always.

She follows him, quiet. Most of what she remembers about uncle Edgeworth is the itchy restlessness of sitting on a plane for a long time, his stern gaze, and the way her dad smiles around him. Uncle Edgeworth has watched Trucy and Phoenix go on the London Eye and has insisted on driving them around Berlin even though Trucy wanted to try the underground, and she remembers trying to catch snow on her tongue in the outskirts of Oslo while bundled in an expensive scarf uncle Edgeworth had bought her, but she doesn't know him. She doesn't trust him. She reminds him of one of the lessons her first daddy taught her: rich people are not to be trusted, because they think they have nothing to lose. Rich people who pretend you’re worth the same as them are the least trustworthy of all.

And bringing a stranger into her home when one of her people is brutally ill on the couch makes her instincts scream at her, makes her press her lips together as she watches uncle Edgeworth look Phoenix over, but she lets it happen, because she's thirteen and scared and her daddy is unconscious.

"Wright," Edgeworth says softly. The glass is still on Phoenix's chest, and Trucy watches as Edgeworth picks it up and puts it aside with a bemused frown. He doesn't know anything, she thinks, her nails digging into her palms. He doesn't know anything, he's probably too rich to ever have had to worry about someone he cares about. He's always on the other side of the ocean, even though he should know that Trucy's dad doesn't ever smile the way he does when he's around. He doesn't care about Phoenix, and he doesn't care about Trucy, and it's not fair, why couldn't Aunt Maya come, why is Trucy stuck here with this man!

As if he can sense the air growing venomous around him, Edgeworth looks up and catches Trucy's gaze. He says, condescendingly, "Don't worry, he's just asleep."

"I know that," Trucy says. "I'm not worried anymore. You can go."

Edgeworth frowns. "Trucy…" He falters, plainly searching for words, but in that moment Phoenix turns over on the couch and coughs, a long, painful coughing fit that wracks his whole frame.

"Oh—" cough " —my god, Edgeworth—" cough cough cough "why are you—"

Trucy runs over to him, rubbing his back. "Daddy, are you okay?"

Phoenix shakes his head, but after a while of painful hacking and Edgeworth looking increasingly distressed, he is able to relax back into the couch, taking short, careful breaths so he doesn't aggravate his lungs again. He closes his eyes, and his voice is raspy and small when he says,

"Truce, darling, is he real?"

Trucy glances over at Edgeworth and nods. "Yes, daddy, he's real. He showed up a few minutes ago."

"Jesus wept," Phoenix mumbles hoarsely, and then his face scrunches up in pain, and he doesn't speak anymore for a while, Trucy and Edgeworth both watching him carefully.

"Wright," Edgeworth says uselessly, once it looks like Phoenix has fallen asleep. Trucy glares at him.

"I don't think he should be speaking more," she says. "I can take care of him, you should probably go."

Eyes still closed, Phoenix reaches out to grab her wrist, giving it a reassuring little squeeze. Some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders. "He can cook," Phoenix says, and coughs again, cupping his hand over his mouth so he can catch the bile as he retches. "Fuck—"

"Wright," Edgeworth says, distraught, and Trucy has half a mind to ask him if he knows any other words, but then Phoenix continues, talking in one painful breath,

"Have him help you cook something, Trucy, 'n I'll… I'll tidy up in here."

Trucy exhales. It's one in the morning, and her stomach is twisting with nausea from the smell in the air and how long it's been since she ate.

Without saying anything, Edgeworth goes to the kitchen. Trucy can hear the sound of the fridge opening, can hear Edgeworth pulling out a chopping board and a knife. She watches her dad, the pained lines of his face, and then she leans over, pressing her lips quickly to his stubbled cheek. Fine, means the kiss. I'll be good . His lips twitch once under her mouth, a tiny gesture of gratitude, and then he fades back into the haze of illness. Trucy leaves him on the couch and follows uncle Edgeworth into the kitchen.

"I understand if you're frightened from seeing your father this way," Edgeworth tells the pasta water as he salts it.

"I've seen him worse," Trucy says. It's not true, not really, but she is restlessly angry and she wants uncle Edgeworth to hurt, because her daddy is so ill that he might die and she can't do anything about it.

Edgeworth's shoulders pull up to his shoulders. "Ah," he says. The smartest man I know, my ass, Trucy thinks unkindly. "Even so. It can be… disconcerting."

"Just because you're disconcerted, doesn't mean I am, uncle Edgeworth!" she says, the false cheer loud enough in the small kitchen to make him wince. "Daddy always pulls through!"

"…exactly right," Edgeworth says after a pause. He opens a can of chopped tomatoes, pouring them into a pan with chopped garlic and a bay leaf that Trucy thinks might be older than her. "And while it may look bad, it seems to be nothing more than a nasty bug."

"Mhm!" Trucy says, enjoying the way her cheery facade makes Edgeworth bend his head over the stove, ruining his posture. "So like I said, you don't need to stay."

Edgeworth looks at her over her shoulder. The glance is brief, weary, but it looks through her in an instant. Trucy closes her mouth with a snap and straightens in her seat. "I don't think your father would approve of me leaving you alone," he says finally. "I'd like to stay, just until he's… better."

Trucy blows her cheeks out, frustrated, but in the end, uncle Edgeworth is an adult and she is not, so she could argue herself blue in the face and he would still have the final word.

It's a little confusing, though. If her daddy's other stupid rich European friend came over, the one Phoenix rarely lets her see and who smells like chlorine and roses, then he would have left by now. He certainly wouldn't be trying to cook something in their dingy kitchen. She has seen how he looks at her daddy, when they're saying goodbye outside the house and Trucy is peeking through the windows. When they share a cigarette and Phoenix's eyes close to inhale, and Kristoph Gavin looks like he wants to push the butt of the cigarette into her daddy's skin.

Well. It's not slithering Gavin here tonight, it's Miles Edgeworth, and he's also stupid, and rich, and European, but at least he carries himself with a stiffness to rival Mr. Hat. No snakes in sight.

Trucy goes and gets the spare futon that's rolled up in her bedroom for when a friend wants to stay the night and puts it in the living room. Phoenix is curled up on himself on the couch, occasional tremors running through him. After a moment's pause, Trucy gets a washcloth and a change of clothes for him, cleaning his face and hands and putting the clothes nearby so he can change when he wakes up.

When she comes back into the kitchen, Edgeworth is straining the pasta and mixing the sauce in. "I put the futon out for you by daddy," she says. "He sleeps on the couch, so we don't have a spare bed. Sorry."

Edgeworth's eyes widen. "Wright doesn't have his own bedroom?"

"Nope!" Trucy says, but the cheer is even more forced now, so it's not fun for either of them. She sits down, shoveling pasta into her mouth. It's good, which makes everything worse.

Edgeworth sits across from her, picking at his own food. A third serving, presumably for Phoenix, rests on the counter.

"I'll watch over him while you sleep," Edgeworth says. "And I believe it is a school night, so should you wish to go to school tomorrow, I will be here until you return."

"Should I wish to?" Trucy repeats.

"It is currently…" Edgeworth goes to check his wristwatch, pausing for a moment as he has to turn the dial. He's setting it, Trucy realizes. What time zone was he in before this? I was nearby. "Past one in the morning. It would be understandable if you were to stay home."

"Daddy says I should never miss school if I can help it," Trucy says.

"Ah," Edgeworth says awkwardly. "Verily. Well. I'm sure your father knows best." He isn't looking at her, so he doesn't see the way she rolls her eyes.

Trucy stands up, her chair squealing across the floor as she does. "I'm going to bed now," she announces. "Sleep well, Uncle Edgeworth."

Call him Uncle Edgeworth, Phoenix had told her on the plane, the first time Trucy saw the Atlantic Ocean from above. It'll make him do a really funny face.

It still does, although it's not as pronounced as it used to be.

"Sleep well, Trucy," Edgeworth replies after he has stopped looking vaguely constipated.

Trucy goes to her room, getting into her pajamas and crawling into bed. She thinks she will stay up all night, trying to find Phoenix's shaky breaths in the midst of the ambient noises of the city, but as soon as her head hits the pillow, she is out like a light.

An ambulance outside her window wakes her with a start. She jumps up, heart in her throat, but the sound slows and disappears within the minute - not for her dad, then. Her eyelids burn when she opens them, and checking her phone reveals that it's five thirty, earlier than she needs to be up even if she does go to school. Trucy turns over on her bed, closing her eyes to see if she can catch a few more winks of sleep, but between her pounding heart and the headache that's left-over from crying yesterday, her body begs her to get up.

She pulls herself up and decides to sneak into the kitchen for a glass of water. She has to go through the living room, but she's good at not waking Phoenix - years of night shifts have given them both ample time to practice - and the futon for Edgeworth isn't in her path. It'll be fine.

Just as she wraps her hand around her doorknob, she pauses. Faint conversation can be heard on the other side, but she's only able to pick it up now that the blood has stopped being quite so loud in her ears.

Trucy opens the door a crack and sits down on the floor, listening.

"…can't even fucking look after one kid," her dad is muttering. His voice sounds hoarse and painful. His throat is always the worst affected when he's sick - he says it's because of a mistake he made when he was a kid, but Trucy's never been privy to any other details. "I missed my shift tonight. I can't miss the next one."

"You'll catch your death if you go out like this," Edgeworth replies, short and pragmatic. Catch your death. Who even speaks like this? Trucy glowers from her position on the floor. Uncle Edgeworth sounds like a Jane Austen novel, but it's not cute. It's just annoying. "Your immune system is shot."

"We need the money," her dad replies. Trucy wants to close her ears, but she can't find the willpower to turn away from the door. He'd never say these things if he knew she could hear, but that's all the more reason for her to know them. She's not a kid anymore. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to ask a thirteen-year-old to pay the bills? It's bad enough when she asks why we never have dinner together."

Trucy covers her mouth. Tears prickle at her eyes, even though she is sure she must have cried herself empty yesterday. He doesn't mean… does he?

Edgeworth draws in a breath. It sounds ragged, and that's what makes it real. "Wright," he says quietly. "Surely you don't…"

"They usually feed me at the club," Phoenix says. "That's fine. That wasn't the point."

"I can help," Edgeworth says. Trucy trembles by the door, listening.

Trucy, half a day ago, half a year ago, half a lifetime ago, would have said that she and her daddy don't need anyone's help. They get by just fine.

Trucy, in this moment, wavers—

But her daddy doesn't, his reply instant. "Fuck off."

"Are you seriously saying that accepting my help is worse to you than asking Trucy?"

There is a pause. Her dad coughs, an exhausted noise. Did the ambulance wake them up too? Is uncle Edgeworth's body clock all messed up because of wherever he came from? Trucy remembers that feeling from London, the out-of-body experience of watching the sun set while her body knew it was still early afternoon. "Edgeworth," her dad says finally. "I… You must already have spent a fortune getting here so quickly. Fuck, I…" His voice breaks, and Trucy does cry then, keeping herself quiet. "Fuck."

Her daddy rarely swears in front of her. Sometimes he does it if he stubs his toe, or if Trucy surprises him so badly that he drops whatever he was holding, but even then he covers it with a sheepish grin and a sorry, Truce, guess that's a nickel for the swear jar. She's never heard him like this, and she wonders, suddenly, what it's like for your world to just consist of your daughter and a guy you don't trust.

She has never thought of him that way before. Of what their life must be like, when you're the adult. She doesn't like to think about it.

"Wright," Edgeworth says again. "You're ill. Let me help."

"I don't want your help," her dad says, his voice choked with tears. "I'm supposed to be able to do this on my own. Plenty of people do it, so why can't I?"

"Says who?" Edgeworth's voice is sharper, the loudest either of them have been on this dark, secret, unreal morning. It makes Trucy jump, and she hurries to pull her blanket from bed, bundling up and coming back to sit by the door. There's a draft in the house, like a window's been left open. "Phoenix. Need I remind you of the consequences of such isolationist thinking?"

"Miles," her dad replies. He makes the word sound very unkind. "Don't worry. I'm not about to leave a note and flee the country."

The silence is so loud and painful that the very air hurts when it goes into Trucy's lungs.

"Sorry," Phoenix mumbles finally. "Shit. That was… I'm sorry. Can I get a freebie on account of the fact that I feel like I'm dying?"

Edgeworth does not reply for a long time. "Don't make light of my concern for you."

Her dad sighs. "Sometimes I think I feel the most shit anyone possibly can, and then you come along and you unlock the secret words to a new level of shit-feeling," he says, but his words are oddly light. "I admire it very deeply."

"It's a gift," Edgeworth says. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, Wright. Is taking what's being offered really so painful?"

"Why don't you ask yourself that, circa 2016," Phoenix mutters. "Getting you to accept my help wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"I know," Edgeworth says impatiently. "And if you can't learn from the mistakes of those around you, you are bound to repeat them."

"Agent Lang was such a bad influence on you," Phoenix says, and then he coughs for a long time, and then there is silence.

Trucy is about to go back to bed when she hears him speak again, the exact frequency she's been attuned to for so many years now, the frequency of home-safe-Phoenix.

"I need to call her school in the morning. But… maybe you could take her out? There's no reason for you two to mope around here with me."

"Take her out?" Edgeworth repeats.

"Yeah, just… to the movies or something."

"You might get worse," Edgeworth says. "Or are you planning on sneaking behind her back to attend your shift anyway?"

Phoenix tries to laugh and coughs instead. He sounds fatigued when he speaks, a crackle that Trucy can barely make out. "Couldn't even if I wanted to. Please, Miles. I don't want her seeing me like this, 'n I'll call you if I need."

Edgeworth sighs. "Very well," he says finally. His voice should be harder to make out than her dad's, since it's so much less familiar, but he speaks with such precision and presence that she hears him anyway. It's the voice of someone who could be on stage, if they wanted to. "Get some rest now, Wright."

"Way ahead of you," Phoenix mumbles, and then it really is silent.

Trucy goes back to bed, pulling her duvet over her. She thinks about her father, and the sides of him she can't see because he is her father.

She thinks about uncle Edgeworth, and tries not to dread spending a day with him. At least, she tells herself, talking is frowned upon in the movie theater. And she can always practice her routine, if she truly runs out of things to say. Even a rich weird guy's feedback is valuable.

She falls back asleep, imagining the charming ways she can take money out of Edgeworth's wallet and get away with it, and doesn't wake up until the sun is high in the sky.

When Trucy comes out of her room, there's the smell of oatmeal and Febreeze in the air, a combination that makes her nose wrinkle in distaste. Her dad is lying on the couch, brow eased in sleep. His breath still comes in ragged puffs, but the bowl next to him is clean and empty, and he changed into the clothes she brought him. The futon Edgeworth slept on is rolled up and stowed away neatly, and several of her props have been gathered to make space for a laptop and some files that say CONFIDENTIAL in big red letters. She stops to peruse them, but is disappointed when they're not half as exciting as they seem.

"Trucy," Edgeworth says with surprise when she comes into the kitchen. "Good morning."

"It's ten in the morning, and I live here," she tells him.

"I thought you might still be tired from last night. How did you sleep?"

"Like my dad might be dying," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't want to tell him that she heard the conversation they had in the middle of the night.

"Well, I bear good news on that front," Edgeworth says. "He has been keeping down enough water for the anti-emetics to begin working." He turns back to the stove, peering into the pot and stirring the oatmeal. "He also called your school."

Trucy bites her cheek. She has never thought about things like how her dad is perceived by other adults - she's known her peers' opinion of him, and had until now thought that sufficient. What do the other parents think of her dad? What do her teachers think of her dad? She can only tell when someone is lying if she's looking for it.

Is this part of growing up? Realizing that everyone is perceiving everyone else, all the time? Trucy loves the performance, but she also knows the most important part is the end. When she needs to take her cape off and be Truce, she has her dad.

Who does he have? Aunt Maya? She never has time to come to the city anymore, and Phoenix doesn't visit her. Uncle Edgeworth? She looks at him, the way his expensive watch glints in the sunlight, the way his crisp white shirt makes every appliance in the kitchen look yellow with age and the way his neat gray socks make the fake tiles on the floor obvious, and she finds him lacking.

While she's been ruminating, Edgeworth has finished their breakfast. He sets a plate of plain oatmeal down in front of her.

Trucy stares at it.

"Why is it on a plate," she says.

"Er," Edgeworth says, in that vaguely British way of his. "I suppose… yes, I suppose you would usually eat it in a bowl."

"You eat oatmeal off a plate?" Trucy asks, looking up at him in shock.

Edgeworth's ears turn red. "It was how I ate it when I—this does not matter. Would your father prefer it in a bowl too?"

Trucy nods, still reeling from the idea of eating oatmeal off a plate. Edgeworth takes the plate for himself and makes two bowls of oatmeal, putting one in front of her and leaving the other one on the counter.

She takes a bite. The oatmeal is plain and not nearly sweet enough. Of course a guy like Edgeworth would make boring oatmeal. She gets up, pulling out some chocolate chips and cinnamon from the cupboard, and adds it to the top of her own.

Edgeworth eyes the toppings where she leaves them on the table, but he doesn't reach for them, even though he clearly wants to.

"You can have some too," Trucy says, which feels like an unnecessary statement - of course Edgeworth can have some, she would've been much sneakier about it if she didn't want to share. But he gives her a look of gratitude that seems oddly sincere for such a simple gesture, adding a neat layer of chocolate chips to his oatmeal.

"I haven't eaten porridge—that is, oatmeal in a long time," Edgeworth says. "But it was my preferred meal when I was ill. Hopefully your father will be able to keep it down."

"Daddy always gave me a can of chicken soup," she says. "Maybe we can pick some up when we go out."

Edgeworth gives her a brief look. Trucy realizes, with the delay of someone who hasn't had to watch her words for a long time once her teachers finally stopped calling CPS, that Edgeworth hasn't asked her to go out with him yet.

She purses her lips together and then gives him a big smile. "I mean, if we go out," she says. "But since I'm off school, we might as well, right?"

"Right," Edgeworth echoes. "I was actually thinking along the same lines. A movie, perhaps?"

"Sounds perfect," Trucy says.

They finish their meal in somewhat awkward silence, which Trucy enjoys, and then Edgeworth goes to take the bowl of oatmeal to Phoenix. Trucy stays in her seat, closing her eyes to listen.

"…Wright," Edgeworth is murmuring. "Breakfast."

"Ugh," Phoenix replies, sounding like dog poo scraped off someone's shoe. "Don't want it."

"You need to eat. It's plain porridge, so it shouldn't be too difficult on your stomach. Not too sweet."

Phoenix sighs, and then the couch shifts. "Given your sweet tooth, I don't know if I trust your assessment of too sweet… Time's it?"

"Still early," Edgeworth tells him. "I'm going out with Trucy."

"Oh, good," Phoenix breathes out. It sounds like he falls asleep again, and uncle Edgeworth re-enters the kitchen - and just for a second, before he remembers that Trucy is there, she sees it:

His brows are knitted together in worry, eyes downcast, but even gray as they are, they are warm. His posture is loose and easy, even though his back is still straight like he's wearing a posture-corrector, and there is a curve to his lips, a secret smile that he raises one arm to press the back of his hand into, like a kiss, like he wants to kiss .

And Trucy remembers.

She remembers seeing that smile when they descended the escalators at Heathrow Airport, she remembers seeing it while she was trying to make snowballs with powder snow in Oslo, she remembers seeing it on Brandenburger Tor, while she was trying to run around one of the columns as fast as she could without getting too dizzy.

Uncle Edgeworth is in love with her dad.

He startles as soon as he sees her, hand falling away from his mouth and the tension returning to his frame like he's been dunked in ice. They stare at each other for a moment. Edgeworth may have the voice of a performer, but his face is much too open, and when his mask comes back down, it is an obvious transformation - like he has to force his expression into a mimicry of what's expected.

"It's easier," she tells him, "if you find a way to feel what it is you want to look like. Instead of forcing your face to do something."

Edgeworth pauses. "You are very good at what you do, aren't you?" he says. It doesn't sound as patronizing as it should - there's sincere admiration there, Trucy knows, which bowls her over more than the compliment itself. "Thank you for the advice. Unfortunately I have never been particularly apt at expressing emotion correctly." He gives her a shadow of a smile. "If you have finished your breakfast, would you care to accompany me to the cinema?"

Trucy looks down at her empty bowl. "Do you think daddy will be okay alone?" she asks.

"I am sure of it," Edgeworth tells her. "Your father just needs rest."

"Okay. Let me—" she slides off her seat. "I'll go grab my things, then, and then we can go."

Edgeworth nods. Trucy goes into the living room, crouching by the couch where her dad is sleeping. She leans in, kissing his cheek and feeling the comforting rasp of stubble against her lips. "You can still borrow my bed, if you want," she whispers. "Even though you're going to get cooties all over it."

Her dad continues to sleep. She touches his forehead, noting with some relief that he's not quite as clammy to the touch, and his smell is not as rank with sickness as it was yesterday. After a moment's hesitation, she kisses his cheek again, remembering the way uncle Edgeworth pressed his lips to the back of his hand and trying to mimic that sweet, small motion. Then she stands up and grabs her bag, going to meet Edgeworth by the door.

The only movie that they're showing at eleven in the morning is a science-fiction movie. Edgeworth selects the showing and buys them two tickets, and then they find their seats.

There's a lot of babies around them, Trucy notes, and then the movie starts, but the lights don't go down.

"Wh…" Edgeworth looks around, startled. Trucy is sitting next to a young woman with an infant on her lap, the baby cooing and drooling over her chewing toy.

"This is the baby cinema," the girl tells them with a drawl. Her low-cut top has sequins on it and she's got highlights in her hair. "You look mighty out of place, I have to say."

Trucy giggles behind her hand while Edgeworth goes through several shades of red.

"That is fine," he says stiffly. "We are already here."

A baby starts to cry behind them, but is quickly bounced to complacency. The girl gives them a look, smirking slightly. "Sure," she says.

Trucy waves at her baby, a sweet little thing in pink sequins who matches her mama. When the movie starts, the audio turned down a bit so as not to startle the babies, Trucy quickly learns that the girl's name is Alissa and her baby's name is Jackie - Jacqueline when she misbehaves, like when she's trying to eat Trucy's coat and gets cute baby spit all over it - and that she's four years older than Trucy. She also thinks Timothée Chalamet is really hot, and sighs whenever he comes on-screen, even though Trucy struggles to see the appeal.

On her other side, Edgeworth glances at them every so often, his gaze stern enough to be disapproving. Trucy knows what he must think of someone like Alissa, with her hoop earrings and nails that clack against each other. Even though they've just met, Trucy feels fiercely protective of them, and she leans forward in her seat to shield Alissa and baby Jackie from Edgeworth's cool glare.

The movie finishes. Trucy waves bye to Alissa, who holds Jackie's tiny fist so they can both wave back. She strolls out of the cinema with Edgeworth in tow, preparing herself for whatever cruel remark Edgeworth will toss out.

"That girl," Edgeworth says.

"She was nice, wasn't she!" Trucy says loudly. "And baby Jackie was so cute!"

"I - I suppose," Edgeworth says. "How old did she say she was?"

"Seventeen," Trucy replies, eyes narrowing as she looks over at Edgeworth.

Edgeworth frowns deeply. He stops in front of a cafe, studying the menu that's encased in glass by the front door. Trucy spots one of the meals - mussels marinieres, $26.95 - and rolls her eyes. "Can't we go to Taco Bell?" she asks.

"Taco Bell," Edgeworth repeats, aghast.

"Or MacDonald's. You can choose, uncle Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth's face does that funny thing again, and Trucy hides her smile behind her hand.

"…Taco Bell," he says finally, and Trucy leads him to the one on the corner of Vitamin Park. It's her dad's favorite, mostly because it apparently took the place of some terrible French place he hated.

Over a Cantina Chicken Bowl, Edgeworth tries to broach the topic again. "The girl—" he starts.

Trucy points her sauce-slathered nugget in his direction, frowning. "She was very nice! Do we have to talk about her?"

Edgeworth frowns. "I simply wanted to say that… I'm not sure if it is a quality inherent to your character, or one you have inherited from Wright, but you have that in common. Making friends in unlikely places."

Trucy blows out her cheeks, unsure if she's being complimented or reprimanded. "I don't get it," she says finally, chewing on her chicken nuggets.

"Wright was always excellent at seeing past a person's circumstance when assessing their character," Edgeworth says. "It's what makes him a terrific defense attorney. It's very admirable, and you should be -" here he stutters, ears pink, "Proud, that you have the same trait."

Trucy blinks. And blinks. And then she starts to blush, because it's been so long since anyone complimented her and her daddy in the same sentence, and it makes her so happy that she doesn't know what to do with herself. "Do you want to see a magic trick!" she says, too loudly for the small restaurant. Edgeworth winces, but he nods.

"I would love to," he says.

She shows him a simple card trick, one she knows she can execute even when she's jumpy with emotion, and Edgeworth looks truly startled when she pulls the card out of his shirt sleeve. "How on Earth…?"

"Magic," she tells him. She grins, and feels the comfort of her performer's mask settling back into place. She's much better at it than uncle Edgeworth, so he doesn't notice. But he put her off her game, and she wants to do it back, so she asks, "Is it weird that daddy's not a lawyer anymore?"

Edgeworth bites down on his fork and grimaces, straightening. "I don't know if this is a fruitful avenue of conversation for you, Miss Wright," he says.

"It's Trucy," Trucy says. "Don't call me Miss Wright, you'll make me think I'm in trouble! Am I?"

Edgeworth hesitates. "No."

"Fine. If you don't want to talk about daddy, then let's do a swap! A secret for a secret." She beams at him. "If I tell you a secret, you have to tell me one back, right? And it's gotta be a good one! Not a boring one like your files."

Edgeworth sighs. "Of course you went through my files," he mutters. "You Wrights can never leave anything alone, can you?"

"Nope," Trucy says cheerfully, popping the p to watch him jump.

Her dad is the only adult that Trucy really interacts with besides her teachers, and he's so used to her that she can never really affect him, not even when she gets her ears pierced without permission or leaves her wet bath towel on the floor until it starts to smell. Uncle Edgeworth is so easy to get a rise out of, and it is - Trucy is beginning to realize - tremendously entertaining.

"Very well," Edgeworth says finally. "I accept your terms. Will you go first, then?"

"Yes," she says, and then she pauses, because she realizes she has no idea what to say. She takes her time dipping her nugget in sauce. "Perhaps a practice run, first," she says. "With a—with a small secret."

Edgeworth finishes his salad and nods, pressing a tissue-paper napkin to his mouth. "Very well."

Trucy peers around at the Taco Bell. There's a few other people bent over their crunchwrap supremes, someone loudly slurping at their soda, but no one she recognises. "Everyone at school thinks I like this boy, Thomas," she says, "but I don't."

Edgeworth hums. "Schoolchildren have a tendency to do that, do they not? Draw the wrong conclusion."

Trucy frowns, folding her arms. Abruptly, this game does not seem as fun as it did when she proposed it. "They're not schoolchildren, " she says. "We're teenagers, not little kids. You know, if you're just going to be stuck-up and stupid about it, we don't have to talk at all, we can just go home and you can say bye to daddy and then you can leave again." She says it all in one breath, cheeks hot with anger. "And daddy told me that age is a protected characteristic, so you can sue someone for being ageist, so you should watch out, uncle Edgeworth, because even though my daddy's not a lawyer anymore, he can still sue people!"

Edgeworth starts to speak. He stutters and falters, like a car, and clears his throat to try again. "I apologize, Miss Wright," he says finally. "I did not mean to… belittle your experiences."

"Well, good," Trucy says mulishly. "Because it's your turn. And don't call me Miss Wright, my name is Trucy."

Edgeworth sighs. For a moment, he looks frustrated, a scowl weighing down the corners of his mouth, and Trucy wonders if she's finally cracked him - but no, he just does that inelegant masking again, and his face becomes almost expressionless. "My secret… hm. I have several pieces of gifted decor that I don't enjoy, so I keep them hidden away and only bring them out when the relevant gifter is visiting."

"Why do you keep them at all?" Trucy asks.

"I suppose it's easier to avoid the confrontation," Edgeworth says dryly, his fingers tapping on the aluminum table.

"Lie," Trucy says immediately. "That's a lie."

Edgeworth flinches back and he stares at her, unhappy.

"Tell me the truth," Trucy says, "or this isn't going to work."

"It is easier to avoid the confrontation, with this particular individual," Edgeworth mutters. "But… even though I do not enjoy seeing the pieces, it has become routine to bring them out when she visits. And I find routine comforting." He looks up at her, as if baffled by himself.

Trucy smiles at him, even though her cheeks still hurt and she's still a little angry. "Good job," she says, and from the way Edgeworth's eye twitches he definitely picks up on the condescension in her voice. "Now we should do the real secret, and I went first, so you go first this time."

Edgeworth's eyes narrow. "Miss Wright," he says warningly, and Trucy gives him her sunniest smile.

"It's only fair, uncle Edgeworth, and daddy says you're the most fair man he knows!"

As expected, invoking Phoenix makes Edgeworth sit back in his seat. He's becoming very predictable, this guy.

"Verily," says Edgeworth awkwardly. "Well, if I must…" He trails off, but he's clearly thinking, so Trucy waits. Then, finally, he takes a short breath and says, "When your father told me he was planning on adopting you, I was against it."

Ice drops down the back of Trucy's shirt and her eyes immediately map out the route to the door. Edgeworth is sitting closer to it, but if she can get around him—how can she get around him—

"—Wright. Trucy," Edgeworth says, and Trucy snaps back to reality, her heart beating so fast that she can taste iron in her throat, and she stares at him with naked fear in her eyes. "Trucy. I am not going to take you away. I promise."

Trucy swallows. Her heart is still too loud for her to hear him properly, so she has to watch his lips move.

"What I meant to say is...I was wrong," Edgeworth says. "And I am very glad he didn't listen to me."

"I don't trust you," Trucy croaks, which is her secret. Edgeworth does not look surprised.

"Why would you?" he says. "I would be concerned if you did—it would display a shocking lack of self-preservation."

Trucy makes herself let go of the edge of the table, although she still keeps an eye on the exit. "Why did you—why did you think he shouldn't have adopted me?"

Edgeworth lets out a short breath. She manages to look at him, and sees that this is the real secret - this is what he wanted to tell her, even if he didn't know how. "Because," he says, "when I was nine years old, my father passed away, and I was taken in by a lawyer. It was not, on the whole, a pleasant experience. I should have known that Wright would have learned better through that, however."

Trucy's eyes widen. "Your dad died when you were a kid?" she asks, and Edgeworth nods, face shadowed for a moment. "But you're rich!"

"What on Earth does that have to do with it?" Edgeworth asks.

"You're—like, really rich, not just rich like my friend Maddie who gets takeout on the weekends and has an iPhone."

"I'm still failing to see the relevance," Edgeworth says.

"I thought rich people didn't suffer," she says, and that - of all things - makes Edgeworth make a strange horse-like whinny of laughter, which he quickly hides behind his hand. Even when he moves it away, though, his lips are quirked in honest humor.

"Money, or the lack of it, is simply one way to suffer," Edgeworth replies. "Unfortunately, as I am sure you have seen, there are many others. Poor health… the indignities of various systems…difficult familial relations, such as violence in the home." He casts an eye at her and she shrinks.

"I told you my secret already," she says, voice small. Violence in the home. He knows Phoenix doesn't - so maybe he knows... "It's that I don't trust you."

"Trucy," Edgeworth says, not unkindly, "I already knew that."

She swallows and remembers—

Edgeworth is an investigator.

She bows her head. "I don't really want my first daddy to come back anymore," she tells the aluminum table, which must be the most important thing anyone's ever told it. "And I don't want anything to happen to daddy - this daddy."

"I don't, either," Edgeworth says. Even though she's not looking at him, she knows it's the truth. "Now. Shall we go back and see him? Perhaps he's feeling better."

Trucy nods, feeling shaky but weirdly okay as she gets to her feet. Edgeworth knows the route back to the house, which is weird until she remembers that he used to live in this city too. She is quiet, and he lets her be, which is a relief.

That's what she's feeling after telling her secret, she realizes - relief.

She hasn't told anyone that she doesn't want Zak Gramarye to come back. Every so often, Phoenix reassures her that he's still looking, and Auntie Maya promises her that he's not dead, because she'd be able to tell. She's never found the words to say, Stop! I like my life now!

Things are good, now. Even though they're difficult, even though Phoenix drinks and his stubble only sometimes covers the gauntness of his cheeks, even though she never got a cat like she was promised a couple of years ago, even though she's had to ask her friend whether she's supposed to start shaving her legs yet. Somehow, despite it all, it's good.

"You're back," says Phoenix when the front door opens. The first thing Trucy notices is his hair, still wet from the shower, and the spark of life in his eyes. She darts through the room, avoiding props and furniture alike to hug him tightly around the middle, making Phoenix let out a laughing oof .

"You look so much better," she tells his chest, and he rubs her back comfortingly.

"I feel a lot better," he says. His voice is still hoarse and croaky, and his gaze is heavy with fatigue, but when Trucy pulls back to inspect him, he grins and pushes her hands away.

"Have you eaten?" Edgeworth asks, hovering over Trucy's shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks for the oatmeal," her dad says, and she puts her cheek back against his chest to listen to the rumble of his voice. "I've been able to keep it down and everything. Did you guys eat too?"

"Yes, we went for…" Edgeworth hesitates. "Taco Bell."

Phoenix starts to laugh, which makes him cough, which makes Trucy need to move away so he can curl his back until it clears, but when he straightens again, he's still smiling.

"God, I wish I'd been there to see that. Which one did you go to?"

"The one where Trés Bien used to be," Edgeworth says.

"Oh, my favorite! Good choice, Truce."

"How'd you know I chose it?" she asks, and Phoenix winks at her.

"'Cause you're my daughter. I know everything."

"It was certainly an improvement over the previous establishment," Edgeworth says haughtily, "although that's not exactly a high bar to clear."

Phoenix laughs again, which makes him cough again. "Stop making me laugh, Edgeworth, c'mon…"

Edgeworth flushes. Trucy looks between them, wondering.

"I was actually thinking," Phoenix says, into the sudden space of silence. "We could watch a movie, all three of us, unless you're all movie-d out?"

"If you're feeling better," Edgeworth starts, "I should go—"

Phoenix reaches out, wrapping his hand around Edgeworth's wrist. He lets go immediately, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish motion that Trucy rarely sees these days, but the brief touch seems to have broken uncle Edgeworth like dunking electrical circuits in water. He moves his mouth slightly, but no sound comes out.

"I wanna watch a movie," Trucy says. "We went to baby cinema, so I didn't get to pay attention."

"You went to baby cinema?" Phoenix repeats, gleeful, and Edgeworth huffs, colour high on his cheeks as he sputters.

"It was the only showing available—I didn't know—what even is baby cinema —and besides, Trucy, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, so perhaps it was a stroke of genius—"

"Alright, alright," Phoenix laughs. "Sit down before you have an aneurysm, please. I'm getting dizzy just watching you pace." He shifts over on the couch, making space for Edgeworth on one side, and Trucy immediately takes off her cape and snuggles in on the other side.

"You're really gonna be okay?" she murmurs.

Phoenix drops a kiss to the top of her head, getting the remote. The couch dips as Edgeworth finally sits down on the other side of him. "Of course, Trucy-girl. I've got you looking after me, haven't I?"

"And Uncle Edgeworth," she says, even though she's still not sure if that's something she's happy about. "We shared secrets."

She feels the muscles of Phoenix's shoulders move under her head as he turns, undoubtedly sharing a glance with Edgeworth. "Did you, now," Phoenix says in a measured tone. "Interesting. Let's chat about that later."

"Okay," she says. "Let's watch the new Spider-Man movie."

"Your wish is my command," Phoenix says, and turns on the TV.

It takes five minutes before Phoenix makes some comment about the actor, which Edgeworth responds to with a snappy line. After ten minutes, they've debated the differences in adaptation between this version and one they both remember from childhood, and - as usual, with her dad - he thinks the old version was way better. After an hour, Phoenix has fallen asleep, snoring softly and twitching every so often. His hand, when Trucy touches it, is cold. She gets up, moving across the room to fetch a blanket - it is tidier in here, her dad must really be feeling better - and Phoenix, the traitor, immediately spreads out on her side of the couch.

Trucy purses her lips, listening to Peter Parker whine about his new powers. She tries to share an exasperated glance with Edgeworth, but he is gazing at Phoenix, and there is no mask in place at all.

She didn't know adults could look like that.

She tucks the blanket over her sleeping dad and gets back on the couch on the other side, squeezing in between Edgeworth and the armrest. Edgeworth goes completely still, giving her a wide-eyed look.

"Sorry," she whispers, but she's not very sorry at all.

She can hear Edgeworth's breathing jump up, and he shifts ever so slightly to make himself comfortable, but his posture stays rigid. He might be having a panic attack.

He'll get over it, probably, so Trucy goes back to watching the movie. Once Peter Parker has defeated the bad guy and reunited with his high school sweetheart, she checks back in, and is pleased to see that Edgeworth's breathing is mostly normal, and he has relaxed enough to press back against her where their sides touch.

Phoenix snores softly, blissfully unaware. Edgeworth is resting one hand on his shoulder, and seems content to stay in that spot for as long as Phoenix needs him to.

If her dad only has one person besides her, Trucy decides, maybe uncle Edgeworth isn't that bad a choice after all.