Work Text:
Trucy watched it happen a lot.
At the store, the park, when they went to a restaurant, when they went to the Bowl Club, even at her own shows.
Going out with her daddy, Phoenix Wright , sometimes meant people stared at them. It was different from how they stared at her and her old daddy—instead of awe and wonder, it was accusatory, sympathetic, and other things she could not name at the time. Some of them would only whisper to each other, hushed tones and suspicious looks. Some were more conspicuous; talking about him in a voice louder than a whisper, loud enough for Trucy to be able to make out what they were saying, even if she didn’t quite understand what all of it meant. Once or twice a month someone would flat out confront him, sometimes it would be support and pity, but usually it wasn’t.
Daddy never said a word when people didn’t say anything directly to him, never acknowledged the pointing, just went about his day like normal. But he did notice, Trucy could tell. His hand would flex, shoulders fall, eyebrow twitch…
But he always did his best to distract her from those people; escorting her to the ice cream aisle and telling her to pick out a frozen treat, putting her on his shoulders, giving her flowers to congratulate her on her performance…
She asked him about it a few times, why people didn’t mind their business when they went out together, but only one of these sticks in her mind:
“Ah, that?” He was washing the dishes, smiling like he was trying to convince her that nothing was wrong. “It’s because of my hair!” He laughed, Trucy didn’t laugh with him. “And my eyebrows. People have been making fun of me for them since I was a kid. Don’t worry about it too much, Pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair with soapy hands, making her squirm away with a laugh. “It’s just been my unfortunate trademark since birth.”
He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the full truth, even if she didn’t know what that was. What she did know was that his hair and eyebrows always caused the scene, and she also knew what she could do about the situation.
His friends were sympathetic to her cause, offering to buy her the yarn she wanted, helping her find a pattern, letting her stay up a little later than they should have so she could work on it while her father wasn’t home, Miles even offered to help model the hat a bit, even if “Your father’s head is a bit larger than mine is, even without the spikes.” Trucy toiled away trying to get it just right, working on it during recess, breaks during rehearsals, when she was supposed to be sleeping…
(He almost caught her red handed one time, but her sleight of hand skills got her out of that predicament quickly.)
The beanie was bright blue, with a pink “ Papa ” to let everyone know his title (even if she called him “ Daddy ,” she couldn’t find a pattern like that, so she rolled with it).
When she presented it to him, he looked like he was about to cry.
“It’s for work!” She said, another half truth. “That way you won’t get cold! And it’ll help you hide your bluffs!”
“You tellin’ me I need to work on my poker face? Am I that bad at my job?” He said with a choked laugh as she pulled the beanie over his head. He hugged her tight and told her he loved it, that it was one of the best presents he’d ever received. She couldn’t see if he was lying or not.
For the next few years, he wore the beanie almost every time they went out, even during the hot summers. He only took it off if they were home alone, repairs, and to wash it on laundry days. It was his new trademark. If she ever got lost in a crowd, all she needed to do was look for his bright hat. Easier to find bright blue and pink in a crowd than it was to find dark black.
The problem of people acting strange toward him didn’t completely disappear, mind you. Trucy heard people sneer at the hat; call it ugly, probably filthy, “who walks around with a hat like that ?” , and other comments that would make her unconsciously tighten her grip on her father’s hand.
But hey, even if it hurt to hear that, at least it got the job mostly done? This kind of thing happened less often with the hat. Instead of judging him by his weird hairstyle, they just thought he was poorly dressed! And he didn’t complain about how cold his job was anymore, which was an added plus.
A few years later, she figured out why his hair caused so much drama. People recognized him, thought he was a phony. A fraud. By wearing the hat, it was like a superhero hiding his identity; it protected him.
Later that same year, when it really hit her why he wore the hat, his name was cleared by Apollo. He was free. He didn’t need to wear the hat anymore. He stops wearing sweats all the time, opting to wear something a little nicer. T-shirts and jeans, button ups… and then he’s a lawyer again, wearing a suit with her picture hidden in the breast pocket of the blue sweater she made for him as a celebration present. He’s open to people again, laughing easily and no longer worrying about heading outside. He was back to his original trademark; the hat that was once glued to his head now sat on a trophy at home.
Trucy, older and no longer in the dark, suspects he only keeps the hat to remind him of his disbarment. To remind him that he doesn’t have to hide anymore.
Or maybe it means nothing to him at all. He just forgot he left it there, forgot he even wore it. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings by throwing it out. Maybe it adds an extra splash of color to the agency…
But something strange happens on the train.
Aunt Maya and Pearl asked them to visit Kurain for a weekend in winter, where it snows quite a lot. Daddy hates the snow, but he could never refuse the Feys.
Halfway there, Daddy sneezes, shivers, and mutters something about Maya being out to get him. “I swear, she only invites us up when it’s freezing cold.” He reaches into his bag for what Trucy assumed would be a tissue, only to be completely caught off guard at what he pulls out next.
“Do I have something on my face?” She blinks. Trucy didn’t realize she was staring at him.
“I thought you didn’t need it anymore,” She tells him.
It takes him a moment to understand what she means. The bright hat is back in it’s old spot sitting on his head. The hat isn’t pulled down very far, it’s easier to see the gears in his head turn before his eyebrows rise in realization. He puts an arm around her shoulder and holds her close. “I don’t.” He agrees, then, “I never really did. I just love it.”
Trucy looks up at him in surprise. She knows he isn’t lying, she can’t see a single one of his tells. Trucy thinks back to her childhood. How she felt when the hat was completed, how she felt showing it off to Daddy’s friends and family, how she felt when he told her he loved it. How often had she seen him wear the hat? How many times did they have to fix it after his spikes ripped a hole in the back? Every single time, he seemed relieved when the hat was back in it’s rightful place, sitting right on top of his head.
Trucy smiles, leaning into him. A gentle kiss is applied to the top of her head, hands combing hair out of her face, and Trucy sighs happily.
“Me too.”