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The first thing Phoenix mentioned to Miles after passing the turnstile to The Great Badgerlands Park was the blackboard advertising happy hour. Phoenix’s attention was magnetized to drink, where he could get it, how, and when.
Miles had to accompany Trucy, attraction to attraction, ride after ride, feeling nauseous, suppressing the bad memories of investigating a murder there and relishing the occasional good one. On the spinning teacups, the past and present aligned for Miles, and he was just as happy being with Trucy as he was with Gumshoe and Kay.
Phoenix was relieved he could finally spend an entire day drinking like a fish and not have to be sober enough that day or the day after to make breakfast for Trucy, get her ready for school, or help her with her homework. He enjoyed the intoxication of being carefree for a few days more than the buzz of actual intoxication.
Miles spent the full hot, sticky day chaperoning a child antsy to be at an amusement park for the first time in years. When he had entered the lounge, carrying a dizzy Trucy on his back, and had to pluck a Phoenix foul with fumes away from the bar, he did not want to make a scene or ruin a perfectly fine day.
Miles noticed Phoenix’s stuttering steps. He had an air of attempted sobriety about him, the laughable dishonesty of which upset Miles. When he saw Phoenix shuffle to the car and throw himself down in the passenger seat like a ragdoll, he gathered the frayed strands of his patience and tried consoling himself.
It’s okay. It’s alright. He hasn’t had a day like this in so long. He’s been trying to take care of Trucy and this is the first time he can let someone else do it. It’s okay. I won’t get cross with him. I won’t. Let’s just get back to the hotel. Just get to the car.
The late afternoon sun had bleached the bones strewn about the roadside. It was trying to microwave the little family inside the little car, driving back to their little hotel room.
“How come... how come you got the one car from the rental agency with no AC?” Phoenix said, roused from his pacifying buzz by the heat.
“There is AC. It’s just weak,” Miles said, exhausted, at his limit. He wished he could hold on to the sight of Trucy's smile just a bit more before all the anger he was feeling was about to erase it.
Phoenix leisurely placed the back of his hand over the air vent and found a weak, room-temperature breath leaving it.
“I don’t know.....” Phoenix said, with sarcastic suspicion underlying his investigation of Miles' claim.
Miles glanced over at the backseat where he laid down Trucy. She was asleep. The sun landed too many blows on her and when she started wobbling when she walked, Miles had to carry her the rest of the way. Beads of sweat slowly traveled down her forehead. She was restless and squirming due to the heat.
When Edgeworth saw Phoenix sulking, falling into his usual moody silence, he finally gave up on having a good day. He looked into the backseat one more time to make sure Trucy wouldn't hear him ripping Phoenix to shreds.
“You’re a disgrace. What are you doing with a 10-year old child in your custody? You aren’t even fit to boil water, let alone take care of a child,” Miles said.
“Theeeere it is...” Phoenix said. Watered-down beer was elongating his words, stretching them out.
“You don’t know the first thing about how to care for someone like that. She looks pale and sickly. Today looks like the first time she’s had a good meal.”
“I try—”
“Try? Not good enough. And why are you drinking anyway? Where do you get the money to drink? Are you so lost that you can’t see you’re spending more money on drink than food?”
“It’s discounted for employees.....”
“What is that? What is that, huh? There is no such profession as ‘amateur pianist at a Russian restaurant’. Most especially not a paid one. You’re a fixer. You’re an invisible prop until the customer says the right words and the waitress gestures him to go with you to the basement for some blasted card game. Stop it. Just stop.”
“A-alright, I won’t say anything more. N-not one word,” Phoenix said.
“Oh, don’t be so coy. And don’t try your characteristic pettiness on me, I know it and I’ve already seen through it. You know I’m trying to help you,” Miles said.
“Great help over here. I’m feeling reallyyyy, reallyyyyyyyyy supported.”
Miles glared at Phoenix long enough to be a road hazard and only looked back at the road when the lane assist warning came on. Miles, knowing Phoenix’s gambit, castled and did not let Phoenix’s attitude disrupt his mission of helping both Trucy and Phoenix.
“Why did you wait for so long to reach out to me?”
Realizing that his attempt to derail Miles with catty words had failed, Phoenix looked out the window in hopes of waiting out Miles’ interrogation. A total strategic blunder on Phoenix's part. When Miles asks a question, he pursues the answer. Like Eddie said of Miles once: he was like a dog with a bone sometimes.
“Phoenix, why did you wait until things got bad to talk to me?”
“You know, you never stop being a prosecutor.”
“Why did you wait until things got bad?” Miles said, pronouncing and articulating every word for the benefit of an invisible stenographer, perhaps present on one of his shoulders.
“I didn’t want to burden you again.”
Miles was befuddled and checked the side mirrors and rearview mirror in hopes of finding someone equally in disbelief on the road. Phoenix had the furtive eyes of a defendant who had just fessed up to a crime after being pressed.
“It doesn’t matter if I feel burdened or if you feel that you’re burdening me, this is a child that was placed in your care. It’s no longer about ‘feeling’ any such way.”
“You... you asked a question. There’s your answer.”
Miles wanted to keep haranguing him, but there was nothing that could be said. For a while, all Miles could do was glance at Phoenix, almost say something, and exhale out the useless words he would have said. Miles, as much as he wanted, could no longer stoke the flames of his own anger. It was akin to a lazy campfire growing dimmer and dimmer because it wasn't being fed anymore. Miles drove in silence for a while.
The sun continued to scald the road, the car, and its occupants. It was getting unbearable. Cracking the windows allowed fresh, searing-hot air to come in. Everyone would be cooked either way, but they had the opportunity to choose between getting air-fried or getting roasted.
“Nick, check the dashboard, maybe it’s letting in outside air instead of re-circulating," Miles said. He never let his emotions get in the way of an urgent, practical matter. A Phoenix that was suffering from heat exhaustion was not one that could be relentlessly scolded.
“Okay.”
Fiddling with the fancy-pants tablet affixed to the dashboard, Phoenix found the screen unresponsive (it wasn't, he was just seeing double) and had to tap it multiple times, the sound of his finger thudding against the display irritating Miles.
“Okay— What... What’s wrong with it? Why are you doing that?” Miles said.
“The screen is bad and I’m trying to figure out where to go.”
Having tapped somewhere he shouldn’t have, the display was now speaking français.
“Miles... it’s in French now. I don’t... I don't know why."
“Why would it turn— just change it back."
“I don’t know how I changed it to French in... in the first place.”
Miles let out a long sigh. He had to simultaneously brush up on his French and take heed of the road to navigate to language settings and turn it back to English. Even though Miles was trying to stay irritated, he sneaked a private chuckle when he remembered how Eddie would randomly throw in French into anything he was saying.
Excusez-moi, Milesarino, pass me the normal mustard.
Normal mustard?
Oui. In France, 'French Mustard' is just... mustard. So it's normal mustard to me.
Miles saw the AC settings. They were all messed up, but he had to pay attention to the road since a turn was coming up.
“I saw the settings, Nick. Can you do it for me? Let it recirculate air and turn on the dehumidifier.”
“Alright.”
Phoenix struggled a bit dragging the sliders, but he finally did it. When cold air started blasting the car, it felt like the first breeze from a walk-in freezer.
“Thank god... Can you check if air is reaching Trucy?” Miles said.
“Okay, hold on.”
Phoenix turned to the backseat and performed an impromptu airflow study with his hands.
“Yeah. It’s reaching her.”
“Okay, good,” Miles said.
“Yeah, good...” Phoenix said.
Phoenix and Miles enjoyed the newly clement weather of the car for some time before saying anything. Miles in particular needed the cold air, since he was overdressed as usual and forgotten how hot it was back home. When he saw Phoenix reclined in his seat a look of innocent, directionless gratitude for being saved from the sun on his face, sympathy took hold of Edgeworth. Maybe Phoenix didn't deserve to be caned all over.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I was angry that you thought me not feeling burdened was more important than the well-being of this child. There are more important things than ‘feelings’.”
Phoenix did not know what to say but knew enough to stay quiet during one of Miles’ soliloquies. Trucy stirred. Her sleep no longer had the look of a child in fever; but the deep, restful slumber of a tired puppy.
“I could have helped you. When it happened, I mean. I could have had them appeal the disbarment. I knew people. It didn’t have to go so catastrophically bad.”
“I... I know.”
“So if you knew that, then why didn’t you come to me?” Miles said.
“I wanted... I wanted to...”
“Yes?”
“God... Miles, I— I wanted to feel like... an adult. I wanted to feel like I didn’t have to go... go running to someone every time something bad happened. I didn’t want to feel like... a little kid, wishing someone... anyone... would come to my defense,” Phoenix said, frustration marshaling words out of his mouth.
Amusement park beer being incredibly overpriced, Phoenix couldn't really drink as much as he actually wanted. He couldn't drink the amount he did when he got the 'grape juice special' at the Borscht Bowl Club. The hot-and-cold cycles he passed though stripped any remaining alcoholic mellow he had been trying to latch onto. As much as it pained him, he was sobering up.
“For God’s sake, Miles... I was raising people up from the dead to... to help me during trials. I had a teenager who barely knew anything other than the life she had in her little village next to me in court because I was too... too scared... to stand alone. The same kid who got tased trying to protect me because a horrible man cornered me in the evidence room....”
Phoenix’s words trailed off as pain choked him. He remembered Maya's bravery. How she was kidnapped by a trained killer but held out long enough for the man who hired him to face justice. How she weathered bone-chilling cold in a small, dark room for an entire day. He remembered how patient and understanding Mia was. Her guiding hand, her encouraging words, her permanent smile. Even in death, even after having passed beyond, she continued to help instead of resting in peace.
Phoenix was ashamed of how little of what he said actually captured how much everyone else did for him. The memories of other people’s extraordinary valor and compassion did nothing to diminish the idea that he was still nothing but a little child when compared to them.
Miles, seeing Phoenix shrink, did not tread over his grief with a single word. He began to understand how small Phoenix saw himself.
Phoenix wanted to continue tallying his failures.
“I was jumping off of drawbridges because I wanted to play hero, while you had to fly in and do my job for me..... There was always someone doing something for me. So when the whole thing happened with..."
Kristoph Gavin's name was still fish-bone in Phoenix's throat. He couldn't say it.
"With... that man...and I got an opportunity to finally do something for someone, someone like... like Trucy... I jumped at it! I-I took it! I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something on my own.... It didn’t matter that I was doing a fucking terrible job at it. Always playing hero…”
Phoenix turned away from Miles because he did not want Miles to see that he was tearing up. Phoenix couched his hands between his thighs and let his head rest on the window. Miles reached out to retrieve Phoenix’s left hand from its den. He squeezed it.
“It’s alright. It’s alright. You just made... a few mistakes. I'm here now, okay?” Miles said.
“Y-Yeah...”
Miles placed both hands back on the steering wheel. Helping people was harder than chasing them down and having them confess, but Miles learned how to do it. Kay taught him. Eddie taught him. He made a mental note of calling them as soon as he could, just to catch up.
“Daddy, are we there yet?”
Trucy, awakening like the miraculous survivor of a heavy fever, still groggy, had directed this question at Miles instead of Phoenix. She had reared her head in between the both of them. Neither of them knew when she woke up.
Phoenix, smoothing Trucy’s ruffled hair, said
“N-no, baby, not yet. But almost.”