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mllelaurelFandom: Ace Attorney
Title: Way Stations of the Heart
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin, Kristoph Gavin, Phoenix Wright, ensemble.
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo, Phoenix/Edgeworth, past Phoenix/Kristoph and Klavier/Daryan
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual references, and some violence (I can't tell where the graphic vs. non-graphic violence line lies, unless, like, people's guts are falling out.) Prevalent themes of emotional abuse, gaslighting and general creepiness. Major character death, right at the start.
Summary: Klavier thought he’d grown used to dealing with the deaths of people he loved, even Kristoph’s execution, but nothing could have prepared him for his brother’s voice inside his mind, or the inexorable loss of control over his own life.
In which there is possession, journeys to the center of the mind, too many close calls, and a love confession or two.
The first thing he did, the next morning, after stopping by his apartment for a shower and fresh clothes, was retrieve Vongole from Juniper Woods’ care. There were dry leaves in the dog’s fur, from the walk the two of them must have taken, earlier, and she nearly tore her leash out of Junie’s hands, when she saw him. Vongole leaned her muzzle against his boots, while he stroked her head, and Junie brushed off his offers to pay for dog-sitting.
“It- it’s not a big deal, really. I loved having her over. I- I should probably pay you, for loaning me such a great dog. We had fun, didn’t we, Vongole?” Vongole whuffed, as though in agreement, never taking her eyes off Klavier’s face. She’d never been this excited to see him, before. Maybe they were finally bonding, after all.
“How are your studies going?” he asked Junie, and watched something in her posture straighten.
“I’ll be starting law school proper, this year,” she told him. “I’ve, um…” she looked bashful again. “I’ve been accepted to Harvard.”
Klavier smiled. “And why is that such a surprise, fraulein? Did I not tell you I was looking forward to you adjudicating my own trials? Unless you’re not planning on coming back to California, of course.”
Junie waved her hands. “I am! Of course I am! Here is where Hugh and Robin and Thena are. And…” She blushed, fingers weaving together. “And he’s here…”
“He?” Klavier teased. It was good, talking to her like this. Clean, somehow, a world apart from the bleakness festering elsewhere.
Junie’s blush deepened. “You, um… I know you know him already. He saved my life, during that explosion.”
Ah, so that’s who it was. “And does Apollo know about your shining feelings for him?”
Her eyes flew wide open. “Don’t you dare tell him! I mean… oh, wow, that sounded rude and presumptuous, I’m sorry.”
Klavier couldn’t help reaching over to ruffle her hair. “There’s hardly any shame in finding a man like Apollo attractive. He is quite dashing, in his loud way.”
Junie ducked her head, smiling. “And that’s why I shouldn’t. He deserves better than me.”
“He deserves whomever he most wants, no more or less,” Klavier reasoned. There was something about Apollo, nagging at the back of his mind. If only he could remember. “And a lovely fraulein like yourself deserves to be loved by someone wonderful. Ach, I sound cheesy, when I say that, don’t I?”
She shook her head. “N-no, you don’t. I’m just not sure I believe you.”
“You will, someday.” Being serious snapped him back to reality again, loathe as he was to let it happen. “But now, if you will excuse me, I’ve a funeral to attend.”
He didn’t expect Junie to clasp his hand in both of hers. “Be well, all right?”
“I will,” Klavier promised her. It was a harmless-enough sort of lie.
You always were good at lying. To others, and to yourself, as well. Do you even know what the truth is anymore, Klavier? It almost sounded like a real voice, this time, and he whirled around, only to find no one there.
***
The funeral was every bit as ridiculous as he’d expected. Closed attendance, Gott sei Dank, but that didn’t prevent some of Kristoph’s old Bar Association cronies from turning up, clucking at how a man could change. Klavier memorized their names, in case Herr Edgeworth needed some new leads, in his slog to singlehandedly clean up the legal profession.
The man was a saint. Or possibly a masochist. It seemed to be a pattern, among the German prosecutor set. Ever the kinky ones, those Germans, that’s what everyone always said.
And speaking of the Bar Association… “Herr Wright, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“The things I do for an ‘old friend.’ The defense attorney’s voice was wry, almost amused.
“And did you feel this ‘old friend’s’ presence here, today?”
Wright shook his head. “Not remotely. Not like anyone really knew what the man was like, anyway. Just another carefully-calibrated act of his, slightly different for everyone, but equally false.”
“What was he like for you, Herr Wright?” Klavier wondered.
Wright rubbed the top of his pointy hair. “Huh. Right. Still not used to going without the hat.”
Klavier waited.
“He reminded me of Miles, truth be told,” Wright admitted.
“Herr Edgeworth?” Well. Perhaps a little. Both men were reticent and refined, each in his own way. Both European, obviously, though it seemed more integrated into Herr Edgeworth’s personality. “When did you begin to suspect him?”
Wright smiled ruefully. “Oh, it wasn’t all that long. He was a good actor, superficially, but he couldn’t quite hide the fact that it was superficial. Still, he did remind me of Miles. Thus, I carried on thinking I could break through beyond the surface.”
“You thought you could fix him?”
“Laugh it up, Gavin. I know I would.”
“Nein. Had it been someone else who tried, I think you would not laugh.”
“Did you try?”
Klavier looked away. “I didn’t know anything was wrong.”
“Not even after Enigmar’s trial?” There was that piercing stare of his. There was the Phoenix Wright ever unwilling to let sleeping dogs lie.
“I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That you were guilty of forgery, after all.”
“Mmm-hm. That’s why you ran away with your band. Because you thought you’d done the right thing.”
“It could have been an honest mistake on his part. It could have been my misjudgement, more than Kristoph’s.”
“You still thought that, even knowing he’d been the one to hand you the lead, and waltz off to be my best buddy, afterward?”
“I’m man enough to admit when my gut tells me I’ve done wrong, Herr Wright. He was my brother. Do you think I could speak for his motives the way I could for my own?”
“You sound like you’re saying three different things all at once.” Such brilliant conjecture, from the master of the nonsensical argument himself. He’s right about one thing, though. You’re not doing a very good job of standing up for yourself. A doormat to the end, and yet you call yourself a Gavin.
“Is now really the time for this, Herr Wright?” Wright’s look softened.
“Nah, you’re right. Not sure what this is the time for. I almost wish I had one of those long black coats, so it could flap in the breeze, make me look all brooding and funerary.”
Klavier looked at him, incredulously. “What breeze? You would suffer heatstroke, if you wore a wool coat in this heat.”
“Eh. That’s what Polly’s for. He’d take me to the hospital. Right, Polly?”
Apollo had been quiet. Underslept, if Klavier didn’t miss his guess. “As long as it’s not the clinic with the creepy doctor again. God, that guy skeeves me out.”
“But Polly!” Wright gave him a beseeching face. “He’s all we can afford.”
They sounded so normal, and something about it rubbed Klavier the wrong way. This whole day had been a joke. The men surrounding him, the superficial words, the blank, imbecilic look on his own face. Is this how a Gavin mourns? I this how they’d mourn you, when you’re gone?
“Isn’t it nice to know I can count on you two, to make light of a funeral.” Bitter and terse, every word enunciated, nothing like his usual tone of speech.
Apollo glared at him. “What the hell? ‘Making light of it’ is all you’ve done, for the last two days! And suddenly it’s not okay, when someone else does it?”
It did make him sound like a flaming hypocrite, didn’t it? Klavier shook his head. Everything smelled like powder and varnish, all of a sudden, and he couldn’t breathe.
“Es tut mir leid. I don’t know what came over me.”
Phoenix squinted at him. “An ‘old friend’s’ presence, if I didn’t know any better. The hair’s bad enough, Gavin. You don’t have to sound like him, too. Believe me, he’s not missed.”
An image seared across Klavier’s vision. Phoenix Wright, his back slumped, head in his hands. The smell of alcohol, cheap cologne, unwashed men and borscht. Putting an arm around the man’s shoulders and drawing him closer. "Buck up, Wright. There’s really no need for all this carrying on. You know you have me to rely on. All you have to do is ask."
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You and me both,” Klavier muttered.
“Are you still drunk?”
“Probably,” Klavier admitted. It was as good an explanation as any. Either alcohol or insanity, and he’d take the less-debilitating one.
“Did you drive here?” Wright asked.
Klavier’s mouth quirked up. “No, Mutter. I took a taxi.”
“Hey, don’t go insulting your mom, kiddo. Bet she was way better looking than me, when she was alive.”
Kristoph must have told Wright their mother was dead. It would take time, getting used to the idea of the man knowing anything personal about him, without Klavier having volunteered the information himself. “She was,” Klavier said. “But in her absence, I suppose you’ll just have to do, Herr Wright.”
“You should come back with us,” Apollo told him, pulling him aside. “I don’t have a case to work on, right now. We could order pizza, watch something stupid on TV.”
It would be a nice distraction. His life thrived on distractions, right now. “Are you asking me out on a date, Herr Forehead?”
Apollo looked sad, more than anything else. “There you go, making everything into a joke again.”
He wanted to say yes to Apollo’s suggestion. To keep teasing the younger man, safe in the knowledge that he was too proud and kind to rescind the invitation, no matter how annoyed he might get. To spend another night on an unfamiliar couch, surrounded by generous not-quite-strangers.
What he said instead was, “I’ll have to take a raincheck. There are still too many loose ends I must tie up, before tomorrow. I will hold you to that date, though, see if I don’t.”
Apollo didn’t reply, for a moment, and Klavier wondered what had possessed him to make such an excuse. The loose ends could wait. And yet…
“I’ll see you later, then,” Apollo said, worry etched on his face.
Don’t go, Klavier wanted to shout, all of a sudden. Stay. Let me take back what I just said.
He waved at the defense attorneys’ retreating backs and fished out his phone, to call another cab.
***
Herr Edgeworth had forbidden him to return to the office until tomorrow. Instead, Klavier spent the rest of the day dealing with Kristoph’s estate, covering the fees for his final days in prison. He’d gone to close Kristoph’s bank account, or so he thought, though the balance remained where it was, when he reloaded the website. He’d call them and double-check, tomorrow, during business hours. Or maybe the day after that, he thought, suddenly tired. There was no rush. It wasn’t as though he needed the money.
He fell asleep on the couch again. His own, this time, with Vongole’s head in his lap. His dreams ran disjointed and strange, as dreams did, sometimes. A legal meeting with some client. The smell of acrylic paint and a pair of brown eyes peeking out at him from behind an easel, while a man with a Russian accent reassured him that the diary would be completed on schedule. A collector’s stamp album, like the one he’d had at seven, before growing bored of the hobby. The roar of a plane taking off, mixed with the twang of an ill-tuned electric guitar.
Daryan’s laughter, as the audience chanted their names. The wild joy on his guitarist’s face, heedless of the sharks circling beneath the stage, which had turned into some kind of aquarium. Water sloshing against Klavier’s boots, soaking through the soles.
“Tide’s rising,” Daryan said. “Better start doggie paddling, before it closes in over your head, princess.”
“I’m always in over my head.”
“Not like this,” and he was drowning, wrestling with the thin blanket, face pressed against the couch’s squeaking leather, struggling to catch his breath.
***
He’d never been so happy for daylight and the excuse to go back into work. Most of the day flew by in a blur, but that was to be expected. Herr Edgeworth didn’t see fit to assign him any new cases yet, so he took the time to fill out some paperwork, stalling out in the middle of a particularly boring report, when the Chief Prosecutor entered his office.
“I’d like to talk to you about this,” he said, dropping a thin sheet of paper on Klavier’s desk.
Klavier leaned back in his chair. “Ja, of course. What is it?”
Edgeworth’s face turned stony with displeasure. “Your letter of resignation.”
Klavier was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. “The hell I’m resigning! No offense, Herr Edgeworth. I realize I’ve made some mistakes, but if you think I haven’t made headway in making up for them…”
“I’m glad we’re agreed,” Edgeworth said.
Wait, what?
“As I was saying, then. Please explain to me the meaning of this.”
Klavier stared at the offending missive.
There’s no easy way to say this. With everything that’s happened in the last couple of years, I no longer think the prosecutorial position is a good fit for me, nor I for it. Too many people I know personally crossing the bench. Too many deaths, all on my account. It is with this in mind that I tender my resignation, effective immediately. You’ll have to forgive me for the abruptness of it, but you have to realize, as well, that this decision has been a long time coming.
Sincerely,
Klavier Gavin
The handwriting was his. No way to laugh it off, to say anyone could have typed it up, forged his signature. Everything from the slant of the letters to the press of the pen into the parchment suggested his own hand.
He’d never written anything of the sort.
“Herr Edgeworth,” he said, “I think I’m going crazy.”
Edgeworth pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not on my watch you’re not.”
“I didn’t write that letter. Please, believe me.” He buried his head in his hands. “I don’t remember writing that letter.” Where had the afternoon gone? What had he been doing? He didn’t remember any of it.
“It could be worse,” Edgeworth mused. “It could have read ‘Prosecutor Gavin chooses death.”
“I’m not that-,” Klavier protested.
“I was, once.”
Klavier closed his eyes in sympathy. “I’m glad you’re still here, then, Herr Edgeworth.”
Edgeworth let out a dry laugh. “Wait till your next performance review, before you say that.”
“If I may ask… How did you put yourself back together?”
“Time and stubbornness, I’m afraid. No miracle cures for us, Gavin.”
“Just that?”
“And Wright, as well. I suppose I could say I owe the man my continuing career.” Edgeworth said ‘career,’ but Klavier could almost hear ‘desire to live,’ in between his words.
“It must be nice, having someone like that.” Unbidden, his mind flashed to Apollo, frowning, deep in thought, finger tapping against that forehead of his. Apollo, laughing, with one hand behind his head, self-conscious. Apollo, fierce in his anger, or his determination. “A rival, is it?”
Edgeworth shook his head, bemused. “That’s one word for it.”
“Oh? Now you’re making me curious.”
“I could still fire you, Gavin.” Edgeworth’s tone shifted again, back to serious. “Sometimes it helps to take time away from work. Time away from everything, to figure out who you are, once again. What the world means to you, now that things have changed. It helped me, a great deal. If that’s what you need as well...”
Klavier wanted to scream. No, that wouldn’t help me at all! The last thing I need is more time, or more distance from people I trust.
“That’s not a bad plan, Herr Edgeworth,” his mouth said.
Klavier tried to shake his head, tried to clear his throat. His body would not obey, frozen, but not, because even as his senses blurred with fear, he could see his own hands, gesticulating. Could hear his own voice, carrying on a conversation without his input. “I’m probably not much use to the office, right now.”
“Very well,” Edgeworth replied. “This isn’t a suspension. I expect to see you back at work in two weeks. Two weeks, and not before. Take a vacation, get some rest. God knows, somebody in this office should.”
“And that someone isn’t you, I take it?” Klavier’s voice said lightly.
Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Perish the thought.”
Even his eyes weren’t tracking under his command, Klavier realized. Instead, they seemed to be following their own trajectory, looking over Edgeworth’s retreat, contemplative. The rhythm of his breathing was all wrong. Too calm, when he felt like hyperventilating. He tried to suck in a single breath, out of sync.
Nothing.
Was zum Teufel?
You still haven’t fully caught on, have you? Sad, isn’t it? So much for your vaunted incisiveness.
Kristoph. That inner voice sounded like Kristoph. Had sounded like him, all along.
But that was impossible. Had to have been impossible, to have a dead man speaking inside his mind, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. It sounded like a bad late-night movie on the sci-fi channel.
Should I say something pithy to reassure you, Little Brother? A quote from Shakespeare, perhaps. More things on Heaven and Earth-
Than are dreamt of in my philosophy. Ja, I know!
Nein. This was real, all right. It would have been far too easy to gape, disbelieving, but what would that accomplish?
Good boy, said Kristoph’s voice. Finally, you’re coming to grips with your situation.
Title: Way Stations of the Heart
Characters: Apollo Justice, Klavier Gavin, Kristoph Gavin, Phoenix Wright, ensemble.
Pairings: Klavier/Apollo, Phoenix/Edgeworth, past Phoenix/Kristoph and Klavier/Daryan
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual references, and some violence (I can't tell where the graphic vs. non-graphic violence line lies, unless, like, people's guts are falling out.) Prevalent themes of emotional abuse, gaslighting and general creepiness. Major character death, right at the start.
Summary: Klavier thought he’d grown used to dealing with the deaths of people he loved, even Kristoph’s execution, but nothing could have prepared him for his brother’s voice inside his mind, or the inexorable loss of control over his own life.
In which there is possession, journeys to the center of the mind, too many close calls, and a love confession or two.
The first thing he did, the next morning, after stopping by his apartment for a shower and fresh clothes, was retrieve Vongole from Juniper Woods’ care. There were dry leaves in the dog’s fur, from the walk the two of them must have taken, earlier, and she nearly tore her leash out of Junie’s hands, when she saw him. Vongole leaned her muzzle against his boots, while he stroked her head, and Junie brushed off his offers to pay for dog-sitting.
“It- it’s not a big deal, really. I loved having her over. I- I should probably pay you, for loaning me such a great dog. We had fun, didn’t we, Vongole?” Vongole whuffed, as though in agreement, never taking her eyes off Klavier’s face. She’d never been this excited to see him, before. Maybe they were finally bonding, after all.
“How are your studies going?” he asked Junie, and watched something in her posture straighten.
“I’ll be starting law school proper, this year,” she told him. “I’ve, um…” she looked bashful again. “I’ve been accepted to Harvard.”
Klavier smiled. “And why is that such a surprise, fraulein? Did I not tell you I was looking forward to you adjudicating my own trials? Unless you’re not planning on coming back to California, of course.”
Junie waved her hands. “I am! Of course I am! Here is where Hugh and Robin and Thena are. And…” She blushed, fingers weaving together. “And he’s here…”
“He?” Klavier teased. It was good, talking to her like this. Clean, somehow, a world apart from the bleakness festering elsewhere.
Junie’s blush deepened. “You, um… I know you know him already. He saved my life, during that explosion.”
Ah, so that’s who it was. “And does Apollo know about your shining feelings for him?”
Her eyes flew wide open. “Don’t you dare tell him! I mean… oh, wow, that sounded rude and presumptuous, I’m sorry.”
Klavier couldn’t help reaching over to ruffle her hair. “There’s hardly any shame in finding a man like Apollo attractive. He is quite dashing, in his loud way.”
Junie ducked her head, smiling. “And that’s why I shouldn’t. He deserves better than me.”
“He deserves whomever he most wants, no more or less,” Klavier reasoned. There was something about Apollo, nagging at the back of his mind. If only he could remember. “And a lovely fraulein like yourself deserves to be loved by someone wonderful. Ach, I sound cheesy, when I say that, don’t I?”
She shook her head. “N-no, you don’t. I’m just not sure I believe you.”
“You will, someday.” Being serious snapped him back to reality again, loathe as he was to let it happen. “But now, if you will excuse me, I’ve a funeral to attend.”
He didn’t expect Junie to clasp his hand in both of hers. “Be well, all right?”
“I will,” Klavier promised her. It was a harmless-enough sort of lie.
You always were good at lying. To others, and to yourself, as well. Do you even know what the truth is anymore, Klavier? It almost sounded like a real voice, this time, and he whirled around, only to find no one there.
***
The funeral was every bit as ridiculous as he’d expected. Closed attendance, Gott sei Dank, but that didn’t prevent some of Kristoph’s old Bar Association cronies from turning up, clucking at how a man could change. Klavier memorized their names, in case Herr Edgeworth needed some new leads, in his slog to singlehandedly clean up the legal profession.
The man was a saint. Or possibly a masochist. It seemed to be a pattern, among the German prosecutor set. Ever the kinky ones, those Germans, that’s what everyone always said.
And speaking of the Bar Association… “Herr Wright, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“The things I do for an ‘old friend.’ The defense attorney’s voice was wry, almost amused.
“And did you feel this ‘old friend’s’ presence here, today?”
Wright shook his head. “Not remotely. Not like anyone really knew what the man was like, anyway. Just another carefully-calibrated act of his, slightly different for everyone, but equally false.”
“What was he like for you, Herr Wright?” Klavier wondered.
Wright rubbed the top of his pointy hair. “Huh. Right. Still not used to going without the hat.”
Klavier waited.
“He reminded me of Miles, truth be told,” Wright admitted.
“Herr Edgeworth?” Well. Perhaps a little. Both men were reticent and refined, each in his own way. Both European, obviously, though it seemed more integrated into Herr Edgeworth’s personality. “When did you begin to suspect him?”
Wright smiled ruefully. “Oh, it wasn’t all that long. He was a good actor, superficially, but he couldn’t quite hide the fact that it was superficial. Still, he did remind me of Miles. Thus, I carried on thinking I could break through beyond the surface.”
“You thought you could fix him?”
“Laugh it up, Gavin. I know I would.”
“Nein. Had it been someone else who tried, I think you would not laugh.”
“Did you try?”
Klavier looked away. “I didn’t know anything was wrong.”
“Not even after Enigmar’s trial?” There was that piercing stare of his. There was the Phoenix Wright ever unwilling to let sleeping dogs lie.
“I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That you were guilty of forgery, after all.”
“Mmm-hm. That’s why you ran away with your band. Because you thought you’d done the right thing.”
“It could have been an honest mistake on his part. It could have been my misjudgement, more than Kristoph’s.”
“You still thought that, even knowing he’d been the one to hand you the lead, and waltz off to be my best buddy, afterward?”
“I’m man enough to admit when my gut tells me I’ve done wrong, Herr Wright. He was my brother. Do you think I could speak for his motives the way I could for my own?”
“You sound like you’re saying three different things all at once.” Such brilliant conjecture, from the master of the nonsensical argument himself. He’s right about one thing, though. You’re not doing a very good job of standing up for yourself. A doormat to the end, and yet you call yourself a Gavin.
“Is now really the time for this, Herr Wright?” Wright’s look softened.
“Nah, you’re right. Not sure what this is the time for. I almost wish I had one of those long black coats, so it could flap in the breeze, make me look all brooding and funerary.”
Klavier looked at him, incredulously. “What breeze? You would suffer heatstroke, if you wore a wool coat in this heat.”
“Eh. That’s what Polly’s for. He’d take me to the hospital. Right, Polly?”
Apollo had been quiet. Underslept, if Klavier didn’t miss his guess. “As long as it’s not the clinic with the creepy doctor again. God, that guy skeeves me out.”
“But Polly!” Wright gave him a beseeching face. “He’s all we can afford.”
They sounded so normal, and something about it rubbed Klavier the wrong way. This whole day had been a joke. The men surrounding him, the superficial words, the blank, imbecilic look on his own face. Is this how a Gavin mourns? I this how they’d mourn you, when you’re gone?
“Isn’t it nice to know I can count on you two, to make light of a funeral.” Bitter and terse, every word enunciated, nothing like his usual tone of speech.
Apollo glared at him. “What the hell? ‘Making light of it’ is all you’ve done, for the last two days! And suddenly it’s not okay, when someone else does it?”
It did make him sound like a flaming hypocrite, didn’t it? Klavier shook his head. Everything smelled like powder and varnish, all of a sudden, and he couldn’t breathe.
“Es tut mir leid. I don’t know what came over me.”
Phoenix squinted at him. “An ‘old friend’s’ presence, if I didn’t know any better. The hair’s bad enough, Gavin. You don’t have to sound like him, too. Believe me, he’s not missed.”
An image seared across Klavier’s vision. Phoenix Wright, his back slumped, head in his hands. The smell of alcohol, cheap cologne, unwashed men and borscht. Putting an arm around the man’s shoulders and drawing him closer. "Buck up, Wright. There’s really no need for all this carrying on. You know you have me to rely on. All you have to do is ask."
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You and me both,” Klavier muttered.
“Are you still drunk?”
“Probably,” Klavier admitted. It was as good an explanation as any. Either alcohol or insanity, and he’d take the less-debilitating one.
“Did you drive here?” Wright asked.
Klavier’s mouth quirked up. “No, Mutter. I took a taxi.”
“Hey, don’t go insulting your mom, kiddo. Bet she was way better looking than me, when she was alive.”
Kristoph must have told Wright their mother was dead. It would take time, getting used to the idea of the man knowing anything personal about him, without Klavier having volunteered the information himself. “She was,” Klavier said. “But in her absence, I suppose you’ll just have to do, Herr Wright.”
“You should come back with us,” Apollo told him, pulling him aside. “I don’t have a case to work on, right now. We could order pizza, watch something stupid on TV.”
It would be a nice distraction. His life thrived on distractions, right now. “Are you asking me out on a date, Herr Forehead?”
Apollo looked sad, more than anything else. “There you go, making everything into a joke again.”
He wanted to say yes to Apollo’s suggestion. To keep teasing the younger man, safe in the knowledge that he was too proud and kind to rescind the invitation, no matter how annoyed he might get. To spend another night on an unfamiliar couch, surrounded by generous not-quite-strangers.
What he said instead was, “I’ll have to take a raincheck. There are still too many loose ends I must tie up, before tomorrow. I will hold you to that date, though, see if I don’t.”
Apollo didn’t reply, for a moment, and Klavier wondered what had possessed him to make such an excuse. The loose ends could wait. And yet…
“I’ll see you later, then,” Apollo said, worry etched on his face.
Don’t go, Klavier wanted to shout, all of a sudden. Stay. Let me take back what I just said.
He waved at the defense attorneys’ retreating backs and fished out his phone, to call another cab.
***
Herr Edgeworth had forbidden him to return to the office until tomorrow. Instead, Klavier spent the rest of the day dealing with Kristoph’s estate, covering the fees for his final days in prison. He’d gone to close Kristoph’s bank account, or so he thought, though the balance remained where it was, when he reloaded the website. He’d call them and double-check, tomorrow, during business hours. Or maybe the day after that, he thought, suddenly tired. There was no rush. It wasn’t as though he needed the money.
He fell asleep on the couch again. His own, this time, with Vongole’s head in his lap. His dreams ran disjointed and strange, as dreams did, sometimes. A legal meeting with some client. The smell of acrylic paint and a pair of brown eyes peeking out at him from behind an easel, while a man with a Russian accent reassured him that the diary would be completed on schedule. A collector’s stamp album, like the one he’d had at seven, before growing bored of the hobby. The roar of a plane taking off, mixed with the twang of an ill-tuned electric guitar.
Daryan’s laughter, as the audience chanted their names. The wild joy on his guitarist’s face, heedless of the sharks circling beneath the stage, which had turned into some kind of aquarium. Water sloshing against Klavier’s boots, soaking through the soles.
“Tide’s rising,” Daryan said. “Better start doggie paddling, before it closes in over your head, princess.”
“I’m always in over my head.”
“Not like this,” and he was drowning, wrestling with the thin blanket, face pressed against the couch’s squeaking leather, struggling to catch his breath.
***
He’d never been so happy for daylight and the excuse to go back into work. Most of the day flew by in a blur, but that was to be expected. Herr Edgeworth didn’t see fit to assign him any new cases yet, so he took the time to fill out some paperwork, stalling out in the middle of a particularly boring report, when the Chief Prosecutor entered his office.
“I’d like to talk to you about this,” he said, dropping a thin sheet of paper on Klavier’s desk.
Klavier leaned back in his chair. “Ja, of course. What is it?”
Edgeworth’s face turned stony with displeasure. “Your letter of resignation.”
Klavier was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. “The hell I’m resigning! No offense, Herr Edgeworth. I realize I’ve made some mistakes, but if you think I haven’t made headway in making up for them…”
“I’m glad we’re agreed,” Edgeworth said.
Wait, what?
“As I was saying, then. Please explain to me the meaning of this.”
Klavier stared at the offending missive.
There’s no easy way to say this. With everything that’s happened in the last couple of years, I no longer think the prosecutorial position is a good fit for me, nor I for it. Too many people I know personally crossing the bench. Too many deaths, all on my account. It is with this in mind that I tender my resignation, effective immediately. You’ll have to forgive me for the abruptness of it, but you have to realize, as well, that this decision has been a long time coming.
Sincerely,
Klavier Gavin
The handwriting was his. No way to laugh it off, to say anyone could have typed it up, forged his signature. Everything from the slant of the letters to the press of the pen into the parchment suggested his own hand.
He’d never written anything of the sort.
“Herr Edgeworth,” he said, “I think I’m going crazy.”
Edgeworth pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not on my watch you’re not.”
“I didn’t write that letter. Please, believe me.” He buried his head in his hands. “I don’t remember writing that letter.” Where had the afternoon gone? What had he been doing? He didn’t remember any of it.
“It could be worse,” Edgeworth mused. “It could have read ‘Prosecutor Gavin chooses death.”
“I’m not that-,” Klavier protested.
“I was, once.”
Klavier closed his eyes in sympathy. “I’m glad you’re still here, then, Herr Edgeworth.”
Edgeworth let out a dry laugh. “Wait till your next performance review, before you say that.”
“If I may ask… How did you put yourself back together?”
“Time and stubbornness, I’m afraid. No miracle cures for us, Gavin.”
“Just that?”
“And Wright, as well. I suppose I could say I owe the man my continuing career.” Edgeworth said ‘career,’ but Klavier could almost hear ‘desire to live,’ in between his words.
“It must be nice, having someone like that.” Unbidden, his mind flashed to Apollo, frowning, deep in thought, finger tapping against that forehead of his. Apollo, laughing, with one hand behind his head, self-conscious. Apollo, fierce in his anger, or his determination. “A rival, is it?”
Edgeworth shook his head, bemused. “That’s one word for it.”
“Oh? Now you’re making me curious.”
“I could still fire you, Gavin.” Edgeworth’s tone shifted again, back to serious. “Sometimes it helps to take time away from work. Time away from everything, to figure out who you are, once again. What the world means to you, now that things have changed. It helped me, a great deal. If that’s what you need as well...”
Klavier wanted to scream. No, that wouldn’t help me at all! The last thing I need is more time, or more distance from people I trust.
“That’s not a bad plan, Herr Edgeworth,” his mouth said.
Klavier tried to shake his head, tried to clear his throat. His body would not obey, frozen, but not, because even as his senses blurred with fear, he could see his own hands, gesticulating. Could hear his own voice, carrying on a conversation without his input. “I’m probably not much use to the office, right now.”
“Very well,” Edgeworth replied. “This isn’t a suspension. I expect to see you back at work in two weeks. Two weeks, and not before. Take a vacation, get some rest. God knows, somebody in this office should.”
“And that someone isn’t you, I take it?” Klavier’s voice said lightly.
Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Perish the thought.”
Even his eyes weren’t tracking under his command, Klavier realized. Instead, they seemed to be following their own trajectory, looking over Edgeworth’s retreat, contemplative. The rhythm of his breathing was all wrong. Too calm, when he felt like hyperventilating. He tried to suck in a single breath, out of sync.
Nothing.
Was zum Teufel?
You still haven’t fully caught on, have you? Sad, isn’t it? So much for your vaunted incisiveness.
Kristoph. That inner voice sounded like Kristoph. Had sounded like him, all along.
But that was impossible. Had to have been impossible, to have a dead man speaking inside his mind, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. It sounded like a bad late-night movie on the sci-fi channel.
Should I say something pithy to reassure you, Little Brother? A quote from Shakespeare, perhaps. More things on Heaven and Earth-
Than are dreamt of in my philosophy. Ja, I know!
Nein. This was real, all right. It would have been far too easy to gape, disbelieving, but what would that accomplish?
Good boy, said Kristoph’s voice. Finally, you’re coming to grips with your situation.
