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If Phoenix had a nickel for every time he’s woken up feeling like he’s been hit by a car, he would be crushed to death under the barrage of coins. So when he wakes up to glass shards in his throat (metaphorically, this time) and a blistering fever, all he can do is sigh and add another nickel to the already teetering mountain. In spite of everyone else’s (righteous) concerns about his well-being, Phoenix really does try to take care of himself. Honest. It’s not his fault that Lady Luck has a hit out on him.
As much as he’d rather laze about and sleep, the bills dangling over his head spur him ever onward. After all, law and crime don’t stop just because his body wants to. He compromises by giving himself a whole five extra minutes before peeling himself from the cozy comfort of bed and thrusting himself into the cold, cruel world of the functioning adult.
His eyes stray to the beat-up bureau in the corner. Tucked away in the bottom drawer is a box filled with items that would make it oh, so easy to chase adulthood away, if only for a little while.
But no. He can’t. Not right now, at least. And so he shrugs off the whiny want and treks off to work. Time to put his nose to the grindstone.
Much like all his other plans in life, this too almost immediately goes awry. He’d thought he’d be scot-free, with Trucy at a week-long sleepaway camp, and with Apollo and Athena out of town working a case. Nobody to pester him or spray disinfectant every five minutes or question him every time his eyes droop or he lays his head on the table. He’s doing the latter when Maya pops in. She’s always come and gone as she pleases. Even with her duties in Kurain Village, she still finds the time to magically appear.
“Nick!”
He hears her before he sees her, courtesy of the door smacking into the shelf behind it. Startled, he jolts up, as does the pain in his head. Of all the times for Maya to come a’knocking…not that she had knocked. Grimacing, Phoenix fumbles for a cup of tea (forgotten and cold) and only spills a little on the scattered papers he’d been trying to decipher before giving up.
Before he can say a word, Maya’s swooping in with tissues. Then she takes a long, hard look at him. The scrutiny is familiar, but the less-than-adult part of him has only become more insistent over the past few hours, and he can’t help but shrink back in his seat. Maya’s gaze softens.
“Nick, what did we tell you about working when you’re sick?”
We. Her, Miles, Apollo, Athena, Trucy…the list goes on. Heartwarming, but annoying.
“Sorry.” It slips out before he can stop it, small and unsteady around the glass. Maya stops mopping up spilled tea to give him another look, one that prods at the fog pressing in on him. “Pack up your things. We’re going home.”
“Uh…” Phoenix really doesn’t think he can ride his bike home on his own, let alone with Maya on the handlebars. It was a miracle he had made it to the office at all. But Maya’s already swiped his phone, and he doesn’t have the energy to object. Left with no other option, he starts scraping papers into their proper folders.
Twenty minutes later graces the Wright Anything Agency with one Miles Edgeworth. “Honestly, Wright, have I not said you need to cease working yourself half to death?”
“Pot, meet kettle,” Phoenix retorts. There’s no venom in either of their voices, but between the reprimand, the betrayal, and the fever, Phoenix can’t help but bristle. Isn’t he already suffering enough? He slumps back in his chair and pouts.
Something flickers across Miles’ face. Something Phoenix knows he should recognize, but right now, other people’s emotions are beyond him. He’s tired. “Come along, Phoenix,” Miles says curtly. “You as well, Miss Fey.”
“I have a job, Miles,” Phoenix snaps, even though he’s already tidied up for the day. The unreadable expression flashes again, but before he can parse it, Phoenix’s own body betrays him as Maya tugs him to his feet.
“Home, Nick.” Like Miles’ voice, her own is stern.
Any other day, he would have protested further, but any other day, he would have a firmer grip on the narrative. Something about them ganging up on him has stripped away any fight he could possibly cling to. He has a niggling suspicion what it is. With a sigh, he brazenly waves them out the door so he can lock up. “Home. Right. Okay.” One day off work wouldn’t kill him. Probably.
The car ride is peaceful, at least, even as his suspicion grows. He’s been foggy all day, chalked up to the fever, but it’s so much more dire than that. He thinks back to the box, hidden. In his lap, his hand curls, but there’s no soft fur for him to hold on to, and oh, that’s it. He needs to be home, now.
“Almost there, Nicky,” Maya murmurs, as though she can read his mind. Maybe it’s a new ghost trick. He has half a mind to answer, but thoughts of anything but his special box are thrown out the window once his apartment building comes into view. Everything he wants is right there!
Of course, he doesn’t get to go to bed right away, because Miles has to be as bossy as ever. Change into clean pajamas this, stay hydrated that. Let me take your temperature, Phoenix. Miles shoots him a rueful look when he squirms away from the thermometer. A sigh follows when he gags around the medicine. Give him some credit - at least he had medicine in the house. Thankfully, Miles stops mother-henning him to disappear into the kitchen, leaving Phoenix free to crawl into bed under the covers. Absolute bliss. He isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
He’s so caught up in the comfort of his bed he’d almost forgotten the box. He’d definitely forgotten that Maya knows exactly where it is. “Nicky, look who’s come to visit!” In her hands is a plush gray wolf, a little worn for wear but undoubtedly loved. Arlo! His hands act of his own accord as they reach for it. As soon as Arlo’s in his arms, tired fingers stroke the soft fur. They’ve taken such good care of each other over the years.
But soon come heavy yawns and heavier eyes, especially after sipping the honey tea that Miles had made. It’s funny to think about. Just this morning, he’d scoffed at being sick and gone to work. Now, that feels like an entirely different Phoenix. And maybe it is. He’d tell Maya and Miles, but strangely enough, all the words normally buzzing around his busy mind have taken a convenient vacation. The wolf-shaped chew necklace settled comfortably in his mouth probably has something to do with it. Oh, well. He can tell them later. With another yawn, he burrows further into his blankets.
“Sweet dreams, Nicky,” Maya whispers. Cool fingers brush against his forehead, then a kiss.
“Good night, Phoenix,” Miles adds. Soon after, the light clicks off, and the room falls quiet. But the sound of their hushed voices in the other room lulls him further. As he finally sinks into sleep, he has one final thought: luck may have it out for him, but it feels like he’s the luckiest guy in the world.