You know, usually, he'd have tried to convince himself that he was fine, that the situation was all good and that things could only get better. It would've also probably only half-worked, but it'd still make him feel better about whatever would have been currently happening. Fake it 'til you make it or something.

The thing is, even Apollo can't pretend like he's fine right now. At that point, that sentence isn't even a lie, it's an elusive urban legend like those he'd read about online back in the day (you know, when he'd use the computers in the school's library to do anything but work on something school-related), so it's no use even trying to use the legendary catchphrase whose origin he doesn't remember at the moment. Not that it matters right now, he supposes, even if that hole in his memory is a little odd, when it seems like he has made a good chunk of his personality around it.

Come to think of it, there's a lot Apollo has forgotten, and he can't blame all of it on his raging fever. However, since this is another can of worms altogether and that he really, really doesn't have the energy, brain power or reckless motivation to dig through his mind's archives only to get his lungs filled with dusty fungi and trip over piles and piles of suppressed traumatic memories, he'd rather not think about it. At all. Let that go back from where it comes from and perish in the abyss of his consciousness.

To be fair, in his current state, maybe reliving all of those horrible events wouldn't be as bad as usual. He's beyond feverish and constantly oxygen-deprived, so the memories he's been trying to avoid may be kept back and allow him some attempt at rest; not that accomplishing this is easy to fall asleep when your entire body is leading a revolution against itself. Maybe he can take advantage of the lethargy possessing him.

He may not remember much of yesterday, but Trucy's presence by his side confirms what little he actually has recollection of having seen and heard. She's been fiddling with her hat and brooch ever since getting here, which he keeps being slightly bugged off by as he watches her do so in the corner of his vision. It seems like she wants to do anything but be stuck in a room with a half-dead man, but hey, that was her choice. If he still had a voice, he'd be telling her to go to school instead of playing bedside vigils.

Why is she even here anyway? There's nothing to do for a fifteen-year-old girl in a hospital room. If he were here for an injury, like it seems to happen so often with her father, she could still be pulling a prank on him, practice her magic tricks for a later show, chatter with him in an attempt to pry his private life from his cold dead hands; but she's doing none of those things, probably because he's too braindead at the moment to react to much of anything. Pneumonia isn't exactly making him act overdramatically. She must be bored beyond her mind to be fiddling with her hat so much without even spawning Mr Hat and practice her ventriloquist act. Holy Mother, school must be the worst thing ever, if she's purposefully skipping it to stay in a half-silent, half-noisy hospital room instead.

Apollo has got no idea why this would be a better way to spend the day than, say, attend class. Trucy probably has at least one friend there and most people have to know about her famous lawyer dad by now, so she can't be spending her days alone, even if classes can (and will) be a slog. Even on a bad school day, unless you get pushed down the stairs and die upon impacting with the ground two floors below, it'll still be more interesting to be attending class rather than staying here. No, really, he doesn't get it. She must be bored beyond her mind.

Still, Trucy says nothing of the matter, instead diligently replacing the washcloth she put on his head from time to time, refreshing it while wetting the floor behind her due to it dripping with icy water that reddens her hands. She doesn't complain, doesn't sigh, doesn't show her boredom. Instead, she mutters things to herself he can't make out, forcing him to limit himself to speculating about what could possibly be going through her head. She's also asked every nurse passing by to tell her what his temperature was (turns out it's still way too high, and hasn't broken yet, so he's still getting injected with fluids. What a joy).

If he were desperate enough, Apollo would come to the logical conclusion that, against all odds, she was worried for him.

What is he even thinking? Nobody in this world should be concerned for him, especially at the moment. All semblance of a family he may have had at any point has disappeared: father, mother, foster father, foster brother; they're all gone. Two whose existence he only knows due to being alive in the first place, two whom he hasn't seen in such a long time that he's forgetting what their faces and voices were like. Clay is busy becoming the astronaut he's always dreamed to be as a grown-up, so he can't bother him with his own stupidity. Plus, he could probably accidentally give him his terrible luck, which he doesn't want to do in the slightest when his best friend is so close to finally accomplishing his lifetime dream.

The fact that Trucy seems concerned for his condition worries him. If she spends too much time next to his bed, she may catch what has to be an infectious illness, and that'd be terrible. As much as he isn't very fazed by terrible crap happening to him, mostly because he's just grown used to it, he can't say the same about causing other people misery. He probably deserves the lung infection, but she doesn't, which is why he'd be pushing her away if he had the strength to do so. In the meantime, all he can do is… well, nothing. He can only hope he won't be sending misfortunate events down anyone else's way.

Shit; he really should've seen this coming, shouldn't he have? He should've known he wouldn't be lasting for that much longer when breathing was becoming a chore. Putting on a brave face doesn't always cut it and he desperately needs to get that lesson drilled into his skull. He should've been able to prevent this from being known to the Wrights because, now, he's stuck in a hospital room with one of them fretting over him for no valid reason. She's simply too compassionate, he figures.

Still, he doesn't want her to be so near him. He could infect her if she isn't careful enough. She should be smiling with her friend and father, do things teenage girls do in their spare time, go attend class to get her education; anything but watching over a half-corpse that can't even speak anymore. Does she drink correctly? Has she eaten before getting there, will she go eat lunch once noon rolls around? Does he need to recover his voice in time to tell her to do so? There are so many questions he wants to ask her, yet he can't, and he's stuck with them, on his own, all alone with no answer in sight…

All of this is his fault. He shouldn't have gotten sick in the first place. He should've guessed immediately that he wouldn't be able to handle much while a cold was running around, going from a client of his to him in the span of hours on his previous (and, for now, last) trial… yet he accepted to take on a couple cases Mr Wright was too busy to take, because they're two attorneys in this agency for a reason. They may be in need for a third one, come to think of it…

It's not even like Mr Wright didn't see it coming either. His own boss was the one begging him to take a sickness leave, assuring him that he'd still get paid while recovering from whatever was, at that point, festering in his chest. Did Apollo listen? Kind of. Did he follow through with it? Absolutely not. Call it ego, call it madness, call it masochism, call it overdoing it – it's not like he's got an answer to give you to this. His brain's way too past cooked for it to provide a clear-cut solution to the puzzle.

He can't wait to get out of this room and back to work, despite how terrible he's been feeling for a week or so. Being stuck in bed, helpless, left to his own misery is something of a nightmare to go through. He's watching a fifteen-year-old fiddle in silence with whatever she can get her hands on and, sometimes, take care of him like they were home. Trucy is behaving like a diligent little sister from whatever manga he read last and has very vague memories of and, if he listened to his fevered mind, he'd have already given her his keys so she could get his precious reading material to this room and spare him at least some part of the plate of misery he's getting served. However, since it isn't her job to do and that he probably left a mountain of microorganisms ready to jump at her throat in there, he'd rather have stay here. Her company is more than welcome, despite all the concerns he has for her.

He's got to admit: Trucy is the closest friend he's got at the moment. There's no need to deny any further his soft spot for her, despite the weirdness of their meeting (that forged card was a very weird episode) and the fact he shouldn't be friends with his boss's daughter to begin with; and yet it happened. It's way too late to come back on it, especially when he doesn't have his word to say and can only let the world spin around him while he watches with a hazed vision and the awareness of a drowsy new-born. Not the most flattering comparison, he knows, but nothing about him is worth any sort of flattery at the moment. That's why he's so surprised that she'd be willing to put up with his insane amounts of coughing and spitting weird substances from his lungs. That can't be that comfortable of a sound to hear all-day-long.

"Polly?" Trucy suddenly speaks up, as if just noticing he was awake all this time. To be fair, it's difficult to tell when he keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, especially since opening his eyes is a chore and a half.

He nods as she goes to sit back down on the chair, instead of pacing around the room while whispering to herself things he's not been able to decipher a single word from.

"I didn't realize you were awake! How are you?"

Well, tough thing to reply when he can't speak. Instead, he gathers most of his strength to flash her a thumb-down.

"Ah, snap, that's no good… Ms Angele" (this has to be one of the clinic's nurses) "told me earlier your fever still hasn't broken. I hope it'll happen soon!"

Is that a smirk he's feeling coming to his mouth, amidst all of the coughing fits?

"You look a little better than yesterday, though! Well, to be honest, I don't wanna know how you could get worse than that…"

What terrifying thing did he pull off again? Her voice is trembling as she reminisces about it, that can't be good.

"You… You scared me so much, Polly! Not just me, but also Daddy! He may not look like it, but he was very worried for you."

He wishes he had the ability to reply with some snarky comment, as he usually does, because this is starting to grow a little too personal.

It's not that he's got anything against Trucy, far from it. While she may not be the most useful assistant a lawyer could ask for, he can't deny she has been very helpful at times and has already saved some of his cases a few times. It's exactly because, unlike what he likes to show, he cares about her that he wants her to be as far away from him, and not just in a physical sense. Of course, he doesn't want her to be sick, that much is obvious. He's afraid that, if she stays for too long next to his bed, gets too close to his ventilator, he may infect her too; but that's not all there is to it, that much he'll admit.

He doesn't want Trucy to get attached to him like she seems to be. She isn't here to skip class, he knows it, he can tell it by the exceptional care she's giving to the flowers in his vase (he doesn't even remember who gave him these… Klavier, maybe, since they're so flashy they may as well be considered harmful to someone's eyes) and by all the questions she asks the doctors and nurses passing by. Still, and as much as he wants to appreciate the good attention, she needs to understand remaining by his side will only bring her harm and misfortune like he's brought upon so many others before. How he can make her understand this when he's got no voice remaining and a body rioting is still up in the air, and his deep-fried brain isn't making thinking any easier.

That's why it'd have been so much easier to keep pretending like you were fine, Justice…

"…I'm sorry," he manages to croak out.

"For what?"

Good question.

"Ev'ryth'g."

"…It's Daddy's and my fault too. We should've been more insistent."

It's the first time he sees her so tense, so unhinged. She's almost a different person as a result, it's rubbing him the wrong way.

"If… If I were a better sister, then maybe you wouldn't be here."

Trucy freezes as he's left to wonder why – wait, what?

"Eh…?"

Did she really just say what he thinks she just said? Or is it his fever playing with his brain? Judging by the fact Trucy has her mouth agape and her hands over it, he can only guess he didn't pull it out of thin air.

They stare at each other for a minute or so. Well, they do so when he isn't busy coughing a lung out, at least. At first, neither of them says a thing, perhaps too shocked or embarrassed to know what they could even be saying in such a situation. It can't be a mere slip of the tongue, considering how serious Trucy seemed before dropping the bomb on him and how taken aback she is by having done just that.

"You didn't know either?" is all she says afterwards.

He shakes his head as much as possible, but all it really turns out to be is a stinky stare.

"I don't think I understand all of it myself," Trucy explains with a newfound composure, "but we have the same mom, Polly. She's still alive too, according to Daddy."

This is unreal. Him, still having a mother? No, not that even, having one at all? That's rich. He'll need to meet her before believing such a tale, thank you.

"O… Okay…"

Still, it doesn't seem like Trucy is lying. Why would she do so? It's clear she isn't taking lightly to him being on the brink of death. He supposes he'll have to believe her for now and look into it once he'll be doing better than smothering in his own heat, as incredulous as this all sounds… Man, his head is spinning, he may have overdone it on speaking…

Polly?

Laughing like this is a terrible idea when he's already struggling to breathe, but man is this hilarious, hilariously complicated to understand. This is all a dream anyway; he's going to wake up and Trucy will be here doing her tricks while Mr Wright goes to defend orcas or something.

…ol…ly…?

Yeah… All a lucid fever dream. He'll just wake up later and everything will be back to normal, he'll be his usual lawyer self, Trucy will be her usual magician self, and his boss is going to ask him to clean the toilet. It'll be fine.

All fine.