[[Scene - Fine I'm sick God I hate you people]]
Angel: *Angel is switching departments about fifteen minutes after her last reply to Miles, and she reaches the Prosecutor's Office looking a bit tired. This place represents a lot of things for her, and she still doesn't quite like being there for the people that work in it. She reaches floor 12, moving to the door marked High Prosecutor's Office. She notices that it's ajar slightly and frowns- she knows that Miles doesn't leave his door open like this. She closes her hand on the doorknob, listening quietly, but after hearing nothing, she pushes it open. She doesn't see him at his desk and looks around at the shelves and floor before finally spotting him asleep on the couch. She places a hand on her hip after closing the door quietly behind her, staring at him.*
Miles: *Edgeworth’s breathing is wheezy as he sleeps on the couch. His suit jacket and overcoat are covering him as makeshift blankets. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, one of his arms pillowing his head, the other flung across his face to block out the light, his hair clinging to it. His pale face is marked very faintly by the pattern from the couch, indicating he’s been tossing and turning even between Angel’s message and her arrival at his office. He doesn’t react at all to her entrance.*
Angel: *She kneels at the side of the couch and studies his face for a few moments, and then reaches out a hand and gently tugs his jacket down out of his face. She places her hand to his forehead, noting that he does feel exceptionally warm. The look in her eyes is a sort of fond amusement- she knows he's in denial of it, but he's definitely sick- as she pulls her hand away and stands, deciding not to wake him up quite yet. Her eyes fall to the desk and she sees that he's left his laptop there, opened. The screen is lit to his journal and his 'not sick' entry.*
Miles: *He sighs and shifts slightly as she fiddles with him, but it doesn't wake him - he only frowns and turns his face into the couch.*
Angel: *Taking his seat, she pulls the laptop closer and studies what's on the screen. There are replies from Diego Armando, Ema Skye... She scrolls down and then decides to log him off and shut down. She's about to do so when the computer gives a dinging noise and a small pop-up appears at the bottom of the screen indicating a new reply alert. She doesn't quite recognize the username and clicks. The wording of it strikes her as a bit odd, and she goes to the profile of the poster.*
Angel: *Underneath her breath.* Manfred von Karma? *She knows right away that there's something not quite right with this man commenting on Edgeworth's journal- she knows the major details of the case and the events surrounding it, having followed it as it occurred because of her hatred for Edgeworth and other prosecutors at the time.*
Angel: *She looks over her shoulder at Miles, who is still sleeping away on the couch. She hesitates, knowing that he's sleeping quite deeply, before clicking back to the front page of his journal. She begins to scan other entries, looking though comments for other instances of Manfred von Karma initiating conversation- but she can't find any. She scrolls down and suddenly sees an entry titled Therapy #3. And it's private.*
Angel: *She sits up stock straight in her chair as though shocked, though after a moment she realizes that it's not so atypical for Edgeworth to make private entries. It's like him, actually. Her instincts as a detective tell her to read what it says- but there's no reason for her to. It's not as though she's investigating, and it's a breach of privacy... Instead she only skims it, trying not to read too much, and hits the words 'I could ban his comments from my journal if he left them, etc'.*
Angel: ...
Angel: *She tosses a look over her shoulder at the couch, and then looks back to the reply.*
Angel: *There's a small delay as she stares at it, and then in the next second, the expression on her face impassive, she clicks the 'delete' button. She follows by going into his inbox and doing the same with the alert. After scanning the page again for anything left over and finding nothing, she shuts the laptop. She sits there for a few moments, brushing her hair out of her eyes and looking lost in thought, before standing and moving over to the couch again. She places a hand on his shoulder and moves it gently.*
Miles: *He snorts and jerks awake, looking around as if he's disoriented. He blinks at her for a second or two, then,* Oh. Angel. *He closes his eyes, rubbing his temple and sitting up halfway.* I fell asleep.
Angel: *She pulls her hand back a bit, though leaves it on the edge of the couch cushion. There's a slight, barely detectable crease between her eyebrows as she looks at him.* I noticed. You must be sick.
Miles: *He jerks away.* Not you too.
Angel: *She tilts her head at him.* Hmm?
Miles: *His expression sours and he sits up on the couch gingerly.* Everyone seems to think they know me better than I do myself. I'm telling you, it's allergies.
Angel: *She clicks her tongue.* Alright. Well, I'm going to take you to the hospital for these 'allergies' of yours.
Miles: *He gives her a trapped look.* No.
Miles: *He pauses, and winces.* I mean... I'm fine. I'm an adult.
Miles: I don't need to go to the hospital.
Angel: *She stares at him.* Adults don't need to go to the hospital? Miles, what are you talking about? And your entry... Discrimination? You've come down with something.
Miles: *Crossing his arms childishly.* I haven't been sick in ten years. Granted, I feel absolutely awful... *His head drifts a bit as he considers exactly how awful.* These are possibly the worst allergies I've had in my life, but... *He pauses, focusing. He brings his hand up to his temple.* Hn..
Angel: *She stands and sits on a spot of the couch that he isn't occupying. She reaches out to him and presses her hand to his forehead.*
Miles: God you're so cold! *He takes her hand and puts it between his own.*
Angel: *She looks amused.* You see, it's not very warm in here at all...
Miles: *He lets go of her and lets his head flop back onto the back of the couch.* Ugh. I've made a fool of myself, haven't I?
Angel: *She leans over him.* Hmm? You think so? It wasn't unlike you, I have to say...
Miles: *He lifts his head slowly.* Ha. ha. *flatly.*
Miles: Ohhh and now I'll have to apologize to Wright.
Miles: In my defense, I wasn't feeling this awful this morning.
Angel: You probably were, but were in denial of it. I heard there was something going around. *She pauses and then laughs.* You're not going to give it to me, are you?
Miles: *He raises an eyebrow.* Do you plan on being in close quarters with me while I'm ill?
Angel: *She laughs.* What do you think! *She stands now from the couch and offers her hand to him.* Need help standing? *She smirks.*
Miles: *He scowls.* No. Certainly not.
Miles: *He leans forward, pushing off the couch with his right hand, but he stops and groans, lowering his head slowly and taking it in his left.*
Miles: *He reaches up and takes her hand, slowly rising from the couch.*
Angel: *She helps him up, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. She tries not to look too condescending or smug about being right.*
Miles: I don't... *He steadies himself,* I don't want to go to the hospital. If you must take me somewhere, just take me home.
Angel: Well, you should find out what it is. It's just quicker and easier at the hospital. We'll be in and out. And you can get something to make it go away faster...
Miles: *He gives her a pained look.* As long as we're just in and out...
Angel: Don't like hospitals? *She gives him an odd look.*
Miles: No. I'm perfectly fine with visiting one, but...
Angel: *Her voice drops and she urges it out of him quietly.* But?
Miles: My experience staying in one was unpleasant. *he offers, resigned.*
Angel: *She drops it.* I see. *A pause.* Did you need to arrange anything before we go? I shut off your laptop for you.
Miles: No, no. Let's just... let's just go. Wait... Maybe... can we take it with? Perhaps I can work from-
Angel: *She shoots him a look. Without any discernable movement, her hair has shifted to the left side of her face, and the pale blue-green of her right eye is showing sharply through the glare.*
Miles: *He stops, looking uneasy.* Well, at least I should reply to all those messages accusing me of being sick properly contritely. *He makes an irritable face.*
Angel: *At the word 'messages' she is reminded of the one she deleted, but she has her professional face on, and the reminder doesn't even show. She continues to look icy. The next two syllables are clipped.* Later.
Miles: *He snorts, but it's a little raspy.* Of course later, but I won't be able to post on my PC from bed. *His voice is vaguely bitter and defeated.*
Angel: *She continues to sound cold.* Tomorrow, then.
Miles: Then you'll have to get it because I suspect someone will murder me if I come back to work tomorrow.
Angel: Yes. Me. *She doesn't let on if she's kidding or not.* I'll deliver it to you tomorrow.
Miles: *He groans.* Let's just go then.
Angel: *They go out to the hall and Angel heads towards the elevator, her car keys in her hand.*
Miles: *He balks and attempts to steer towards the stairs.*
Angel: *She looks over and gives him a strange look. She waves a hand.* Hello? Over here.
Miles: *He looks panicked and for the first time starts to sweat, which might be a good sign except any color in his face has drained out.* Please... help me down the stairs.
Angel: Are you mad? *Her eyes narrow.* We're on the twelfth floor. It's difficult to take the stairs even when you aren't sick.
Miles: *He pants more from desperation than anything.* I'm used to it, really. I promise I'll be fine. *He meets her eye, trying to think of some way to play it off, some flippant phrase to use out of his repertoire of flippant phrases to avoid using elevators. He can't think of one that applies in this situation, so he just stays silent.*
Angel: *She's about to say something else in argument, but his silence makes her pause more than any excuse he could have provided.* ... *The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and she stands between them and him. After a few seconds, she turns her back on the elevator and walks over to where he is standing by the stairwell. Her expression is neutral.*
Angel: Alright.
Miles: *He looks immensely relieved and takes the stairs much more slowly than usual, aware somehow that if he falls and doesn't break his neck, she'll kill him.*
Angel: *They reach the parking lot, and Angel looks around at the cars. She sees his before she sees hers and eyes it for a moment, before looking back to him suggestively.*
Miles: *He blinks at her.* Huh...? *It takes him a moment to realize that she was looking at his car.* Oh.
Miles: *He shrugs wearily and offers up his keys.* Fine.
Angel: *She smiles and takes them, and they get into the car. Angel runs her hand admiringly along the steering wheel, reminded again that this is the same car involved in the incident three years ago. But it looks nothing like it did before, and she starts it up, casting Miles a look to see how he's doing.*
Miles: *He seats himself in the passenger side, glancing around.* I've never ridden in my own car before. *He mumbles, leaning his cheek against the cool window and closing his eyes.*
Angel: Oh, then I'll be sure to make it exciting for you. *She smiles, pulling out of the parking lot.* Are you tired?
Miles: Not really. *He opens his eyes.* But I feel awful.
Angel: You probably didn't realize you were getting sick. *She shakes her head.* I'll bet it's been coming on for a while...
Miles: You're probably right. I felt a little off yesterday, but I was convinced it was the allergies. *He groans.* I'm not looking forward to having to backpedal.
Angel: *She pulls out onto the road, nothing how smooth the transition is.* Hm? You'll be fine. You work fast and well...
Miles: *He glances over at her.* Wha- Oh, no, no. I meant I'm not looking forward to... telling everyone I was wrong.
Angel: *She tilts her head, not taking her eyes off the road. She applies a bit more speed.* It's... not anything major. I suppose you just need to be casual about it. You might spill the rice, but there's more where that came from. You can't tell one rice bowl from another...
Miles: *He frowns.* A-all right. *The fact that her last statement makes no sense to him worries him somewhat. He rubs his eyes.* I'm sure that all the people who posted to my last entry will understand... Most of them know me, anyway. They're probably used to me being stubborn... *He rests his head on the cool window again, hardly noticing her speed, the ride is so smooth.*
Angel: You certainly are. *She presses the pedal harder and goes past the speed limit, a small smile on her face. She does like driving.*
Miles: *His head rocks with the motion of the car and he swallows, looking ruefully off into the distance, continuing to pay little attention to her speed.*
Angel: *Pulls sharply ahead of another car, saying nothing more but just watching the road.*
Miles: *He glances at her small smile, smiling briefly in response. Then he looks down at the floor of the car and back out to the road, his smile fading.* Angel...
Angel: *She puts on even more speed, and the engine grows a bit more audible. She's smiling almost deviously as she looks to him, though the expression on his face makes her pause.* Too fast? I know what I'm doing.
Miles: No, that's not it. *He sighs.* Nevermind.
Angel: *She shakes her head.* What is it?
Miles: *He looks at her, his expression a mix of wariness and weariness.* Why are you doing this?
Angel: Doing what? *She flicks her eyes back to the road.*
Miles: *He ignores her question.* I wish you hadn't.
Angel: Hadn't what? *There is a veiled note of annoyance in this.*
Miles: Come to my office... If anyone was going to convince me, I wish it wasn't you. *He sits up now, feverish face intense and almost bitter, but he turns out the front window instead of continuing to look at her.* I didn't want you to see me weak.
Angel: *She doesn't take her eyes off the road, but they narrow into slits, the mismatched colors barely visible through them.* Weak? You're sick. Don't be ridiculous. I figured I'd be the only one able to convince you.
Miles: Mnn. *He offers, but he keeps to himself the rest of his comments, curling up and resting his head on the door again.* Maybe so.
Angel: Finish. *Her voice is hard, and she only speeds up a little more, brushing her hair over the left side of her face almost as an afterthought.*
Miles: *He glares at her.* Still, I'd like to know why. How does helping me benefit you?
Angel: *Her jaw tightens.* What are you going on about? I'm not looking to benefit.
Miles: *He frowns and looks away, sighing heavily.* What is it that drove you to take off from work and come to my office... rouse me and convince me I was sick and that I should go to the hospital...? *He looks at her balefully and a bit angrily.* Seems like an awful lot of work for no benefit.
Angel: ... *She looks at him icily and cuts him off.* You should rest. Perhaps when you wake up you'll feel better.
Miles: *He closes his eyes.* I knew the answer already. *He whispers.* I just wanted to see if you'd admit it.
Angel: *Her grip on the wheel falters and she pulls a bit too quickly into the next lane. Her hair falls forward a bit, obscuring her face from his view.* ... *She doesn't say anything and doesn't take the initiative to in the ensuing silence.*
Miles: *He shivers and curls up, letting his head rest on his chest. He's said his piece for the moment and doesn't much feel like saying anything else. He covers himself with his overcoat. As the car rumbles along, he dozes off underneath the coat, a distantly discontent expression on his face.*