Work Text:
Miles doesn't usually tend to have the tagesschau app on notifications - there's enough for him to deal with when he's already involved in an ongoing investigation and he doesn't consider himself capable enough of also thinking extensively about current events when they do not concern him - except, of course, for any special announcements and breaking news. Additionally, a bit of tweaking from Kay has allowed him to enter any words related to possible potentials of earthquakes into the RSS feed; keeping him updated on any tremors that might - might - constitute a small earthquake, which is not, as many of his American colleagues usually assume, all that rare in European countries.
And that is why he nearly drops his phone into his freshly brewed tea when it pings on an early morning at the beginning of December, because if there's one thing the universe likes, it's playing an unending game with his thinly run patience.
Phoenix only stares at him when Miles manages to save his phone just-so from an impending bath in soaked tea leaves with a very quick one-handed motion.
"Any important news?" Phoenix inquires after Miles has made sure that both - his phone and the tea - have remained unscathed.
"You could say that," he hums in reply, skimming through the article at rapid speed. "It's not - well, it does not really concern us, per se. It is something to consider for - for the future."
"Ah," Phoenix says, not at all understandingly, "are we talking about like, next week or at some point in the next decade?"
"Hm." Miles closes the article, locks his phone, and pushes it as far away as it is possible at his small kitchen table in his rented apartment. He takes a look at the window but sees nothing except for the morning darkness that signals a fast-approaching winter. "More precisely, important for the next 1000 to 3000 years."
Phoenix stops chewing on the freshly baked bread roll Miles has been buying from the bakery downstairs on the weekend days ever since he'd been relegated to working here. There's red all around Phoenix's mouth because Phoenix has been stubbornly insisting on devaluing their quality by drowning them in at least half a jar of jam every time. Miles has gotten used to it - after implementing a napkins rule during breakfast because the sweet tasting jelly around Phoenix's mouth had been, quite frankly, very distracting.
"Do you -" Phoenix starts, after having continued to chew and swallow, "do you want to elaborate on that?"
And there's a no firmly on his lips because actually no, he doesn't. But his therapist has been telling him to not shut the people out who care about him, and, well. Who would be better suited for telling the news to than Phoenix; who has already had a ton of personal experience with a wide variety of Miles' deeply ingrained issues.
He checks the clock on the kitchen wall, removes the tea leaves out of his cup, and takes a sip.
"Did you know that the German government sometimes simulates different forms of natural catastrophes to see if the infrastructure could potentially withstand any damages?"
Phoenix's lips quirk into a small smile.
"As you can imagine, no, I didn't."
Miles hmms and takes another look at the clock, verifying that Trucy should be up soon. He stands up to turn on the coffee machine. Phoenix shoots him a disapproving look.
"The new simulation was focused on the possible impact of a 6.5 earthquake on Western Germany."
"You mean like, where we are right now?"
The bells of the Cologne Cathedral start ringing ominously through the tilted windows, eight muffled beats. Miles sighs.
"Yes, Wright, where we are right now. To be precise, it simulated the effect of an earthquake with its epicentre 20 kilometres to the west of Cologne."
"I don't know how far that is," Phoenix replies, confidently. Miles grabs the milk on the counter next to him and tries not to be too annoyed by the frequent calculations of temperatures and distances he has to make in Phoenix's presence when they're investigating outside of the States.
"That's around twelve miles, if you need me to be this specific."
"Hm." Phoenix thinks for a second and then starts manically grinning. "I think one Miles is enough for me, though, thank you."
Miles rolls his eyes, but he can already feel his mouth turning into a small smile. He splashes a bit of milk into the coffee and sets it down in front of the empty place at the kitchen table.
"That was an atrocious insult to your own sensibilities. You would not be able to deal with more than one version of myself."
Phoenix starts cackling and gives Miles a fond look.
"Oh, but I probably could. I have seen so many versions of the Demon Prosecutor, I think I could hear you frowning in my sleep and be able to discern whether this was before or after you became an actual decent person."
Miles frowns.
"That does not even remotely make any sense."
Phoenix laughs at Miles' lack of understanding before turning serious again.
"I assume that the simulation didn't go well, then?"
"It - well." Miles stops again to stir through his now tepid tea. "Germany isn't really familiar with strong earthquakes."
Phoenix raises his eyebrows. Miles takes a sip and grimaces at the lack of warmth.
"You are indeed correct. The predictions weren't really all that favourable."
Phoenix shrugs. "Sucks for those people who will be alive in a thousand years."
Miles clenches and unclenches his fingers.
"Mmh."
"I mean, we probably won't have to deal with that all too soon."
"Mmh."
Phoenix pauses and tilts his head to the side.
"Ah - that doesn't really help, does it?"
Miles exhales, slowly, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I don't actually know. It's complicated." He stares out of the window again. It's become noticeably brighter compared to a few minutes ago. "I am not really afraid of it at the moment. It is simply an addition to the constant background noise of my mind."
Phoenix nods and extends a hand over the kitchen table. Miles immediately grabs it and holds it tightly, closing his eyes. There are days when he wishes that those gestures of comfort weren't necessary solely for his - Miles' - sake. Because he woke up thrashing around and yelling during the night. Because someone in his office told him that the elevator broke down and wouldn't be repaired for the day and he had to excuse himself to go outside and catch some fresh air.
But when he opens his eyes again, Phoenix is staring at him, unflinchingly, slowly rubbing his thumb over Miles' knuckles; and Miles knows that those mutual acts of comfort are as important to Phoenix, too, as they are to him. He smiles faintly, and Phoenix grins back, comforting and familiar.
Thankfully, this is the exact moment Trucy chooses to enter the kitchen, all bleary eyes and tousled hair. Miles lets go of Phoenix's hand and gestures at the empty seat and the mug in front of it. Her face lights up.
"Is this coffee?" She sits down and doesn't release the mug before drinking half of its contents in one go. She then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles brightly. "Thanks, Uncle Miles!"
Phoenix, who has been observing her actions disapprovingly, sighs.
"You shouldn't drink too much coffee at your age, Trucy."
"I'm not that old, Daddy!" She grins angelically and grabs one of the bread rolls. Miles offers her the bread knife before she can begin looking for it.
"I wouldn't be too concerned about her caffeine intake, Wright. She's a smart girl who knows her limits."
Phoenix seems to mutter something along the lines of you, and your stupid black tea leaves. Miles chooses to ignore it.
"Did you hear, Daddy? I am a smart girl." She cuts the roll neatly in half and takes the jar of jam. Miles makes a mental note to stake up on more jam the next time they buy groceries. Trucy continues, mouth full. "And if Uncle Miles says that, it must be true."
Miles smirks. "Listen to your daughter, Phoenix."
Phoenix turns back to him with an offended look. Before either of them can start another argument on the healthy consumption of caffeine by minors, Trucy launches into a very vivid retelling of her dream which, very fittingly, involved a new elaborate magic trick and an invisible flock of doves.
Through the window, the Cathedral clock strikes half past eight. Miles doesn't hear it.