Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was the beginning of September. Summer was finally stuffing away its stifling heat for the rest of the year, and allowing Autumn’s narrow edge to soften the air. Spring, which was over half a year ago now, was typically the season known for ushering change; flowers blossomed and the sun began to touch down to Earth again, and it was always refreshing, even if Phoenix felt too old for such drastic changes nowadays.

It was not Spring. And yet…

“You knew a man named Mr. Armando, right, Daddy?”

It wasn’t exactly what Phoenix expected to hear almost the first thing Sunday morning, after Trucy ran out to go get breakfast. She had returned with two chocolate chip muffins from the gas station, and Phoenix was halfway through his first bite when she asked him the question. His gasp had caused him to nearly choke on his bite, and she quickly began to thump her hand against his back from beside him on the living room couch.

“How do you…?”

“I saw someone with that name at the gas station. I mean, I didn’t talk to him, but I heard the guy at the counter say his name.”

It’s been nearly a decade since that trial. A lot has happened since then, making it all a distant memory until it slammed back to the forefront of his mind all over again…bittersweet, and far too consciously present for his own taste.

“I did, yeah…a long time ago.”

Trucy tilted her head to one side, then took another bite of her muffin. “What’s wrong?”

Phoenix shook himself off, then looked back at her. “What?”

“You look all weird. Should I have not brought it up…?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Then, reconsidering the situation, “I’m…glad you did.”

Assuming this was the same Mr. Armando that Phoenix had known all those years ago.

“...I don’t remember ever telling you that story, though,” he muttered, squinting towards his daughter.

Trucy innocently batted her eyelashes. “Welllllll…I saw a record of it once?”

She had a tendency to snoop through records of his old court cases. Phoenix playfully ruffled her hair, but something nagged at the back of his mind at the thought of that; it wasn’t a very fun or mirthful trial, and not to hear from anywhere other than his own mouth. “Next time you wanna know something like that, you ask me.”

Phoenix had read those same records before. They were unbiased retellings of what had happened in court; but sometimes, unbiased wasn’t always a good thing. 

“Mr. Armando was a criminal, right?” Trucy asked, opening up the can of worms Phoenix had kept shut for years.

“...Yeah, he was.”

“So…aren’t you worried? Y’know. That he’s out now?”

“It’s probably not really him, Trucy,” Phoenix assured, though Trucy herself didn’t seem half as worried as Phoenix did.

Worried…he wasn’t worried. That wasn’t the right word for it, but whatever the right word was evaded him.

“Even if it was,” Phoenix continued, “his story is…different. Mr. Armando wasn’t a bad man.”

But maybe the matter has already been forced open enough. Especially so for something that may not even matter in the end.

Still, it nagged at him all morning, and it wouldn’t stop. And by noon, he gave in.

This is a dumb idea, Phoenix thought, halfway to the gas station on foot. He reminded himself for the tenth time that Armando wasn’t an entirely uncommon last name, and that there was a much higher chance that this was absolutely nothing; he’d make an ass out of himself at a gas station in front of some random strangers, and file this away in his memory as something he’d wish to forget.

And, he thought with a fervent refusal to let himself drop it, even if it was him…what then? Invite the man he’d gotten convicted of murder almost a decade ago out to lunch? Treat him like some old friend after all the bullshit that happened?

Although, Phoenix supposed it wasn’t a matter of if. It was for his own peace of mind that he learned that this “Mr. Armando” Trucy had encountered wasn’t the very same Diego Armando he’d known years ago.

He’s wearing the beanie Trucy had given him as a gift when she was younger. Not only to ward off the slight chill, but also…just in case, he supposed. He was better off if this Mr. Armando- assuming it was the one he’d known, which it surely wasn’t- didn’t recognize him. He wanted to scope it out…that’s all. Nothing more.

When he arrived at the gas station, it was empty aside from the employee at the register. Not that he was expecting anyone to hang around a gas station longer than necessary, yet he still found himself peeking down each of the aisles to double check…which certainly didn’t look suspicious at all, he’s sure.

When he was sure it was positively empty, he approached the employee at the front. “Excuse me, uh…you wouldn’t happen to know any Mr. Armando who stopped by here, would you?”

The cashier, a larger, older man, seemed to size up Phoenix for a moment before answering. “Armando? Yeah, the guy comes by here pretty often. For the past week or so.”

“What does he look like?” Phoenix asked, almost too enthusiastically. “Sorry. I’m, uh, just curious.”

“Got a weird look in his eyes. I think he’s blind, or something?” The man shrugged. “Brown skin, white hair, looks a mess most of the time, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

This sounded worse and worse by the second. Something uneasy settled in Phoenix’s stomach, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

“Is his name Diego Armando?” Phoenix asked in a rush, leaning over the counter.

“I don’t know the guy’s first name,” the employee said with a pointed eye roll. “All I know is he’s been here every day for the past week to buy something. I’ve seen him twice a day, too. Hard to miss a guy like that. If you’re looking for him, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

What business could he possibly have here that merits coming down twice a day? Though, to be honest, Phoenix was still reeling from the shock that this sounded more and more like the Diego Armando he had known a decade ago by the minute to care much beyond a surface level. He’d been entirely unaware he’d been released from prison…or, even that being released was a possibility for him.

He walked over to the coffee machine and grabbed a paper cup, filling it up and stirring in a splash of creamer, just as he liked it. And after a moment of consideration, he grabbed another cup, and filled it up the same way; only, this time, kept it black, something he never quite had the taste for. He paid at the counter and stepped back outside, waiting at the sidewalk, and took a long sip of his own drink to warm himself up a little.

He just had to see for himself, he kept telling himself. If he didn’t, and he dropped the matter here, he’d never be able to stop thinking about it.

Phoenix continued to wait, long after he finished his own coffee, and long after the one that remained had gone cold. It only briefly crosses his mind that it was stupid for him to wait out here for so long, for a man he didn’t even know for sure would show up; for a man who he hadn’t seen in a decade, and very well could have had no interest in seeing him ever again. Who had made a good life for himself after leaving the concrete walls of prison, and wanted to abandon his old life for good.

Was there a chance he had forgotten about Phoenix entirely? Ten years was a long time, and they’d only known each other for a few months. He could just be another empty name, another blank face; blending crudely with everything else.

And just when he thought about going home, he saw a shock of white hair approaching from further along the sidewalk.

He was precisely as the cashier had described him, and almost identical to Phoenix’s memory. He sported a few new wrinkles, maybe, and the few grey hairs growing from his chin were certainly new, but it was undeniably him; the visor fixed on his face was a dead giveaway, though it appeared old and broken. It didn’t emit the same red light it used to.

Like a phantom, he walked right past Phoenix, not even sparing him a glance, and into the gas station. Phoenix followed him inside without thinking.

“Back again, Armando?” The cashier asked, amused, before his gaze flickered over to Phoenix. “You’re still here? Oh, you were looking for this guy, weren’t you?”

Armando turned towards him. Phoenix froze, like prey being stalked by a predator, though he couldn’t discern much from beyond the broken visor.

“Looking for me?” He asked, and it was the first time Phoenix had heard his voice. He sounded exhausted, his voice thick and deep. Maybe it had always been that way, though.

“...Hi, Mr. Armando,” Phoenix said when he could finally find his voice, taking a tentative step forward. “I, uh…wow. I don’t really know what to say.”

He felt stupid now, holding the cold cup of coffee in his hand. It felt stupid to give him now. “You…remember me, right?”

Something appeared to narrowly twitch in Godot’s expression. Phoenix couldn’t identify what it was, not with half of his face obscured as it was, but it didn’t do much to help the uneasy feeling in his gut. “Wright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me.”

He hoped, at least, that whatever it was Godot was feeling, it wasn’t the same hatred that had been his lifeblood years before. Phoenix looked down at the coffee in his hand and held it out, gently nudging it into the other’s. “I, uh…bought you a coffee. It’s a little cold by now, but…”

It was the thought that counted, right? Phoenix watched as Godot took a cautious sip. His brow furrowed. “This is gross.”

Phoenix cringed. Maybe he shouldn’t have even tried.

“Uh…sorry.” He watched as Godot walked down the aisles of junk food and various other snacks, and followed him at a close distance. “Anyways! I didn’t know you were out of prison. You should’ve told me. I would love to catch up sometime.”

“What is there to catch up on?” Godot asked, hand running across the pegs various bags of snacks were hanging on. “I’ve been in prison up until last week.”

“...Right.” 

He didn’t think it would’ve been so recent.

Godot grabbed something off the shelf so quickly that Phoenix couldn’t even see what it was. He proceeded to follow Godot down to the refrigerated aisle, and watched him do the same thing; runs his hand across the doors, tapping against each handle. “Well…I didn’t know you were out at all. You could’ve stopped by the office, at least.”

Godot opened one of the fridge doors. “What good would that do?”

“To see each other again?” He offered, but Godot didn’t seem to impressed by that answer. “Or…something.”

From the fridge, Godot pulled out a water bottle. “I can’t think of any reason why I’d want to see you.”

He walked past Phoenix to get to the register. So much for that idea; trying to persuade a man who very obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Still, when Godot left the store, Phoenix was quick to follow behind him, catching up and walking at his side. “Can I at least walk you home?”

Godot seemed to pause for a moment, his body rigid. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because…” Phoenix studied his face for a moment. “Your visor is broken.”

Godot turned to face him, his brow furrowed. “You need it to see, don’t you?” Phoenix asked, waving a hand in front of his face. Godot still flinched a little- okay, maybe he didn’t need it to see, but…

“I’ve learned my way around,” Godot dismissed him, taking another sip of the coffee and pushing Phoenix’s hand away from his face. “Go back to giving people cheap coffee, Wright.”

“Come on. I didn’t even hear you thank me for buying it for you.”

“Do you know why that is?” Godot took another long sip. “Because this blend is special. Blend #108: Wright’s Shitty Gas Station Coffee.”

And he took the lid off, and dumped the rest out onto the sidewalk.

“...If you think that’s going to change my mind,” Phoenix muttered, looking towards an approximation of where Godot’s eyes were behind the dim visor, “you’re wrong.”

Godot seemed immediately displeased with him, not that it gave Phoenix any pause. “Always sticking your nose into other people’s business. I know the kind of person you are.” He began to walk away, and Phoenix did not hesitate to follow him. “Quit treating me like an invalid.”

“Invalid?” Phoenix jogged for a moment to catch up with him, walking at his side in long strides that matched his pace. “You’re not an invalid to me. You’re a friend.”

“A friend you haven’t heard a word from in ten years.”

“Does that change anything?” Whatever reason Godot had to be so pushy, Phoenix couldn’t understand it. “Do you think that will make me care any less?”

“I wish it would.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Godot finally stopped walking for just a moment, and Phoenix followed suit, of course. “I really, really do. Unclog those ears, Wright, because I’m only going to say this once.”

He jabbed a finger at Phoenix’s chest. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your pity. And I don’t want a worthless imitation of a nonexistent friendship you conjured up in your head to cope with the fact that you can’t fix me. So go back home to whatever life you were living before. Kiss your wife or whatever on the cheek, enjoy a home cooked meal and a movie on the couch, and forget about me.”

And Godot began to walk again, at a slower pace than before. Phoenix watched him for a moment; and though it took him several seconds to move, once he did, he moved quickly to once again catch up with Godot. And again, he matched his pace, slower than before, and although Godot must have heard his footsteps, he didn’t do anything.

“I have a daughter.” They both stared straight ahead as Phoenix began. “Her name is Trucy. I adopted her a few months after your case. She’s a magician…and a pretty talented one at that. I can’t keep up with how she does her tricks, and she’s not too keen on explaining them. She tried to teach me some basic prestidigitation once…and I kinda sucked at it.”

Godot said nothing.

“I was actually disbarred for a few years, you know. I only got my badge back…a little over a year ago by now? Anyway, I ended up adopting Trucy a little after that whole incident began. Was I expecting to be a father? Hell no. But she’s my little girl, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. I’ll have to tell you about the story of my disbarment sometime, though. The whole thing was pretty crazy.”

It was funny. To anyone else walking down the sidewalk, or driving down the street, or even peeking their head out through a window, they probably did look just like friends. Two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long, long time.

“See? I would wager you don’t know the kind of person I am at all.” Phoenix finally turned to look at him. He wasn’t even sure if Godot could see him. “So, before you pass your almighty judgment on me, get to know me a little better. Give this some kind of meaning before you throw it all away.”

He had no idea if Godot would listen to him, or if his words were registering with him at all. He was half expecting to be ignored entirely, but…

“You’re only wasting your time,” was all he said, solemn as he seemed to be.

“I don’t think so. I think if I had anything I’d rather do, I’d go do it.”

They were both stubborn, and Phoenix could do this all day. He just hoped this wasn’t really what Godot wanted; to be left alone, never to see Phoenix again.

It felt weird to say that would make him sad. Until today, Phoenix had never even considered the possibility of ever seeing Godot ever again. But now that he’s found him again, it felt too sad to say goodbye for good now.

“I really mean it, Godot. I wanna get to know you.”

“You can start by throwing out that name. Lord knows I did.”

Phoenix supposed he likely hasn’t used the name “Godot” in years. Armando did have a nicer ring to it. “Okay. Armando, then. Can I at least see you back home?”

Armando didn’t respond, but he didn’t necessarily dismiss Phoenix, either. It was a small victory, but one he’d celebrate nonetheless.

They were silent the rest of the way, though it thankfully wasn’t too much farther. At first, it appeared to be some sort of apartment building; relatively small and cheap, but not too poor in quality. Only after he stepped into the lobby, took in the surroundings, and finally saw a sign with the name of the building did he realize:

This wasn’t an apartment building. It was a hotel.

He followed Armando to the small elevator, and once the doors shut with just them inside, he dared to ask. “You’re living in a hotel?”

“Choose your words carefully, Wright. I can have you trespassed at any time.”

“No, no- I’m not judging, honest! It’s just…not what I expected.”

“Me neither.”

The doors slid open with a ding, and Phoenix followed Armando through the plain, sterile hallway; a weird, mildew-y smell clung to it, small plastic bags of trash lining the walls outside of each door, and…pet fur stuck to the carpet? He supposed this explained Armando’s reluctance to let Phoenix follow him home a little more, although he hoped to prove that it was an irrational thing to worry about, despite initial impressions.

Armando unlocked his room with a blank key card, and he continued to remain silent as Phoenix stepped inside. It was a small room; just one bed, and just like the hallway, it was sterile and plain. It was tidy, for the most part, and only after getting a better look did Phoenix realize the tidiness came not from an active effort, but rather, the fact that Armando didn’t seem to have very many possessions at all. There were clothes hung on the heater, inefficiently drying them from a previously damp state, and Phoenix wondered if it was rude to immediately assume they had been washed in the sink.

It…could be worse.

“If I had to make a guess,” Armando started before Phoenix could think of anything to say, slipping the broken visor from his face, “I’d wager you’re looking pretty stupid right now.”

His eyes were a deep brown, looking right through Phoenix. It was the first time he’s ever seen them for himself. They didn’t appear as cognizant as his mind was, though they tried to mimic the same punctuations they seemed to recall from many, many years ago. “You’ve been living here?”

“For about a week.” He set the visor on the nightstand and sat on the bed, motioning for Phoenix to have a seat beside him, which he did. “It’s not like I had anywhere else to go, or anything. The place is cheap as a temporary situation of sorts.”

“What about an apartment?”

“Yeah. Not enough money for that.”

“But enough for a week stay at a hotel?”

“Temporary solution, like I said.”

“Of sorts.”

“Yup.”

This was…bizarre. “What about transitional housing? Don’t they have programs specifically for people released from prison?”

Armando let out a short, humorless laugh. “First thing I did was call every place I could find. But this is the big city, Wright. I’m on a waitlist or two, but they’re all filled up.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I may be free from those concrete walls, but this is where I’ll serve the rest of my sentence.” Whatever that meant. Armando let himself fall to one side, leaning up against the headboard of the bed. “I was part of a rehabilitation program in prison. They’re always looking to move people out so there’s more room for new convicts and all. I didn’t really wanna complete the program, but they let me out anyway.”

Something about that struck Phoenix as odd. “You didn’t want to be rehabilitated?”

“I knew there was nothing left for me out here,” Armando lamented, his voice heavy. “And I was right.”

He had his freedom, but was it really freedom? Not in the same way that Phoenix knew it. “...You could move in with me.”

“No.” His answer was clear and instantaneous.

“I’m serious.” Armando wouldn’t look him in the eye, but Phoenix stared intently anyway. “It’s just me and Trucy right now, but we have room for you. At least until you get back on your feet.”

“I’m serious, too. No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“What, that you don’t want to be pitied?” Phoenix’s voice had a minute bite to it, but he could scarcely help it when Armando was being this irrational. “This isn’t pity. You’ll have a better chance at making it if you stay with me for a while.”

“And what’ll you gain from it, huh?” He finally looked towards Phoenix, eyes rapidly scanning across him. “I can’t pay rent. I don’t have a job. I can’t do much of anything, really.”

That wasn’t the point, but Phoenix wasn’t sure how to convey that. Armando seemed wedged too deep in his own self-loathing to see what Phoenix was getting at.

“You just wanna make yourself feel better, because you don’t wanna go home with the knowledge that I’m living here. You can pity me in that head of yours all you want. But I better not hear you say it.”

“Okay. I won’t say it, then. But I want you to realize that none of this is about pity. I’m being genuine.”

“If that helps you feel better about yourself, then you can say it all you want.”

It seems like this wasn’t something they were going to see eye to eye on, at least for now. Either way, Phoenix had no plan to concede to Armando’s stubbornness.

“Well, then, I won’t bother you any more than I need to. But, uh- hold on.” Phoenix stood up and pulled his wallet from his pocket, digging through it until he pulled out sixty dollars in cash, pushing it into Armando’s hand. “It’s not a lot, but I hope it’ll at least get you another night here.”

“Wright-”

“What’s that?” Phoenix asked, already walking towards the door. “I’m already on my way out. I’ll catch you around sometime.”

And then, he left. Without a doubt too fast, but he didn’t want to give Armando the chance to decline his offer.

He needed help. That much was obvious to anyone with half a brain, but for whatever reason, he seemed hellbent on denying it.

It was probably a pride thing, Phoenix rationalized. Armando always was that type; too prideful, too stubborn to ask for anything, or accept help when it’s offered to him. In a way, it felt almost selfish.

Once he stepped outside, his phone began to ring, an incoming call from Trucy, which he picked up right away. “Hello?”

“Daddy, are you gonna be home for dinner tonight?”

He was only out for around two hours…it was barely even past lunch time. “Yeah, sorry. I got caught up in some business?”

“Was it with Mr. Armando?” Trucy asked, already sounding far too eager for all the details. “What happened? Was it him?”

“It, uh…” Phoenix glanced back towards the hotel for a brief, wistful moment, then turned around to head back down the sidewalk. “Yeah, it was. We just talked for a little, that’s all.”

Because Armando was too stubborn to let anything else happen, no matter how much Phoenix offered.

“Huh. Cool!” Trucy was oblivious to the finer details, of course. She’d probably be able to tell that more was wrong if they were talking face to face, so he anticipated being grilled on all the finer details later. “Well, see you in a bit, Daddy!”

“Yup. I’ll be home soon.”

He hung up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Armando’s refusal shouldn’t bother him so much, but it left a bad taste in his mouth despite that. It wasn’t exactly the happiest reunion.

He was probably overthinking it.

The next day, Phoenix showed up to the same gas station at around 10:30 in the morning, with another cup of coffee. This one was hot, and remained that way in an insulated tumbler that had been stuffed somewhere deep in a cabinet.

A few minutes after he first arrived, Armando showed up as well, once again wearing that broken visor.

“Armando. Funny seeing you here.”

He paused once he heard Phoenix’s voice.

“Here again?”

He didn’t sound too pleased to run into him like this.

“Well, I wanted to see you again. I got you another coffee.”

He held out the tumbler. Armando’s fingers grazed it for a moment, before securing a hold on it. “More shitty gas station coffee?”

Phoenix smirked; walked right into his trap. “Not this time. I made this one at home.”

Armando took a cautious sip, pausing for a moment to evaluate the taste on his tongue. “This is from store bought grounds. It’s no different than the stuff from the gas station.”

“Maybe not, but at least it isn’t cold!” Phoenix hyped up his own coffee with fake enthusiasm, half-expecting Armando to dump it out again. This time, however, he didn’t; he continued to drink it, and that alone felt like high praise. 

When Phoenix went to open the door to the gas station, however, he found that Armando had already turned to leave, walking back the direction he came from. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my little getaway home. You gonna join me, or no?”

Why had he come here to begin with, then? Phoenix still caught up with him, leaving the store behind. “I just thought you came here to buy something.”

“The coffee is decent enough. Good on you, Wright, you saved me a bit of money today.”

Was that something to be proud of? It didn’t really feel like it. He thought about offering to take Armando out for brunch or something, but he left his wallet at home…maybe tomorrow, then, if he remembered then.

The walk back to the hotel was the same as last time, but Armando seemed minutely more interested in Phoenix’s attempt at making conversation this time; he still wasn’t completely engaged, but the occasional nod or hum in response told Phoenix that he was at least doing more than simply ignoring him today. Maybe a bit of a victory.

They reached the hotel again, and took the elevator back up to the third floor. Room 313, Phoenix noted this time. “See you tomorrow?”

Armando paused in the doorway. “Wait. Stay here a sec.”

Phoenix stayed behind as Armando entered the room. He heard the sound of rummaging, then the door opened again, and Armando presented him with a blank key card. “Hold onto this for me.”

Phoenix stared down at it. It was blank, yes, but so was the one Armando had used to unlock his room. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. This isn’t an open invitation to barge in whenever you want.” Phoenix reluctantly accepted it, holding it as if it were something precious and fragile. “I’d just feel better if you have it.”

He wasn’t sure what exactly that implied, but Armando didn’t seem willing to give up on this. Fine; if it made him feel better for Phoenix to have a key card to his room, then he could hold onto it.

Before Phoenix turned to leave, he asked, “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

Armando stared at him, and for a moment that Phoenix may as well have hallucinated, he thought he saw the corner of his mouth vaguely twitch. “That depends on you, Wright.”

And so, the next several days went vastly the same. Phoenix waited outside the gas station at the same time every day, and Armando showed up a few minutes later, as he always did. It became a routine rhythm, and it was comfortable. Sometimes, Phoenix would try to casually buy him food or something to drink; casually, because Armando would never accept it if he tried being overt about it.

Friends maybe wasn’t quite the right word yet. But they grew more acquainted with each day. And as they grew more acquainted, Phoenix began to notice more and more about him. Subtle things he hadn’t seen at first.

“Are you okay? You seem kinda…lethargic, today.”

“Just your imagination.”

They had a brief exchange along those lines on day five. On day six, Armando didn’t show up at all, and that moment replayed in Phoenix’s head as the clock struck eleven. Armando usually would have shown up half an hour ago by now.

He probably shouldn’t worry too much. He could have just slept in, or decided not to show up today, or had something important to attend to. It wasn’t as if this were anything more than some unspoken agreement they had; Phoenix didn’t even have Armando’s phone number or anything. Just some vague semblance of trust that the other would show up, as always.

Even despite that, he worried. And he waited another five minutes before abandoning the plan, and heading towards Armando’s hotel alone.

He half expected to meet Armando somewhere at the halfway point, catching him running uncharacteristically late. He’d call his name to get his attention, and they’d walk the rest of the way- of whichever way Armando chose- together, as they usually did. They’d make dumb, casual conversation, and it would probably seem pointless, but it held meaning for both of them anyway.

That didn’t happen.

For the first time on his own, he entered the hotel lobby and greeted the clerk at the desk. He pushed the button to call the elevator and only he stepped inside, pushed the button for the third floor, and waited patiently until the doors opened with a ding, and walked to room 313.

First, he knocked, quick but firm. “Armando?”

No response. He must have just had something else to do today. Phoenix was ready to turn and leave, until something at the back of his mind reminded him of the keycard he’d been given.

Armando had advised him against using the key card as he pleased, but had still never actually elaborated on why he had given it to Phoenix to begin with, or when he wanted him to use it. He hadn’t yet found a use for it in the almost-week they had met up for, and debated on whether he should do so now.

I’ll just poke my head in. If he’s not there, I’ll leave, and if he is, I’ll explain what happened.

Phoenix pulled out the key card and slid it against the lock until it clicked, carefully opening the door. Sunlight filtered in through the large window with its blinds drawn, towels draped over the curtain rod in a meager attempt to block out whatever light still found its way in. The room was in a similar state as the last time he was here, clothes drying on the heater, the broken visor on the nightstand…

Armando himself was in bed. He appeared to be fast asleep.

“...Armando?” Phoenix asked softly, stepping into the room against his better judgment. He didn’t want Armando to get pissed with him, but then he shouldn’t have slept in so late, Phoenix rationalized. “It’s almost noon. Are you awake?”

Still, no response, the silence only made more eerie by the stillness in the darkened room. Something uneasy settled in Phoenix’s gut, and he flicked on the light switch at the doorway before moving to his bedside, putting a hand on his shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Hey. Hey, Armando, wake up.”

He didn’t budge an inch.

Phoenix quickly turned him onto his back. His skin was cold, but clammy; his head lolled lifelessly to one side, and Phoenix’s heart sank.

No. You’re fine. You’re okay.

He grabbed his wrist, pushing his fingers against the inside to find a pulse; he had one, thank God, but it was too light, too weak. Armando remained unresponsive through it all, and Phoenix was all too fast to pull out his phone and dial the emergency number.

Was he dying? Phoenix couldn’t make that judgment, not now, but the thought felt too cruel. They’d only just met again, only just began to get to know each other, and now…

It didn’t bear thinking about.

He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t notice anything, not to this extreme, and now…

Don’t die on me. God, please, don’t you dare.

Armando didn’t regain consciousness until five that afternoon.

Phoenix took the ride with him to the hospital, but decided against sticking around for the time being once the staff confirmed he wasn’t dying; he figured he should at least explain what happened to Trucy, and had just told the hospital to call him if anything happened.

Still, the memory haunted him. The verbatim words of the hospital staff hadn’t done much to ease his nerves, either:

“He should make a full recovery, but it’s a good thing you found him when you did.”

Phoenix didn’t want to think about the alternative. Lingering on it made him feel sick.

He did get a call, though, right around dinner time. Armando was awake, and doing at least a little better, apparently. Better enough to give the nurses lip for not explaining everything to him within a nanosecond of waking up.

Phoenix wanted to see him before visiting hours were up, so he went right away. He made his way to the room that matched the number he’d been given at the front desk and peered inside, seeing that Armando was awake, only narrowly moving his head to look towards Phoenix when he moved. “You a nurse?”

Still standing in the doorway, Phoenix crossed his arms. “Guess again.”

“...Wright?”

“You probably can’t see me right now,” Phoenix said, stepping inside, “but I’m very upset.”

Not that it seemed to faze Armando very much. All he did was minutely tilt his head back towards the ceiling, some kind of profound sorrow in his otherwise neutral expression.

“I’m serious. What the fuck was that, Armando?” Phoenix asked, further crossing the threshold into the bleak room. He probably shouldn’t open up sounding so angry, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?”

Armando barely even sounded alive when he responded, “I didn’t know.”

“Bullshit.” Maybe he was being too harsh, too rude, and he should be more gentle to a man who could have lost his life. He knew that, but he didn’t stop. “You had to have realized you’ve been getting worse for days. You were severely malnourished and dehydrated. You don’t just not notice these things.”

And Armando had nothing to say for himself. 

“Is that why you gave me that key?” Phoenix wasn’t sure why he kept talking, but he did. Maybe because the thought of silence was even less bearable. “You wanted my last memory of you to be finding you dead on the floor of some shitty hotel room? What if I hadn’t gone to check on you when I did? You would just be okay with me living the rest of my life knowing I could’ve saved you, but didn’t?”

He’s experienced something akin to this before, too many times to count off the top of his head. Some vague semblance of grief, mourning something that he hadn’t even lost. Didn’t he know his sorrow was cruel to him, too?

Was any of this even getting through to Armando? He didn’t even know. It was impossible to tell with him, because he never talked to him.

“...Whatever. You don’t have to answer me,” Phoenix sighed, sitting in a chair beside the hospital bed. He cast his eyes downward, not that Armando would have met his gaze, anyway. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me anything. I want to understand what you’re thinking, but you don’t tell me anything. Ever.”

Maybe it was too far beyond him. Maybe he overestimated the weight of the miniscule friendship they had formed. Either way, it seemed unlikely that he’d get any answer at all out of Armando. He was as bullheaded as he was ten years ago.

“I don’t really know if I was thinking at all.”

Phoenix perked up, looking directly at him at the sound of his voice. Armando still wasn’t looking at him; looking instead in some vague direction ahead of him, his eyes blank. “I don’t think…I’ve realized it yet.”

“Realized…?”

“That I’m here.” Phoenix sat up a little straighter. He attentively inched his chair closer to the bed, though Armando didn’t react to the movement, unsurprisingly. “Or…that I’m not still in there.”

“You mean in prison?”

Armando let out a short, humorless laugh. “The prison of my mind, maybe.”

Waxing poetic as always, but it was stuck in a language foreign to Phoenix. “What are you talking about?”

“My coma, Wright.”

Oh. “But that was…”

“Ten years ago. I know.” He tilted his head back, staring absently at the ceiling. “And in ten years, there hasn’t been a single day where I’ve felt like I’m still alive.”

Phoenix bit his tongue. Maybe it was on him for not realizing sooner, or not pressing harder for Armando to talk to him. Or maybe it was redundant to think that way, and Armando wouldn’t have opened up to him regardless, like he never seemed to.

No use beating himself up over it now.

“In prison, they have regulations to follow,” Armando continued. “It’s a real bad look if inmates die prematurely. Even worse look if it’s something preventable.” Finally, he looked over at Phoenix; vaguely in his direction, anyway, his eyes fluttering across his face, as if they were struggling to find his own. “You picking up what I’m putting down, or do I have to spell it out?”

Phoenix swallowed. He had hoped he was wrong. “...I think I am, yeah.”

Armando looked back up towards the ceiling. “They don’t care about the individual. Just the numbers, the reports. They’ll let you walk around as a husk as long as they can count you as legally alive.”

The thought alone was sickening. Not that Phoenix had ever placed much faith in their prison system to begin with, but he had never heard a firsthand account of it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’d I say about pity, Wright?” Armando asked, but there was no bite to his voice, no venom. Just a plea to allow him to keep whatever remained of his fractured dignity. “I spent ten years feeling like I was already dead. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice anything was wrong.”

Armando took a deep, calm breath. “And I think…I’ve been waiting for this day for a long, long time.”

“Don’t say that,” Phoenix cut in almost immediately, for his own sake more than Armando’s. “Don’t act like you wish I did nothing.”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

You don’t need to, Phoenix thinks, but keeps his mouth shut.

“I’m saying it doesn’t matter what I say or do. I’m going to be discharged, and the same thing is going to happen in a few months.”

“It won’t,” Phoenix asserted firmly. “Because you’re going to stay with me.”

“Save your dreams for bedtime, Wright.”

“I’m serious.” Phoenix stared Armando dead in the eye, who finally turned to look at him again. “I already had all your stuff moved from the hotel room to my place. So your options right now are either moving in with me, or involuntary commitment.”

Armando’s eyes widened at the perceived threat, and Phoenix thinks it’s the most emotion he’s seen on his face yet. “You can’t do that.”

“Uh, yes, I can. And I will, Armando, because I’m not going to sit here and let you continue neglecting yourself because you’re too much of a stubborn asshole to admit that you need help.”

For a brief moment, Phoenix worried he went too far. “I don’t want you to have to go anywhere you don’t want to. But I don’t think I need to explain why what happened could warrant involuntary commitment, and I would rather you be angry with me forever than dead. So please, Armando. Just…listen to me for once.”

The silence that stretched between them was agonizing. For the long moment that it was, Phoenix wondered if Armando would force him out, and that would be the end of it; they would never see each other again, and the next time Phoenix heard of his name, it would be in a news report telling the tale of his death, tragic only to the one man who bothered to care.

But when the silence was broken, it wasn’t by any shouting, no furious growl of his name spitting venom into his throat. It was by another short, humorless laugh. “I wish you wouldn’t use that name for something so personal.”

A look passed over his face. Phoenix nearly missed it, that endless stretch of sorrow that seemed to make its home in those unseeing eyes. “What do you mean?”

“‘Armando’. It’s kinda disingenuous.”

“You’re the one who asked me to call you that.”

“I did. Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Please…for once, just say what you mean.”

“I mean,” he said with careful calculation, like the words were stuck on his tongue, “if you want me to believe you, don’t call me that name in the same breath.”

And so, so quiet, it barely reached Phoenix’s ears at all, “...Please.”

Something caught in Phoenix’s throat, and he did his best to swallow it down. “...I meant every word of it. Diego.”

The silence they lapsed into afterward was a little more comfortable, Phoenix thinks, though it’s entirely possible he’s only imagining it. Still, he waits patiently for Diego to be the one to break it.

“Okay. Fine,” he says after several seconds. “I’ll play along with you.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix breathed before he could process his own relief. “Thank you, Diego. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Because Phoenix would have a lot to answer for if he didn’t. And although he was unsure what exactly the coming months would bring, the one thing he was certain of was that he could not afford to fail Diego, like everyone else had.

Like he had before.

“...If you don’t mind me asking,” Phoenix began, breaking the next round of silence. “I noticed your visor was broken. But you still wore it, right?”

“I did.”

“Could I ask, uh…what’s the deal with that?”

“The visor?”

Phoenix nodded.

“Well, before it got all busted up, it helped me see. It wasn’t perfect or anything…lighter colors, they all tend to blend together without it. The visor helped me differentiate them, just a little.”

“But it ended up broken.”

“Happened in prison. It was written off as an accident, so I didn’t get any compensation or anything.”

From the sound of things, it wasn’t an accident at all.

“...How much can you see without it?”

“Not much. It’s a little easier with high contrast- y’know, dark colors on light colors, but I still don’t trust my eyes one bit. I only still wore the busted thing because it helps block out the light. Plus, it…”

Diego trailed off. “It what?”

“Never mind. Forget it.”

Phoenix figured it was wise not to press the matter further for now. Whatever thin string of trust had strung itself between himself and Diego was too fragile to risk breaking like that; he could get his answers later. It wasn’t important right now.

“Aren’t there other things that can help you? Like…a cane, or something?”

“Nothing material in this world is free, Wright.”

Sure, but it still didn’t feel very fair. Then again, though, “fair” didn’t seem to hold much value in this situation, or anything involving Diego.

“Well, we’ll get things sorted out for you,” Phoenix said with a soft determination. “We’ll get you situated at home, and with anything you need. I promise.”

Diego, for once, didn’t argue. Maybe he realized it was futile, or maybe he was just too tired. Phoenix found that the latter was more likely, given how he tended to be. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna head home for the night. I told Trucy I’d bring home dinner.”

Diego settled himself back down against the bed, looking about ready to go back to sleep himself. He must be exhausted. “Whatever you want, Wright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Phoenix stood, heading back for the door. He was going to leave, until- “Wait. Wright.”

He paused, turning back towards Diego. “What’s wrong?”

Diego didn’t look in his direction, staring straight up at the empty ceiling with a look of…something, in his eyes. “Why do you think this happened to me?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical, self-pitying question. It was genuine, and it demanded an answer from Phoenix, like Diego was eager to find out what he was thinking.

“...I think you’re hardheaded. And a little bit stupid. And I think this could have been avoided if you just talked to me instead of letting it get this bad.”

Diego looked like he wanted to say something in response, but kept his mouth shut. Phoenix didn’t push it.

“Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“...Okay.” Phoenix turned back towards the doorway. There had to be a reason why Diego would ask that, but he was worried Diego was too fragile right now to be pushed any harder. “Goodnight, Diego.”

For a brief moment, he questioned if this was really a good idea, or if he should reconsider staying just a little bit longer. But Diego was probably going to rest up either way, and if he needed anything, he hoped he could trust the nurses here to provide it.

That, and he couldn’t break a promise he made to Trucy.

So, with only a little bit of hesitance, Phoenix left the hospital, already forming a gameplan in his head to come back tomorrow. He wondered if there was anything he could bring to the hospital for Diego…though, he supposed he didn’t have too many possessions aside from essentials. Nothing to keep him occupied, and nothing sentimental.

As promised, he stopped by a fast food chain to pick up dinner for himself and Trucy. Athena’s been hounding him lately to eat healthier, which almost made him reconsider where he got dinner from. But maybe he’d have no choice but to drop these habits soon, anyway, with Diego moving in.

Malnourished had been the word the doctors used. Lacking essential nutrients in his day-to-day diet, and Phoenix really doubted it was a conscious choice made by Diego for his own diet. Maybe he’d clean out the kitchen tomorrow, and do a grocery run.

So, he’d indulge in shitty junk food, probably for the last time for a while.

He called out for Trucy when he arrived back home, and they sat together to eat at the kitchen table, as if it were some homecooked feast, and not something cheaper and disingenuous.

“How was Mr. Armando?” Trucy asked, her concern palpable. Phoenix thought it admirable of her; her capacity to care and worry for others, even people she had never met.

Even for someone she only knew as a murderer.

“He’s doing okay. Thankfully.” He’d have to bring it up to her sooner or later, and the sooner the better. It’s just been them for so long, he didn’t want it to come as a surprise… “I talked to him about his situation. He’s going to live here for a while, okay?”

He was worried how Trucy would take the news. She was outgoing, yes, and never had much difficulty talking to adults, but this was…different. Having a man she didn’t know moving in to the house she’s lived in alone with him for ten years would be an odd adjustment for anyone.

Just don’t resent either of us. That was all Phoenix could hope for.

But the look in her eyes remained earnest, untainted. “That’s great! Where’s he gonna sleep, though? We don’t have another bed…”

Of course that would be her main concern. Phoenix felt himself relax. “Well, he might have to take the couch until we can set something else up…”

He assumed Diego wouldn’t mind too much, given his previous living conditions. Still, Trucy passionately stood up from her chair, her palms planted on the table. “Daddy! You’re gonna make our guest sleep on the couch?”

“Huh? What other choice do we have?” It wasn’t ideal, but it was only temporary. “I’m still the one paying the bills, you know…”

They’d work something out for a future arrangement. For now, this would do just fine. Now, all he had left to worry about was making the place a little more presentable before Diego was discharged. Tomorrow he’d clean up a bit, stock up the fridge, and go to see him again…

…Then, another idea crossed his mind.

“Diego, this is my daughter, Trucy.”

Phoenix figured it would be a good idea for them to meet properly before Diego settled in with them. Trucy had seemed pretty eager to meet him, all things considered, and probably wouldn’t have let Phoenix go and see him without her if she found out.

If anything, Diego seemed to be the one who barely knew what to do with himself, meeting her for the first time.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Armando!” Trucy greeted with an abundance of enthusiasm to make up for Diego’s own hesitance.

“Huh. So you weren’t lying about having daughter,” Diego observed offhandedly, an amused lilt to his voice.

“...You thought I was lying?”

“I can’t wait for you to move in with us! It’s always just been the two of us, but with Daddy busy with work all the time, I spend a lot of the time alone.”

He wasn’t busy all the time. Still, Trucy’s enthusiasm was infectious; it seemed to spread to more than just him, too.

“Yeah? Well, isn’t that cruel of him.”

“Oh, come on. Not you too.”

Still, it was a strong first impression, as Phoenix found Trucy usually made with people she met. She had a way with new people…he supposed it came with the territory of being a performer. It was a talent of hers, one Phoenix himself seemed to lack. He doesn’t know where she got it from.

“I hope you like living with us, Mr. Armando,” Trucy said with an earnesty that was impossible to deny, even for a cynic like Diego.

And although Phoenix wasn’t as perceptive as she was, he didn’t miss the way something flashed behind his eyes, in all of their expressiveness despite what they couldn’t perceive. A smile crept to his face to disguise what hid there, but if it didn’t get past Phoenix, he’s sure it didn’t get past Trucy, either. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, little lady.”

His demeanor was more gentle than Phoenix had seen before; likely ever. He took on the attitude of an entirely different person at the drop of a hat with Trucy.

Phoenix wouldn’t complain or anything, of course. But it wasn’t what he expected.

“Hey, Trucy, would mind going to get us some drinks from the vending machine in the lobby?” Phoenix asked, holding out a couple dollars from his pocket.

Trucy inspected him for a moment, her gaze as intense as it usually was; then, she smiled, taking the money from him. “Okay! I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Once she was down the hall, Phoenix looked back towards Diego. As expected, that apparent tenderness in his demeanor had been shed entirely once Trucy was gone, and he went back to appearing as closed off as he was yesterday.

“Trucy’s a sweet girl,” Phoenix said, trying to ease the tense atmosphere that had changed too suddenly for him to adjust. “She’s easy to get along with. So you’d better be nice to her.”

It was only partially a lighthearted tease, but for now, Phoenix would trust that Diego wouldn’t do anything to upset her.

That, however, was his own fragile string of trust that could very easily be broken with one wrong move.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to upset the little lady,” Diego assured without much enthusiasm. “You assume I have no tact at all.”

“She’s my daughter. I hesitate to trust anyone’s tact around her.”

That actually earned a smile from Diego, small and amused. “Might not be entirely misplaced. I’m not too good with kids.”

“Trucy’s almost an adult,” Phoenix said dismissively, and that answer hit him like a brick to the face. Fuck. “...Anyways. I was just joking…mostly. I trust you with her.”

Because trust was a two-way street. That seemed to finally click with Diego, too, but not as some big revelation. A silent acknowledgement, but that was enough for Phoenix.

“Seems like you raised her well, Wright.”

Diego didn’t seem too thrilled to admit it, and Phoenix assumed it was another olive branch. A compliment was such a vulnerable thing, wasn’t it?

“I don’t deserve that much credit. Sometimes, I wonder how she turned out so…normal. I was in a pretty bad place when she came into my life.”

He hadn’t told Diego the full story of his disbarment yet, like he said he would. For some reason, he still dreaded it; it was all old news, and there wasn’t anyone else left in his life who hadn’t heard the story by now, but with Diego…

He didn’t have time to ruminate on that, though. Trucy came back in through the door, returning with two sodas and a bottle of water. “I’m back!”

She handed one of the sodas off to Phoenix, and he watched silently as she handed off the bottle of water to Diego with a polite tap against his hand. A small, almost meaningless gesture…at least, that’s probably how it seemed.

Maybe things would be okay.

“Here’s the place.”

Phoenix held the door to his apartment open wide, making sure the doorway was cleared for Diego to safely make it inside without much issue. He’d been discharged from the hospital just a few days after being admitted, thankfully, which means ripping off the bandaid of getting him situated as soon as possible.

“It’s not much, but make yourself at home,” he said, leading Diego to the living room with the couch. It was…a little embarrassing, making him stay on the couch when he was a guest, but…

“All I need is somewhere to sleep. I’m not asking for a five-star resort.”

That’s what he said, at least, but Phoenix still worried.

“Well, either way, this is your home now, too. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask me or Trucy, all right?”

Diego shot him a cautionary glare. “What would I need help with?”

Phoenix rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that. Actually, that reminds me…”

He left momentarily to run to run to the kitchen, then came back with something in his hands; he nudged it into Diego’s, who felt around its titanium frame with his fingers, before its shape and weight clicked in his mind as the visor that had been left behind, missing the crack that deprived it of its primary function.

“Did you really…?”

“I had it fixed for you while you were in the hospital,” Phoenix explained with a proud grin. “Not being able to see anything just wouldn’t do. So, here’s your solution.”

With a rehearsed muscle memory, Diego slipped the visor onto his face. It lit up the same vibrant red that had been left behind years ago, so stark that Phoenix had to squint until he adjusted to it.

There was something beautiful about it, he thinks, but it was just a passing thought.

“And this is just step one.” Whether Diego wanted it to be or not. “We’ll get you back on your feet, one step at a time. I promise. Moving in here means your officially a part of the family, whether you wanna be or not. And we look out for each other here.”

When Diego didn’t respond, Phoenix asked, “Do you believe me?”

It might not have been easy for him to say, but he gave it a shot anyway.

“I believe you.”