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Phoenix knew that little Trucy Gramarye had suffered a lot of horrible life changes in these past few months— if he could be so humble as to admit it, so had he. From the disappearance of her father to her rehousing here with Phoenix, right as he lost his income, apartment, and relationships all around. And though she was, certainly, one of the strongest children he ever knew, that being quite the achievement, he wasn’t sure how much more he could take, personally. One small little snowball could be just the thing to swipe him off his feet, barreling into another icy valley below. And that snowball seemed to be inevitably approaching down the incline by the day, as Phoenix contemplated and considered and racked his brain… How does one tell such a brilliant little girl that her new Papa wasn’t, in more ways than one, always… Papa?
That was the snowball, indeed, which sent a shiver down his spine and a horrible heat to his face every time he recalled its looming existence. Looming so close now, that it was all he could think about as he bluffed through his final game of poker for the night, barely a thought given to the winning cards as he tossed them out across the table. And even less to the loser as he stood up unceremoniously from his seat and stalked out without another word; or maybe there were some, not that Phoenix was listening. He simply reached across the table to rake in the cards and chips, shuffling the former back into the deck, and the latter, in neat and tall stacks of each. His hands needed something to keep busy as he waited for his ride back home.
The cards ruffling in a delightful rhythm, he thought, the trouble wasn’t that she was just a kid. It was that look of hers sometimes when she stopped smiling, for just a second, and looked at him. Directly at him, almost through him, and said things that were far too mature and frankly, far too true for even most adults in his life to say. He wasn’t going to baby her about this; she deserved endlessly better than that. But she was still young enough and curious enough to warrant an explanation of what this whole “gender” thing was anyway… A case he never entirely solved himself, either. Every good lawyer needs evidence to build up their claims, or it will all topple down from a single push, just like…
Ah. The cards slipped from his hands and scattered out onto the floor. And as his eyes fell downwards, he spied polished white loafers walking in through the doorway, pausing by the chair which his opponent left spun askew. There stood Kristoph Gavin in his usual pressed, periwinkle suit, briefcase tucked under his arm as the other brushed aside a lock of delicate blond hair, eyes squinting in the dim light of the underground. His eyebrows raised as he, too, glanced at the mess left on the floor, though he said nothing, and moved not an inch.
“You’re early,” Phoenix noted as he knelt down, scooping up the blue-backed cards with red seeping into his cheeks.
“That’s right; the prosecution folded rather quickly. Quicker than usual, rather.” And he smiled as he twirled the empty chair to its proper face, cocking his head ever so slightly. “I caught a glimpse of you through the window, otherwise I would have waited outside. I assume the same goes for you?”
“Pretty much.” Emerging back to the tabletop with a fistful of cards, he sorted them back into a neat stack and glanced off to the clock, ticking softly on the wall behind Kristoph’s head. It was fifteen minutes to the end of his shift, still. He cleared his throat, lips hanging partly open as he hesitantly asked, “Hey, but since you’re here… do you mind waiting a bit anyway? Until closing? I just… don’t feel like going home right now. Sorry to hold you.”
Kristoph simply cocked his head once more, giving a soft breath like a polite bit of laughter as he sat down across the table, briefcase set flat onto the surface. And as he opened his eyes, they glinted beneath the lamp light: pale blue, nearly clear, sharp and matter-of-fact. That was the thing about him, Phoenix was learning: everything about his presence made anyone else feel like a horrendous waste of his time. Everything but the simple fact that he smiles, and shakes his head, and says he always has time. He was kind like that. “Say nothing of it, Wright,” he waved away every worry with a graceful motion, “With your bicycle in repairs, you know I don’t like the thought of you walking around this town after dark. Nor am I due to fetch Klavier for another two hours. Is something on your mind?”
Phoenix cracked a weak smile. The more appropriate question was, when wasn’t something on his mind? And when wasn’t he busy dumping it on Kristoph like they’d known each other for years, as opposed to just two months? He was kind like that, too, to tolerate it so much. “Well, I, umm…” he trailed off, mind blanking on a bluff. Some other reason to want to avoid your own house, your own child, some reason that would sound acceptable… Wasn’t bluffing the only thing he was good for, nowadays? But there was just something so unraveling about the way Kristoph tilted his head in wait: eyes blinking, lips shining in their subtle smile, legs crossed one over the other. His face grew hot the longer he said nothing in response.
“I don’t know how to tell Trucy that I’m trans.”
The words stumbled out of him faster than he could think. But now that he did think about it, it’s not as if he had told Kristoph, either. And as that dropped dumbly from his mouth, his lips hung open. Shocking themselves at their own confession. It wasn’t long before the mind caught up, and the whole of his body flushed red, from the tips of his toes to hair. “I mean— Umm— I didn’t mean to spring that on you— Did I—?”
In those moments, he couldn’t tell if Kristoph’s utter lack of a reaction was a blessing or a curse. It was only for a few seconds, really, but so clearly, there it was— and wasn’t. He sat there unflinching, not a twitch in his expression as his eyelashes bat curiously. Until something like a spark lit up in him, too: fingers pressed to his lips, shoulders shooting upwards as he let out a peal of laughter into the darkness. “Is that really all?” he asked, and leaned forward to take a compact mirror and tube of lipstick out from his briefcase. Watching him pop open the former, idly studying his reflection, Phoenix rubbed his neck as it burned. He supposed it was; it probably seemed so simple from anyone else’s eyes. And Kristoph shook his head, flashing a gentle smile. “Oh, Wright, there’s really no need to stress yourself about such things. The girl clearly thinks the world of you as a father, as young children often do. How could anything else ever change that?”
“Umm…” Out in the open, this snowball was beginning to dissolve into a blinding snowstorm, all his thoughts blurring into something he struggled to decipher himself— let alone grasp it for others to see. If there was one thing he knew well though, if only for being burned to learn it, it was that anything in the world could change in an instant. And though he thought the world of Trucy too, if he could so boldly say that so soon, he knew he was far from a perfect replacement for a father. Probably not even a good one. His being a woman once, if only briefly, would that be just another reason he wasn’t good enough for her? “Well, y’know, it’s kind of scary coming out to anyone, right? How’d you do it with your family?”
“I’m sorry?”
“As gay, I mean; I thought you mentioned that once. Right?” he stumbled, fingers still pressed to the nerves of his neck. “How did you tell them?” It was just for a fraction of a second, but he thought he caught— no, he definitely caught— a flicker of something from Kristoph. If he had to put a finger on it, it felt almost somewhere between defensiveness… and discomfort.
With a sigh, Kristoph’s eyes fell once more to the compact mirror, applying a layer of shining brown lipstick. “Ah. Well, I’m afraid to disappoint you, but the truth is, I simply didn’t.” Popped his lips together, tilting his head side to side. “I suppose it was always understood, though unspoken, between myself and Klavier. It was no less a shock that I never brought home a girlfriend than it was when he first brought home a boyfriend. There was nothing else to tell.” And he shut the compact mirror with a click. And though he smiled, Phoenix understood that click as the sharp end of that train of thought. An end which purposely omitted the mention of their parents; not that Phoenix would dare risk asking. He knew the end of that thought too: or at least, knew of the flashy young man that clearly thought the world of Kristoph as a brother, and that was all that mattered.
“I do wish I could help you. But in the end,” Kristoph mused, “our situations simply aren’t the same.”
He knew that before he even had to ask, of course. In fact, he couldn’t tell what he thought to gain by asking; though he was grateful that Kristoph entertained him, as he always did. So he sighed, and smiled appreciatively in return. “Yeah, guess not. Sorry, that was probably pretty intrusive; I don’t want to offend you.” When Kristoph waved the thought away with another hand, Phoenix pushed the stack of cards and chips off to the corner of the table and stood. “I think I’m ready now, so do you, umm, want to head out?”
“If you wish,” Kristoph agreed, slipping his things once more into the briefcase. But just as he reached the doorway, he paused, and turned to gaze at Phoenix. “Though, if I may ask something of my own… Why are you so certain that you must tell her? Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to know or not to know; in my eyes, all it is hurting is you.” Phoenix blinked, and he waved a hand in vague dismissal. “Perhaps you should just leave it be. Should it ever arise, you deal with it as it does, and no more. After all,” he murmured, and Phoenix could feel the piercing of his eyes from just outside the grasp of the dim lights overhead, “I do hate to see you get hurt.”
“Thanks,” Phoenix chuckled softly. It was nice to hear anyone in the world say that, nowadays. And he really did feel as if Kristoph meant it, though, he simply couldn’t take that advice. That is, he couldn’t stand the thought of hiding anything from Trucy: not if he was really going to be her father, and the best one that he could be despite all his failures. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with the man who had seen every failure at its worst and been kind to him still— he couldn’t stand the thought of losing someone like him either. So he joined Kristoph at his side with a smile, and shrugged, “Maybe I will.”
ㅤ✦
Under the dim glow of Trucy’s nightstand lamp, Phoenix’s smile was bright enough to light up the room, as he sat at her bedside watching her wriggle beneath the mountain of covers to her heart’s content. Task finally deemed complete, she gave a firm nod of permission to straighten the satin rosy bonnet over her head, and draw the bedsheets up tight to her shoulders just how she liked it. And so he did, letting his thumb trace down from her temple to her soft, round cheek. There it lingered, dark eyes staring fondly into the other. Warmth swelled in his cold, hollow chest just at the sight of her, sparkling flames of confidence that rose up his throat. So he spoke.
“I, umm, I’ve got something to tell you, Truce.”
“What is it, Papa?”
Until reality settled in again, smothering the bold feeling in its entirety. And parted lips twisted into a helplessly weak smile, bearing forth the only thing he could. “I love you.”
Trucy only laughed, a bubbly thing that rang in his searing ears like silver bells. She turned on her side to face him all the more, cheeks squished into hands cupped on her pillow, eyes sparkling with a grin. “I know that, silly! I love you too!”
“Good. That’s good.” The bed frame creaked as he stood slowly, trading one final glance as he reached for the small night lamp. And with one click, darkness fell upon the room: swallowing any last glimpse of Trucy’s sparkling smile, and with it, any last hopeful embers of a confession. Not tonight, it called; why bother her tonight? He walked to the door and whispered through the cracks as it closed tight, “Sleep tight, kiddo.”
Then he shuffled slowly down the hall to bed, haunted by the sounds of his own heavy footsteps, and his heart began to ache. Like the whole of his chest was deeply empty: a cavern rapidly crumbling and collapsing in on itself, rock and debris crashing down to the pit of his stomach. Though, he finally admitted as he stumbled through his bedroom door, and plummeted face down into bed, that wasn’t the only thing aching. He had been trying to ignore that sickening feeling for most of the day by now, but honestly, he hadn’t eaten much that night before descending to a nonstop sequence of poker games— he was starting to get quite popular. Not to mention that his legs kind of ached from sitting in those cheap chairs, and he had probably been wearing his binder for too long again. Plus, he hadn’t been sleeping much lately, or doing much of anything at all without being dragged, by one person or another.
That was the new normal of the month, it seemed, now that he had finally found work again. It was arguably better than the month before: days slipping one into the other, as he attempted to slip into the folds of the couch and disappear. It was at least better for his bank account. And it was also, mercifully, one snowball he could press against his back as he led them both inch by inch down the cliff, rather than being barreled down in a blink. One foot after another, one day after another.
His phone rang. The Steel Samurai opening blared throughout the room, loud and clear despite being buried somewhere in his pockets, couched between the swathes of his hoodie and the unkempt bedsheets pressed to his chest. And though it scratched shrill in his ears, the thought of talking to anyone on the phone at the moment seemed even more unpleasant. So he made no motion to get up and get it. But the opening song was really long.
With a groan, he finally dug a hand into his pockets pinned beneath them, fishing out the pulsating phone. Not counting his new boss, there were only two people that ever called him anymore. It wasn’t much of a guessing game. He didn’t bother checking which was which as he answered the call with a groaning, “Hello?”
“Wright. It’s… nice to hear your voice. It’s been a while since we last called.” Edgeworth. His heart fluttered just about as much as it fell further and further down his stomach. It was nice to hear from him too, it really was— he only wished that it wasn’t under these circumstances. That he was someone worth hearing from, instead of a broken-down, disheveled mess trailing nothing but trouble in his wake. At least Kristoph had met him in such a state, with no slate of decades-long expectation, respect, adoration to set ablaze. Edgeworth was different, he was… Well, he was something lingering from a life he could no longer claim. That was probably why Phoenix couldn’t stand answering his calls, most nights; not that Edgeworth would ever mention that.
“I’m sure you’ve been busy,” he simply said. “Are you and Miss Trucy doing well? How did that interview of yours turn out?”
Interview. For the Borscht Bowl Club. So that was how much time had passed, is that right…? “Trucy and I are, y’know, fine,” he coughed out. “I got the job: I play piano, now, and poker. So it’s fine. We’re gonna be okay.” His voice grumbled out from low in his throat, dry and lifeless and so very little. Enough that nothing could seem a problem, and not enough to latch onto and pry for more. And it was silent for a few, awkward moments. That, too, was what made Edgeworth so different: instead of watching Phoenix unravel down to the core, he seemed quite content to let him stay all wound up, loosening little by little in whatever amounts he could bear. Which in recent times was no amount at all.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he stepped in, sounding as pleasant and patient and positive as Phoenix wasn’t. “I only wanted to make sure you were well, so I won’t keep you. I know things are still quite hard right now, and… you sound tired.” And God, was he. But...
“Wait.” The crack in his own voice made him wince. If there was one thing Edgeworth could understand, could sympathize with, even in this state… Closing his eyes, he let out a shaky breath. “Do you remember, umm, how you told Franziska you were trans?”
There was quiet on the other end for a moment: something shuffled around before Edgeworth spoke again, voice soft and distant, off in a memory. “Oh, a bit of it, I suppose. Von Karma and I both agreed not to mention it until she was older… though, it must have come up one night on its own.” He paused. “I was quite insecure back then, as I’m sure you could imagine, so I must have said something like, ‘No matter what I was born as, or what the world may say about it, I know that I am a boy. And that is all.’”
“And she took it well?”
“That would be one word for it. I believe her response was something like, ‘Of course, only a foolish man would reach such foolish heights as your foolishness.’ She was quite verbose at that age, as I recall.” The two of them shared a quiet, half-hearted laughter as they thought of Franziska. Another fragment of something far gone now; he missed her too, in all honesty. He missed it all. Though he didn’t miss the whip, as much as he would probably deserve it this time around. As Edgeworth trailed off, he murmured, “Are you… thinking of telling her? Trucy, I mean?”
Phoenix turned on his side, one hand solemnly reaching out to pick at a loose thread sticking up from the quilted sheets. As if that was all he could bear to do. He whispered quietly into the phone, “I want to. But I… I don’t know.”
“Then let me visit you.” Such a beautifully bold statement sent his heart pounding, eyes shooting up from his idle task to stare wide-eyed at the voice in his ear. “Any time you wish, I’ll do it. If you’ll have me, I want to support you, as you always have for me, and… perhaps I could meet Miss Trucy, and that attorney that’s been there for you when I haven’t.” There was a soft spark of hope swirling in the sound of his voice.
And Phoenix smiled. “Sure,” he said, and found himself grateful that Edgeworth was nothing like the men he played for hours across the poker table. For Edgeworth could never see the twitch in his hands as they curled into fists around his sheets. For Edgeworth could never call his bluff. He couldn’t even know there was a bluff to be called. Keeping him away from all this… it was for the best, wasn’t it? He swallowed down the weight in his throat. “I’ll, umm, take a look at what I’ve got. And call you back.”
“Alright. Hang in there until then.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
“And Wright?” Edgeworth murmured, just as his thumb dropped to end the call at that. “Listen, no matter what happens… with Trucy, and with all things… I know that you’ve only ever done what you thought was right. And I trust that whatever you feel is right, will be.” Then he coughed, because Edgeworth was never exactly one for motivational rallies or emotional pick-me-ups, and his body was probably sending a physical resistance to the horror by now. That did bring a small smile to Phoenix’s face, if only for a little while. Though any flicker of joy the moment could ever bring him was snuffed out in simple seconds, harsh and quick. “I’ll see you again soon. Goodbye.”
“Bye,” he croaked out, and promptly buried his face into the bed once more.
ㅤ✦
Hunched over on the edge of the bed, Phoenix let out a small groan as he lifted the black binder over his head, letting it fall to his side unceremoniously. Reddened eyes darting anywhere but down at his own flesh, he took a deep breath; then quickly winced, rubbing the skin beneath his breasts as it ached softly. It seemed to be getting tighter and tighter these days— seeing as he had been gaining weight for a while now. Not that there was anything he could do about either of those things, of course. Even if he could commit to buying a new one, the idea of taking new size measurements in the mirror seemed… Things were just too difficult right now. He would just have to put up with that fact, he sighed, and tossed the troublesome binder onto the pile of clean clothes slowly falling over themselves on his abandoned desk chair. Then quickly put his shirt back on.
At least, for the time being, he didn’t have to worry about keeping up with his testosterone on top of everything else. About four months more of shots were stored safely beneath the sink in an unlabeled box, alongside a bag of pads and birth control tablets. Though, Trucy nearly found the whole thing the other week, rooting around the bathroom cupboards for various things to play spa. His heart rate spiked as sharply as his hair, seeing her pull out that pale, taped up box and turning it curiously— in the end, he ended up offering his old cologne and bath salts as sacrifice into the tub of cold bath water. Sometimes he swore he could still smell that concoction of hers. Despite it all, though, that was a nice day. He smiled.
Turning out his own night lamp and falling back into bed with a sigh, he stared up at the ceiling through the darkness: eyes following the thick, discolored layers of paint which hid a snaking line of cracks, colorful scribbles sizzling at the edges of his vision. By the time he could unravel himself from his tight curl, rubbing his damp and bleary eyes as he got ready for bed, it was already well into the morning. He wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, just like any other night; the least he could do was close his eyes and pretend to rest. And yet, his eyes stayed open, watching the scribbles dance into new shapes, colors, and patterns alike. They were better company than pretty much everything else that came to him at night. In fact, they were better company than anything else at all, for at least they had stayed with him all his life, and would stay with him forever more.
He had a rather bad habit of watching these in the darkness instead of sleeping, when he was nervous. When he first realized he was transgender, when he decided to tell Larry and his parents, when he first heard the news of Miles Edgeworth, debut prosecutor, and when he faced against him for the first time in court. And the night he lost his badge, driven home by a kind defense attorney with a young, confused child in tow. And tonight. If only somewhere in these surreal patterns lay a perfect script for a coming out, scribbles contorting and colliding like schools of fish to form every letter of the idealized words. Oh, if only it could be that easy.
Frankly, it had been a while since he had to come out to anyone. Mia must have been the last time, back when he first came to work with her as an intern. When he passed a little less and confessed a whole lot more. But seeing as he waited until halfway through middle school to transition, he never really had to explain himself to anyone younger. The adults always “took care” of it, though always with an attitude that the truth was too mature for the little ones to bear: whether covering their ears and pretending nothing of it, or watering down the topic to the simplest terms. He never did understand that; shouldn’t you tell a child as if you were telling any other person? It couldn’t be that hard.
And truthfully, he did still believe that. He liked to think that that was one thing Trucy appreciated about him: that he was honest with her. About not knowing when her father would be back for her; about not being able to afford new things; about the simple fact that she was the reason he was able to smile in the morning, no matter what else came along. He liked to think that he— that they— were doing well. Still, there were times when his heart was too heavy, smile too superficial to say much of anything at all; and though she never breathed a word of it, he was absolutely certain that she knew it too. If he didn’t tell her this, if he couldn’t tell her this, would she let it go?
Or would she finally call his bluff?
“Truce,” he whispered, ignoring the hot flash of self-consciousness in his face while talking into the air. His vocal cords hummed and murmured in his throat as he spoke a little louder, once raw and wrecked from sobs that simply fizzled out, “Truce. I want you to know that I was born a girl.” Then he buried his face in his hands with a groan, deep breath sighing that no, that just didn’t sound right. A woman, maybe? “I want you to know that I was born a woman.”
And he paused, hands still clasped over his eyes, squeezed tight as patterns danced in the darkness of his eyelids. Listening to the sounds of the city, and this apartment, for neither were ever really quiet at night. Tree leaves rustled and scratched outside his bedroom window, hiding the calls of crickets and night owls somewhere deep in their confines. The old air conditioner hummed its heavy sighs as it soldiered on, working overtime in the Los Angeles summer heat. Even the alarm clock on his night side table ticked down in a quiet reminder that he was constantly losing what little sleep he had left. But still, he continued cautiously.
“I want you to know that I was born a woman. And for so many years of my life, I was, until I started to feel…” His words trailed off into silence once more. Maybe those feelings didn’t just start out of nowhere; maybe they were a lot like the pain he felt now, pushed down and ignored for so long that they could almost disappear. A snowball sliding down the incline, from somewhere far, far away. Until it wasn’t very far at all. Until he stared out into the storm and knew, for once, just what he was waiting for. “Somewhere along the line, I felt…
“Like I wasn’t home.”
Did that make any sense? Would that mean anything at all to her? Slowly, he pulled his hands from his face and sighed. Though he could keep at this for hours, phrasing and rephrasing, sighing and stressing until his voice truly gave out, it was hopeless from the start. He was never really good at anything but rushing in head first, was he? From his friends, to his career, to his loss of it all. He just couldn’t learn any other way.
“No matter what happens… with Trucy, and with all things… I trust that whatever you feel is right, will be,” Edgeworth’s warm and weary voice echoed through his mind. Fine, then, he supposed. Perhaps they oughtn’t judge Franziska too hard, for his habits survived just as stubbornly. And even if Edgeworth could never have known the man on the other end of the phone, unworthy of the trust he was given, then there was Kristoph. Kristoph, who believed in him from the very start, and believed in him still. “The girl clearly thinks the world of you as a father… How could anything else ever change that?” That was what he said so confidently, delicate hands and decisive arguments alike gently brushing away all his worries by the day. With clear eyes sharp enough to see them for all the ridiculous irrationalities that they were.
He would have to think pretty damn highly of himself to actually believe he could fool the both of them. And he let out a scoff of laughter, for he very certainly did not. Then… maybe it would be alright to place his trust in the two of them, placing their trust in him, for a little while. Maybe it would be alright to place his trust in Trucy, too. So, with a heavy breath, he turned on his side: the alarm clock blinked back at him in bright blue numbers. Five-ish hours of sleep wouldn’t be half-bad, and twice as much as the night before. So he slowly closed his eyes, letting the weight of his eyelids finally rest within a darkness not quite so lonely as before. In the morning, things would be better. In the morning, he would say what he needed himself to say. He just needed to be honest with her.
Honestly, he couldn’t bear it any other way.
ㅤ✦
It wasn’t often that Phoenix could describe any moment of his life as “peaceful”— and unfortunately, his awakening that morning continued to prove it true. He must have just slept through his alarm, because some time shortly after eight o’clock, he snapped into consciousness as his body shook about like a rag doll, tossed around in stormy winds and waters. And without even opening his eyes, he knew quite well that the culprit was, of course, Trucy: standing at his bedside and shaking him by the shoulders. Her giggling laughter echoed through the room.
“You sleep like a rock, Papa! C’mon, it’s time to get ready!”
The sleeping habits of a rock did seem rather appealing these days, if he was being honest, though he was pretty sure that Trucy, in all her boundless energy and determination, would find a way around such a thing regardless. Whole face scrunching up in a wince, Phoenix let out a groan before gradually opening one eye. He watched as Trucy caught his gaze and broke into a brilliant, beaming smile; he smiled a bit, too. Then quickly darted his arms out to wrap around her waist: like the sun rising and falling over the city, he lifted her squealing form up and over the bedsheets with him. And he held onto her tightly, pressed to his chest enough that she might even hear the heart beating beneath it, feel the deep breath released from his lips as he nestled his chin into her coiled hair. Her giggles slowly quietened down, and he cleared his throat.
“Truce, I’ve got something to tell you,” he murmured, rumbling low and soft in his throat.
She simply shook her head, burying herself deeper into his embrace with a smile as audible as ever. “I love you too, Papa! Don’t worry, I won’t forget!”
“That’s right, you won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” A crooked grin cracked at the corners of his lips with such a smug statement, and one hand released from its tight squeeze to run its fingers absently up and down the side of her back: just like his mother used to do for him. Though right now, it was more for him than for her anyway, as he added, “But that’s not it, kiddo. It’s… kind of a long one, so just hear me out, okay?”
“Okay!”
He took a breath once more; stray strands of hair tickled his chin as he did, not unlike the sensation squirming around in his stomach. It felt… different, though. Hopeful. He hadn’t felt quite like that in a long time. And so he let it fester: eyes closed, locked in this embrace, gentle warmth soaking into his skin from the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, the bedsheets tangled in webs around them, and Trucy. Trucy, his guiding light. That was all the certainty he needed as his lips fell open. “Well, the thing is…” he chuckled, “God, I really am lucky to have a kid like you in my life. I can’t tell you how much you’ve changed everything for me, like, I didn’t think, y’know, that I’d ever have a kid of my own. Even though… I was born a woman.” And he hitched his breath, waiting for— well, he didn’t know what he was waiting for. A reaction from either one of them, he supposed, but Trucy remained silent, and his heart remained steady. And so he continued. “That’s what everyone said, so that was the way that I lived. I wasn’t like you, y’know: bubbly, brilliant… brave. So whenever I got this feeling that something wasn’t adding up, I kept it to myself. For a long time.”
“It wasn’t until I was a good few years older than you that I started to become your ruggedly handsome old Papa. I changed my look, and my name… and a few years ago, I started to take medicine to help me be the way I wanted to be. And I still think about those times a lot. Living like a woman the way I did is still important to me, but I want you to know that it doesn’t change anything now: like… how I want you to always remember your dad, and how he used to take care of you. Now I am, and now I am a man.” And he gave a lighthearted chuckle, a crooked smile inching its way back as he realized: he didn’t really know what the end to all this was. It seemed like he really had something going there for a bit, but now he simply stuttered to a halt with the words, “I just want to make sure, y’know, that that’s umm, okay with you?”
Trucy stirred slowly beneath his grasp, head raising to flash him a shining grin which sparkled from one round, freckled cheek to the other. And his dark eyes crinkled softly as he patted her soft clouds of hair. “You didn’t have to worry about that, Papa. You know, as long as you’re happy, I’m always happy! And you are happy, aren’t you, Papa?”
“I am, kiddo,” he whispered, though the words cracked and faltered in his throat, barely etching out a sound under the weight of such a confession. “I’ve been so happy.” And so his thoughts flooded with all the memories he had tucked away in creaking drawers, and dusty boxes, and stories that he might tell her later, though he never, ever could. Memories that he had forfeited as being from a lifetime he could never have back; but that was still important to him, too, wasn’t it? He could see, feel so vividly, and so he laughed. “I just remember the first time I ever bought a real, fancy guy’s suit, actually— that blue one I had when we met, you remember? My old mentor helped me pick that one. And when I tried it on for the first time, I was so happy that I… I couldn’t stop crying. ‘Cause I just kept seeing this guy in the mirror, and he looked so much like someone I could finally recognize, like someone I’d known all my life. He looked like,” he paused, and for a small moment caught the reflection of himself in Trucy’s shining eyes, “he looked like me.”
She nodded emphatically, small hands grasping at his shirt fabric in excitement. “I know! Putting on Mommy’s cape for the first time was just like that, too!”
Phoenix blinked; for a fraction of a second, it slipped through his ears entirely without thought, until it was dragged back into question with the sharp sting of everything clicking into place. Surely, she didn’t mean it in the same way. Surely, she was describing the joy of following in the footsteps of her late mother, of becoming a talented young magician. A talented young… But she looked up at him still and smiled, thick lashes fluttering and dark eyes shining in such a way he knew meant every word; Trucy didn’t say things she didn’t mean. Not without reason, and what other reason was there to say… Eyebrows furrowed, head twitching ever so slightly to meet her innocent gaze, he cleared his throat. “Is that right?”
Her blinding beam was all the answer he needed as she laughed. “Yep, yep! Did you not know I used to be a boy, Papa?” And so he couldn’t help but tilt his head back and laugh with her too, because it really was as simple as that, wasn’t it? As simple as coming out and saying it with such nonchalance: the shrug of her shoulders and the shine of her smile, like it wasn’t anything at all. Maybe that was the beauty of how kids saw the world, that all the adults in his life before had tried so desperately to protect. If that was the truth, then he could never be happier than he was at this moment, to have someone like Trucy to guide him.
So he simply said, “I did not,” and smiled the brightest, most brilliant smile he could as he wrapped his arms around her for the final time, drawing in his legs and bending his head as if to wrap himself around her as close as could be. As if, for just these few fleeting moments, he could close his eyes and feel everything in the world fade away except for this small child, the sun for which his entire life revolved. Feel the warmth of her head on his chest, which melted all those impending snowballs rolling down the mountainside into a single wave, washing over every worry and carrying him to clarity. He let out a breath. “Good to meet the real you, Truce.”
“Good to meet the real you, Papa!”
And it was.
So there they lay in the quiet for a few moments, which may as well have been forever. His cheeks ached from the smile which never left his face, wrist cramped from the motion of stroking her hair absently. Though the air conditioner hummed, and the alarm clock ticked down, and just outside, cars whizzed by while revving their engines and blaring their horns, what he heard most was the soft, steady breathing in tune with his. Though the sunlight’s soaking heat lulled him back to sleep, weighing down his resting eyelids and numbing his limbs in place, what he felt most were her hands as they clung onto him. He sighed. This was peace. This was, as very few things in his life were nowadays, perfect. Just perfect.
Then Trucy hummed, “Will you get up and get ready now?”
He should have learned by now that either one was fleeting.