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Hearing his alarm beeping, Miles Edgeworth groaned. No, five more minutes, just give me five more minutes…
He fumbled for the snooze button - a button so rarely pressed - and silenced the blasted device. Hiding in bed once again. Normally, he’d be up by now, having his breakfast and reviewing his schedule for the day at the dining table. But this morning his head was absolutely killing him. Not to mention all of the other aches and pains in his body. He could barely breathe, too, his nose so blocked up it may as well have been stuffed with tissues. And his lungs aching with the effort.
All minor inconveniences, he told himself. I just need to suck it up and push through.
His resolve nearly shattered when he had the first coughing fit after sitting upright, and it took him a few moments to recover from it. He frowned. Hm, perhaps more than a mild inconvenience. Still, I have enough time to get to the office.
The bedroom door opened, and in walked Phoenix wearing a deeply set expression of concern.
“Hey babe, you okay? Sounded like you were coughing your lungs out.”
Miles, though touched by the concern, was hardly going to admit weakness. Too many years under the tutelage of Manfred von Karma had ingrained into him that admitting weakness was an imperfect trait. And therefore a loss. And neither of those things were acceptable. Miles was working to unlearn that, but he still had a long way to go.
“Just a little cough, Wright,” he answered. “Nothing to worry about.”
Phoenix did not look convinced. “Uh-huh. Nothing to worry about. Sure.”
He walked over to Miles and laid a hand on his forehead. “Yikes, you’re burning up.”
“I’m just a little warm.”
“Hold on, let me go get the thermometer and take your temperature.”
“Wright, I’m fine. You don’t need to-”
He was cut off by another fit of coughing though, and Phoenix just sighed.
“I’ll be right back.”
Eventually the coughing subsided and though a little woozy from the exertion, he was determined to be business as usual. Wright, however, had other ideas as he returned with the thermometer as promised. It was one of those new-fangled things you put in your ear to read your temperature. With a digital display showing the results in Fahrenheit and Celsius. Miles was just glad it was sanitary.
“Now, hold still a moment,” Phoenix ordered, inserting the device in his ear and holding it still until it beeped. Taking it out to read the numbers.
“Okay, you’re definitely ill, Miles,” he announced. “You’re staying home today.”
Miles was indignant. Spluttering, “WHAT?! Don’t be ridiculous! I am the prosecuting attorney in a murder trial today! I simply cannot fail to attend.”
Phoenix snorted. “Yeah you can. You’re the chief prosecutor. Just delegate it to one of your underlings.”
“Preposterous!”
“Miles, you’re sick. You need to rest.”
“I am not and I will do no such thing!”
Phoenix eyed him up and down. The man was white as a sheet, shaking like a leaf, and looked like a strong gust of wind would knock him over. Not to mention he was sweating bullets. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t make me do this the hard way, Miles. Don’t make me force you to take a sick day. Look, I’ll even call the prosecutor’s office for you.”
Miles snarled, though weak from fever as he was, he just sounded like a pathetic, wet kitten. “Over my dead body, Wright.”
He tried to get out of bed and to his feet, but he was simply shaking too much to stand. In the end he nearly fell, annd Phoenix had to catch him and push him back down to sit on the bed.
“Miles, no,” Phoenix told him. “Rest.”
“You don’t understand,” Miles pleaded, weak and delirious now. “I can’t miss the trial. Mr von Karma will be disappointed… I can’t let him down.”
That struck Phoenix’s heart. Wow, that guy sure did a number on you, huh?
“Miles,” he spoke softly, as if speaking to a wounded animal. “von Karma is in prison. He can’t hurt you,” he soothed gently.
Miles didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. His answer was in the sag of his shoulders as he sat hunched and head lowered. Defeated.
What else has the von Karma conditioning got you believing, Miles?
“You don’t even have any evidence to prove I’m ill, Wright,” Miles said instead. Deflecting the real words once again. Miles was good at that. But the man was near delirious with fever now, and if he needed to be disproven with evidence then Phoenix would play along.
“Heh, the defence has plenty of evidence against the witness,” he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “First of all, your temperature.” He held up the thermometer, still displaying Miles’ temperature reading. “It is abnormally high. And the witness is showing flu-like symptoms. Can the prosecution refute this?”
Miles frowned. “The wit-” another fit of hacking, painful coughing. “The prosecution is not sick,” he sniffed and wiped his nose. “It is simply bad allergies.”
Phoenix looked at him, deadpan. “It’s winter.”
“One can still have allergies in the winter,” Miles answered. Phoenix frowned, quietly asking for the strength to deal with his stubborn, stupid boyfriend.
“You’re also feverish and delirious,” Phoenix continued. “Especially so if you think you can have hayfever in the middle of winter.”
“I am most certainly not delirious,” Miles scowled.
“You are. Now, more evidence.” He held up two fingers in front of Miles’ face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Wright, this is ridiculous.”
“It’s an easy question, Miles,” Phoenix countered with a grin.
Miles frowned at him.
“Do NOT make me call the prosecutor’s office,” Phoenix warned him.
Miles cursed and muttered under his breath. “Alright fine, you foolish man,” he huffed, squinting at Wright’s fingers. “Four.”
“Four?”
“Ish.”
Phoenix furrowed his eyebrows. “Four-ish fingers?”
“Yes.”
Another moment of silence passed between them until Phoenix simply said, “The defence rests its case. I’m calling your office.”
“Wait, NO!” Miles called after him as he walked out of the room. Scrambling to get out of bed again. “Objection!”
Phoenix was halfway down the hallway, but Miles ran after him. Unfortunately, his shaky legs gave out under him and he fell, collapsing into Phoenix’s arms. Thankfully he’d realised Miles was falling and turned just in time to stop and catch him.
“Good fucking lord , Miles!”
“Wright…” he mumbled.
“Miles…” Phoenix huffed with relief, calming himself. “You need to stay in bed.”
“But…”
Phoenix sighed, exasperated. “The prosecution needs to rest, Miles.”
Miles groaned. There was nothing he could say to that. Not after collapsing into his partner’s arms like that. So he let Phoenix help him back to bed again. Too physically exhausted to fight anymore.
“Fine,” he murmured. “The prosecution rests.”
“Finally,” Phoenix huffed with relief. “Now you wait right here. I’m going to call your office and tell them you’re off sick today.”
Miles let his head rest on the pillow as Phoenix left. Resigning himself to his strictly enforced sick day. Closing his eyes as he lay there. Just to rest them, he told himself. Just for a few moments.
. . .
It was several hours later when Miles opened his eyes again. Hm. Must’ve nodded off.
He rolled onto his side and pulled the duvet up to his chin. Hmph. I suppose it is kind of nice getting to sleep in like this.
He closed his eyes and sighed softly. More content than he’d been in a long while. Perhaps Wright is onto something with this rest thing. Perhaps I should do it more often.
He snuggled down into the softness of the bed and luxuriated in how comfortable he felt. Yeah, Wright definitely had the right idea. He could understand why Phoenix didn’t get out of bed until the last possible minute. Not that he’d ever admit that to him, of course. But still.
He was given a few more minutes of peace and quiet before Phoenix reappeared again, carrying a bowl of soup on a tray.
“Hey, Sleepyhead,” he called gently. “How’re you feeling?”
“Rested,” Miles answered. “Though I do wish this headache would go away and it didn’t hurt to breathe.”
“I know, babe. But I’ve brought some medicine and chicken soup, so that’ll help you feel a bit better.”
Miles pered up at that. “You brought me soup?”
Phoenix smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s chicken. Good for when you’re under the weather. Here.”
Miles sat himself up in the bed and took the tray from his partner. Setting it on his lap and taking the medicine with the glass of water first of all.
“Thank you, Phoenix,” he replied warmy, though his throat was very sore.
Phoenix leant down to gently kiss him on the forehead. “You’re welcome. Now eat your soup, and when you’re done we can watch some Steel Samurai together.”
Miles smiled at the prospect and promptly devoured his soup.
. . .
A little while later, they were both in bed together, with Miles’ head resting against Phoenix’s chest. Utterly engrossed in the Steel Samurai series. Phoenix didn’t think it was the best show, but he knew it was Miles' favourite and that watching it would make being ill suck that little bit less. And he had to admit Miles’ sleepily mumbling, “foolish fool of a foolishly evil samurai,” was kinda cute. He was sure Miles meant to say ‘evil magistrate’ but the flu probably jumbled things up in his brain a bit.
Stubborn mule, Phoenix thought, smiling at Miles in his arms. Good thing I love you. Even if I did have to call the prosecutor’s office for you.
A few episodes later, Miles was fast asleep again, breathing lightly on his chest. Phoenix gently stroked his partner’s head as he slept. Glad that at least after the fight he’d put up this morning Miles was finally getting some much needed rest.
Of course, now it meant he couldn’t exactly move without waking Miles again, but he could deal with that. And so sighing as he let his body relax, Phoenix watched the rest of the Steel Samurai before falling asleep himself.