Chapter Text
“Well,” Phoenix says as Miles slows the car to a crawl and then a complete standstill, “fuck.”
Admittedly, Miles had wanted to leave earlier in the day. And they had tried, but their plans got derailed. First, by an emergency at the Wright Anything Agency that required Phoenix’s assistance (according to Athena, Apollo had done everything he could before even debating the idea of calling Phoenix) and then there was a document that Miles needed to sign at the Prosecutor’s Office that, for whatever reason, couldn’t be signed digitally.
So they were already running a little late.
Phoenix, naively, assumed that meant that they would miss rush hour.
When he mentions so much to Miles, he gets laughed at. Not exactly a full laugh, but one of Miles’ scoffs. One of his “I know better than you” sounds that makes Phoenix want to either push him into a locker or against a wall.
“Hilarious, Wright,” Miles says dryly, “that you think there is a time of day where this godforsaken highway isn’t nearly standstill traffic.”
Phoenix rolls his eyes and down the window. Ignoring Miles’ protests, he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans out, trying to see further down the road, like that’ll change their situation.
He can’t see much, unsurprising, but when he glances back over his shoulder, he sees flashing lights in the distance. “Uh oh,” he says as he ducks back inside the car. “Emergency vehicles incoming.”
Miles inhales deeply and tightens his grip on the wheel. “Wonderful,” he says through gritted teeth. He reaches out to tap on the car’s touchscreen map, a luxury that Phoenix thinks is both absurd and unnecessary.
Phoenix slaps his hand away. “Watch the road.”
Miles gestures in front of them. “We are not moving , Wright. There is nothing to watch.”
“Yeah, and in like twenty seconds, you’ll probably have to try to move over so that firetruck can get through. Watch the road ; I’ll mess around with your dumb computer.”
“It isn’t dumb,” Miles huffs. But he lets his hand fall to the gear shift and checks his rearview mirror.
Phoenix turns his attention to figuring out the screen. He’s been forced to help with it before, but that doesn’t mean he’s any good at it. In fact, he often gets relegated to the backseat while either Trucy or Kay help Miles navigate. And it’s times like those that Phoenix is glad that Miles made some ridiculous financial choices when picking out his car, because the seats in the back are also heated.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself as he drags the map along the bright red line that is the highway. It’s nearly two whole exits up, but he finds it. He sinks back into his seat with a groan.
“What is it?” Miles checks over his shoulder before shifting the car to the left. It isn’t much, but everyone seems to be struggling to make way for the firetruck. And what Phoenix suspects is at least two cop cars.
“Major crash, just reported like six minutes ago.”
Miles swears in German under his breath. “Of course. Did anyone leave any comments?”
Phoenix pulls the crash alert back up. “I know people write these on their phones and not one of these stupid screens, but it’s still so weird to me that they do . Did you know Kay found a comment on a traffic alert that was just someone saying they needed to pee? I thought we were trying to keep people off their phones when in the car—this seems counterintuitive.”
Miles doesn’t bother responding, probably because he’s heard this all before many times. “Are there any details about the accident?”
“Pile up.” Phoenix scrolls through the few comments that have been left. “Four cars and it’s across three lanes. We should probably get off at the next exit.”
Miles scowls and glares at the screen. “That would have us driving backroads for who knows how long. To avoid this traffic—”
“We’re going to be stuck here for years,” Phoenix interrupts. “I thought you wanted to get to the conference on time.”
Miles turns his glare on Phoenix. Phoenix stares back cooly. He wouldn’t be in this car if he couldn’t handle a little bit of the Edgeworth Glare. And it’s not as if Miles is mad at him . He’s mad at the traffic and the person who decided they needed a signature on paper from the Chief Prosecutor and he’s anxious about the concept of being late. Phoenix is just the nearest human being.
“Sunk cost fallacy,” Phoenix says.
Miles grits his teeth. “I suppose…you should look beyond the crash.”
Phoenix drags the map around, trying to find where the red line stops. “There’s traffic after the accident too, which won’t help. Just get into the right lane and exit; we’ll figure it out from there.”
“This day is a nightmare,” Miles grumbles and checks his blind spot.
“We didn’t have to drive,” Phoenix points out. “That was all you.”
“I am not taking a plane for a three hour drive, Phoenix Wright.”
“I meant a train, genius.”
“The United States railway system is an underfunded disaster.”
“You’re telling me.” Phoenix resets the map and leans back in his seat. “Why do you think I force you to drive me up to Kurain when you aren’t too busy? The hours it runs are awful .”
Miles’ jaw relaxes a little. “The early train isn’t too bad.” He angles the car so they can merge into the next lane as soon as there’s space. Phoenix sees the driver of the car they’ll be cutting in front of flip them off.
“I am not waking up to get to the train station for a five AM deparature,” Phoenix protests.
“And that is why we are driving to San Deigo.”
Phoenix groans. “Just because I hate that train ride doesn’t mean I hate all train rides.”
“You should have been thinking several moves ahead,” Miles says simply, like he’s trying to teach Phoenix to play chess again. Phoenix is better at the game now, but he’ll probably always prefer checkers.
“Maybe our country should’ve been thinking several moves ahead when we decided to let the automobile industry take a chokehold on us,” Phoenix grumbles.
Miles raises an eyebrow. “Blaming the common man for the monopolies that capitalism inevitably creates, are we?”
Phoenix sighs dramatically. “ No . Just fed up that I don’t drive in a country that wants me to. Plus, the bike lanes in any city are a joke. I swear the only reason I haven’t gotten a ticket for biking in the street yet is because you scare people and I go out for drinks with Gumshoe sometimes. That’s just not reasonable for a normal person!”
“So you admit you aren’t normal.”
Phoenix gives Miles a withering look. “Says you.”
Miles slides the car into the next lane and ignores the driver that lays on the horn until Phoenix’s ears ring.
They manage to get into the far right lane after about twenty minutes and a lot of grumbling on Miles’ part. Phoenix puts himself in charge of the radio and flips through stations, ignoring radio talk shows the best he can, because neither he nor Miles has ever given a damn about celebrities. He pauses on NPR for long enough that Miles can get the gist of what they’re currently talking about and moves onto a classic rock station when Miles makes a noise of disproval. Every so often, someone will honk or another emergency vehicle will shove through the sea of cars, and Miles’ grip slowly strangles the steering wheel.
“We wouldn’t have been able to check into the hotel until three,” Phoenix reminds him.
“I know,” Miles says through gritted teeth.
“And then we don’t have anything until the opening dinner at six-thirty—”
“ I know .”
Phoenix groans and hits his head against the headrest. “You’re so stressed it’s making me stressed. The whole car is stressed. You’re going to ruin the upholstery.”
“If my stress hasn’t ruined it before, it will hold up just fine,” Miles bites out.
Phoenix twists to face him fully. “You have gotten stuck in traffic before, Miles. You’ve been late before. Is it me?” he asks with a grin. “I think it’s me.”
“You think so highly of yourself.” Miles pushes up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This is just…a nightmare .”
“So you’ve said.” Phoenix cranes his neck. “We’re getting closer to the exit, though.”
“And then we’re at the whims of backroads. Fantastic.”
“What do you have against backroads, anyway? Phoenix asks. “We’ve already discussed our country’s public transportation problem. People have to be able to get around somehow.”
Miles huffs. “They aren’t nearly as straightforward as highways and interstates, however , my major issue actually lies with traffic apps. Not our lack of infrastructure funding nor the potholes. Though I do despise the potholes.”
“Oh do tell,” Phoenix drawls.
“Traffic apps reroute cars to roads that were not intended to have that many vehicles on them,” Miles explains, like Phoenix isn’t staring at him with the blankest expression ever.
And Phoenix would remind Miles that he does not drive and, therefore, does not care, but he also likes to see Miles worked up about things. He likes when Miles rambles on and rants. There’s something in his expression, the way he uses his hands slightly more, his left gripping the steering wheel and the right gesturing lightly. And the way he relaxes the slightest bit, like explaining things like road weight capacity is the most calming thing ever.
“So,” Phoenix says after a few minutes, when the crease in Miles’ forehead has smoothed out, “can we blame Waze for potholes?”
Miles purses his lips. “Legally, probably not. It wouldn’t hold up in court.”
Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “You’re talking to me.”
“A mistake within itself,” Miles admits. “You are a nightmare of a human being.”
“Do not compare me to this mess.” Phoenix gestures at the road in front of them. “I have to be better than this .”
Miles reaches across the center consul to take Phoenix’s hand. “You’re a disaster then,” he says with a squeeze. “One who will be in charge of finding the best routes in about three minutes when we exit, so please attempt to be less of a disaster until we are on another highway.”
Phoenix grimaces. “No problem, darling. Anything for you.”