Work Text:
Sender: [email protected]
CC: State V. Misham
Prosecutor Gavin,
I understand that regarding recent events, your work here in the offices may be taking an emotional toll. Concerning your current situation, I am extremely sympathetic, and as your supervisor, I would like to emphasise that my office will always be open should you require someone to speak to. I am writing to you to let you know that I have authorised any absences for the coming weeks, and I implore you to consider taking out some time for yours-
Klavier shut down his laptop before he finished reading the message. It was only 6 pm on a Sunday and the Chief Prosecutor still hadn't given up trying to make him talk— He spent most of last Friday dodging the man.
Klavier couldn't tell if he was resistant to talking about his brother in general, or if it was specifically just because it was Edgeworth. He was only recently promoted to Chief Prosecutor after Kristoph was tried for murder… the second time. The first time, (Klavier bitterly laughs at that, ‘ The First Time.’) Miles Edgeworth practically interrogated him, trying to figure out how much of Kristoph's plans he was privy to. The only thing Klavier knew was that the information he had on his brother could barely fill a thimble. He could be convinced Kristoph was lying about ever even being his brother at that point. That conversation ended with Klavier storming out of the office. Childish, he hears Kristoph's voice say.
How did he get to this point?
The worst part was that Klavier wants to hate Kristoph as much as the world does. He wants to look at the stupid photo of them together, the day Klavier passed the bar, on the fireplace and smash it against the wall- but it's one of the only photos he has with Kris that shows them smiling. He wants to despise his brother, but not nearly as much as he wishes that his brother was here. Kristoph would dust him off and take him through the motions of pulling himself together, help him get his house in order and make a proper dinner and stop falling asleep on the couch. Kristoph would guide him step by step with clear instructions and take control of all the damage— just like how he controlled Klavier's legal career and band management and media coverage and correspondences and finances and…
Klavier just needs to go to work.
That’s what he kept telling himself on Monday, promptly ignoring his Supervisor’s wishes for him to take a week off because if Klavier spent another day staring off into the halls of his home he’d go stir-crazy. Who knows, maybe crazy is in the blood?
So, Klavier gets ready in the dark; both because no reflections can stare back at him, but also because the prosecutor was terrified the press were going to resort to filming through the windows if he opened the curtains. Maybe all the darkness was just getting to him.
He arrived at the Prosecutor’s office a little after 8:30, usually, he would arrive earlier, but getting out of the house when journalists surrounded it was harder than he thought. If Miles Edgeworth couldn’t get him to talk about Kristoph, then neither could the press. It’s at that when Klavier realises he really needs to stop thinking about Kristoph Gavin.
“Mr. Gavin, sir?” Gavin.
The voice came from the receptionist watching Klavier clock himself in. What Klavier didn't anticipate was just how nervous she looked. Every morning, he would flash her a smile and a flirtatious comment, The Receptionist would laugh and roll her eyes, and Klavier would head to his office with a positive start. Now, she looks like she’s ready for Klavier to start yelling at her.
“Ja?” Short, sweet and non-threatening. Klavier wonders if Kristoph had to think this much about every short sentence he said.
The Receptionist turns to the safety of looking down at her desk, reading from a small, white post-it note— Klavier feels immediate dread seeing the neat cursive.
“Mr. Edgeworth asked me to pass on a message for you… your office is currently inaccessible due to an ongoing investigation.”
Ah. There it is, Klavier thought. It’s foolish of him to think that this wouldn’t happen, really. Why wouldn't they check that sneaky little shadow of Kristoph’s? After all, Klavier will only ever be an ingrown branch of his brother’s tree, the diseased leaf he cuts off to keep his garden perfect. He owns half of whatever Kristoph was, and Kristoph will take half of him to the grave. If Kristoph is sick, Klavier bears his sickness in due turn.
The joke’s on the detectives, really, they probably know more about Kristoph now than Klavier ever has.
“Right, well, thank you for the heads up.” Painful, and so incredibly un-Klavier of him, but being Klavier takes far too much energy.
“Actually, there was one more thing, Sir. He’s requested a meeting with you in his office, he emphasised it was to be ‘ as soon as possible .’” Klavier can see the words underlined on the note. Three times.
Out of every sentence that has made Klavier’s heart plummet, that one could be stored pretty high up on the shelf. He could have dismissed it as Edgeworth forcibly checking up on him, but after the few days that Klavier has had, paired with the fact his office was being searched , it wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Had Kristoph planted something? When would he have had the chance? Where would he have put it that Klavier wouldn’t have noticed? Hell, Kristoph probably knew the details of his office to the fine detail, and Klavier barely knew what he was capable of. Would Edgeworth believe him if he said it was planted? Maybe that’s why Edgeworth wanted him to take the day off; so he could ransack Klavier’s office more efficiently. The public would likely be elated to point the finger and purge the legal system of all the Gavins entirely. That’s all that Klavier is, at the heart of everything he’s a Gavin, an accomplice, willing or not. Kristoph would live on in his veins for as long as he breathes, like some twisted vessel for him to enact his plan through. How much evidence had he just gone and accepted from his brother? How many photo frames, postal stamps, forgeries and birthday cards were festering in that office?
“-avin?... Mr. Gavin?” Gavin. God, that name will never stop following him around. Whoever Klavier becomes, Gavin will keep him on that short leash, exactly where he is needed.
“Ach, Sorry. I got caught up in my head for a moment. Let the Chief Prosecutor know I'll be there soon.” The smile Klavier forces for her takes more out of him than he was prepared for it to, and the prosecutor begins speed-walking away before he could publicly spiral any further. He ends up beelining for the elevator, not the most private location to prevent a breakdown, but it would have to do.
Klavier lets out a heavy sigh as he presses his forehead to the cold metal walls, eyes closed and breathing slowly. He couldn’t do this, not right now. In fact, talking to Edgeworth was probably the most terrifying thing he could spend his morning doing. He just wants to go back home and ball up on the couch— maybe if he chickens out now he could avoid Edgeworth entirely. Maybe he could throw out that god-forsaken photo on his fireplace.
Klavier’s hand drags down his face, overheating and oily. He threw out almost all of his skin-care products after the Misham trial. He knew somewhere, Kristoph had a plan for his loose cannon of a brother. How deeply had Kristoph planned a Plan B for Klavier? A bitter part of Klavier thought that maybe Kristoph didn’t even bother— maybe Klavier wasn’t even worth the effort to plan a downfall. How many days with Klavier did Kristoph spend thinking about Phoenix Wright instead? It’s pitiful really, even after Kristoph was revealed to be a literal murderer, Klavier is still desperate for his attention. Here he is, almost crying in an elevator because his brother didn’t care enough to want to kill him.
Peeling his forehead from the wall, he turns to press his back against it. His face is reflected on the opposite wall, and it's the first time Klavier has gotten a good look at himself in days. All the parts that make him up are there— carefully curled hair, purple suit jacket, rings and necklaces, but something about the face staring back at him is mangled. His eyes are heavy and dark, the hairs framing his face are frayed, and no makeup in the world could hide how blotchy he looks. Well, he looks…
“You look like shit.”
“Good Morning to you, too, Fräulein.”
Klavier would have never, in any universe, believed he would be relieved to hear the voice of Ema Skye at quarter-to-nine in the morning, yet here he is, weight from his shoulders. Ema Skye enters the elevator in more lab gear than usual, and the weight instantly falls back over him when he realises she is likely heading up the investigation of his office. She presses the button for floor nine, and the dread continues to build.
“If it were a ‘Good Morning,’ Fop, you would’ve taken the day off.” Ema bites back with an eye roll, and no matter how tightly wound Klavier is right now, there is a sense of gratefulness within him that at least someone isn’t treating him like he’s made of glass.
“Why, Detective? So you can search my office for evidence against me without interruption?” That came out way less playful than he intended. Ema’s face falls faster than Klavier can even register it, and the pang of guilt through his chest is impossible to ignore.
Ema’s eyebrows knit together, and she moves something like a small bottle behind her back, “Is that what you think we’re looking for, Klav?” Her tone lowers slightly, looking up at Klavier from behind her eyelashes.
“Is it not?” Klavier blinks.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Edgeworth yet?” Avoiding questions with questions, Klavier thinks, mainly to avoid the anxiety over this meeting buzzing under his skin, making his hands clam up by the second. He just shakes his head at the Detective.
The elevator doors open with a gentle chime, flooding in light from Klavier’s floor of the office. Ema steps out, placing one hand over the doors to prevent them from closing too fast.
“Talk to him- no- don’t interrupt me, Klavier. Genuinely, talk to him. Hear out what he has to say. I know you’re going through a rough time right now, and I promise that I’m speaking from experience when I say you don’t have to do this alone.” Ema quickly smacks her hand over the ‘close door’ button and slivers away like some sort of Edenic snake— like she hadn’t dropped a bombshell on the prosecutor. Klavier just stood dumbfounded, stupidly staring at the closed elevator doors like he would see the answers to the universe in them.
Klavier stays that way until the doors open again on the twelfth floor, and suddenly he begins to wish that they had just stayed shut. That the elevator would trap him inside and shrink away into non-existence, taking him with it. Yet, no law, not even the laws of physics are on his side today and Klavier remains staring out at red-carpeted floors. Nothing was stopping him from just pressing the elevator button and turning back, nothing except the Chief Prosecutor’s assistant who he accidentally makes eye contact with and Oh, God— they’re waving for Klavier to enter the office. He’s far too awkward to turn tail now, but that doesn’t stop Klavier from freezing in front of the door to the Prosecutor’s office, hand hovering over the well-polished handle. There’s the sound of muffled talking from the other side, and Klavier briefly considers using that as a final excuse to stay outside. Ema would probably start throwing snacks at him if he didn’t just man up and open the door.
Edgeworth is on the phone when he pushes it open, finally, and it creaks enough to announce his entrance. The Chief prosecutor turns to look at him, and it’s hard to ignore the way his features rise when his eyes land on Klavier. The only thing that comes to Klavier’s useless mind is; When did Prosecutor Edgeworth get glasses?
“When I offered you both my financial aid, it was not for leisurely spending.” Edgeworth scolds the person on the other end of the phone and perches it between his ear and shoulder. He waves for Klavier to take a seat, before standing with his back to the door again.
“No- I understand that this is a special event. I, more than anyone, could not be more proud of you, but it does not warrant this extent of catering.” He scoffs into the receiver as Klavier skulks to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He watches his Superior as he begins to pour from a tea set at the corner of the long window. “-I’m sorry, Wright, but are you not a grown man? You are perfectly capable of making party sandwiches yourself… -No, I simply don’t care that you want ‘fancy’ ones.”
Wright. The name itself is enough to seize Klavier in his seat, his body involuntarily curls in on itself, and he finds himself staring down at his shoes against Edgeworth’s gaudy-coloured carpet. Is it some kind of game to him? To chat absently in front of him to the man whose life Klavier ruined? Is this some sick method of karma against him? Klavier distantly hears Edgeworth set down a porcelain cup in front of him.
“Listen to me, you menace, I have actual work to be doing, in case you forgot; those fancy sandwiches won’t be funded without me doing my Job….” He pauses, and far off; Klavier can hear Phoenix Wright arguing his case. “I don’t want to hear it, Wright. Those shady bar shifts are not jobs. I need to go, I have a meeting … -yes, fine… Stop calling me when I am at the office. Goodbye.”
Miles Edgeworth ends the phone call with a long sigh, and Klavier barely looks at him as he pulls out the large chair on the opposite side of the desk. All that runs through his mind is that it’s his fault. Phoenix Wright needs financial support from Miles Edgeworth and it’s his fault.
“I apologise for that, Prosecutor Gavin, but I am glad that you’ve decided to meet me. Although, I only wish that you would have taken a short leave of absence, did you receive the email I wrote?”
Klavier bites the bullet and looks up at Edgeworth, the light of the room reflects directly on his lenses, a familiar obscuring of the eyes that makes his lungs squeeze painfully. Edgeworth has the kind of effect over Klavier that only Kristoph was able to master; that looming presence that makes him feel so incredibly small, inferior. He could practically replace Edgeworth in that seat. Klavier really needs to stop thinking about Kristoph.
“Ja, of course.” Is all he can manage. He takes the teacup that Edgeworth set out for him, Klavier has never been a major fan of tea, but it serves well enough as a distraction to keep his hands busy.
“Did you read it, Gavin?”
“...”
Edgeworth slides his glasses off with a heavy sigh and folds them neatly next to his computer. Klavier takes the brief distraction to turn behind him— if he ran for the door now, he could get enough of a head start to escape.
“I thought as much, I sent messages ahead to make sure you were aware of-”
“The search? Listen, whatever you found in there, it’s not mine.” Klavier’s own words surprised him, he barely thinks of them before speaking. Edgeworth’s eyes widen slightly, had he not anticipated Klavier knowing they were looking to build a case against him? Klavier puts down the porcelain cup, and the shrill sound of it hitting the saucer goes through him. “He planned for this, I'm sure of it— that everyone would think I'm some kind of Devil just like he was. He knew no one would come to defend me after everything he did, but I promise I'm not..”
“Prosecutor Gavin- Klavier .” Edgeworth Interrupts him with a much harsher tone, and his gaze over Klavier hardens. The Chief Prosecutor placed his hands flat on the desk and stood again. “We’re not looking for a reason to arrest you.” He frames his sentence like a question, almost as if he’s offended that Klavier would insinuate they were.
“..Was?
“We were concerned that Kristoph Gavin may have left behind any number of… Back-up plans should things not turn out in his favour. The Misham Trial was seven years in the making, after all.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Klavier recalls Kristoph’s voice; If I lose, you lose too.
Oh.
Oh.
“ I have Detective Skye screening for atroquinine.”
Miles Edgeworth was trying to protect him. Miles Edgeworth didn’t look into Klavier’s eyes and see Kristoph Gavin reflected back at him.
The Prosecutor just stays in silence, he barely registers Edgeworth rounding the desk until a firm hand is pressing into his shoulder, and Klavier almost collapses into it.
“I’m going to tell you this in confidence, Prosecutor Gavin, as one of my best.” Edgeworth crouches in front of his chair and God, Klavier feels like a child again. “I was about your age when... It was revealed my mentor had orchestrated one of the most difficult battles I had ever experienced.” Klavier knows this, Von Karma is one of the first names you hear at legal academies— a cautionary tale of fame.
“If you sever Manfred Von Karma from his role in the legal world..” Edgeworth sighs, and Klavier realises he has never noticed how old his eyes are. “Von Karma was a man I trusted. He deliberately placed the stars in the sky for a younger version of myself to wish upon. I was naive and foolish and everything I knew in my life was crafted in his image, I let that consume me. My actions after the Von Karma case were brash, hurtful and self-destructive, and I cannot bear watching the evil of Kristoph Gavin rot away all of your potential, like his with mine.”
Klavier blinks at Edgeworth, and for the first time since the Misham trial, someone is saying ‘I Understand’ who actually does. He can feel his resolve breaking away from him the longer Edgeworth attempts to meet his eyes and Goddammit he is not about to start crying in his boss’ office, Klavier is not that far gone yet.
“Prosecutor Gavin? I apologise if I was perhaps too forward..”
“I tried to visit Kris on Saturday.” Klavier blurts out the words before he can get his thoughts together long enough to regret them. He feels his face rise with heat and his first concern is how ridiculous he must look- on the verge of a breakdown in front of the man who’s only been his Boss for a few weeks. Edgeworth just looks at him patiently.
“I just wanted to talk to him. I knew I couldn’t go in there and demand an explanation from him or anything but... I just wanted to speak to him and I don’t know- I convinced myself that maybe if he said something I could..” Klavier trails off with no idea how to tell Edgeworth what he wants to say. Klavier sighs and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.
“He wasn’t a monster to me.”
“You thought that if you spoke to him, he would say something that would justify your feelings. Prove that the love you have for your brother was not without grounds to stand on.” There it is, Klavier thinks. The root of the issue. Klavier still loves his fucking brother. Kristoph might have tried to poison him in his own office and Klavier is still looking for excuses to love him. Klavier would search every corner of the world for proof that Kristoph wanted him, he would look anywhere except at the man himself. Klavier would find his brother’s love in the version of Kristoph he dilutes from his own blood.
“He refused to see me.” Klavier manages. It hurts how unfair it is. Kristoph is in prison for murder and still manages to put Klavier in his place. “It was like some cosmic ‘fuck you,' from the universe telling me that he was beyond salvation.”
Edgeworth stands with a heavy breath, his knees clicking as he rises from in front of Klavier. He takes a firm grip on his arm and pulls the blond man to his feet, and dusts him off.
“Language, Klavier. It will never be your fault that your brother is blind to your brilliance, nor the Universe’s. It is Kristoph Gavin’s ignorance, and I will not stand by and let him syphon your life away from you, not after I have seen him try the same to someone close to me already. I have not known you for the longest of times, but I would like to emphasise that there are lots of good people in your life, Gavin. Good people that will stand with you if you need them to. It is your greatest strength, and you should not ignore it as I once did.” Klavier opens his mouth to reply, but Edgeworth speaks again. “I’m telling you to reach out, Klavier, isolation will destroy you.”
The man in question stands just as completely lost as he did in the elevator, and he’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to grapple with the words being said to him. Five minutes ago, he thought Edgeworth wanted him in a cell next door to his brother— although, knowing Kristoph, he would’ve demanded a transfer if that happened.
What is he supposed to do with that? Klavier thinks, he watches as his reflection ripples in the teacup beside where he is standing. He wanted to reach out, God , Klavier wanted nothing less. The rub was that there wasn’t a single ‘Good person’ in his life that he deserved. Klavier always did surround himself with people better than him.
As if the thought of the encounter in the elevator summons her, Klavier turns his head to watch as Ema Skye’s face peers around the office door. She stares for a moment, looking as if she is contemplating closing the door and pretending she hadn’t seen anything.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Ema asks, still half in and half out of the door.
“No, it’s alright, Detective Skye. As much as I wish you would get into the habit of knocking, I’m hoping you have some good news for us?” Edgeworth clears his throat and separates from Klavier, making his way back to sit at his desk. He slides his glasses back on his face like he hadn’t flipped around Klavier’s world.
Ema slinks her way into the office, and her brief face of disgust reminds Klavier of a conversation they had a few months back; Ema Skye cannot stand the Chief Prosecutor’s carpet choice. Klavier is glad to see at least one person in the office who will absolutely never change.
“Good!” Ema’s disposition turns to enthusiastic, and she clasps her hands together, “On behalf of the Criminal Affairs Department, I am happy to announce that Klavier Gavin’s office is completely traceless of any atroquinine!”
Klavier should be happy. Ema is smiling at him, his office is completely safe and Klavier should be happy. Klavier doesn’t know what he’s actually feeling. Why didn’t Kristoph leave him something? Some foolishly, naively optimistic part of Klavier’s brain thinks that maybe it’s a sign, maybe Kristoph cared about him somewhere deep in his consciousness. How different was Kristoph’s hate from Kristoph’s love? The logical side of him knows that the only person Kristoph truly cared about was Phoenix Wright. In Kristoph’s own twisted, hateful way; he loved Wright in a way that made Klavier nauseatingly envious. Phoenix Wright was the only person Kristoph would ever see as his equal— getting rid of Klavier was simply not worth the effort. Maybe he masterminded this too, maybe Kristoph knew that his arrest alone was enough to send Klavier into a descent. It was far too time-consuming to plan a poisoning for Klavier, and if there was anything Kristoph never gave his brother, it was his time.
“That’s perfect. Danke, Fräulein.” Is instead what escapes his mouth. Klavier internally punches himself. “I hope that means I can return to normalcy soon enough, ja?” He pushes his hair back out of his face in the simple, rehearsed way he always has. He ignores the way he can feel Edgeworth’s gaze boring into him.
“Actually, Prosecutor Gavin, on the note of normalcy,” the Chief Prosecutor begins to thumb through some sort of pocketbook before glancing back up at the two. “Miss Skye has already confirmed her attendance, but seeing as you’ve gotten into the habit of dodging my emails, I’ll happily give you my invite now.”
“Invite?”
“The Wright..” Edgeworth visibly grimaces at the offices’ terrible naming policy, “The Wright Anything Agency are holding a small event on Friday, in honour of Wright finally retaking the bar.”
This is it, Miles Edgeworth is going senile at the ripe old age of thirty-four. Maybe this is one of those TV-Prank shows and the only thing waiting for him at the WAA is a camera crew.
“And.. You’re inviting me..?”
“Aww, C’mon Klavier. You need an excuse to leave the house that isn’t work-related.” Ema pushes his arm playfully, and Klavier wonders if he looks as completely lost as he feels.
“I would have worded it more tactfully, but Miss Skye is right.” Edgeworth looks up at Klavier with a look that tells him that he’s going to need a really good excuse to weasel his way out of this one. Klavier’s half-convinced Edgeworth’s planning on dragging him there himself. “Besides, the invitation was not my own idea, it was Mr. Justice who suggested your name, I simply agreed with him.”
He knows exactly what to say to get Klavier to bite. Klavier knows all too well that Edgeworth bringing up Apollo Justice was thought out. The main question Klavier has is; was he really that obvious?
The second question was; Was Klavier so enamoured with a Courtroom Crush that he was going to attend a party for the man whose life he literally ruined?
“Ja, I’ll be there.” Scheiße.
Klavier internally curses his inability to think before speaking. He can’t spend the whole party talking to Apollo, nor can he spend the whole party avoiding Phoenix Wright. What is he thinking? How can he attend a party full of Wright’s closest friends and stand among them? Maybe Klavier could pretend to fall ill, give the best acting performance of his life and avoid having to ever step foot in the same room as Phoenix Wright.
“Wonderful, I’ll have to tell young Miss. Trucy, she’s been very excited at the idea of your attendance.” Scrap that plan, then.
Klavier could deal with everyone else, but the idea of letting Trucy Wright down hurts him to the bone. He had been barely able to look her in the eyes after the Misham Trial; she deserved to hate him for bringing both of her families’ lives to rubble. If Trucy wanted to, Klavier would let her destroy him. But, she met him outside the courtroom with a smile. What did Klavier do to deserve her smiling at him? Honest, sweet Trucy could look up at Klavier, after all the hardship caused, and see redemption in him. The least he can do is show up to her party.
Klavier is forcibly sent home early. He’s not sure if that’s the preferred scenario, but it’s too late now. At least he was blessed with a few hours to pull himself together.
He spends most of his evening cleaning up after himself. It’s completely unglamorous and uninteresting, but exactly what he needs to put himself in a better headspace. He doesn’t need Kristoph to jump in and tell him to do the dishes, he doesn’t need Kristoph to help him put his life back on the rails again. He does need Kristoph to get out of his head so he can get rid of that stupid photograph.
Klavier spends longer than he’s willing to admit standing in the centre of the living room, staring at the photo of Kristoph by his side. Where did that man go? He couldn’t see the deranged version of his brother on the witness stand, then connect it cleanly to the bright defence attorney, standing with a smile wide enough to show his teeth. The public would never get to see Kris like this. They would never see Kris when Klavier would creep into his room after a nightmare; Kris when he would make a makeshift bed on his floor so that Klavier could sleep in the same room as him.
Kristoph agreed to see him after the Shadi Smith case, “I was always there for you” He had told Klavier through the glass. “Clearly my loyalty means nothing to you. If it were you in my place, Klavier, I would have defended you until the bitter end.”
The worst part was that Klavier, for once, knew Kristoph wasn’t lying to him. Kristoph would have gone to extremes to keep him under his thumb. Yet, Klavier didn’t want someone to defend him. He wanted his brother back. Everything about Kristoph was so overly intricate. Klavier loved Kristoph, almost definitely— but did he like him, ever?
Why couldn’t he just be Klavier’s brother?
Klavier was seventeen in the photo, purple leather jacket over his shoulders and the results letter in hand. Kristoph had told him that day that he already had a case lined up for him to take— that his first trial would be him going head-to-head against his older brother. Klavier was so excited, and the thought of it causes a lump to rise in his throat. He remembers feeling so lucky that Kristoph Gavin was his brother. A strangled noise escapes Klavier’s mouth, and he finds the word “brother” decomposing under his tongue. Klavier is standing closer to the photo than he remembered.
Kristoph had told him that Phoenix Wright was taking the defence instead— and when Kristoph told him that he would present a forgery, he had been so foolish as to trust him.
‘What a debut!’ Klavier had thought, ‘ to take down the Turnabout Terror!’
He and Kristoph had laughed in front of his fireplace when they had heard the media disgracing Phoenix Wright’s name. Klavier has inadvertently forced an innocent man and his abandoned daughter into the hardest seven years of their lives and he had laughed about it. How could he stand up and pretend he was better than Kristoph? How could he defend himself against the fact that their blood was one and the same?
It’s only when Klavier watches a teardrop splatter onto the glass frame of the photo that he snaps back into reality. When did he even pick the photo up? He blinks slowly, and Klavier resolves that he is not strong enough to just put the photo back in its place. On the other hand, Klavier is far from being emotionally sound enough to finally trash the thing.
He leaves the photograph face-down on the coffee table and calls it a night.
It stays there until Friday. Klavier had told himself he was going to move it every single time he entered his living room, maybe he could keep it in a box somewhere until he forgets that it exists. In his defence, he has more to worry about; with the upcoming party, and his work at the office, he should try texting Apollo, and Prosecutor Edgeworth won’t stop sending him emails and somewhere in between he’s been trying to research therapists in LA, and what would he even say to Apollo?, and Ema told him he should bring snacks for the party and he doesn’t even know what Phoenix Wright eats and maybe he could ask Apollo and…
Needless to say, Klavier forgets about the photograph.
He buys a fancy bottle of wine for Phoenix Wright on Wednesday night, and it makes Klavier feel pathetic. Sorry for the seven years of suffering my brother and I caused, here’s some wine! It doesn’t count as snacks, either, but it at least felt polite. He orders new skin-care products online and picks out something appropriate for the party. Something simple with the purple leather jacket he hasn’t worn in years, because if he’s going to spend the whole week thinking about Kristoph, he’s not going to let the memory of his brother overpower how expensive the damn jacket is. Small victories.
He barely registers the events of the week before it’s 5:24 pm on a Friday and Klavier won’t leave his car. He spent the past few hours psyching himself up to leave his house and the music playing through the radio was enough to numb his brain, but now he’s parked outside the office block, staring up at the door hoping that some divine spirit will enter him and get his legs to work.
Klavier is half considering just starting the car again and turning around before anyone could see his ridiculous attempt at showing up. At least then he will never have to look Phoenix Wright in the eyes and act like he has any right to be there. Sure, Edgeworth will never forgive him, and he’d be letting Trucy down, but it's better than the brother of the man who orchestrated your downfall having an anxiety attack in your office.
Half-past five, on a Friday, in the car is not exactly the best time for Klavier to contemplate the fact that he really can’t separate his existence from Kristoph’s actions, and the only thing running through his mind anymore is that he is far too tired to go inside and pretend to be the version of Klavier Gavin that everyone wants him to be. Klavier groans and smacks his forehead against the top of his steering wheel, screwing his eyes closed tightly.
He stays in that position for a while, hunched over in the driver’s seat of his car, simultaneously unable to get out as well as unable to drive away. He thinks that he probably looks ridiculous, and becomes consciously aware of that fact when he hears three gentle knocks on the passenger-side window.
“Gavin? You alright in there?”
He was the whole reason he even agreed to come to the damned party, but hearing the voice of Apollo Justice muffled through the car window has Klavier’s stomach in knots. Don’t look at me, Klavier thinks, not now. Every time he has met with Apollo, Klavier has been perfectly calculated. He made sure his appearance was perfect, that he had perfectly practised lines prepared— Klavier was always in complete control of how Apollo would see him. Maybe he’s starting to sound a little too much like his brother.
Klavier lifts his head so fast that it’s a miracle he didn’t end up with whiplash. Sure enough, Apollo is crouched in front of his window, eyebrows furrowed in concern— Klavier hates him. He hates him for how completely perfect he looks without trying. Apollo Justice doesn’t calculate his appearance to the fine detail, he simply exists and God, Klavier wishes someone would arrest him for it- he would prosecute that case any day. It wasn’t fair that he could knock all the wind out of Klavier’s lungs without even forming a full sentence.
“Herr Forehead!” Klavier greets the man with a smile and begs whatever beings are out there to stop his hands from trembling. “Alles gut! I just.. dropped something down here.” He feigns to fish for some invisible object at his feet, distantly hearing Apollo hiss in surprise from behind the door. He waits up for Klavier until he unbuckles himself and climbs out of the car, and of course out of everything that would get Klavier out of the car, it’s Apollo Justice.
The man in question has forgone his usual suit for a red button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. One of the first things Klavier noticed about Apollo when they had met a few months ago was that he was buff, but he could tell the defence attorney was wearing this shirt for the first time in a long while by the way it hugged his shoulders. It was like he plucked it out of his wardrobe purely intending to play with Klavier’s already incredibly weak heart.
As much as Klavier can spend his time ogling at Apollo, it’s not enough to distract from the awkward silence they’ve trapped each other in, staring wordlessly at each other in front of his car. A few months prior, he and Apollo had been texting incessantly; enough that Ema would keep sticking her head into Klavier’s office to make sure he was actually working. He had originally intended for Apollo’s personally gifted tickets to his concert to be a step in a different direction for their relationship, but Klavier couldn’t deny letting Trucy come along. Klavier didn’t lose too much sleep over it. Besides, he doubts that his best friend being uncovered as a murderer was the best backdrop for asking Apollo Justice on a date.
It’s only now that he realises how long it has been since he last spoke to Apollo— Klavier had escaped rather quickly after the Misham case, and his past few weeks have been spent decomposing in the space between his house and his office.
“I meant to text..”
“I didn’t think you were going to come..”
They speak over each other at the same time and end up stammering uncomfortably, both of them simultaneously apologising. Klavier can’t prevent the laugh that bubbles in his throat from the absurdity.
“This is ridiculous, Herr Justice. You invited me here and you can’t even get any words out to me?” He tuts at the shorter man playfully, and in the back of his mind, Klavier questions why the hell he didn’t talk to Apollo sooner. “Here I was, tricking myself into thinking you were desperate for my attendance.”
The tension in Apollo’s face cracks, his ears tint a pleasant red and he aims a slap at Klavier’s shoulder. “I forgot how painfully dramatic you are, I already regret asking Edgeworth to get you to show up.” He scoffs and begins marching out the path to the WAA. Slow down, Klavier thinks. He’s not nearly as prepared as he needs to be to go inside— Apollo has a habit of throwing him into situations he’s not prepared for.
After all, this was the same man who had essentially sent every person that the prosecutor had ever loved to prison- and still came out of it with Klavier's unwavering faith.
Klavier takes a few long strides to walk alongside the attorney, bumping against his shoulder. “It’s too late to back out now, baby, I’m your plus one.” He links his arm under Apollo’s biceps as if he were walking into a high school prom with him; the man gives a pained groan in response. Klavier is a little annoyed, if not unsurprised that all he needed to force away his anxiety was Apollo Justice to literally lead the way. There’s the unforgivable little voice in the back of his mind that tells him that he’s foolish— that he can’t do anything without someone else to show him how.
As much as he wishes that Apollo could be the solution to his current dilemma, there was nothing the defence attorney could say that would slow down Klavier’s rapidly increasing heart rate as Apollo leads him through the office block building. His grip on Apollo’s bicep subconsciously tenses, and Klavier is all too aware that the other man notices because nothing ever slips by Apollo Justice easily. By the time the two are standing at the door to the Wright Anything Agency, the sound of music and overlapping voices can be heard on the other side. Klavier bristles.
The prosecutor had been making an enemy of opening doors as of late, and the artist in him thinks that maybe there is something symbolic he could say about that, but nothing comes to mind when the white noise of his pulse and the chatter behind the door are flooding his ears painfully.
And then, Apollo’s hand sits firmly on top of his own. Klavier comes gently back into reality and his breathing levels out embarrassingly fast. The pressure of Apollo pressed into his side is incredibly grounding, and he finds himself more focused on the slow circles his thumb rubs against Klavier’s hand.
“Gavin? If you need to leave, let me know, got it? I’ll conjure up any sort of excuse you need.” It’s all the reassurance Klavier needed to hear— to know that at least one person in the office would be on his side. Somewhere in his brain, he finds that he doesn’t really mind being called ‘Gavin’ when it comes from Apollo’s mouth. He remembers Edgeworth’s voice saying something about ‘Good People standing by’ and Klavier understands just what he meant. What did he do to deserve Apollo Justice?
Klavier just manages to give him a nod. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the image of Apollo smiling until he got the chance to see it again. Klavier’s heart rate picked up again for all the best reasons; it left his chest aching.
“Well, then repeat after me then; My name is Klavier Gavin and I’m fine!”
Klavier immediately cringes. “I’m not saying your mindless protagonist-y catchphrase, Herr Forehead.” He teases, untangling his arm from the attorney’s.
“Hypocrite, you have one too! What does ‘Achtung’ even mean?!” Apollo guffaws in response, voice endearingly loud. Klavier wonders when he started being the moody one out of the two of them. It's probably somewhere between his brother being a killer, his best friend being a killer and then his brother being a killer again.
“Maybe if you started embodying a protagonist you might actually start winning your cases, Gavin, have you thought about that?”
An indignant noise climbs from his throat, and Klavier misses the chance to retort before Apollo is opening the door to the office, greeted with a small parade of voices excited for his arrival. Klavier follows Apollo like a moth to a flame, hoping that maybe his light would be enough to blot him out. Klavier looks out on the office filled with brand-new, familiar faces and he is painfully aware of the fact he doesn't belong there. The office is colourfully decorated, with balloons tied to each of the tables- which had been pushed to the walls of the room to create a larger floor space. Miles Edgeworth is seated in an armchair, close to the door, in a heated discussion with a woman in purple robes, animated in a way he’s never seen him before. Klavier knows the woman as Maya Fey; another person he could add to his Avoid-At-All-Costs list.
On the night of the Misham Trial, Klavier went over every single case in Phoenix Wright’s legal career. He read about every one of the defendants, and learned their faces— he had to know exactly what it was that he destroyed. Phoenix Wright deserved these people as his legacy, a testament to everything he had worked to protect. Klavier has marred and spoiled them, unrightfully stealing what needed to be on display.
Now, almost every one of those faces stands in one place, and Klavier has no way to repent to them. How is it fair for him to stand as their equal when every one of them could dedicate their lives to the beacon of Phoenix Wright? Klavier couldn’t look them in the eyes and ignore everything that he had sullied. He stood like an ill-tempered child among his broken toys. He made his bed and couldn’t stand to lie in it.
Klavier had been seventeen, once, and the only thing he knew about Phoenix Wright was that taking him down in court would forever solidify his name in the legal world. He had the kind of foolish, ignorant selfishness that only ever came with youth, all he wanted in return for the destruction of Wright’s life was fame. Now, at twenty-four, Klavier would give anything to ensure that he was forgotten.
Klavier scans the office for the man that plagues his thoughts enough to rival Kristoph, and he finds that Phoenix Wright hasn’t even looked up at the door. The revived attorney is hunched over a fold-out table with his daughter and Klavier stares as they haphazardly tower a selection of fancy platter sandwiches onto a paper plate. The pair begin to run out of space, and Trucy resorts to looking for more plates to increase their hoard. They’re painfully domestic, and it’s enough for Klavier to forget that he’s supposed to be avoiding Phoenix Wright- until they lock eyes with each other.
For a moment, they mirror each other’s expressions perfectly- unfiltered bewilderment, perhaps a little bit of fear; like deer caught in each other's headlights. Phoenix Wright’s eyes are darker than Klavier had remembered them to be. His brain attempts to spur into some kind of action- but everything Klavier can think of feels out of place. What was he supposed to do? Wave?
Klavier holds a frozen stare as Phoenix’s jaw works, and dread rises through him at the thought that he might try to talk to him, but Klavier snaps to attention when he finds himself winded- something colliding directly into his stomach. He barely registers the arms of Trucy Wright around him before he can collect his composure properly.
“Mr. Prosecutor Gavin! You made it!” Gavin. He can feel every set of eyes in the room bore into him at the mention of the name- usually Klavier would have no problem being attention’s sweet centre, but he had built his whole survival plan on the pretence he would go invisible.
“You really thought I could let my number one fan down, Fräulein?” Klavier ignores them as he would with the press, instead opting to place his hand on the magician’s shoulder. In the corner of his eye, he can see Wright abandoning his paper plate to slink closer, standing in the gap between Maya Fey and Edgeworth.
Trucy pulls away from him, finally addressing Apollo. Klavier distantly wonders how overwhelming this event must be with how perceptive he is. The young girl places her hands on her hips and upturns her nose from the defence attorney.
“And you’re late!” She scolds him.
“So was Gavin!” Apollo remarks incredulously, gesturing hastily in Klavier’s direction.
The prosecutor swats Apollo away with a teasing shake of the head, bringing his hands to his chest. “Ah, Herr Justice, that is because I know how to do it fashionably.” His reply only earns him a signature Apollo glare.
The room returns to the conversational buzz it had before, and although Klavier had wanted it to happen, he can’t shake how off-guard it takes him that no one in the room spares him a second glance. In fact, the most surprising part of Klavier’s evening was that it was going well.
He leaves his gift for Phoenix Wright by his desk, far too nervous to even think about handing it to him personally. After, he finds himself dragged into a conversation with Ema and Trucy over his music career, then trapped by Detective Gumshoe into listening to the man gush over his triplet newborn daughters; complete with a photograph slideshow, then rescued by Miles Edgeworth (Klavier is slightly worried that the young woman with him is trying to get her hands on his wallet), before being re-captured again by Maya and Pearl Fey who are, apparently, fans. Not a single person Klavier speaks to even mentions the name Kristoph- and for once in his life, Klavier isn’t thinking about him either.
It’s after Apollo leaves him to take a phone call from a friend that Klavier finally gets his first moment alone the whole evening, and he steps out into the hall for the sake of giving himself a moment to breathe. A mirror is hung on the wall, and Klavier finds the reflection looking back at him lighter than he’d seen it in days, the twisting feeling in his stomach he usually got never came, and he relaxes with the sigh that escapes him. As Klavier’s ears adjust to the quiet, he hears the sound of voices from the other side of a private office door.
“I’ve learned from experience that he will stay in his comfort zone for as long as he possibly can.”
Miles Edgeworth’s voice carries from through the wall, muffled and hard to make out behind the din of the party. Klavier resolves that he’s probably about to overhear something private, maybe something about a case or a friend, it’s none of his business either way. He begins to step away back towards the main room. At least, he was going to until he heard Phoenix Wright’s reply.
“I’m just never prepared for how much he looks like his brother.”
Oh.
Klavier catches his reflection in the corridor mirror, Kristoph Gavin’s shattered visage grins back at him, his manic laugh echoing in Klavier’s mind. One day, Klavier thinks, he just wants one day.
“You know I'd be the last person to turn Gavin away on the basis of who he’s related to but..” The reinstated attorney’s voice trails out, and there’s a moment of silence that Klavier can only guess is communicated through action.
“You are both victims of Kristoph’s actions, I don’t blame you for finding this difficult, Wright. Franziska and I did not discuss the events of Von Karma’s arrest until a year afterwards. I mean this truly when I say I cannot stand to see both of you drown for as long as we did.”
Klavier’s heart beats in his throat, and the blood rushing through his ears is almost enough to draw him away from the words being said. The floor feels as if it is slipping out from under him, the corridor lights darken ominously.
“He reminds me of what I was like after Dahlia’s case.”
“Yes, and you had the late Ms. Fey to give you a sense of direction- That’s exactly what he’s looking for now. I attempt to relate to him as much as I can, but you’re really the only other person who knows Kristoph’s… extent like he does. Not to mention, you know full well it will be just as helpful for you as it will be for Gavin.” Cynically, Klavier doubts that he could ever do anything but hinder Phoenix Wright.
He hears the man give a hum in response, and Klavier presses his back against the wall. The mirror sits maliciously opposite him and suddenly Klavier is in the elevator again, wishing that his brother had at least tried. To do what? Kill him, love him? Klavier doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know why the conversation he’s eavesdropping on is panicking him so much, surely this is what he wants, right? For Phoenix to hold no resentment towards him.
Maybe it’s the realisation that no one has ever tried like the two men behind the wall are. When Klavier got upset, if Kristoph couldn’t twist the problem to fit into his plans for his brother, he would simply ignore him- or chew him out for not getting a grip. Is that what Klavier wants? For them to tell him to get over himself, for them to tell him to stop being so damn self-centred for once in his life and realise that not every problem stems from himself? Klavier never did grow out from being a root- Kristoph cut the stems before he ever had a chance to bloom.
He tries to hone in his hearing back on the conversation, but his ears are instead flooded with the sound of the front door opening into the corridor, and Klavier watches in horror as Apollo Justice’s annoyingly clueless face rounds the gap, clearly returning from his phone call.
“Prosecutor Gavin, what are you doing standing in the dark?” Apollo asks, his tone half teasing and half genuinely concerned, but Klavier can’t focus on it. The only thing running through the Prosecutor’s mind is Does he have to be so loud?!
His cover is far gone now, and Klavier’s dread only becomes more justified by the smaller office’s door creaking open, Miles Edgeworth on the other side. Over his shoulder, Klavier can see Wright, rubbing at his face in an attempt at gaining composure before approaching behind Edgeworth’s shoulder. They know, Klavier's mind supplies, They definitely know he was listening in.
They all stand ridiculously in silence, and it’s almost comical, especially with the way Apollo’s head is whipping back and forth between where Klavier is collapsed into the wall and where the Chief Prosecutor is clearly trying to simultaneously hide his surprise while also trying to think of something to say. Klavier looks behind his boss and finds his eyes catching against Wright’s again. This time, however, Klavier doesn’t feel as taken off guard, the gaze instead comes with the passive fear that exists hand in hand with sadness.
“Wh-”
“Mr. Justice!” Edgeworth beats Apollo to the punch, crossing the threshold in order to take the protege by the shoulders. “Would you join me back with the group? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Klavier knows immediately that he’s stolen Wright’s bluffing techniques as the prosecutor begins to forcibly steer the awkwardly stammering Apollo out of earshot, not without casting a look back at the two of them. Klavier doesn’t have to be a mind reader to hear Edgeworth’s message; stay.
All too soon, Klavier is left alone with Phoenix Wright in the corridor of the WAA, and can only question God as to how the hell his life led all the way up to him being stuck here. He can’t bear making eye contact with Wright, but his unsure glancing away only leads to Klavier catching the eye of his reflection instead. Worse, he just resolves to stare at the ground.
“G- Klavier, can I call you Klavier?”
“Bitte.” Klavier hopes that a single please would be enough to convey what he wants to say about his name- and he’s never been so thankful that somebody finally asked.
The pair of them stand there, wordlessly, thousands of things they could say and not a single one of them actually being spoken. There’s a sort of solidarity in the silence, however, the understanding that they both know exactly why they’re stuck in a hallway together- unifying in its own way.
Say something to him, Klavier. His mind supplies and he finds himself choking out his words out of nervousness, he was never good at keeping quiet, anyway. “I’m sorry, Herr Wright. For what happened, and for my involvement.”
Phoenix Wright sighs like it was exactly what he was expecting Klavier to say, and he gets the feeling Klavier is far from his first basket case lawyer.
“I’ve already forgiven you.”
It’s probably about the eighth time this week Klavier has been on the verge of tears, but for some reason, his heart hurts in a way he’s never felt before. It’s not quite relief, but not dread either. Half of Klavier wishes Wright would’ve just screamed at him, at least that way he would know where he could put all of his feelings, instead of them spilling out of him like this.
“How? How can you say that?” Klavier manages, rubbing harshly at his face. He had spent his whole week planning out a conversion like this, preparing his reactions- and he failed to account for the fact that Phoenix Wright is unaccountable.
Phoenix shrugs like it’s normal for him to make Klavier feel the way that he does. “Well, you helped me meet one of the most amazing little girls the world has to offer, how can I hate you over that?” It’s so stupid, Klavier thinks- it’s so stupid how he gets to see the positive in everything and everyone. Maybe that’s why people flock towards him so strongly- he can see good in Klavier even when he doesn’t see it in himself.
“And what about the disbarment, the struggle to make ends meet, the media? Can you realistically absolve me of that?” Phoenix scoffs at him as if Klavier is being ridiculous, and he wishes that he could spend five minutes looking into Wright’s brain- to see himself the way that he does.
“When did you become so pessimistic, Rockstar?” Brother, best friend, brother again. Klavier’s stomach flips in response to the nickname, the way that Wright can say it like he’s some kind of old friend. “We can blame all of that stuff on Kristoph and call it even, Steven.” Abnormal anger sparks in Klavier at how nonchalant the older man sounds.
Why doesn’t he care about this as much as Klavier does? How can he not agonise over what he did?
Phoenix Wright had already agonised, Klavier resolves, he was just too busy laughing to witness it. Phoenix Wright was too world-worn to spend his time blaming teenagers, and Klavier knew that, too, deep down. Not far enough down that Klavier could combat his short temper.
“You can’t just pick and choose which parts of me are redeemable, they’re all still things I caused.”
“Of course, I can.” Klavier wants to punch him. He had made fun of Apollo when he found out the attorney tried it, but now, looking at Wright’s sure face, he was really starting to understand the urge.
“Your brother tangled all the best parts of you, kid, and I’m more than willing to have a hand in unravelling it again.” Oh. Klavier’s not really sure how he’s supposed to respond to that, and it’s definitely showing on his face.
Wright continues, “I’ve tried to do that for Kristoph, but you’re a much worthier cause. With him, I don’t know how to see past what he wanted me to think he was.”
“I don’t think Kris is tangled like you say I am,” Klavier answers, and he knows just what Wright wanted from his brother- they would both dedicate their lives to figuring Kristoph Gavin out if there was any fruition to it.
“He doesn’t have an end to start pulling from, at least not anymore. I thought that I knew who my brother was in a way that no one else did; that I got a side of Kristoph to myself. I know now that’s probably true for you, and I am not exaggerating when I say I’m jealous of you, Herr Wright.” Klavier sighs, casting his gaze on the ground. “He hated you, and he was still more honest with you than he ever tried to be with me.”
Wright looks like he’s trying to figure out how Klavier wants him to respond, so he saves him the effort and keeps talking. That’s what Edgeworth wanted him to do, right?
“I thought he was proud of me for passing the bar, going up against you- genuinely proud of me. I was convinced it was my duty to purge you. I would do anything to go back in time and tell myself to stop being so selfish. You’re only a man, after everything, and Kristoph had me behaving like you were…” Klavier scuffs his shoes against the ground. “You were my competition. It was always between you and him. If I wanted Kristoph to love me I'd have to get The Turnabout Terror out of the equation. Kill or be killed.”
Klavier hates the way Wright looks at him- the same way you look at a starving alley-cat that you’re not allowed to take home.
“Klavier, you were only seventeen. You were a child and he had you acting on survival instincts.” The Prosecutor hears his pulse beat irregularly in his ears as Wright takes a cautionary step towards him. “He sent you into your first case without so much as a co-counsel. Y'know what I was doing at seventeen? Studying how to use oil paint for my portfolio or some bullshit.” Klavier couldn’t spend time on bullshitty teenager things- he had work; which he loved, mind you.
“I was old enough, I already had the responsibility of a music career at this point.” Klavier doesn’t know why he’s getting so defensive. He knows his brother was in the wrong, he knows that.
Wright’s hands ball into fists at his side. “Which Kristoph managed! God, Klavier, he put so much pressure on you.”
Klavier is taken by surprise by a sudden sense of deja vu. Kristoph’s voice is crystal clear in his mind. ‘Do you even care to know how much pressure this is for me Klavier? Do you have the slightest idea how much I do for you, balancing your band and legal career alongside my own? I wish I could afford to be so selfish.’
Wright tentatively places his hand on Klavier’s arm. “This is why the work I'm putting into these system reforms is so important to me because you can stand here and truly convince yourself that this was fair, that in some way what Kristoph did was excusable.” Klavier shoves away his grip, shaking the attorney off of him.
He knew that Wright was correct, but Klavier always had that deep desire for Kristoph to want him- to see him. Klavier cups his hands around that feeling like a suffocating flame, unaware that he is restricting the spark of the oxygen it fed on. “Kristoph wasn’t always evil. I know he wasn’t.” He sounds pathetic, like a child trying to stay up past their bedtime. Kristoph had to have loved his brother once, Klavier couldn’t stand to think that he was so ridiculously oblivious to the truth. Who is Phoenix Wright to tell him who Kristoph was?
“If I agree with you, and believe that he was setting me up to crash and burn from the start, then what? What am I now, some abandoned project? Kristoph used to provide me with all the answers and all he’s left me with are questions.” Klavier chokes out and only now realises that he was struggling to take breaths in the first place. “He wasn’t some fucked up kid growing up, Herr Wright, he was normal. He was my brother and he did chores and stayed up late to do homework and people don’t just become killers overnight!” He couldn’t just accept that there was no reason for what Kristoph did, ‘ He was just like that’ makes Klavier’s blood boil over. Not to me, he thinks.
“And yet you still helped Apollo win that case because you knew, deep down, that the man on that stand was never the brother you needed him to be.” Klavier’s throat betrays him with a strangled noise, and he rubs angrily at his eyes. Wright patiently waits for him to listen again. “I'm familiar with that voice you’ve got in your head- always telling you that you could’ve done something differently, that you could change the way that Kristoph Gavin turned out.”
Klavier sighs heavily and only ends up feeling foolish over his outburst. It’s not Phoenix Wright’s fault he can’t get a grip.
“If I had just been more aware, he would have never been able to use me as he did.”
Wright gives out a noise somewhere between a shout and a sigh, and for a moment Klavier thinks about running away before he explodes on the prosecutor- but when he looks up to face him, the look in Wright’s eyes is sorrowful and old. It’s not Klavier who the anger is aimed at.
“Kristoph should have never wanted to use you in the first place!” His reply is tired, in a way that conveys the definition of ‘enough’.
“I’m going to be brutally honest with you because you need to hear it. No matter how much you loved Kristoph, it wouldn't have changed anything. You didn't miss anything. It’s not your fault your brother was beyond saving, it’s his.” Klavier can only stare at him, because of course Phoenix Wright knows what to tell him, he’s had seven years to grapple with the feelings that Klavier has had for less than a month.
“I loved Kristoph Gavin too, still do. He helped me after my disbarment. He was beyond intelligent, interesting and encouraging, but that’s the version of him he wanted us to love, to make us dependent. That dependence is something that will always keep you and me up at night, thinking that we made a wrong turn along the way. But it’s not our job to save him. Kristoph Gavin was his own downfall and it is no one’s burden to shoulder. It’s not our responsibility.” Klavier will always feel bound to his brother, both through blood and their relationship, but he couldn’t stand to let him consume his life anymore. Klavier could finally take a breath outside of Kristoph’s command, and he was letting the opportunity slip with every one he wasted on trying to explain to his brother.
“You’ll kill yourself trying to figure him out, Klavier. Believe me, I’ve seen it.” Klavier feels his face crumpling at the defence attorney’s words, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stands uselessly deflating in the WAA corridor. He watches as Phoenix Wright opens his arm in question- Klavier collapses into him without even thinking about it.
He clutches onto the back of Phoenix’s shirt, burying his quickly dampening face into his shoulder as a hand rises to the back of his head. Klavier has no idea how long they stay there like that, quietly sobbing in the arms of another person, who really knows what it’s like to be a part of Kristoph’s game, and there is a solidarity in the way Phoenix’s hand circles his back slowly. I understand, it speaks without words, it’s okay, now.
Klavier hiccups in his attempts to take a slow breath in, and opens his mouth to speak, voice muffled from where his face is hidden against Phoenix’s arm. “I spent the entirety of my teen years waiting for life to begin. For Kristoph to tell me when it would start. I thought it was going to begin with you, that you would be disbarred and everything would fall into place.”
“Let it begin now, then. No one else can start it for you.” And no one else will. Klavier is tired of waiting for orders and directions for the life that he’s supposed to own. There's a sense of freedom in abandonment, and he can choose for himself exactly what that means. Maybe it even entails finally asking Apollo Justice on a date.
The Prosecutor opens his eyes to be greeted by black stains left behind on the other man’s shirt, and he stands straight in brief alarm, glancing back towards the mirror.
“Mein Gott, I have to go back out there with my eyeliner all over the place, you bastard.” He mutters in sarcastic irritation, bringing a careful finger to his swollen eyes. Phoenix barks out a laugh at him and counteracts any of Klavier’s attempts to build a semblance of his usual appearance by ruffling his hands through his hair.
Klavier scoffs with a small smile playing on his lips. He takes a step back from the other man and looks up at him, finally looking him in the eyes without the overwhelming urge to hide. “I’m glad you’re returning to the courtroom again, Herr Wright. I’d like the opportunity to beat you in court, once and for all.”
Phoenix’s hand rises to his chin. “Technically speaking, you're the only one who has actually beaten me so far.”
“Fairly,” Klavier gives a sure nod. “When I face you in court again, I want to go into it as me, not as some mimicry of my brother.”
Phoenix Wright smiles at him in a way that fills him with confidence, and Klavier wonders if this is what it feels like to be around him all the time- to feel like you’re the best possible version of yourself. The attorney pats his shoulder twice in succession, and it doesn’t feel nearly as distant as Klavier had anticipated.
Wright goes to leave but turns on his heel after a few steps. “Klavier?”
The man in question hums in recognition, turning away from where he was attempting to pull himself together in the mirror. “Yeah?
“Kristoph didn’t have freckles like you do.”
Oh. Phoenix Wright walks away as Klavier stares at himself, leaving him alone with his reflection. His eyes are drawn to the markings scattered across his face and he feels a unique sense of love for them that he had never considered before. A small detail of his features that so perfectly separates him from his brother. He brings a hand slowly to his own cheek and drags his fingers across them. The reflection that follows him is nobody else's. No cold eyes are watching him back.
When Klavier finally returns to the party, after in some way retaining his dignity alongside his makeup, the atmosphere has died down massively. Wright and Edgeworth are talking over their drinks, and Klavier spots Apollo glaring at them from across the room with Trucy chatting in his ear, clearly still lacking in an explanation. The Fey girls had managed to rope Ema and the strange thief from earlier into some kind of mobile game, the four of them huddled in a small circle on the floor. Apollo catches Klavier’s eye as he re-enters the room, and is quick to wave him over.
“Gavin? Everything okay?” He asks suspiciously, eyes darting between the prosecutor and his Boss. It’s something Klavier has come to enjoy about watching Apollo, that he can never keep his eyes in one place for very long. Right now, however, he’s finding it hard to enjoy the fact that Apollo is clearly studying his post-crying dishevelment, trying to put the pieces together like he would in a case.
“Ja, Ja. Great actually, Herr forehead. Why? Did you think your boss was planning on killing me somewhere so public?” He replies with a smile, moving to stand beside Trucy rather than in the middle of the room.
Apollo only groans in response, pulling up a chair and resting his elbows against the nearby table. “I don’t know why I even bother trying to be worried about you, anymore.”
“It’s sweet that you try.” Klavier coos in response, leaning in front of the defence attorney’s face.
Apollo is interrupted by Trucy grabbing onto Klavier’s arm, shaking him gently for his attention, and he is more than happy to oblige. “Prosecutor Gavin! I’m making a surprise card for Daddy, and I've got everybody’s signature but yours.” The request is obvious as she holds out a congratulatory card in front of his face. It’s an abhorrent shade of blue with enough glitter that Klavier knows it will be a pain to open, and it’s absolutely perfect. The front reads “Congratulations on your wedding Return!” corrected with glimmery gel pens, obviously. Klavier laughs at the cover and opens it to see a page full of well-wishes for Phoenix, as well as an empty space for a message of his own.
“Do you have a pen? The one I was giving out ran out of ink.” Trucy asks as she cranes her neck around the room, hoping one would magically appear before her. Klavier wouldn’t be shocked if one did.
“Ach.. hold on..” Klavier mutters as he begins to pat down his pockets, and to his surprise, there is a pen sitting unused in one of them. “Aha! I forgot this was in here..” In actuality, Klavier had no idea where the pen came from. It was beautifully made, with a purple body and gold accents, and a small charm in the shape of the Gavinner’s ‘G’ on the end, maybe it was a gift from a fan he forgot about?
Either way, he signed the card with a short message both thanking and congratulating Wright, and he scribbled a few stars to embellish his signature. It’s on the last star that Klavier realises a small amount of ink had begun leaking from the pen onto his hand, and tuts in annoyance as he hands the card back to Trucy. “That’s what I get for forgetting about you, hm?” He mumbles to himself.
The magician whisks the card away from him with a grin, looking inside and poking fun at Apollo for his unreadable handwriting, overexaggerating every word that’s difficult to read. He watches on with a smile at the two, It's not until Klavier glances back at his hands, and his eyes fall on his blemished and scratched skin around his fingers from his nail-biting habit, that he finally makes the connection.
The image of his graduation photo flashes through his mind, brief blips of Kristoph’s wide grin perfectly captured.
He’s aware of Apollo and Trucy in front of him but feels too far away to get a grip on them.
Klavier is seventeen in the photograph. He was seventeen when Kristoph gifted him a pen on the day that he passed the bar. The very same day that he had told Klavier that they already had a case lined up. The phrase ‘Plan B’ repeats in Klavier’s head, because of course Klavier knowing that it was Kistoph who tipped him off to the forgery was too damning. Of course, he had a path to deal with Klavier.
Why Now?! Is all that the prosecutor can think. Why after he had made peace with the fact that he wasn’t Kristoph’s priority? Why now, after he finally saw eye to eye with Phoenix Wright? It’s not fair. Not after he had finally resolved to leave Kristoph behind him. It’s not fair. He must have done something to upset God, for him to knock Klavier down only after he finally started climbing.
Kristoph had planned his death before Klavier was even a legal adult. If he ever needed a sign that his brother was beyond help, this was definitely the most extreme one. That photograph had been the one piece of evidence Klavier could clutch onto to prove that he ever even had a brother- and now Kristoph’s sweet smile that he pictured was malformed into a twisted grin. Klavier feels his throat burn and close and he has no idea if it was poison or a panic attack.
Fifteen minutes. He has fifteen minutes to get his head on straight and ask for help, but Klavier’s chest is aching and every breath he thinks about taking painfully blocks his throat. He begins curling in on himself, his hand clutching against his stomach, and he hopes the choked wheezes battling out from him is enough for someone to look his way. He registers falling against something solid, but can’t focus enough to place himself in the room.
“H-He..lp-!” Klavier’s voice croaks out in between panicked dry sobs, and he feels himself gagging as his lungs close in. There are unintelligible voices somewhere around him, simultaneously thunderous in his ears as well as impossibly quiet. A hand grips tightly against his shoulder, and he has no idea who it is but still finds himself leaning into it like a lifeline. The hand direct’s Klavier downwards until his head knocks against his knees, and he dimly realises that he has no idea when he even hit the ground.
“Breathe, Klavier. Don’t talk to me until you’re ready.” Apollo’s voice cuts through easily, but the words still barely fall on his ears. There’s no time for that. Klavier frantically searches out for the hand on his shoulder, seeking out anything that could bring him back to the ground again, but he gives up when he realises he could pass on the poison further. Vaguely, he registers that he has no idea where the pen itself has ended up and Klavier lurches forward, blinking harshly as he tries to zone in on where it had landed. Strong arms force him backwards, and he panics against them.
Multiple voices overlap above with some varying messages telling him not to move, and Klavier finds himself heaving again, shoulders shaking violently. How much time does he have?
“T..- pen... Kristoph’s..” Klavier struggles, unsure if he’s even speaking loud enough.
Apollo is beside him on his knees, and Klavier feels an urge that only comes with near death to tell him how beautiful he is. "Pen?" He questions with his stupidly beautiful face. Klavier thinks he might be losing it a little.
"What is he talking about? Is he alright?" The unfamiliar voice of Maya Fey sounds from somewhere else in the room, followed by a shocked sound from Trucy close by.
“Nobody touches that card!" Her father’s commanding voice is clear over the other voices of confusion, and he begins to control the offices like a courtroom. Klavier knows the panic is shaking up his priorities when he thinks about how he’s ruined an event centred on the man again. He really needed to get it together. He vaguely recognizes the pen as Wright kicks it across the floor away from the crowd, like a bug he didn’t want to spend the time catching. “Maya, poison kit under the sink. Edgeworth, ambulance. Gumshoe, Ema, call your department- tell them it’s about atroquinine.”
The voices sound again in a variety of different replies, some questioning the atroquinine, some asking about an evacuation, but none of them at the forefront of Klavier’s mind, as the only thing he finds himself hung up on is why does Phoenix Wright have a poison kit in his offices? And then, right after; Why didn’t Klavier think of getting a poison kit?
The motion of the room blurs around him, with only Apollo remaining steady above him, and then Edgeworth joining him as he answers a string of questions to paramedics. It had to have been only a few minutes when Klavier’s out-of-focus vision stopped from his panic attacks, and started actually being a symptom of poisoning. The light of his eyes began to be blotted out with black, and it became harder and harder to keep his eyes open, much to the dismay of the people around him. The weight of his head is heavy on his shoulders, and each time it begins to droop a new disturbance knocks and wakes him. Klavier can’t find the strength within him to speak, and each time he only offers a groan in response. The voices are an indiscernible blend of “I know, Stay awake, Only a little while longer, Stay with us” until they begin to trail away into silence, and he loses the battle to keep his eyes open.
Well, it’s what he asked for, isn’t it?
It feels almost comedic when Klavier comes to consciousness in a hospital room, staring up at a white ceiling. At least, it does after he’s done attempting to ignore the attacking light in his unadjusted eyes. The room itself is uncomfortably cold, or Klavier just has sweats and goosebumps for no reason. The other important feeling to note is pain. Each and every one of his muscles feel locked up and seized, and he finds himself stuck lying awake. At least it was giving him a chance to gather his bearings.
The worst part about waking up in the hospital is time. It’s like the architects perfectly plan to manifest liminal space, and it could’ve been anywhere from an hour to a month that Klavier was at the Wright Anything Agency. The events come flooding back to Klavier before he can anticipate them, and a knot of anxiety ties in his stomach. He’s alive, at least. Maybe.
Last Monday, all Klavier had been wishing for was a sign that his brother was who he wanted him to be- all he wanted was proof that Kristoph even knew he existed. And now…
Klavier knew Kristoph put the motions of murder into the hands of 12-year-old Vera Misham, but he was barely seventeen when he passed the bar- not even an adult. At that point, Klavier knew nothing of the Mishams, the Gramaryes, the Wrights, of Justice. He knew nothing and Kristoph had been just.. Waiting. What hurt was that it could have happened at any time. It was by pure chance that it took so long for Klavier to wear that cursed jacket again. Kristoph wanted Klavier dead before he was even 18. He was probably prepared to cover it up too. He wondered if Kristoph would have defended whatever poor soul got accused for Klavier’s death, maybe he would have thrown the trial, maybe he would have gotten Wright to be the defence. Because there was a chance, wasn’t there? That Klavier could’ve been dead before he even had a chance to face Phoenix Wright. Earlier this week, Klavier had wanted Kristoph to poison him solely to know he was important, yet all the evidence shows Kristoph didn’t care when he died at all. It didn’t matter if he died before or after disbarring Phoenix Wright, Kristoph Gavin would’ve done it anyway- Klavier was just a means to an end.
Kristoph had always wanted Klavier to follow him into a law career. In fact, he had been saying that since he was 15. Was that it? Was Klavier 15 when his brother decided he wanted him to die? Klavier had told Phoenix Wright that his brother used to be normal, that Kristoph Gavin hadn’t always been a monster and he could vouch for that. Now? Klavier wasn’t so sure.
There was something to it, though. That it really wasn’t Klavier’s fault what happened to the great defence attorney. Nothing Klavier did would have stopped his brother, it’s a hard pill to swallow, but in the long run, it’s good for him. Klavier will always be trapped in the thought of something he could’ve done that would have saved his brother, sure, but there’s peace in knowing it wasn’t his fault.
After a few minutes of lying uselessly in a hospital bed, his body finally begins to relax, and Klavier finds the strength in him to sit up and survey his room.
The first sight is a surprising but welcome one, as Apollo Justice is passed out cold, contorted to fit himself into a hospital chair. His head is precariously balanced on his knee, hair dishevelled and lightly drooling in his sleep. Beside him, a small table proudly displays a perfectly stacked tower of paper coffee cups, alongside a spread of strewn-out cards. It’s flattering that Apollo has been here long enough to both drink that much coffee and be stone-dead in his sleep.
Closer to the door, a much more well-rested-looking Miles Edgeworth is sitting with a leg crossed over the other. He hasn’t looked up to notice Klavier is awake and instead has his glasses perched halfway down his nose, reading a book in one hand, a red pen for annotations in the other. Every so often he scowls at the words on the page and scribbles on them with annoyance. Klavier spends some time brainstorming some funny one-liner to make about coming back from the dead, or his brother being bad at poisoning people, but he doesn’t have time to finalise the best one before the door begins to open again.
Phoenix Wright’s head reveals itself through the gap, dressed in a heavy coat and knitted scarf, and usual ugly beanie. In his hands he has a tray of hot drinks, but with clear labels and branding rather than the sad, beige hospital ones used to construct the pyramid. Edgeworth looks up at the sound of the door opening, and only then becomes aware of Klavier, sitting up and awake in the bed.
“Oh! He lives!” Wright chimes happily, holding out one of the cups for Edgeworth to take. At the sudden sound of voices, the sleeping figure on the other side of the room shoots to attention, rising with enough speed that it makes Klavier’s back hurt just to watch him. Apollo lets out a flurry of slurred words attempting to work out how long he had dozed off for, but in his fervour, his cup tower of boredom comes crashing to the floor in a comedically prolonged cacophony of sound.
Edgeworth tuts disappointedly at the both of them, shaking his head as he sets his book down in favour of the tea being handed to him. “Honestly, is volume part of the screening criteria when you’re looking for new agency members, Wright?” Phoenix looks away in a way that genuinely scares Klavier into thinking it might be.
At the end of the chaos, Apollo jumps into Klavier’s frame of view again, scanning Klavier up and down. If he’s honest, Apollo looks like he should be the one in the hospital with the way the bags are forming under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I really need to ask your boss where he gets poison kits from.”
“And you should. If we didn’t have those kinds of precautions on side so quickly, I dread to think that…” Edgeworth trails off on what they were all thinking, and Wright’s hand moves quickly to his shoulder. It was unsaid, but Klavier’s mind was stuck on it. He could’ve died. That was the easy part. The difficult part was that he didn’t want to.
If Klavier was alone when he used that pen, he knows he wouldn’t have called anyone. No ambulances, no professionals, and certainly not any of his friends. He would’ve laid there and let it take him, and when the detectives would find his body everyone would have gone “that seems about right,” and moved on. Klavier would have accepted that his brother would always get the better of him, and not tell a soul.
Now, as he sits in a hospital room, Klavier couldn’t have felt luckier to have survived.
“What day is it?” Klavier interjects the heavy silence.
“Sunday,” Apollo replies.
What a fucking week is the first thought he has. The second is, “Thank you.”
There is a collective chorus of ‘it’s okay’s and ‘no worries’s, but Klavier needs them to understand how actually grateful he is to them.
“No, really, I mean it. It’s important to me that you know. At the start of this week, I had resigned myself to death, not necessarily even my own. I just… didn’t care anymore, ja? I was lonely and I had this thought that... I believed I was gonna die lonely, too. One day Kristoph will catch up to me, or I'll stumble into another one of his plots and that would be it. I accepted that and..”
Klavier stares down at his hands and watches as a tear drops and splashes against his knuckle. In his pause, Wright passes a drink into his hands, it’s warm and smells disgustingly sugary- perfect. “Being around Kristoph makes you feel... Secondary, but he also made you feel important. Like you knew he was leagues better than you, but the fact that he kept you around must’ve meant something. He made me feel like that was what relationships were supposed to be, and then he was just.. Gone one day, and no one had shown me how to exist for myself- Scheiße.” Klavier curses to himself as his face dampens, and he finds himself laughing dryly as he scrubs at his face.
“And then I got stuck with all of you in my life and there was honestness to everything in a way that I don't think Kristoph would have mastered if he tried. I got so used to always looking for the ulterior motive in every action, I forgot that…” Klavier swallows hard. “Gott, isn’t that ridiculous? For me to forget that people can just be kind?”
Klavier stays frozen, staring down at the cup in his hands as he digests the silence of the others in the room. Silences around Kristoph were oppressive and deadly, they gave him too much room to think about what comes next, but here, Klavier felt safe in it. There are no words as Apollo wordlessly moves to sit beside him on the bed, and no words as he leans into him to wrap his arms around Klavier’s torso. They stay like that for a while, before Edgeworth rises to his feet.
“Since I have been your superior at the Prosecutor's offices, I have noticed nothing but a good and honest spirit in you, Klavier. Those values of yours will take you a long way as long as you allow others to come along with you. Off the record, I say this not as your boss, but as a friend, I’m proud to see how far you’ve come.” While Edgeworth had never been one for any type of physical support, his words do more than enough to bolster Klavier in a way no one has before. “I have already emailed you contact plans for a therapist I recommend. Please do not ignore it this time.” Klavier nods as Edgeworth begins to exit, and holds the door open for Wright to follow.
The man in question ruffles Klavier’s hair as he did at the party, and leaves him with a message to ‘get better soon,’ and that he ‘has to recover if you want to face me again,’ and a final ‘my office is always open for you.’ Klavier responds to him with a smile, before watching the pair of them exit the hospital room, not before Edgeworth warns him that he will not be allowed back at work without an adequate break. They leave speaking in hushed whispers as they go.
It was just the two of them, then. Klavier resolved that he had to get at least one good thing out of this god-forsaken week, and the threat that he could’ve died before getting to have dinner with Apollo Justice became all too real, all too fast.
“Are you going anywhere after this, Herr Justice?”
“So.. come here often?"
The pair of them bark out in surprised laughs at their in-sync thought processes and end up collapsing into each other further. Weirdly, Klavier thinks that he does have his brother to thank for at least this. At least Kristoph introduced him to someone as brilliant as Apollo. Maybe if Kristoph recognized how fantastic Apollo truly is, he wouldn’t have found him guilty of murder. Twice.
So, his brother trying to poison him almost a decade in advance wasn’t the best setup to ask him on a date, but neither was the concert with his criminal ex-best friend, and neither was waiting for another case to roll around. Trouble followed Apollo wherever he went, but Klavier would feel a hell of a lot better if they could both be on the side next time he found them. Better late than never, he tells himself.
“Do you want to get dinner with me after we get out of this place?”
“To be honest Gavin, it’s only like nine am, it’ll probably only be around lunch when they check you out.” Stupid hospital architects and their stupid liminal timeless hell building.
Klavier rolls his eyes, elbowing Apollo in the ribs from where he lays beside him. “Well, that leaves the perfect amount of time for you to go home and get a proper amount of sleep before I pick you up at… let’s say... Seven?” Smooth, Gavin. He tells himself, Still got it.
Apollo burns red suddenly and looks away from Klavier in annoyance. “Fine. Not because I want to or anything. Don’t start getting the wrong idea.” Klavier chokes out a laugh at him, forcibly pulling Apollo closer towards him.
“I’m sorry, was it not you who just asked me if I ‘come here often’ in a hospital?” Klavier teases, earning a string of grumbles from Apollo as he writhes free from the hug, muttering something about Klavier being insufferable. The defence attorney stands to leave with a sigh, pointedly ignoring Klavier’s question.
“I’ll see you at seven, Gavin.”
Klavier can’t stop the grin that rises on his face.
“It’s a date.”
Sender: [email protected]
CC: IMPORTANT. OPEN NOW.
Prosecutor Gavin,
My Daughter is having a very important show tonight. You will be there. Please come to my office after work and I shall drive you to the venue.
Many Thanks,
Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.
Sender: [email protected]
CC: Re: IMPORTANT. OPEN NOW.
in fear of my own life i will be there, and in the same vain please just send me the address i am terrified of you driving.
xoxo gavin
P.S. you’re on your personal email
P.P.S Will your other kid be there? bc last time i went out with Faraday she put all her drinks on my tab
(sent from my iPhone)