"Why did you become a defense attorney?" she asks, her head against his bare chest, chestnut hair spilling over him in waves.
"Why?" he repeats, "I don't know, it looked fun, I guess." She sits up suddenly and turns to look at him.
"Fun! That's not a good reason at all! What do you mean fun?" Her hair falls forward, obscuring her face, hiding from view what he is certain must be a look of utmost seriousness. He pushes the hair back behind one ear, flashing her that lopsided, cocky grin of his. A flush comes to her cheeks at his actions, which is a little surprising, considering that they have been lying here completely naked for some time now. She really is adorable.
"Yeah, you heard me, fun. Exposing lies, uncovering the truth. The path can be dark as my favorite blend, and sometimes a little bitter too, but you can't tell me there's anything in the world quite like the look on some smug prosecutor when he realizes you've got him. Once your client is cleared, the real bad guy can get what's coming to him. That's what it's all about, you know?"
She looks back at him. She doesn't know, does she?
"Hey now, kitten..." he starts, when he can see those big brown eyes start to get a little watery.
"I want everyone to be innocent!" She declares suddenly, and a little too loudly, given how close they are at the moment. "I-... I'm going to believe in people when no one else believes in them and I'm going to help them w-when no one else will help them and I... and I'm not going to fail again!!" She's sitting straight up by now, fist clenched as she is sometimes wont to do when she begins to diatribe about justice. The blush in her cheeks spreads from ear to ear and she lays back down on him awkwardly while he laughs and runs a hand through her hair. It's a deep rumble in his chest, warm and comforting against her head.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?" her heartbeat is quick and her cheek warm against him.
"It's the truth..." she says quietly, feeling a little silly now.
"You're damn right it is," he replies, lifting her chin so their eyes meet, "and don't ever let anyone ever tell you otherwise, got it?"
The first thing he notices is the smell of coffee. The second through 1000th thing he notices is the pain. It's everywhere. Every joint aches; every muscle presents a dull throb. His ears are buzzing, and when he opens his eyes its unbearably bright and at the same time unnaturally, unnervingly dark. He begins to panic. Where is he? What's going on? "Mia... Mia..." he's not sure why that's the first thing he thinks to say, but his throat is rawer than he ever thought possible and even if there weren't feeding tubes in the way, her name would have come out as a incomprehensible croak anyway. Then there's a presence at his side. His hearing is back a bit, but his eyes are still no help at all.
"Mr. Armando... Mr. Armando please calm down... Mr. Armando you're at the Hotti Clinic, there was an incident and you've been asleep for some time, due to the nature of the..." the unfamiliar voice keeps on talking, while the man in the bed tries to remember what's going on. He was at the courthouse and...
Dahlia Hawthorne.
He can remember his drink being the tiniest fraction off. He can remember her smile, saccharine like too much sugar ruining an otherwise delicious brew. He can remember her excusing herself to powder her nose and he can remember lying on the floor and hearing the screams.
The doctor, or nurse maybe, is still talking. He's not listening
How long has he been out? Hours? Days even? He has to find Mia. He has to tell her that he's alright. A dingbat like her, hell, she's probably been worrying herself sick the whole time he was right here, taking a nice nap.