Chapter Text
“Friday, make it to Friday.”
Phoenix mumbles, grabbing a crumpled up dollar bill out of the hat he'd placed atop his piano.
“He's a fucking phony!" A man hisses, splashing a glass of fireball onto the piano and Phoenix. “Bastard beggar.”
The dampness feels cool as it seeps through his dress shirt, making his hands twitch and bunch up in frustration.
Phoenix stands up, ready to fight back, but quickly realizes it's useless and grabs his hat, which is now half full of money.
“See ya tomorrow.” He huffs to the bartender, raising a hand.
The streets are empty besides the occasional drunkard or homeless person. Phoenix fumbles with his keys as he nears his front door.
“Daddy!” The young girl skips over.
“Trucy. You're supposed to be in bed.”
“I couldn't sleep! And there was a magic show on TV.” She mutters, waving her hands like a magician.
"Trucy, we can't afford the-” He pauses, mentally cursing himself for saying such things. “That's great, Hun. Tell me more while I count the money.”
Trucy begins to drone on about a mediocre-sounding show with magic stunts. Her story was promptly interrupted several times by yawns, indicative of her lack of sleep.
Phoenix finishes counting, thirty eight dollars and seventy-seven cents. Fuck. That's not enough to pay rent and utilities.
He sighs, glancing at the young girl. "Alright, miss magician, time for bed.”
He ushers the little girl to bed, quickly tucking her in and turning off the lights. Phoenix makes his way to the living room, falling onto the couch.
Phoenix picks up his phone, mentally calculating if he can squeeze a few more gigs in before tomorrow night. Sighing, he realizes he can't since he promised Trucy he'd bring her to the park.
He does the only thing he can think of.
The phone rings a few times, and a groggy voice picks up, “Wright? Why are you calling so late?”
“Sorry Edgeworth.. I have a favor to ask you.”
“Money again? I can't keep paying your rent. It's time you take the bar exam again.”
“You don't know shit.” Phoenix huffs through the phone.
“You're drunk, aren't you? Where's Trucy?”
“Why do you care? She's my kid.”
“Wright, I'm coming over.”
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “The hell you're not.”
“I'll see you in ten minutes; drink some water.” The phone clicks.
“Great.” Phoenix grumbles, his head audibly hitting the edge of the coffee table in front of him.
The thought of Edgeworth seeing him like this and realizing just how terrible he really has been doing boils his blood.
The fridge door opens, and Phoenix grabs another beer. He can't remember how many he had at the bar, and he doesn't care. He'd need one to face that goddamn prosecutor.
One beer for the nerves turns into two, a cooler, and the last bit of a bottle of wine. Stress drinking is one of his favorite activities.
The moment that man walked through the door, everything came rushing back. He'd clawed his way up as a defense attorney, tooth and nail. He won every case. Just to end up here, no job, barely a house, and caring for a kid.
“Wright. What the hell?” Edgeworth rushed over, putting a hand on Phoenix's shoulder. “This place is a mess, and you look ill. How many have you had?”
He hears the man's voice, but he doesn't answer. The room feels wobbly, almost like they're on a boat. Phoenix glances at the floor where the empty remains of his drinks lay. He knew his limits for alcohol, yet somehow he'd let himself go over.
"Wright, come on, answer.” He snaps his fingers under Phoenix's eyes.
Phoenix turns to speak but is cut off by a gag. He covers his mouth and keels over, retching onto the prosecutor's shoes.
Edgeworth lets out a loud sigh, patting Phoenix’s back hesitantly. He pulls a garbage can over near him and fetches a glass of water. “You're lucky Trucy is asleep. Imagine if she saw you like this.”
There's an uncomfortable silence as Phoenix recovers, and Edgeworth counts out several hundred dollar bills to lay on the counter.
“I'll give you this, on one condition, Wright.”
Phoenix raises his head and leans against the counter uncomfortably. “What?”
“You have to get sober and find a proper job.”
Phoenix grumbles, turning away from the prosecutor to look at the pictures on the walls. “Fine.”
“Very well.” Edgeworth walks towards the door, his now vomit-stained shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. “I'll be checking on you every Sunday.”
He nods, despite the fact that he's positive he'd rather die than see him every Sunday. “See you then.”
And the house was quiet once again—the faint noise of a car leaving outside.
He'd have to clean this puke up before Trucy wakes up, and maybe tidy the house too.
Phoenix sighs, picking up the stack of cash Edgeworth had left on the counter. A thousand just for the week? He'd make sure Trucy ate well using that money.
“Thanks Edgeworth..” He whispers to the empty kitchen, feeling the longing to be in that shitty courtroom once again.
“See you Sunday.”