Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
The thought gnawed at him all night, stuck with him through his morning routine, and repeated in his head so many times before lunch that by the time he sat down to try and eat at his desk, it felt like someone was banging a sledgehammer against the insides of his temples. The harder he tried to ignore it, the louder and more stubborn it became until concentrating on anything else seemed downright impossible.
This was such a bad idea.
He threw himself into his work with all the determination he could muster – he still had hours to kill and there was plenty to be done, so dammit all, he was going to drown out the arrogant, insistent voice in his head with as much paperwork as he could find. It was monotonous work, the kind that Athena loved to groan about whenever she sat down to plow through it and that their boss tended to pawn off onto them whenever he could manage it, but it got the job done. The more intently he focused on the stack in front of him, the less he had to stop and think about the bundle of nerves tugging on the inside of his chest as the hours ticked down.
This was such a hugely, monumentally, horrible idea. And yet he didn't have it in him to give up and turn back, even when he paused with one foot over Ema Skye's office threshold.
“In or out, Justice,” she told him, eyes still locked on the computer in front of her and fingers flying at light speed over the keyboard. “This office is cramped enough as it is without you loitering and messing up the feng shui.”
He forced himself through the door and pulled it closed behind him. “Since when do you believe in feng shui?”
“I don't,” she insisted, finally closing her laptop and meeting his eye. “But I do what I can when I barely get any natural light.”
She had a point – spending too much time in an office situated in the basement of Criminal Affairs sounded depressing enough, nevermind the one-foot-long sliver of a window over her left shoulder that seemed to be the only connection to the outside world. For a moment, he remembered something Clay had told him once, about how Las Vegas casinos were built without windows, supposedly so that nobody realized just how much time they were wasting on the slots.
“So,” she sighed, arms folded in front of her on her desk as her fingernails knocked rhythmically on her scuffed laptop casing. “What do you want?”
He shrugged, fidgeting in the seat. “It's about...you know...what I talked to you about on the phone.”
Ema scoffed, studying her cuticles as she rested her cheek listlessly on the heel of her hand. “Yeah, I figured. But you were pretty damn vague. Said that you needed help finding someone, right? Someone from a long time ago? No leads.”
“Almost no leads,” Apollo corrected, fingers grazing against the bracelet resting on his wrist. “And I'll tell you the details. Just...do you know anyone who can help me or not?”
Ema took a breath, letting it out slow through her nose and leaning down to dig through one desk drawer, then another, then a third, until she finally straightened up again with a piece of paper in her hand. “I got a guy. Well, not a guy. I got a person.” She slid the paper across the desk, and Apollo was just barely able to make out a few digits of what he assumed was a phone number before Ema pulled it away again. “If you tell me what the hell it is you're so interested in finding.”
As if he could have gotten in and out without letting her know the truth.
He wasn't ashamed – that wasn't it. And there were far worse people that he could tell about his half-baked plan. But somehow the idea of saying it out loud just made it a little too real.
As unlikely as it was, there was still a distant possibility that this might actually work, and that was enough to make his head spin.
He sighed, slumping in his seat and weaving his fingers together over his knees. It was easier to stare down at them than it was to meet Ema's eye as he started to speak again: “If you promise not to spread it around, I'll tell you.”
“Please,” she said, smiling as she leaned back in her chair. “Do I look like a gossip?”
After a rather poignant pause, she muttered, “Don't answer that.” Another sigh. “I won't tell a soul, Apollo. If it's that important to you, I'll keep it under wraps. Just as long as you're not covering up anything too illegal.”
“I'm not covering up anything illegal,” he insisted. “It's just...sensitive. Personal, you know?”
“Did you get some girl pregnant in high school or something?”
“God, no.” He groaned, covering his face in his hands and spitting the words out, albeit muffled: “I want to find my parents.”
Ema sat in silence, blinking at him. “Your...parents?”
“Yeah,” he said, staring at a cracked tile underneath his shoe. “My parents. Or I guess...my mother. At least I know something about her, even if it isn't much.”
He ran his fingers along the intricate carvings around the outside of his bracelet, and when he dared to look up at Ema again, her expression had softened, if only slightly. She tapped her fingernails against her desk again, then slowly slid the paper over to him without another word.
“She's good,” she finally said after Apollo had pocketed it. “She doesn't seem like it at first, but she's really discreet. And won't charge you a cent if you tell her I sent you. She's an old friend of Edgeworth's – I'm sure she'll pull out all the stops to help out his husband's protégé.”
“Thanks,” Apollo forced, and he moved to stand, but Ema wasn't about to let him go that easily.
“Why the sudden interest?” she asked. “You know, if you don't mind me prying.”
He folded his arms and shrugged. “Honestly?” he said, “I'm still kinda trying to figure that out myself. I guess I just woke up one day and realized I wasn't as okay with not knowing as I thought I was.”
“Fair enough. Tell Kay I said hi, alright? And Apollo?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck with the whole...journey of self discovery thing.”
That got a laugh out of him at least. “Thanks,” he said again, and he let himself out before closing the door behind him.
“So let me get this straight...you're hiring a P.I.?”
Clay stared at him from where he was lying on his back over Apollo's desk, looking away to toss a Koosh ball straight up in the air with a deft flick of his wrist. He caught it a moment later, just as Apollo spun his chair around and said, “I'm not hiring a P.I. She's just...doing me a favor.”
Or he sure hoped she was – he hadn't exactly gotten up the nerve to call yet. It had only been a few hours, after all. “She's a friend of a friend, or something like that. Ema promised me she was the best person for the job.”
The ball sailed into the air again, and Clay caught it with one hand and squinted at it. “Do you think she's forgiven me for hitting on her at the Christmas party?”
“Who? Ema?” Apollo snorted. “She doesn't exactly hold grudges about stuff like that, but it was one hell of a first impression. Honestly, she probably thought it was funny.”
Clay grinned at him, madly. “You think?”
“Still doesn't mean you have a chance.”
Frowning, Clay tossed the ball again, letting it land in his palm another three times before he said, “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”
It was a question that Apollo was already tired of hearing after just two times, but he figured it was one he'd have to get used to answering none the less. “It's kinda hard to explain.”
“Is that code for 'drop it?'” Clay asked.
“It's code for 'it's complicated,'” Apollo told him, and he leaned back in his chair again. The office was empty, quiet – he was used to being the last one left to lock up at the end of the day. Preferred it that way, actually. The silence gave him time to think.
Sometimes that wasn't the best thing. It was probably what had led to this whole ordeal in the first place.
“You remember Safe Haven?” he asked, and Clay caught the ball in mid-air and held it in his hand.
“The old orphanage? Sure. It's the one you were...uh...”
“It's where I grew up,” Apollo finished for him. He held up his hand and Clay tossed him the Koosh ball. “Where my mom left me as a baby.” He tugged at one of the ball's many elastic appendages, letting it snap back into place with a faint cracking noise. “It's an apartment complex now.”
“Damn,” Clay breathed. “Really?”
Oddly enough, it made Apollo smile. “It's fine,” he insisted. “That's not why...I mean, I knew it was coming. I found out a little over a year ago. It's a little weird, kinda like moving to a new house and seeing other people living in it later. But that's not what made me want to find my parents.”
It was part of it, if he was being honest, but hardly the whole story.
“I guess I just...had a sort of epiphany. After you almost died a year ago -”
“Sorry about that," Clay said, dryly. "I know it must have been hard on you.”
“It was. And that's just it. I realized...you're kinda like the closest thing to family I've ever had.” He tossed the ball in the air himself now, and it arced awkwardly off to one side and landed next to the trash can. “Point is, I thought you were gonna die. I thought I was gonna lose my only family.”
He leaned down to pick up the ball with a small sigh. “It just got me thinking is all,” he said as he studied the red and yellow elastic curling over his fingers. “Maybe they are dead. And maybe they're not. I just can't stand not knowing. And the rest is just history, I guess.”
“I guess,” Clay said, staring at the ceiling until Apollo tossed him the ball. “So...does that mean if this all goes horribly wrong, you're blaming me?”
“Of course.”
“Damn.”
He tossed the ball once more, sending it up almost all the way to the ceiling before catching it in his waiting palm again.
They spent another half hour in relative silence after Apollo shooed him off of his desk so that he could finish the last of his work for the day. Clay leaned against the window sill instead, staring down at the street three stories below them. He didn't speak again until Apollo let out a sigh and tucked the last few sheets of finished paperwork into a manilla folder and stowed it away in his desk drawer.
“So,” Clay said, “When are you meeting her?”
“I haven't even called her yet.”
“Is she cute?”
Apollo groaned. “I've never met her. I don't know. And I'm not taking you with me if you're going to be flirting like an asshole the whole time.”
“Hey, I only flirt like a gentleman, thank you very much.”
That was just a boldface lie – Apollo didn't need his bracelet to tell him that.
“I'm calling her in the morning,” he said, as much as a promise to himself as it was to anyone else. “Before work. With any luck, I'll get to meet her before the end of the week.”
“You better,” Clay admonished. “If I get carted off to Alaska before I get to meet the woman who's going to solve the mystery of your genealogy, I'll never forgive myself.”
He just had to bring that up. “Poor you,” he chided with a little smile. “Hand-picked by the higher-ups at GYAXA to go through advanced training for a mission most space nerds would kill for.”
“I know,” Clay groaned. “My life is harder than anyone else's. I'm not even going to space for another two years, minimum. Which, you know, isn't that bad, considering the whole 'almost dying' thing really putting a damper on my career and all. But Alaska is so cold.”
“I hate to break it to you, but space is pretty damn cold too.”
“Which is why you have to promise to take me with you when you meet her. And keep me posted after I leave. It'll help keep me warm on the long, long Alaskan winter nights.”
Apollo shot him a smirk. “Are you talking about me potentially finding out who my parents are, or are you just excited that you might get to meet a pretty girl?”
Clay thought about that for a moment before shrugging. “Both,” he said, and he let his hand rest on Apollo's shoulder as they headed out of the office. “But you know, I'm proud of you for going for it, 'Pollo. Here's hoping it all works out. Hell, maybe you'll find out you're the son of some famous rock star or a king or something. You know, like in The Princess Diaries.”
“Are you planning on giving me a makeover?”
“Nah.” He grinned widely. “I love you, but you'll never be as hot as Anne Hathaway.”
“Fair enough.”
It wasn't easy, thinking about Clay being gone for six months, especially with everything else rushing through his head at a mile a minute. The paper Ema had given him was still in his pocket, and he kept his fingers pressed against the crease down its middle the entire walk home, thinking it over again and again.
Maybe his parents were long gone – dead or living halfway across the world. Or maybe they were two blocks away, eating dinner in a low-rise apartment. Hell, maybe he even had a sibling or two.
The thought of it made his head spin, and he put it from his mind so that he could manage to walk straight.
He was fine – the mantra had served him well for this wrong. No reason to stop living by it now.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Damn guys, I can't believe how much support I got here and on tumblr from just the first chapter. You all rock. :,)
Another important thing to note regarding canon plots - I never played AAI2. So all my knowledge about Kay is coming from Investigations 1 only.
God I love her so much.
Chapter Text
Apollo held his phone in one hand and the wrinkled sheet of paper in the other. The numbers were written in Ema's wide, hurried scrawl, easy enough to read, but harder to dial than he cared to admit.
The clock on his desk read 7:02, and part of him insisted that it was too early to call, but it was little more than an excuse. If she wasn't up, he'd leave a message – it amounted to the same thing in the end. Even if part of him anxiously hoped she wouldn't pick up.
Kay Faraday – the name was scratched messily over the top of the numbers on the paper. As a kid, he'd always imagined private investigators as shadow-cloaked figures that wandered foggy streets at night, cigarette held in their teeth, face obscured, long dark trench coat fanning out behind them with every step.
Clay had always told him he watched too many film noir movies.
The voice that answered when he finally managed to dial was nothing like what he was expecting – there was no menace, no gravel. It was a normal young woman's voice, energetic and warm and with a hint of an edge that made it sound like she was smiling as she talked: “This is Kay Faraday.”
An early riser by the sound of it. That, or very good at faking it. “Uh...” He held the receiver away from his mouth long enough to take a calming breath and try to slow down his heart. (Why am I so damn nervous?) “This is...Apollo Justice?”
It came out like a question, like he couldn't even be sure of that much anymore.
“Hey there, Apollo Justice,” Kay said. “I've heard that name around before, but I don't think I've ever had the pleasure.”
(What, am I famous now? God, I hope not...) “I'm a friend of Ema's,” he said with his next breath. “Ema Skye.” A beat. “She...said you might be able to help me.”
“Depends. Just what do you need help with?”
“I...” He cleared his throat, just to fill the silence as he gathered his will to answer. “I need you to help me find somebody.”
“Well you're in luck, Apollo Justice. That just so happens to be my specialty.”
“That's...what I heard, yeah.”
“So tell me, A.J. – can I call you A.J.?”
He hated A.J. “Uh...sure.”
“Great. Tell me, A.J., just who is it you're looking for? Cheating spouse? Stalker ex?”
“Nothing like that. It...it's my mother.”
God, it felt strange just saying the words out loud.
“Estranged?”
“Kinda...” Might as well tell her what she wanted to know. “She left me at an orphanage when I was a baby. I never actually met her.”
Kay was quiet a moment, then hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting...” she said. “Tell you what, A.J., you got my attention. Care to meet in person to dig into the dirty details? I like putting a face to the name. You're in L.A., right?”
“Last time I checked,” he quipped.
It got a laugh out of her. “I just got settled back here again. Stop by my office and we'll iron out the details in person. I prefer doing business face to face, if it's all the same.”
Why did it feel like he was setting up some kind of bizarre drug deal? “Sounds...fine. Can I come by this evening?”
“Sure thing, A.J.” she said. “And get ready for a lot of questions. Something like this can get pretty personal really quick. That gonna be a problem?”
He doubted he could afford to let it get to him. “None.”
“Perfect.”
Kay's base of operations was a twenty-minute drive from the office, but Clay hardly seemed to mind spending the gas. “So you're actually going through with it,” he said with a grin as they pulled away from the curb in his old Corolla. “Proud of you, 'Pollo. If it had been me, I probably wouldn't have had the guts.”
“So you think it was a bad idea?” Apollo asked him, still not entirely convinced that it wasn't.
“Nah. Just think you're braver than I am, is all.”
Apollo leaned back in the passenger's seat, pulling an empty water bottle out from where it had been digging into the small of his back and tossing it behind him. “Yet you're the one who seems dead-set on riding a giant explosion into space.”
“A controlled explosion, 'Pollo. And at least there isn't any traffic in space.”
There wasn't much else they could expect – it was rush hour after all.
They drove in silence until Apollo started to feel the urge to fidget, and he turned to watch the cars parked along the curb pass by and disappear in the cracked rear view mirror. “Honestly, though...do you think this is crazy?”
Clay thought on that a moment, then finally said, “A little...but then again, I'm the one training to ride a giant explosion into space.”
Apollo waited until they'd come to a stop at a red light and then elbowed him in the ribs.
The office hardly looked like anything special from the outside: a nondescript brick building wedged between two low-rise apartments. Clay looked from the door to his phone and back again after he'd parked out front, squinting in confusion. “You sure this is it?” he asked.
“Looks like it,” Apollo said – the numbers screwed over the door had dulled with age, but were still clear enough that he could make them out. “C'mon, I don't want to be late.”
“We're early,” Clay insisted, but Apollo was already ducking out of the car and heading for the frosted glass door.
It was hardly intimidating – nothing more than an innocuous little building in the light of day, but anxiety twisted in Apollo's gut anyway, and he gulped.
“Hey,” Clay said, hand brushing against his arm from behind. “You sure you want to do this?”
As nervous as he was, the answer was still obvious. “Yeah,” he said, and he opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
He took two steps inside and felt his foot catch on something seconds before landing face-first on the scuffed hard wood floor beyond the welcome mat. A moment after that, Clay drew in a ragged breath and cackled wildly.
At least his stung pride helped to distract him from his bruised knees.
“Are you okay?”
That wasn't Clay's voice – not surprising, considering his friend was still doubled over in the doorway. It was familiar, though, and he hauled himself up just in time to see a pair of denim-clad legs and a hand reaching down for him.
“Sorry,” said Kay, a placating smile stretching across her face, “I think I mentioned I was just moving in.”
Apollo looked back as Clay stepped over a box that had nudged its way into the threshold of the door. “You're Apollo, right?” Kay asked him. “Ema said to look for the guy with the horns, but I thought she was kidding.”
Maybe this was a sign. An omen. Like the universe was telling him to go home and forget this ever happened.
Instead of doing that, though, he took Kay's hand and let her haul him to his feet. She hardly seemed to mind – in fact, she made it look effortless. (Stronger than she looks,) he caught himself thinking.
So this was Kay Faraday. He wasn't sure how he'd pictured her when he'd spoken to her on the phone, but somehow the skinny, raven-haired woman who'd just helped him stand after he'd gotten so suddenly well-acquainted with her floorboards managed to surprise him. Her well-worn jeans were spotted with dust, a navy scarf draped loosely around her narrow shoulders, and her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that let several rebellious strands hang loose around her face.
She looked nothing like what he'd always pictured when he'd thought “private investigator.” No trench coat, no fedora, no sharp sneer, no ever-present fog of lingering cigarette smoke.
He was almost disappointed.
“Anyway, sorry about the mess,” she sighed. “New place and all that...” She pushed the offending box out of the way with the edge of one shoe, seeming less than concerned about whatever might have been in it. “So, who's this one?”
She was staring at Clay, who had a lopsided grin on his face and a gleam in his eye. Damn, Apollo knew that look all too well. “Clay Terran,” he said. “I'm the moral support.” He wrapped an arm firmly around Apollo's shoulders.
(You sure weren't all that supportive when I fell on my face a minute ago.)
“Figured he might need some muscle if it turned out you were some kind of creep. One of the perks of having an astronaut for a best friend.”
He beamed, but Apollo barely managed to hold back a groan. Kay studied the two of them, lips pursed and one eyebrow lazily arched. “You don't look like an astronaut,” she said after a moment.
He swore he'd never seen Clay's face go from playfully flirtatious to downright crestfallen so quickly. “Yeah well...you don't look like a private investigator,” he muttered.
If Kay was offended, she hardly showed it. In fact, she laughed. “Touché, Clay.” She nodded toward the door behind her, just beyond another stack of boxes and a couch piled with books and magazines. “C'mon, I've actually unpacked the other room. Well...close enough, anyway.” She turned, scarf flowing behind her as she shot an expectant glance over one shoulder. “We'll talk in my office.”
Apollo blinked, and a smile lit up her face again. “I always get a kick out of saying that.”
“God,” Clay breathed after she'd disappeared through the door, “she is cute.”
“Keep it in your pants, Casanova,” Apollo sighed.
The waiting area was sparse and cluttered, full of boxes and not much else with bare walls that somehow felt too close together. Kay's office was a different story entirely – there were no boxes to trip over here, and the walls were plastered with framed pictures and posters of movies that Apollo had never even heard of. One above her desk caught his eye right away.
“The Jammin' Ninja?” he read from the bold, metallic text across the bottom edge. “The old TV show?”
“Movie,” Kay corrected. “The show was great, but nothing will ever beat the original.”
Beside him, Clay made a small choking noise in the back of his throat.
“Anyway,” she continued as she dropped into her chair behind her desk and swiveled around to face them again. She gestured to a pair of plus black armchairs opposite her. “Go on, take a seat. We're here to talk about business, right? You didn't bring along Mr. Moral Support here to talk about old movies.”
He sank into the chair, tapping his fingers together against the arms to fill the silence as Kay pulled out a legal pad and a pen. “So,” she said, “Tell me what you're looking for, A.J.”
Clay choked back a laugh. “A.J.?”
Apollo ignored him. “It's kind of a long story,” he admitted.
“Well luckily you were early,” Kay said, leaning back in her seat and clicking her pen. “So we've got plenty of time.”
Somehow he doubted she had appointments lining up out the door after this, considering the state of the rest of the office, but it was a fair point none the less. He took a breath, bringing his hand to his bracelet and running his thumb over the carvings around its circumference as he spoke again: “I was left at an orphanage when I was a baby. My mom couldn't take care of me...wanted me to have a better life that she couldn't give me...You know, the usual story. I never knew her, or my dad for that matter. Never knew anything about my birth parents, and I never really cared until...”
Kay studied him a moment, then broke the silence: “Until suddenly you did?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said, glancing over at Clay. “Suddenly I did.”
“So you want to find them? Your birth parents?” She was writing as she spoke: scratchy shorthand that he doubted he could ever hope to decipher even if he got a better look.
“My mom, mostly,” he said. “She's the one who left me with this.”
He held up his wrist, letting the evening light streaming through the room's many windows glint off the metal. Kay's eyes widened, lips stretching into an awestruck O as she put down the legal pad and leaned over her desk. “Whoa,” she breathed. “Do you mind if I see that?”
“Uh...I don't...” He couldn't help but feel almost silly as he held his arm to his chest, fingers curling into a loose fist. “I don't really like to take it off.”
“Fair enough,” Kay mused. “Sentimental value and all. I get that.” Her own fingers traced the outline of the brooch on her scarf. (Some kind of bird?) he wondered as he studied it. It looked handmade, well-worn and lopsided in places. She smiled at him again. “You can keep it on if that makes you feel better. I'd just love to get a closer look.”
Clay was watching him carefully, like he was wondering what he'd do. (Am I suddenly that fascinating?) He supposed that it made sense; they were here to talk about his life, after all. He sighed and leaned forward, letting his arm rest on Kay's desk. Her eyes gleamed as she reached into her desk drawer, pulling out what looked like a jeweler's loupe and getting up close and personal with his bracelet.
“It's gorgeous,” she breathed, studying it closely, like she was trying to memorize every nook and cranny of the heirloom that he'd carried on his wrist for twenty-five years. “I'm guessing one of a kind?”
“As far as I know,” he said with a shrug. “Though I guess there might be other ones floating around somewhere. I've never seen another one though.”
“I've never seen anything like it,” Kay said, lifting his arm to get a better look at the underside. “And believe me, I've seen my fair share of rare stuff. Any engraving on the inside of it? What's it made of? You ever gotten it appraised?”
The rapid-fire questions made his head spin a bit – he pulled his hand back once Kay seemed to have had her fill of study. “None I've ever seen, no clue, and no.” After a moment, he muttered, “I think I'd rather sell a kidney before I sold this thing.”
It took him a moment to realize he'd said it out loud.
“Makes sense,” Kay mused. “It's probably worth a fortune. But you can't put a price on one of a kind.” Again, her fingers wandered to her brooch, just for a moment.
“Is it important?” Apollo asked. “The one of a kind thing. Not how much I could get for it at a pawn shop.”
“Well, if I saw someone walking down the street with another one of those, it'd definitely catch my interest,” she said. “But as far as tracing it...it's harder than you'd think unless I know more about where it came from.” She sighed. “As much as I'd love to figure out more about it, names are usually a better place to start. You said you were left at an orphanage. Why don't we start there?”
The light outside faded as they talked, and by the time Kay finally put down the legal pad for the last time, five pages scrawled with messy notes, the sun had almost completely set. “Well,” she said, “That's one hell of a start. You weren't kidding when you said it was a long story.”
“Sorry...”
“Please. I love a good story.” She smiled at him, standing and stretching. “And as far as I'm concerned, I'm ready to take it on.”
Something in his stomach flipped. Of course he'd known that nothing was final until Kay actually agreed to take him on, but now that she was...it was all becoming very real very quickly. “So...what now?” he asked.
“Well...normally, this is where we'd start talking terms. Decide on numbers, sign paperwork...and don't get me wrong, we'll have to do some of that anyway. But this isn't a normal case. I mean, you do work with a friend of mine. Or his husband, anyway. Point is, you don't have to worry about me sending you a bill. I'm doing this...what's the legal term? Something Latin?”
“Pro bono,” Apollo said out of habit.
“That's the one.” She grinned. “For the greater good.”
“How is this gonna work anyway?” Clay asked, and when Apollo looked back at him, he found his friend's expression had turned almost solemn. “How are you planning on tracking down someone who vanished off the face of the earth like that?”
“Nobody vanishes,” Kay said. “The group home might be gone, but there are plenty of paper trails to follow. People who worked there, people who lived there. All it takes is one right question for the right person to find another lead, and who knows where that could take us?”
He studied Clay's face as his friend turned something over in his mind. “What are you getting at?” Apollo asked him, and Clay fidgeted in his seat, staring at the poster behind Kay's desk.
“'Pollo...you ever think the reason she never turned up is because...because she...”
(Because she's dead?) Apollo finished in his head. Even as he thought it, he could practically see the memory replaying in Clay's mind of the night they'd first met. On one of the worst nights of Clay's life.
“If that's what turns up,” he said, “then at least I'll know.”
The silence that followed was heavy, and Clay broke it with a deep sigh. “I don't want you to think I'm trying to talk you out of it. Hell, I think it's great you're trying to find all this out. I guess I just...” He paused, fingers digging into his sleeves, eyes still locked on the corner of Kay's desk instead of meeting either one of their gazes. “I just don't want you to get hurt is all.”
He smiled again, even if it seemed forced. “Especially since I might be too busy freezing to give you a pep talk.”
Apollo felt a smile of his own tugging at his lips. “You do care,” he cooed, and Clay's grin was back full-force again.
“Of course I care, babo. Come on, don't embarrass me in front of her-”
(And he's back.)
Kay was laughing, arms folded over her desk as she watched the exchange. “So, what do you think, A.J.?” she asked. “Are we going through with this?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said, and this time, he felt like he meant it. “I want to do it.”
He stood, holding out his hand and meeting Kay's eye as she took it. She grinned at him, giving it a firm shake. “We're in business, then, Apollo Justice.”
The moment they got back to the car, Clay collapsed into the driver's seat with a deep sigh. "The Jammin' Ninja," he groaned. "I find the one other person in the world who likes the Jammin' Ninja, and it's right when I'm about to disappear off the face of the earth for six months."
"Sorry," Apollo chided. "I would have let you talk more, but I guess I kinda got off-topic with the whole 'finding my parents' thing."
Clay chuckled as he turned the key in the ignition. "How dare you," he said. "God, it's all getting so...real, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Apollo leaned back in his seat, staring at the windshield.
"I mean, you might actually find your birth parents."
"I know."
"So..." Clay waited a moment, turning the words over in his head before he asked, "Do you think you'll want to meet her. You know, if Kay does manage to find your mom?"
He wished he had an answer to that. All he managed was a shrug. "No clue," he admitted, and he turned to Clay with a sly little grin. "But hey, if nothing else, maybe when you get back from your deep-freeze, you can ask Kay out to dinner."
That got Clay laughing as they pulled onto the street and headed home. "The Jammin' Ninja, 'Pollo! I swear I think my life flashed before my eyes."
Chapter Text
“So-” Ema patted Apollo on the shoulder, sipping her coffee to fill the pause as she sat beside him. “What did you think of the great Kay Faraday?”
It had become their weekly routine – Friday coffee at the crack of dawn. If nothing else, it was a good excuse to get his caffeine fix somewhere other than the Agency coffee maker that only worked half the time and churned out what could only be described as “vaguely coffee scented swamp water,” as Athena had so eloquently put it. And getting the chance to talk to Ema outside the office was oddly refreshing.
She was a surprisingly lively conversation partner outside the walls of the C.A.D.
“She's...something,” he admitted, staring at his macchiato as the layers of cream and coffee slowly blended together with every halfhearted swirl of his straw. “She agreed to help, so that's a start.”
“Of course she agreed. She's helping out a friend of a friend. She's not heartless. Besides, she just moved back here – it's not like she's swimming in clients just yet.”
“She's not even charging me.”
“I told you. Not heartless.” She met his eye, staring him down intently. “Don't you dare let your conscience start eating at you, Justice.”
“I'm not. Cut me some slack, will you? This is all kind of new to me.”
“What? The P.I. thing or the sudden interest in your birth parents thing?”
“Both.”
She shrugged. “Fair enough.”
His conscience was hardly the problem – it was his nerves that were causing him trouble lately. Caffeine was sounded like less and less of an appealing idea, as frayed as they were, and Ema noticed almost immediately. “Swearing off overpriced coffee now, Justice?”
“No,” he insisted, and he brought it to his lips to prove a point – he'd paid good money for it after all, and he wasn't about to waste it, anxiety notwithstanding.
Ema sighed, leaning back against the arm of the wide sofa and staring at him. “You're nervous,” she said. “I don't need that fancy bracelet of yours to tell me that much.”
He glanced down at it, then back up at her. He was tempted to lie, to insist that he was fine, and Clay would have no-doubt said the same thing to try and pep him up. But his mantra felt out of place here – he'd always hated lying to Ema.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked instead.
“Kinda, yeah.” She leaned toward him again, expression softening barely enough to catch his notice. “What is it? Are you worried she's not gonna be able to find anything? Because she's good, Apollo. Disorganized sometimes, but good.”
“I think...” He pondered it for a moment more, slowly rotating his bracelet around his wrist as he stared out the window. “I think I'm more afraid that she will find something.”
Ema went quiet again, a pause stretching between them until she finally breathed, “Shit.” She sipped her coffee, leaned back on the overused cushions, and propped her legs up on the coffee table in front of them. “Guess I never really thought of that.”
He hadn't either. Not really – not until this whole thing had suddenly gone from a distant fantasy to something very real. He'd gone his whole life not knowing. It was familiar, what he was used to. But suddenly having a name, a face, a person who was half of him was so outlandish and strange that it made his gut twist uncomfortably.
“Plenty of people know their parents,” he said, as much to himself as it was to Ema. “They seem to get along just fine.”
“Most people don't meet them in their twenties,” Ema pointed out. “You know, you can call this whole thing off any time if you really want to.”
There was no bite in her voice, no sarcasm under those words. Her tone was almost warm, and somehow it made him feel better. “I don't,” he said. “I want to know. I just don't know what I'm gonna do if...”
After a beat, Ema carefully said, “If you find out she's...you know...gone?”
It wasn't like her to choose her words so carefully. He put his drink down on the table, folding his hands in his lap. “No,” he said, “If she's alive.”
Paperwork seemed even more mundane than usual compared to all the thoughts racing through his head, but it quickly became a welcome distraction. It kept him from ruminating too badly on the idea of Kay pouring her time and resources into finding someone who he'd hadn't seen since he'd been too young to hold his own head up, let alone remember a face or a name. He was glad to have something else to keep his mind occupied, even if filling out tax forms and writing up case reports was nowhere near as entertaining as Trucy's magic tricks, or even his boss's horrendously corny jokes.
He almost missed those. Almost.
The office was almost quiet without either of the Wrights around. It would have been lonely, if it weren't for Athena sitting not four feet away from his desk, eyes locked intently on the playing cards fanned out in her hands.
Prosecutor Blackquill was hardly intimated by the fire in her eyes, calmly studying his own cards as Athena's eyes narrowed. Finally, he placed his cards down on the table, face up, and cooly said, “Gin.”
“What?”
And everyone called him the loud one.
“How many games does that make?” Apollo asked her.
“Three,” Blackquill replied. “Today.”
Athena groaned. “Can't I win just once?”
“Have you forgotten you played your first game of Gin Rummy two days ago?” Blackquill reminded her, a smirk slipping onto his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch cushions. “You are improving, Athena.”
“Not fast enough,” she pouted. She gathered the cards and stacked them neatly. “I still think poker is better, but the only one who'll play with me is Trucy, and I can't even win against her.”
“You know she's been playing that game since she was nine, right?” Apollo told her.
“All the more reason she's a great practice partner.” She sighed as she stood, planting her hands on Apollo's desk and studying the stack of papers in front of him. “I guess I ought to help you with this, since someone-” She glanced back at Blackquill. “-probably won't be giving up his Gin Rummy champion title to me anytime soon.”
“You did insist I not go easy on you,” Blackquill pointed out.
“Just let me nurse my wounded pride in peace.”
He shrugged, flipping through the stack still waiting on his desk. Most of it was simple – organizing case reports was mind-numbing work, but it was hardly difficult. Still, there was more than enough to do with their boss away. “There's not too much to do, really,” he said.
“Don't lie,” Athena chided. “That's two days worth of case reports, easy. What are you worried I'm somehow going to mess up filing? I know the boss's system is weird, but I've had it down pat since the third week I was here.”
“It's not that,” he insisted. “I just don't mind it is all. I kind of like it.”
“I still don't get it. Nobody likes paperwork.”
“I do.”
“C'mon, give me something,” she groaned. “It's dead around here with Mr. Wright off honeymooning in Cabo.”
“They're in Prague,” Blackquill said.
“Prague, then. Point is I'm bored. I'd welcome something to do, even if it is just alphabetizing case files.” She eyed him carefully. “I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to pawn off some of this grunt work on your junior partner. Is everything okay?”
It was a loaded question – not that Athena meant it that way, but it was hard for it not to be when the person asking had ears that sensitive. “Fine,” he insisted, and he offered a smile along with it to try and get the point home.
Athena's brow furrowed, and she frowned. (Uh-oh.)
“You sure?” she asked. “You sound tense.”
His bracelet had told him that plenty already, even if he hardly needed it to know that he was being followed by a stubborn cloud of anxiety. He opened his mouth to answer, but Athena interrupted him. “No. No, don't tell me. It's none of my business.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“I'm trying to be better about the whole psycho-analysis thing. You know, less...intrusive.”
“Quite admirable of you,” Blackquill said with a little smile.
“I know, right?” she beamed, and then cleared her throat. “Anyway, forget it. Let me just...help you with this paperwork.”
“Y-yeah, okay.”
“Suppose I should make myself scarce, then,” Blackquill said as he stood and pocketed the deck of cards before heading for the door. “Our fearless leader may be absent for the time being, but that hardly means I can take an impromptu vacation. Apologies, Athena, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow to taste defeat at my hands again.”
“You wish,” Athena growled. “You're going down next time.”
“Perhaps,” Blackquill relented, then smirked. “I suppose there's a chance if we switch from Gin Rummy to Go Fish.”
He made a quick exit before Athena could get another word in, and Apollo forced back a laugh as she turned toward him again, silently fuming. “Smug,” she muttered. “Anyway, c'mon. Give me my share of the work. Case file me.”
He handed her a stack with a little smile. He'd almost gotten used to having Blackquill around – he and Athena were as good a distraction as any mundane filing work.
They worked in silence for a while, Athena busying herself organizing files and Apollo reading over reports as he tried not to let his mind wander. It worked, for the most part, but every time he caught himself thinking about Kay and what she was doing, he couldn't keep in a sigh. And he didn't miss the way Athena tensed every time he let out a frustrated breath.
“Hey,” he finally said, and she turned. “I uh...I appreciate the whole 'respecting boundaries' thing, but I can tell you're just itching to ask.”
“Ask what?” she asked.
She was trying so damn hard. It made him smile. “Ask what's bothering me. And yeah, something is, but you knew that already.”
She slumped back against the filing cabinet, pushing it closed and sighing. “Am I that bad at acting like I can't tell?”
“It's the thought that counts,” he said with a shrug. “And I wouldn't worry too much about it. You're not exactly the only one who has trouble ignoring that kind of thing.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk, bracelet glinting in the light as he did. Athena glanced down at it, then back up at him, and let a tired little smile slip onto her face. “I think I already know what's going on,” she admitted. “I uh...talked to Clay before you two went to lunch the other day.”
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Clay and his big mouth were going to be the end of him.
“He's leaving next week, right?” Athena said. “That special training thing? Six months is a long time.”
“Oh...oh. Uh...yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Hey, don't sweat it, okay?” she said with a wide, reassuring smile. “It'll go by before you know it. And this isn't the dark ages, you know? A few hundred miles is nothing when you have a good internet connection.”
“More like a few thousand. But you have a good point.” He smiled back at her – it was a genuine one this time. “Thanks.”
“No problem. And hey, with all this paperwork you probably won't even have time to miss him too much anyway.”
That was the idea, more or less.
She grinned at him. “And if you ever get lonely or anything, you can always join Simon and me for lunch one of these days. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”
“I'll let you enjoy his company, thanks.” Then again, Blackquill's dry sense of humor had almost started to grow on him. “But I might take you up on that...if he keeps that hawk of his at home.”
“You know, Taka's actually kind of sweet once he warms up to you.”
Whatever that entailed, Apollo didn't want to know.
He walked that evening instead of taking a ride from Clay – it was a quiet night out, and he liked having the alone time as he made his way down the three blocks from the office to the library. It was earlier than usual, but that was hardly surprising given how slow they'd been, even splitting the work of three lawyers between himself and Athena.
He could have spent more time in the office, distracting himself with busywork if he'd wanted, but he had more important things to do.
Sometimes the idea of going home to an empty apartment was refreshing – after a busy day full of difficult clients and mind-numbing paperwork, there were few things that felt better than flopping onto his own couch and enjoying the silence. But with all the thoughts running rampant through his brain the past few days, he was happy to know he had someone to fill the silence, even if it was only until his boss got back.
Trucy wasn't hard to find, huddled in a carrel desk in the back corner, behind the periodicals. Her books were stacked at her feet, laptop open in front of her with a nearly blank document pulled up on the screen. She was resting her cheek listlessly on the heel of her hand, knee bouncing rhythmically to whatever was filtering through her ear buds.
Carefully, he pulled one out and asked, “What are you working on now?”
Her smile faded almost the second the words left his mouth, and she sighed, “Application essay.” She glanced at the screen where the cursor blinked listlessly at the top of the page, like it was mocking her. “Or that's what it's going to be. You know, once I actually manage to start.” She shut her laptop, shoulders drooping. “I've got a few weeks before the deadline, but I can't even figure out what I'm supposed to write.”
He remembered those days – college and law school applications that demanded statements of purpose and application essays with vague, open-ended prompts. As if it was so simple to know a person from two single-spaced pages in Times New Roman.
He hardly missed them. He doubted anyone did.
“Do you want any help?” he asked – it was the first thing to come to his mind.
“Nothing to help with yet,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, papa said he'd help me with it when he got back.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Papa?”
“Well I can't keep calling him 'Uncle Miles,' can I? Not now that it's all official. And I can't exactly call both of them 'dad.' That'd just be confusing.” She gathered her things and grinned up at him. “So what are we having for dinner?”
“I think I have a frozen pizza.”
“You think?” Trucy said. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Polly.”
“Well look at you and your strong moral compass,” he quipped with a little smile. “Relax. It's double pepperoni. I think I can keep track of what's in my own fridge.”
“Alright! Friday pizza night!”
The silver-haired librarian emerged from between the shelves, manicured finger pressed harshly to her red-stained lips. Then came the predictable, “Ssshhhhhh.”
“C'mon,” Apollo whispered, “Let's get out of here before we get kicked out.”
“Please, like I've ever been kicked out of anywhere.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she pouted indignantly as she pulled her backpack on. “Okay, it was one time. Geez, you just don't know how to let things go, do you?”
Chapter 4
Notes:
Sorry about the wait! This week is hell - I start classes next week, which includes starting to write my Masters' thesis in earnest, so thanks for being patient. :)
Chapter Text
Apollo had been in LAX twice in his life – both times had been with Clay, and both times he'd regretted it the second he'd stepped through the doors. The place was massive, crowded, and loud, no matter how ungodly early in the morning it was.
They made it to the security gate with time to spare, and Clay lingered by the doors with his hands tucked in his pockets. “Well,” he said, “Guess this is it, huh?”
He smiled as he said it, but his voice was heavy, and he stared at the scuffed floor under his shoes the whole time. “Six months isn't that long.” Apollo offered with a shrug.
“Oh come on, just admit you're gonna miss me.”
Apollo tried to match that grin, but it didn't quite come – Clay's was already starting to fade. “There's always Skype,” Apollo said. “GYAXA doesn't have too much of a stick up its ass to let you do that, right?”
Clay's laugh sounded forced, but at least he tried. “Please...it's Alaska, not the moon.” He paused, shuffled, and bit his lip. “Ah...so, hey 'Pollo, I-”
He was taking too damn long, so Apollo threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly before he could ramble any longer. He'd always hated goodbyes, but Clay was just plain bad at them. It took him a solid ten seconds to finally relent and hug Apollo back, sighing as he did. “I knew you were gonna miss me,” he muttered.
“Shut up,” Apollo insisted, eyes burning. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You worry too much,” Clay said.
He might have been right, but that didn't make it any easier. Despite everything, though, Apollo wasn't about to break down and cry here in the airport, even if he did feel tears welling up in his eyes as he hugged Clay more tightly. “Fine,” he finally muttered against Clay's shoulder, “I'm gonna miss you.”
“I knew it.”
Apollo finally pulled away, shoving his hands into his pockets and hoping that his eyes weren't as red as they felt. “C'mon,” he forced, “You're gonna miss your flight.”
“I've got plenty of time.” Clay bumped a closed fist lightly against Apollo's shoulder. “But security is a nightmare.” He looked over at the doors, then back at Apollo again. “You know, I...I can't help feeling this is all happening at the worst time.”
Apollo blinked. “What do you mean?”
“All of it. You're trying to find your parents. And here I am packing up and flying off to Alaska of all places.” He sighed, pushing his unruly hair from his face as he stared at the ground. “It makes a guy feel like kind of a shitty friend, you know?”
It made Apollo's heart drop. “Clay...you don't-”
“I know, I know. Shibal, I know. I mean, it's not like I can tell GYAXA to shove it just so I can stay here. It's not like I want to. But...'Pollo, just promise me you'll tell me how it goes, okay? And if you find anything, or you need to talk to somebody...” He let out a sigh that shuddered through his entire body. “Ah...I sound like an idiot when I get all over-emotional.”
Despite everything, Apollo found himself smiling. “Yeah,” he said. “You kinda do.”
“Tell me everything,” Clay insisted. “If Kay finds anything-”
“You'll know every dirty detail.” It was his turn to reach out and weakly press his fist to Clay's arm. “Go, already. Let me know when you land.”
He hated goodbyes – long goodbyes were even worse. Clay shot him a smile over his shoulder as he turned to go and quickly disappeared beyond the doors to airport security.
The car was still waiting for him at the curb when he stepped out into onto the sidewalk, and he slipped into the passenger's seat without a word.
“So,” Klavier said as he pulled off his sunglasses and shifted into drive, “See him off?”
Apollo shrugged. “Best I could.” He hoped his irritated eyes weren't obvious – he'd managed not to cry in front of Clay, and he wasn't about to break down now. “Thanks for driving. I know it's early.”
“Least I could do. I guess I should be thanking you for letting me wait in the car. Wouldn't have wanted any unnecessary attention to take away from your tearful goodbyes, ja?”
Klavier shot him a grin, sunglasses gleaming on the crown of his head in the early morning sunlight. Clay probably would have found it hilarious, trying to get in their farewells while Klavier was surrounded by a throng of screaming fans. Whether it would have made it easier or not, Apollo couldn't even begin to decide, but it sure wouldn't have been boring.
It was probably for the best that Klavier had stayed behind with his sunglasses and tinted windows. Not that a white Jaguar was all that low-profile, anyway.
“You going to be alright?”
Klavier's voice was almost uncharacteristically gentle, and it was only after he asked that Apollo realized he'd been staring out the window watching traffic roll by ever since they'd made it onto the highway. If that wasn't the picture of forlorn, he didn't know what was. “I'm fine,” he insisted, but he regretted it when the words stung coming out. “Six months isn't that long anyway.”
It was the second time he'd said it that day, and he still couldn't quite get himself to believe it.
“Ach, but absence only makes the-”
“Say 'the heart grow fonder,' and I'm gonna hurl myself out of this car.”
Klavier laughed so hard that his hair fell into his face, and he reached up to brush it away. “Fine, fine. Forgive me, Forehead – I'm still a songwriter at heart.”
He doubted he'd ever forget that.
One long pause later, Klavier spoke again: “It's hard, being so far from people you care about.”
He'd said something similar when Clay had been in a coma almost a year before, huddled up next to him in a hospital waiting room quietly holding a box of tissues that Apollo had never reached for. The memory flashed through his mind and passed a quickly as it had come, but it left his stomach almost achingly tight and empty. The last thing he wanted was for it to show on his face, so he forced a smile instead. “That's what Skype is for, right?”
“Ja,” Klavier said, “It's a beautiful thing.”
They rode in silence for a good ten miles, but the quiet was comfortable. Music played softly over the speakers, Klavier's fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel to the beat. The longer it went on, the more Apollo felt the need to fidget – with Clay gone, everything about the search for his mother was between him, Ema and Kay, and it suddenly felt like too heavy of a burden to bear.
He didn't want to tell Athena – not that he didn't trust her, but she was bound to have questions, and he didn't have the energy to keep up with them all. Phoenix was off on his honeymoon, and Apollo doubted he or the Chief Prosecutor needed to know anything about his hypothetical parents. He certainly wasn't about to burden Trucy with it when she had so much on her plate already.
That left Klavier, a person he knew he could trust. So he took a deep breath, kept his gaze out the window, and said, “Ema's helping me find my parents.”
Klavier nearly swerved into the other lane with how quickly he whipped his head around to face him before steadying the car again. “Gott, what?”
Maybe that wasn't the best way for him to bring it up. “It's a long story,” he sighed. “She has a friend who's a private investigator-”
“You're looking for your parents?”
It was like he was convinced that he'd misheard the first time.
“Y...yeah,” Apollo said.
Klavier kept his eyes on the road, but a moment later, a huge smile spread across his face. “Forehead...Apollo, that's...fantastisch. Your parents...” He let out a breathy laugh, full of disbelief. “Why the sudden interest? And why are you telling me?”
“Why wouldn't I tell you?”
“You're not the kind of person to broadcast your personal life, Forehead. I didn't even know you were left-handed until two months ago.”
Why was everyone always surprised by that?
“I just got curious," Apollo said. "Wouldn't you be?”
Klavier shrugged, looking thoughtful. “I suppose.”
“And I doubt all that much is gonna come of it anyway.”
“Hä? What makes you say that?”
Apollo managed a chuckle, though it came out sounding bitter. “It's not like I'm expecting Kay to show up on my doorstep with an envelope that's gonna answer all my questions or anything. Maybe I'll get a name, maybe an obituary or something.” He sank back into the plush seat. “I'm just not getting my hopes up much.”
“It's not like you to be so cynical, Forehead,” Klavier chided.
“It's not cynicism – I'm just trying to be realistic.”
“Nein, nein, I know you. You're far from a cynic, but you wouldn't have set out to do this if you didn't think anything would come of it.” He smiled, turning away from the road just for a moment to catch Apollo's eye. “It takes a lot of bravery to do something like that, Apollo.”
He probably could have counted on both hands the number of times Klavier had actually used his first name. At least it felt that way, and the way he said it now actually managed to settle his nerves, if only slightly “It's just a healthy curiosity.”
“Ja, but you can be brave and curious.” He considered it a moment, before gesturing insistently at the glove box. “Those would make some good lyrics, actually. Write that down for me before I forget, Forehead.”
Apollo dutifully reached inside and pulled out the note pad that Klavier always kept tucked in there. It was already scrawled with more lines and phrases than he could count, and he added the latest to the list. “Have you actually written any of these songs yet?”
“These things take time,” Klavier told him. “You can't rush art, you know.”
He had a point, but Apollo couldn't dwell on Klavier's words of wisdom – he was too busy staring at his phone, where one new text message notification lit up his screen. It was from Kay, and as short as it was, it made his chest clench:
Found some info – give me a call.
Kay was waiting for him in her office when he got there at seven. He'd practically been able to hear her grinning when she'd greeted him over the phone a half an hour before. “I didn't think you'd be awake!” she'd told him with a laugh, though to be fair, he'd been thinking the same thing about her.
And yet, here they were.
“It's not much,” she said as she handed him a mug of coffee, which he happily accepted and sipped without bothering to add cream. “I hope I didn't get your hopes up too high. I'm good, but I'm not omniscient.”
“I wasn't even expecting this much,” he admitted.
She sat on the edge of her desk with her own mug in hand. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, A.J.”
“No, I meant-” He grimaced. “You know, this fast.”
“Relax – I'm not offended that easily. And you're right, this kind of thing takes time.”
(She's the second person to say something like that to me today, and it's not even eight A.M. What are the odds?)
“Anyway,” she sighed, “down to business. The old orphanage where you were abandoned was demolished to make room for an apartment complex about seven years ago, but all the employment records are there. I did some digging and managed to find the names of some of the people who worked there around the time you were left at Safe Haven.” She rested a clipboard on her lap, neatly curling the papers fastened to it over the top as she read. "After that I managed to cross-reference those records with a few police reports.”
“Police reports?”
“Child abandonment is a crime,” she said with a shrug. “They've really cracked down on it the last few years, but this was over two decades ago. And I hate to say it, A.J., but it's not exactly all that rare.”
She frowned, standing from the edge of her desk and flipping through a few leaves of paper until she found what she was looking for. “There was never a formal investigation. There was nothing to go on. But a woman working the night you were left there gave a statement, and the people down at Criminal Affairs are nothing if not meticulous when it comes to record keeping.”
“How did you even-”
“If you're gonna ask me how I got access to police records, you're just gonna have to trust me,” she said with a sly grin. “I have friends in a lot of places, A.J. But don't worry, I haven't done anything illegal. Just worked a few connections.”
He decided not to probe any further – it really wasn't why he was here anyway.
“Where are you going with this?” he asked instead.
Kay's face lit up, eyes gleaming. “That's why I called you.” She dropped the clip board in Apollo's lap, and he stared down at the page facing him. “Or she's why I called you,” Kay said, pointing at the name over the transcript of the statement given to police over two decades prior. “Niusha Madani. She was-”
“I know her.”
Kay blinked at him. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” he said, "I knew her when I was a kid."
A strange feeling stirred in him – somewhere between shock and nostalgia. He hadn't heard that name in years, hadn't thought about her in nearly as long. But her face was as clear in his memory as ever, right down to the head scarf she'd worn every day she set foot in that home: midnight blue and dotted with silver stars.
He caught himself smiling. “I guess it's a happy memory?” Kay asked.
“I guess,” he relented. “She was always...well, I guess she was my favorite.” He sighed, slumping in the chair and putting the clip board on her desk again, arms crossed over his knee. “She always listened to me. Kids are always asking questions in orphanages, you know? When you get old enough, you start to wonder why you don't have a mom or dad.”
He stared at the potted plant in the corner, but caught a glimpse of Kay's solemn, thoughtful expression as she listened, leaning against the corner of her desk with her arms crossed. Her thumb brushed absently against the brooch on her collar.
“She had this way of talking,” he mused with a little smile. “Every time I'd ask her about my parents, about why they left me...every time I asked her if they loved me, she said the same thing. That she knew my mom loved me to the moon and back.” He let out a tiny laugh before he realized it. “Those were always her exact words. To the moon and back. I always thought it was weird, but that was just how she talked. I kinda liked it, honestly.”
He looked up at Kay, snapping out of his nostalgia. “What did she say?” he asked, “In the report, I mean?”
Kay picked up the clip board again. “Not much,” she admitted. “I told you, there wasn't much to go on. But I called you for a reason, A.J., because this woman – Niusha – she's the one your mom left you with.”
He stared at her, forcing his mouth closed again when he realized it was hanging open, confusion pinching his brow. “Left me with?”
“Yep,” Kay said. “Gave you right to her, according to this.”
“So...Niusha...she actually saw my mom?”
“And gave a description of her,” Kay added with a smile. “It's not a whole lot, but I figured it might help. You know, putting a face on the mystery and all that.”
Now his jaw was definitely hanging – he couldn't help it.
He'd always pictured things one way, with some faceless woman leaving him on the stairs of an orphanage in the dead of night. Sometimes the details changed – sometimes it was raining, and other times it was clear and warm. But the one thing that never changed was the fact that he was never put into another person's arms, just left on the brick stairs leading up to the orphanage's front entrance.
“Brown hair,” Kay quiet read off the clipboard, breaking Apollo out of his own thoughts. “Slim, pale...didn't stand out much from the sound of it. At least not according to this.”
“Could be a thousand people,” Apollo said.
“You make it sound like this is where the buck stops,” Kay told him with a grin. “It's not over, A.J. I don't stop until the job is done.”
Something about that smile was comforting.
Chapter 5
Notes:
This took way longer than I wanted it to, but I've been busy as hell, and AA6 is calling my name. I promised myself I would get this chapter done and posted before I played it, so here you go. :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Apollo didn't sleep well that night.
It was hardly surprising, all things considered – as hard as he tried, he just couldn't get his brain to shut down long enough for him to drift off, no matter how tired he was from rising so early that morning.
Athena had picked up immediately on the fact that something had gotten under his skin, but true to form, she hadn't pried. It hadn't been easy for her, if the crease in her brow had been any indication, but at least she was trying.
“Clay left today, didn't he?” she'd asked, and when he'd nodded, she'd beamed at him and insisted on taking him to lunch.
It had lifted his mood, if only a little.
With their boss due back in two days, he'd lost himself in busywork and cleaning. It was a good distraction if nothing else, and it kept his mind off of everything better than sitting quietly at his desk would have. But now, he had nothing to occupy his mind except counting the cracks in his ceiling.
He turned over in bed, sighing as he watched the numbers on his alarm clock go from 11:01 to 11:02. Without anything else to distract him, his mind wandered, replaying images like they were still frames of a home movie: Clay smiling over his shoulder as he walked away, Klavier's wide-eyed grin after he'd told him about the investigation into his family, Kay's sympathetic gaze as her thumb had dragged thoughtfully over her wing-shaped brooch.
There was a soft knock on his bedroom door before it opened just a crack, enough to let the light from the hallway spill across his carpet. “You still awake?” Trucy asked, face half-hidden behind a mess of chestnut hair.
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up and kicking off the covers. “Why are you?”
Her sigh rivaled his, and she trudged into his room and collapsed back onto the foot of his bed with her laptop open on her legs. “I can't sleep.”
Apollo squinted at the screen, the light making his eyes ache. Trucy's face was bathed in a soft blue glow, her expression drawn. “I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do. It's supposed to be all about life experiences shaping who you are and all that, but how am I supposed to settle on one thing that made me me? Especially when I don't even...”
She trailed off, closing her laptop and pulling her knees up to her chest. With the room suddenly dark, Apollo could only grope for his bedside table until he found the lamp, and when he turned it on, he found Trucy with her face pressed against her knees.
It was unfamiliar territory, reaching out to rest a hand against her shoulder – he'd just barely started getting used to making sure she got her homework done. “When you don't even...what?”
She didn't answer, just turned her head away and stared at her laptop where it rested on his bedspread. Suddenly, it dawned on him just what was going through her head, and he wanted to kick himself for not figuring it out sooner.
“Do you...not want to do this? The whole...college thing?”
She sat up again, eyes suddenly wide as she turned toward him. “Don't tell my dads, okay?” she said. “I've been meaning to talk to them, but they've been so busy with the wedding and the honeymoon, and I didn't want to ruin it-” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know what you're gonna say. That they'll be proud of me no matter what...but dad was so excited when I said I wanted to apply to Ivy U, and papa helped me research all these great performing arts programs, and...I mean, it can't hurt to try, right?”
He'd seen a lot of forced smiles lately, and worn plenty of them himself, but seeing one on Trucy's face somehow hurt more than anything else.
“Sure,” he offered, “But...”
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I have to talk to them. I'm going to.” She looked over at him, eyes hopeful. “You don't think they'd be disappointed, do you?”
He smiled at her, nudging her gently in the shoulder with one loosely closed fist. “For what it's worth, I wouldn't be.”
The relief on her face was genuine this time, and she looked away just as he thought he saw her eyes glisten in the light from the hall. “Geez, you get so cheesy sometimes, you know that, Polly?”
“Hey, I'm not cheesy.”
“You are,” she insisted, mimicking his move from earlier and pressing her fist against his arm, albeit much harder than he had. “I know you too well. Like I know the next thing out of your mouth is gonna be that I should go try and get some sleep.”
She did know him too well, but it was hard to be upset about it. “I was going to say you should leave so I can get some sleep,” he countered.
“And here I thought you cared.” She talked over a yawn, gathering up her laptop and sliding off of his bed. “Fine, fine...I'll go so you can get your precious beauty rest. Night, Polly.”
“Night, Truce.”
He was hardly qualified to be a stand-in parent, but he was already starting to get the feeling that he was going to miss Trucy sleeping on his pull-out couch after her father – fathers – got back. She was definitely one of his more entertaining roommates, if not the neatest. But even the idea of his living room being back in order was starting to leave him feeling almost melancholy.
Then again, it wasn't like he was never going to see her again, and maybe a sleepover here and there wasn't out of the question. She'd told him plenty of times already that she preferred his cooking to her father's, but maybe Edgeworth could hold his own in the kitchen better than his new husband could.
Husband...that was an odd thought. It had sure taken them long enough. Apollo caught himself smiling as he turned his light off again.
His mind jumped from one thought to the next, from Kay to Klavier to Clay to his boss and back again, and a good night's sleep seemed miles out of reach. Sighing, he rolled over onto his stomach, digging through his bedside drawer for his MP3 player.
The light in the hallway had gone dark, meaning Trucy had probably already settled into bed, her unfinished application essays left for another day. For now, it was time to follow her lead. He pressed his ear buds in, scrolled through the albums until he settled on a familiar name and nestled down into the covers. There was something about the sweet, soothing voice that never failed to calm him, and now was no exception. His eyes were already feeling heavy by the time Lamiroir reached the second verse of The Guitar's Serenade.
He was asleep by the next chorus.
“So still nothing?” Clay asked him, and Apollo tapped his pen against his desk, if only to keep from chewing on the end. “Or is there more that you haven't told me?”
“Why do you think so?” He met Clay's eye on his computer screen, finding him with a frown on his face.
“You're fidgeting,” Clay said simply. “That's never good.”
“Have you ever tried editing case reports?” He looked back down at the paper in front of him without reading it, keeping his pen pointedly motionless in his hand. “If I didn't fidget, I'd wither into nothing out of sheer boredom.”
Clay's laughter was clipped and tinged with audio static from the sub-par internet connection, but it was loud enough to echo through the office. “You should have been an astronaut,” he said. “I'm never bored.”
His wide grin was enough to make the paperwork tolerable, at least for the moment. “How is it?” Apollo asked. “Cold?”
“Gorgeous,” Clay said. “And cold. And I'm already sore in places that I didn't know existed, but it's gonna be so worth it. But enough about me, 'Pollo, tell me more about what's happening in your world. What did Kay say? Did she mention me?”
“She hasn't told me much of anything.”
“C'mon, don't lie,” Clay insisted, crossing his arms. “I can tell when you're lying, 'Pollo.”
“Really, it wasn't anything important-”
His bracelet actually tightened at that. Dammit, he couldn't even lie to himself, especially not with Clay staring him down. “Fine,” he sighed. “She found a...a police report. From the night I was left there.”
“Police report?”
“Nothing ever came of it. No formal investigation or anything, but...” He put his pen down again, leaning on his crossed arms on the desk and looking anywhere but at Clay's face on the screen. “There was a description. That's all. They took a statement from Miss Madani.”
“Who?”
“Niusha. She worked at Safe Haven.”
“And she...knew your parents?”
Clay's voice was heavy with sympathy, his eyes matching when Apollo finally managed to look at him again. “My mom,” he said. “She saw my mom. Just once, that night.” He studied his cuticles. “She never even mentioned it.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“Why would I? I was twelve when I went to my first foster family. I never got the chance. Besides, it never seemed to matter.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and letting his head rest on the back of it. “The only thing I ever asked her was if my parents ever really loved me, and she always said yes, but what else are you gonna say to a kid who asks you that?”
To the moon and back, she'd always said. He could still hear the words as if she were standing right next to him.
“I think I'd tell them I found them in a space pod in the woods," Clay mused.
Apollo tried and failed to choke back a laugh. “I'd chuck this pen at you if you were here.”
“What did she look like?”
“What?”
“You said there was a description. What was it? C'mon, 'Pollo, paint me a picture.”
“There's not much to paint,” he admitted, fiddling with the pen and turning it in his hands. “Brown hair, pale skin...”
“Bet you got her eyes.”
It was so out of left field that Apollo sat straight up in his chair again, making his own head spin. “Why?”
“I dunno,” Clay said with an enigmatic little smile. “You just seem like you would have gotten your mom's eyes.”
Just what was he supposed to say to that? All he got out was a sputtered, half-formed, “Thanks, I guess,” before he looked back down at the papers on his desk. Suddenly, the looked even less interesting, and he hadn't even thought that was possible.
“Anyway,” Clay sighed, “I have drills in half an hour, so I should probably go stretch. But just tell me one thing before I go, 'Pollo...is Klavier taking care of you?”
“Is he what?”
“Is he taking care of you like I asked?” Clay laughed. “I told him he better, since I'm not gonna be around for a while. Put my mind at ease, will you?”
Apollo almost felt his cheeks heat up, but it dissipated too quickly for him to be sure. “You're not my babysitter, Clay,” he insisted. “And neither is Klavier. I'm a 25-year-old grown man, and he's just a friend.”
Clay scratched at his chin, visibly trying to force back a smirk and failing miserably. “Just a friend?”
“Just what the hell are you getting at?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, 'Pollo...seems almost like you don't even need me to get along well in life, huh?”
Apollo tried to laugh, but it wouldn't quite come after the memory of Clay lying in a hospital bed flashed across his mind. He didn't say that, though – just put on a smile. “Please, you of all people should know that I'm fine.”
“Hell yeah, you are!” Clay bellowed. “Lemme hear you say it again!”
He took a look around – the office was empty, not a soul around except for Charley in the corner, and Apollo hardly figured he'd mind. So he took a breath, puffed out his chest, put as much power behind his voice as he could muster as he roared: “I'm fine!”
Clay tilted his head back and laughed until he almost looked like he was about to fall straight off of his bunk. “Damn, I missed that.” He wiped away an imaginary tear, smiling warmly and sending a wave Apollo's way. “I'll see ya, 'Pollo. Haeng syo.”
“Hyaeng syo,” Apollo attempted.
“You're accent is terrible,” Clay chuckled, and terminated the call.
Kay drummed her fingers against the back of the chair in front of her, eyes focused on the screen as her nails tapped steadily against the metal. “Could you...stop?” the officer in the chair asked, hiding her annoyance behind an air of expected politeness.
“Sorry,” Kay said, pulling her hand away. “I'm a fidgeter.”
“So am I. I'm sorry...I just haven't gotten much sleep lately.”
Kay glanced down at the woman's desk, eventually finding a picture of her lying in a hospital bed with a newborn cradled in her arms. “Is that why?” she asked, pointing to it, and the woman's face lit up into a tired smile.
“He sure is,” she replied. “Worth it, though.” She pulled up another round of files, scanning over the names. “You're sure about the date?”
“Positive,” Kay said.
“Sure was a long time ago,” the officer mused. “Why are you so intent on looking at twenty-five-year-old street cam footage again?”
“It's for a client. Other than that...” She grinned – she always got a kick out of saying this. “It's classified.”
“Wouldn't that be...confidential?”
“Same thing,” Kay admitted with a shrug. “Classified just sounds cooler, though. You have to admit.”
“I guess you're right.” She opened another file. “Here we go. The corner of Rosewood and Bradley. It's the closest camera to that group home.”
“Not the best view,” Kay relented as she squinted. Granted, it was a long shot to begin with. “Can you try around one in the morning?”
The officer nodded, clicking through the pictures one by one. “You're lucky you got here when you did. They've been cleaning out the archives over the past few months. Not much use for street cam pictures from so long ago. The last head of security insisted it was part of our public duty to keep as much of it on record as long as we could, but ever since the last change in management, I've been sorting through more old footage than I know what to do with.” She sighed. “It's a little monotonous, but at least it's pretty hard to mess up-”
“There.” Kay thrust her finger against the screen, making the poor officer jump in her seat. She stopped, going back two, three, four frames until there, on the sidewalk, a figure stood facing the camera.
“Wow,” the officer breathed. “Looks like you got lucky.”
But Kay didn't have time to think of that – she was too busy staring at the woman's eyes. They were blurry, no more than a few black and white pixels, but they were wide and searching, half-covered by a fringe of dark hair.
“She's beautiful,” Kay heard herself say, and she turned back to the woman in the chair. “Can you print that for me?”
She was halfway to the door, pictures in hand, when she turned back to the woman at the desk. “Thanks again for the help, Maggey. You're the best security archivist I know.”
“How many do you know?” Maggey asked her.
“Just the one,” Kay told her. “But being the best as got to feel good, right?”
Maggey smiled, blushing a bit as she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “It kind of does, actually.”
Kay nodded toward the photo on the desk. “That's a cute kid, by the way.”
“Thanks. My husband sure thinks so too. The little kid had Dick wrapped around his finger from the second he was born.” She looked wistful as she spoke, hands clasped proudly in front of her. “Good luck with your investigation, Kay. Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”
“Sure will,” Kay called over her shoulder, and she made her exit. A warm, exuberant feeling welled up in her chest as she looked down at the picture in her hand – it wasn't much, sure, but it was something, at least. A face with no name was better than nothing.
It felt good to have friends in high places.
Notes:
A wild Maggey
ByrdeGumshoe appears!
Chapter 6
Notes:
Finished AA6 yesterday, so I just wanted to remind everyone that this fic WILL NOT contain any spoilers for Spirit of Justice. I'm officially operating outside of canon, so no worries if you're anxious about having things spoiled for you.
That said, it was a fantastic game. That last case...ugh...I ugly cried.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Apollo sipped his coffee while Athena zipped around the office, from the bookshelf to her desk, then over to the corner to water Charley for the third time that morning. “You're gonna drown him,” he said as he put down his mug, and she turned with her hands firmly on her hips, spray bottle hanging from one loose first.
“Don't just sit there,” she insisted. “The boss will be here any minute.”
“And you're deciding to care about keeping the place clean...now?”
(Wouldn't have killed you to put in a little more effort for the past week and a half.)
“Of course I care,” Athena said, sticking the spray bottle down in the mud covering the plant's roots. “Mr. Wright put me in charge-”
“He put me in charge,” Apollo said around another sip of coffee. “Technically.”
“And what's he gonna think if he comes back to a messy office, huh?”
He took a glance around the place with a quick swivel of his chair. “Messy? My desk is cleaner than it's been in months. And the case files have never been in better order. Not only that, but we even managed to make the Agency some money with that insurance fraud case the other week, so I think Mr. Wright might even be halfway impressed.”
Athena sighed, then beamed, the tension in her shoulders dissipating. “You know, you have a good point...We're some pretty damn decent subordinates, you know that?” One tight fist slammed into her opposite palm as she laughed and said, “Hell, maybe we should form our own Law Office. Cykes and Justice – with the cleanest toilets this side of the San Andreas fault!”
“I'd hope a law office with my name on it would be known for more than its toilets...” (And why is it “Cykes and Justice?” Why not “Justice and Cykes?”)
“Well, maybe we could bring Trucy along to join our hypothetical troupe. We couldn't separate the two of you, now could we? And she could give us an extra bit of magic oomph.”
“Like we don't have enough magic oomph already,” Apollo said. “And what do you mean you couldn't separate us?”
“Oh please...you guys are like two chestnut-haired peas in a pod. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the way she looks up to you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, thoughtfully. “Chestnut...?”
Athena barely held in a laugh. “You know, she talks about you all the time when you're not around.”
“If it's about the time I set the stove on fire, it was one time.”
“Nah,” she mused. “Well...yeah, she did tell me that story. A couple times, actually. But mostly she just likes to talk about how you're like the little brother she never had.”
“Don't you mean big brother?” Apollo snorted.
“No,” Athena smirked. “Definitely little brother.”
He stood, ignoring the blow to his ego as he refilled his mug. “Well I guess the fantastic Justice and Cykes-”
“Cykes and Justice.”
“Senior partner's name goes first – and your plan to open a new law office slash talent agency is going to have to stay a fantasy for now, because I don't think Mister Wright would appreciate it if we whisked his daughter away to a competing firm.”
He leaned against the counter as he sipped his coffee, creamer still swirling, half-mixed into the blend. “Are you okay?” Athena suddenly asked, and she nodded toward the cup. “That's your third coffee this morning. You're not usually this much of a caffeine hound.”
“Third?” (I could have sworn it was number two...) “Oh...guess I just didn't sleep well. Nothing wrong with a little extra pick-me-up, right?”
His forced smile didn't seem to be helping – Athena's brow was pinching again, the way it so often did just before she said something about discord and therapy sessions. Not that her psychology knowledge hadn't gotten them out of plenty of pinches before, but he didn't quite have the energy to have it directed at him this morning.
She toyed with her hair, brushing it back behind one shoulder and saying, “As long as you refill the pot if you finish it.”
There was nothing special about his ears, and even he could pick up on the strain in her voice as she spoke.
(Maybe I should just tell her already...All this sneaking around is gonna give me a migraine.)
He set his mug down, biting on the inside of his cheek as he ran the words through his head, over and over. Telling Klavier had been easy enough, so why should Athena be any different? At least if she blabbed about it, it wouldn't end up on TMZ.
“Hey, Athena,” he started. “Could I actually...talk to you about something?”
He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but a wide smile and gleaming eyes weren't anywhere on the list. “You mean you want to confide in me?”
(It's like I just made her day.)
She wrestled back her grin again, clearing her throat. “Er...I mean...of course you can, Apollo. What's on your mind?”
He could say what he would about her maturity at times, but she really could turn on the professionalism at the drop of a hat. “It's...nothing major.” (Lie.) “I'm not even all that worried about it.” (Another lie.) “I just figured...well, we work together and all. And we're friends, right?”
“Of course we are,” she insisted, hands planted firmly on her hips.
“Yeah, so I figure I might as well let you in on it.”
She looked thoughtful, sitting on the arm of the sofa and studying him like she was trying to read his mind. “Does whatever this is have to do with why you've been losing so much sleep? And why you've been so distracted lately?”
(Has it been that obvious?) “I guess you could say that.”
“I just thought it was because of Clay being gone and all.” She fiddled with her sleeve, lip caught lightly between her teeth. “I figured you just wanted some space.”
“Well I'm not gonna lie...having him gone hasn't been easy.”
That was the truth, at least.
“So...” Athena clasped her hands on top of her knees and leaned toward him, curiosity prickling just underneath that patient surface. “I have to admit, Apollo...I think I might already have an idea of what's got you so worked up, if it's not about Clay.”
“You...what?”
“Well yeah – the sneaking around, the sleepless nights, always staring at your phone-” (She noticed that?) “The way I see it, there's just one thing that can explain all of it wrapped up in a nice little bow.”
“And what's that?”
He was almost intrigued – with a generous side helping of anxiety. Just how transparent was he? A moment or two of expectant silence later, Athena smirked. “You're seeing someone, aren't you?”
“W-what?”
“A-ha!” she cried. “A secret rendezvous! There's a new special someone in your life, and you've been keeping the whole affair under wraps, haven't you?”
(Has she been talking to Pearl?) “I...I'm not...”
“C'mon, Apollo. Tell me – who is it? Wait, let me guess. It's- No, it couldn't be. It's not...it's not Prosecutor Gavin, is it?”
(What the f-)
“But that would make perfect sense!” she exclaimed, face the picture of shock and awe. “What with how close you two are, and all that thinly veiled flirting – it would sure explain why I saw you in a Gavinners T-shirt the other day after work-”
“It was laundry day – and what the hell do you mean thinly veiled flirting?” She couldn't be serious. There was no way she was serious about something so ridiculous.
“Oh come on, it's not like it's all that hard to notice. He smiles the same way around you that the boss does around Prosecutor Edgeworth.”
Now he knew for a fact that that was not true. And just where the hell did Athena get the idea that he and Klavier had the same chemistry as a couple of newlyweds? “That's not...Athena, we aren't...Klavier and I are friends.”
“He said the same thing,” she mused. (Just when was she talking to him about this?) “And he had the same note of discord in his voice.”
“See? Just good friends.” (Wait...) “Uh...what discord were you talking about?”
She didn't get a chance to answer before the door to the office swung open, revealing a pair of rounded sunglasses obscuring a familiar face. He was smiling, a little tanned, still dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans with the tag peaking out of the front pocket. “Who missed me?” he asked with a flash of his teeth, and Athena was up in a flash.
“Boss, you're back!” she exclaimed. “What do you think? Does the office look every bit as impressive as you thought it would?”
Phoenix looked around thoughtfully, running a finger along the edge of the window sill and making a show of inspecting it for dust. Athena was practically vibrating with anticipation, watching his every move. Finally, he broke into a smile again. “Looks perfect, guys. I knew I could trust you.”
“I told you there was no point in worrying about them,” another insistent voice claimed, and Miles Edgeworth slipped through the door and let his hand rest gently on his husband's shoulder. “Your subordinates are quite capable of holding their own, after all.”
He shot a pointed glance toward Apollo and Athena as he said that, and it made Apollo feel something dangerously close to butterflies in the pit of his stomach. The Chief Prosecutor was softer somehow, a small smile tugging at his lips, a touch of color in his cheeks. Unlike his husband, he looked ready to jump straight back into his work – waistcoat pressed and spotless, buttons polished, sleeves neatly cuffed. His jacket hung neatly over one arm, and he held it close even as Phoenix dropped his phone and keys on his desk.
“Thanks Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Athena glowed, her own cheeks tinged pink. “Or should I call you Prosecutor Wright now?”
Both their boss and Edgeworth chuckled at that, the latter reaching up to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Hardly,” he said warmly. “Chief Prosecutor Wright...it hardly sounds fitting.”
“I just couldn't get him to part with it,” Phoenix said. “Not that I was all that attached to the idea in the first place. We have reputations attached to our surnames, you know? And besides, having nameplates replaced was just too much trouble than it was worth ”
He had a point – Phoenix Edgeworth just didn't have the same ring to it, not to mention that it would probably make puns harder to come by.
“And I'm afraid I can't stay,” Edgeworth said, bowing toward the door. “I've been away from the office for quite long enough. I don't even want to think of how much paperwork I have waiting for me...”
“Oh, but what about the honeymoon?” Athena insisted. “I have to hear all about it. I need pictures!”
“Relax,” Phoenix said. “I've got plenty.”
He said that with a gleam in his eye that seemed to say they wouldn't be leaving the office until they looked at all of them. And here he'd thought being an orphan had spared him the chore of looking at old relatives' vacation photos...
Still, it was refreshing – albeit a little strange – to see the two of them so at ease, so happy. He could barely remember the last time he'd seen the Chief Prosecutor smile so much. Never in a million years would he have thought that Miles Edgeworth would fit the bill of blissful newlywed so well.
Edgeworth left with a small smile and no more than a lingering touch of his fingers on his husband's arm. (Not much for PDA – no surprise there.) Then again, they had just gotten back from a vacation that probably involved plenty of touching behind closed doors-
Why, oh why did his brain have to send that image his way?
“You alright there, Apollo?” Phoenix asked him. “You look a little flushed.”
“I-I'm fine!” he insisted.
“Probably all that coffee,” offered Athena.
“So,” Apollo said, “How was Prague?”
Phoenix let out a satisfied – almost dreamy – little sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Perfect,” he said. “Not that I was expecting anything different from him. Took me days to get him to relax and treat it as a vacation. I think we both needed it.”
“I can't believe you're married to the Chief Prosecutor,” Athena said with a grin. “Between him and Klavier, we'll have the whole Prosecutor's Office in our back pocket in no time!”
“Don't get ahead of yourself – just because he put a ring on it doesn't mean our jobs will get any easier.” He furrowed his brow at Apollo. “What was that about Prosecutor Gavin? Did something happen while I was away?”
“No.” (Not you too, Mister Wright.) “She makes it sound like we ran off to get married in Vegas or something. Honestly, he bought me coffee once. I've bought Athena's lunch more often than that.”
“I paid you back,” Athena insisted.
(The first time, yeah.)
Phoenix was laughing, standing up from the desk and heading for the door. “I'm going to change. I'm assuming you two can figure it out before I get back, and then you can update me on everything that's happened while I was away.” He stopped in the threshold, leaning back to look at the two of them. “Nice job holding down the fort, you two. And Apollo...”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for looking after Trucy. I was texting her from the airport while she was between classes – she insisted she wants to stay one more night at your place. Apparently you're a better cook than I am.”
If he was offended, it sure didn't show.
When he was gone, Athena clasped her hands together with a wide grin. “Aren't they just so painfully in love? I don't think I've ever heard a pair of newlyweds sound so happy. And those rings just look so perfect. Trucy really has good taste.”
“Trucy picked out the rings?”
“Didn't she tell you that story? It was the most perfect idea.” She scratched as her chin as she spoke, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Red jasper on gold for Mister Wright, and lapis lazuli on silver for Mister Edgeworth.” She grinned at him. “Pretty fitting, don't you think? It was all her – the two of them just went along with it.”
“She really has both of them wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?” Apollo mused.
“Yup...and not just them, apparently.” Athena smirked knowingly, laughing as she said, “I bet you'd let her pull you out of her hat on stage if she smiled and gave you those puppy dog eyes.”
“Hey, are we forgetting about the time you let her saw you in half at the Wonder Bar?”
“How was I supposed to pass up my fifteen minutes of fame?”
(Just admit it – Trucy's smile is a force to be reckoned with.)
“Come on,” he said, “Let's get those case files for Mister Wright so we can review when he gets back.”
“Are you sure I can't stay one more night?”
Trucy was dangerously close to calling on those puppy dog eyes again, but he was determined not to let her win him over this time. “It's not like I don't want you there,” he insisted. “But come on – didn't you miss your dads?”
They stopped at the crosswalk, Trucy staring down at her feet. “Of course I did. But I...I mean I like spending all this time with you, Polly...”
(Don't let those eyes get the best of you. Be strong, Justice.) “I like it too, but you'd probably sleep better in your own bed than my pull-out couch.”
“It's actually pretty comfortable-”
“Trucy,” he said sternly, “You can't just keep sleeping at my place because you're nervous about talking to them about the whole college thing.”
It was just a guess, but it fit almost painfully well. He waited for her to deny it, to insist that he was wrong, that she just preferred his cooking to her father's. But instead, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “I know...” she said. “God, you must be so sick of hearing about this stupid problem of mine.”
“It's not stupid,” he insisted. “C'mon, Truce...you can talk to me. If you keep telling yourself your problems aren't worth anyone else's time, they'll never get solved.”
It seemed to strike a cord, Trucy standing straighter and clutching her backpack strop in both hands. “You know, that's a good point, Polly. You could be a songwriter.”
A white blur filled Apollo's peripheral vision, tires brushing against the curb as the car's passenger side window rolled down. “Is that Trucy Wright?” Klavier asked. “The Trucy Wright?”
Trucy beamed, suddenly seeming pounds lighter as she bounded toward the car. “Klavier!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Driving home,” he said. “It must be fate, ja? Care for a ride? You're welcome too, Forehead.” He sent a wink Apollo's way. “I'd be honored to have a world-renowned performer and her charming assistant riding with me.”
Apollo held up his hands. “You don't have t-”
“Shotgun!” Trucy cried as she hopped in the front seat.
It was a relief to get off his aching feet as he climbed into the back seat, Klavier pulling away from the curb and glancing back at him in the mirror. “So, where to?”
“My place,” Apollo answered. “Prosecutor Edgeworth is coming to pick up Trucy and her stuff once he gets off work.”
He didn't need his bracelet to notice Trucy tensing up in the front seat. “Y-yeah,” she said. “I'm already mostly packed. I just need to get the last of my magic equipment ready to go.”
“Suppose I could lend a hand,” Klavier said. “But ah...if you don't mind me Fraulein Zauberer...you seem a bit less than excited to see your fathers again.” He smiled. “Or are you just going to miss Herr Forehead's wit?”
“Oh...” There was no fake smile this time. “That...yeah, I'm just gonna miss Polly is all.”
Apollo almost said something, but Klavier beat him to it. “Ach, it's not like you to lie, Fraulein.”
Trucy looked genuinely surprised. “H-huh?”
“I won't pry, you know...after all, it's none of my business. But from one performer to another, your audience can tell if you're carrying a weight on your shoulders, and we wouldn't want your shows to suffer, would we?”
“N-no...” She toyed with her sleeve, looking out the window as she admitted, “I guess not.”
“So...tell me what's bothering you, Fraulein. I promise it won't leave this car. Scout's honor.”
For a moment, it seemed like Trucy wouldn't talk, but finally she sighed and said, “They're just...really excited to see me go to college.”
“Ah, I think I see where this is going,” Klavier mused. “I take it that's not your raison d'etre, hm?” He shrugged. “You can hardly help that, can you? Performing is in your blood.”
“That's just it, though,” Trucy sighed. “They keep talking about how learning from other people will make me a better performer. And how am I supposed to argue with that? How...how am I supposed to call myself a Gramarye if I don't take every opportunity to get better?”
That drew Apollo's attention again – just how much pressure was she carrying in that family name of hers? Klavier's expression was solemn as he pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to look at her. “Ach, Fraulein...that's far too much pressure to put on yourself, don't you think? Not that I don't respect it. But studying theory and technique is only one way to become the best of the best.” He smiled again, flipping his bangs from his face. “I mean, just look at me.”
“You?”
“Uh...you did go to law school, right?” Apollo pointed out.
“Of course, Forehead. For law. I live a double life, or did you forget?”
Trucy finally connected the dots. “Wait...you never studied music?”
“Nein, not once. I was completely self taught, Fraulein. And just look at me now.” There was that famous Gavin smile, all charm and glamor. “The point is, Fraulein...there's more than one way win the hearts of your fans. I heard that even Lamiroir sang with the voice of an angel before she had a single lesson.”
Apollo found that hard to believe – a voice that beautiful couldn't come from raw talent alone.
“But as for making people proud...well, I like to think my fans satisfied with my work, and that's something at least.”
"Yeah," Trucy said with a little smile, "I guess you're right."
By the time they pulled up to Apollo's apartment, Trucy seemed to practically floating on air. She smiled as she bounced out of the passenger's seat, backpack in hand. “Thanks for the ride, Klavier!” she beamed.
“My pleasure, Fraulein. Sure you don't need any help with your things?”
“Nah...I've got Polly to do all the heavy lifting.”
“Don't work him too hard, ja?” He turned toward Apollo as Trucy headed up the stairs. “You doing alright, Forehead? You were rather quiet during the drive. Not carsick, are you?”
“Nah, nothing like that.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I just...that was kind of...genius, what you said to her.”
“Ach...hardly. It was just the truth. She seemed to need a bit of a pick-me-up.” He smiled to himself. “A performer as talented as she is shouldn't be carrying all that weight on her shoulders.” He put the car in park and leaned against the steering wheel, eying Apollo carefully through the window. “What about you, Forehead? How's your, ah...search going?”
Apollo shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Not bad. Not great either, but I'm not surprised considering how little there was for Kay to go on.”
“You going to tell Herr Wright about it?”
That made Apollo's stomach clench – somehow, he didn't get the feeling his boss was the best person to tell about something like this. “Probably not. Not unless it gets in the way of my work, and I doubt it'll come to that.” A memory of Phoenix's dream-like smile crossed his mind again, and he let out a tiny laugh. “Speaking of him, did you see Edgeworth's face today? It looked like he was walking on air.”
“Ja...newlywed bliss,” Klavier said with a knowing little grin. “It's a beautiful thing. The rings are beautiful. I hadn't seen them yet, but the young Fraulein told me about her plan for them. They turned out positively wunderbar.”
“Oh yeah...I forgot you weren't at the wedding,” Apollo used.
“Had to send my regrets, I'm afraid. Traveling.”
That feeling was unmistakable – the slightest twinge against his wrist. He blinked, rubbed his eye with the heel of one hand, and hid his left hand behind his back. “Yeah...well...thanks for the ride, Klavier.”
“Anytime, Forehead. Ah – why don't I buy you coffee tomorrow? You can fill me in on what's been going on in your corner of the world.”
That shouldn't have made his stomach flip as much as it did. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.” He turned and headed for his apartment, but paused just as Klavier started to roll his window up again. “Hey.”
“Forget something, Forehead?”
“We're...friends, right?”
Klavier shot him a warm, winning smile. “I certainly hope so.”
“Right...thanks again. Night, Klavier.”
“Guten Nacht, Apollo.”
He pulled away from the curb, and Apollo took a breath and headed up the stairs.
Notes:
For anyone interested...
Chapter Text
Apollo wondered, in the back of his mind, if there was something wrong with his heart.
Not in a metaphorical way. He'd watched enough late-night Lifetime movies than he wanted to admit, but that didn't make him so prone to waxing poetic about his own feelings. Instead, he wondered if he should think about seeing a doctor. After all, a normal heart wouldn't beat this quickly just from the thought of having coffee with a friend.
He was under a lot of stress, he reasoned. After all, most normal hearts didn't belong to people who had a private investigator looking for their probably-dead parents. Maybe he could cut his vital organs some slack, as long as he didn't drop dead in the middle of breakfast.
No amount of carefully regulated breathing – (in four counts, hold seven counts, out eight counts, repeat) – managed to calm down the butterflies fluttering away in his stomach like they thought it was the first day of spring rather than the middle of November. Even as he headed down the stairs and found the white Jaguar already waiting for him, it felt more like he was getting ready to take the Bar exam all over again.
He'd puked in the bathroom during the first testing break, then. Twice. The last thing he needed was a repeat of that. Hell, Klavier would probably write a song about it, and sell a million copies overnight.
Still, he managed a smile as he slipped into the passenger's seat and buckled his seat belt. “You're late,” Klavier chided. “You're never late, Forehead. Something you want to talk about, hm?”
“I overslept.” It was true enough. “And I told you I didn't need a ride.”
“Sure you didn't need one, but that doesn't mean I can't offer. And you did take me up on it, didn't you?”
That winning Gavin smile was back again, and it only made the butterflies worse. Maybe Athena was right – cutting down on his caffeine was starting to sound like a good idea, even if the mere thought of going without his morning coffee gave him a headache.
“Did she get packed up alright?” Klavier asked him. “Last night.”
“Trucy? Yeah...I have no idea how Prosecutor Edgeworth managed to fit all of her stuff into his car, but she seemed alright by the time they left. She seemed...better. More relaxed. Probably thanks to you.”
“Ach, only in part. It was just a bit of advice from one performer to another. Nothing more, Forehead. After all, it was your roof she was sleeping under.” His bangs were getting longer than usual, falling into his face just moments after he brushed them away. “That wins you more points, I think.”
“She owns every one of your albums, so I think you're in the lead,” Apollo said dryly, and Klavier's shoulders shook behind the steering wheel.
“What can I say, Forehead? She's always had good taste.”
They slipped into a comfortable silence, Klavier humming under his breath as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The melody carried that familiar Gavin flair, a quick staccato riff that sounded like it could only ever be suited to being played at damaging levels on an oversized amp connected to an electric guitar. “Is that a new song?” Apollo guessed.
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. “It sounds like yours. But not like any of the ones you've released already.”
He caught himself just as the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Klavier was already grinning like a madman. “And here I thought you couldn't bear the thought of listening to any of my music.”
“I told you – Trucy owns every album you ever dropped. And she's been living with me for a week and a half. I listened to my fair share.” He forced a pout. “And not by choice.”
“Your suffering knows no bounds,” Klavier chuckled. “Ja, it's just a little something I've been working on. Nothing serious. I like to keep my artistic side busy – only way a person keeps from rusting up.”
(Like he'd ever rust – those fingers might as well be made of stainless steel.)
“No need to get anybody's hopes up,” Klavier said. “After all, the band's not getting back together anytime soon, and I don't quite have it in me to launch a solo career yet.”
“Trucy would be over the moon,” Apollo offered with a small smile.
“And I assume you'd come up with some clever quip about trying to move there instead.”
Apollo bit his lip to keep his own smile from stretching across his face. “I could take it or leave it.”
The car pulled to a stop in the parking garage of the Prosecutor's Office, and Klavier took the key from the ignition and looked over expectantly. “Here we are.”
“Uh...” Apollo unbuckled his seat belt, but didn't move quite yet. “I thought we were getting coffee...and you were driving me to work.”
“Ja, we are. And I am.” He smoothly removed his sunglasses – something he could have easily done ten minutes before considering how overcast it was. “I'll drive you to work after you let me make you the best latte you've ever had.”
“Do you have your own personal barista stashed away in your office?”
“Hardly. Not even I'm that garish. Just indulge me, ja?”
He had more than enough time to spare before he had to be in the office, and whatever Klavier had in mind, he'd sure managed to make it tempting. So he shrugged and followed Klavier across the parking deck.
Klavier's office was on the twelfth floor, high enough to make Apollo's stomach flip when he glanced over at the window spanning the length of the room. “Just ignore it,” Klavier told him when he noticed Apollo had gone a little pale. “I can always close the blinds if it bothers you.”
“I'm fine,” Apollo insisted. Just as long as he stayed near the wall, anyway.
A flashy smile came his way as Klavier pulled a bag of expensive-looking coffee from the shelf by the window. The wide cursive script on the front spelled out something in French that Apollo didn't plan on embarrassing himself trying to pronounce. “Let me guess,” he said instead. “Imported?”
“I don't have to share with you, you know,” Klavier reminded him, his back still to Apollo as he carefully poured the grounds into a coffee maker that was probably worth more than Apollo made in a month.
“I was just curious,” Apollo muttered. “Whatever happened to just plain buying me a latte at Starbucks?”
Klavier scoffed like he'd been offended. “That was never my plan. Despite how the media might paint me, I have few vices in life, Forehead. Top-shelf tequila, guitars, and imported coffee are certainly better than plenty of other things I could be spending my time and money on.” He carefully sealed the bag again, set it down on the table, and added, “Starbucks can kiss my ass.”
The laugh that punched its way out of Apollo's chest almost sent him reeling backwards into the recliner behind him. “Jesus, Klav...what do you have against overpriced chain coffee?”
That smile was new – not the glitzy smirk that had seduced millions of fans the world over. It was warmer, softer, and almost made Klavier look shy. “When did that start?”
“What?”
“Klav.” He fiddled with a coffee mug he'd grabbed off of the shelf, turning it in his hands as his many rings scraped softly against the ceramic. “Nobody calls me that. Except you. And only a handful of times.”
Apollo blinked, scratching at his forearm and staring at the coffee maker as it hummed and whirred. “Sorry...just slipped out, I guess? I'll stop-”
“Nein! No, I...Well, I rather like it if I can be honest.” He set the mug down, his fingers busying themselves instead with turning the ring on his right middle finger round and round... “Makes you sound awfully comfortable around me.”
“Why wouldn't I be comfortable around you?” The question slipped out before he could stop it, and Klavier's face was unreadable as he turned an answer over in his head.
“Ah,” he breathed. “Coffee's done – you take cream, Forehead?”
The moment – if Apollo could really call what they'd just had a moment – had passed. And Klavier didn't seem too terribly keen on revisiting it, so instead Apollo nodded and resigned himself to enjoying what was apparently the best latte he would ever have instead.
Klavier handed him the mug almost reverently, careful not to spill a single drop. Not like he couldn't afford a lifetime supply of the stuff if it came to that. Their fingers just barely brushed as Apollo took it, the steam making his cheeks go pink. “Go on,” Klavier insisted. “Try and tell me that's not miles better than any five dollar Americano you can find on every street corner.”
For all the hype around a simple cup of coffee, the cynic in him was starting to hope it wasn't all that great. But after one sip, he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and humming his appreciation. “Jesus fucking Christ, that's good,” he muttered, and when he opened his eyes again, Klavier was covering his mouth with one hand to stifle his laughter.
“I always love it when your filthy mouth makes an appearance. You should indulge in profanity more often.”
At least that was one vice he could afford, unlike fancy liquor or guitars signed by Jimmy Page. “I doubt my clients would appreciate it.” He took another long sip, feeling himself wake up even more as he swallowed. “How much would it inflate your ego if I said this really was the best latte I've ever had?”
“I doubt I'd float away. Though it might make me a bit lighter on my feet for the rest of the day.”
(That would make a good song lyric,) Apollo caught himself musing. God, now he was even thinking like him.
“Fine,” he admitted. “It's a damn good cup of coffee.”
“Still want me to take you to Starbucks?”
“Fuck no.”
He raised his mug with a grin, and knocking it against the rim of Klavier's cup before raising it to his lips again.
Time passed comfortably as they drank and talked about nothing in particular. It lifted a weight off of Apollo's shoulders, if only for a little while – with a whirlwind of stress from all different directions waiting for him outside this soundproofed office, it was nice to break away and forget about it. Even if it was just for the time it took them to finish one cup of overpriced coffee each.
“Come on,” Klavier said as he finally set his mug down. “Let's get you back on terra firma, ja? I promised I'd drive you to work, didn't I?”
“You don't have to bother. I mean you're already here, and I-”
Klavier shushed him, holding a hand up and shooting him a look that insisted he would not be argued with. “I don't break promises, Forehead. And I don't plan on starting now.”
No use in fighting it, it seemed. Apollo stood with a sigh and followed him into the hall again.
The office was finally starting to wake up around them as more people filtered in. Sometimes Apollo forgot just how large the place was, a consequence of spending so long in a small, three-person outfit, he supposed. The building was intimidating enough in looks alone from the outside, but seeing it come to life from the inside, keys jingling, doors slamming, elevators humming endlessly – he could only imagine the field day Athena would have with her sensitive ears. It was enough to make him feel antsy, and his hearing was nothing more than average. Maybe not even that after an adolescence spent listening to music at a volume much to high for his headphones.
“Everyone is trying to look busy now that our fearless leader is back, eh?” Klavier muttered with a knowing little smirk, dropping his voice low and leaning over toward Apollo as they walked. “Don't want him to think we've been slacking off in his absence.”
“Have you?” Apollo asked dryly.
“Me? Never.”
They turned the corner, and – speak of the devil – nearly walked straight into the Chief Prosecutor himself. He was immersed in a stack of paperwork about three inches thick, his other hand clutching a mug of something steaming. “Ah, Herr Edgeworth,” Klavier greeted with an amicable bow of his head. “Back at last.”
“Gavin.” Surprised flashed across his eyes behind those glasses as he turned to look at Apollo. “And Mister Justice. I didn't expect to see you fraternizing with the opposing counsel so early in the morning.”
“N-no. I wasn't...uh...we were just...”
“Still starstruck by our Commander in Chief, are we?” Klavier teased.
“I'm not starstruck,” Apollo insisted.
Unless he was mistaken, that was a laugh rumbling low in Edgeworth's chest. “Don't mistake me – I'm hardly one to disapprove.” He tucked his files under one arm and reached up to straighten his glasses. “As long as it doesn't interfere with your work.”
“Hardly,” Klavier scoffed.
“Well I'm afraid I do have two weeks' worth of work to catch up on, so if you'll excuse me...”
He brushed past them, shoulders straight and steaming cup raised to his lips as he walked. The ring on his finger glinted in the fluorescent light. “He's rather impressed by you,” Klavier said.
“What?”
“Herr Edgeworth. Don't get me wrong, that honeymoon has him floating on a pink cloud of euphoric bliss a mile wide, but all that aside, he only lets himself smile like that in front of people he respects.” Apollo blinked, and Klavier's shoulders shook as he pushed his bangs back again. “That...and he's told me more than once that you're the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Ha-wuh?” Apollo said.
Klavier shrugged. “Says you keep me humble. We make a decent team, you and me.” He cleared his throat. “In court, you know?”
“He...said that?”
“Well if I remember his exact words, he said something about you keeping my ego in check...I'm hardly going to argue with my own boss, am I?” Klavier winked at him, nodding toward the elevator. “Come on – let's get you to work before your boss starts wondering where you are.”
Maybe it was the top-shelf coffee, or maybe it was the conversation, but Apollo got to the office with more of a spring in his step than he was used to. Even Athena noticed his smile, grinning as she reached out and handed him a slip of paper the second he was through the door. “You're late,” she said. “And someone called a left a message for you.”
“Only by five minutes,” he insisted, but he was too busy unfolding the paper to argue any more than that. “Someone called my work phone? Was it a client?”
“No, didn't sound like it. She said she'd tried your cell, but you didn't pick up. I figured you'd overslept for once.”
“I didn't-”
“Oh, don't worry – I didn't tell her that. I can be professional when I need to be, you know. Anyway, she said it wasn't an emergency or anything, but she wanted you to call her back. Something about a picture...and a security camera...and then she started going on about client confidentiality. Anyway, she said her name was Kay.” She looked thoughtful as Apollo's stomach lurched. “Or maybe she was saying that she was okay...I don't know. She talked pretty fast. Anyway, number's on the paper.”
“Y-yeah...thanks.” He slipped the paper into his pocket, a cold feeling settling in his gut when he found his wallet and keys there, but nothing else.
(Well, that would explain why I didn't get her calls...)
“Lose something?” Athena asked.
“My phone.”
“So that's why you didn't answer my texts asking you to pick up bagels,” she sighed. “Oh well...microwaved oatmeal for breakfast it is then.”
Apollo groaned, flopping down in his desk chair and booting up his computer. “I had it when I left this morning. I must have left it in Klavier's car.”
Athena stopped halfway to the microwave and stared at him. “Klavier's-”
“Don't. We had coffee this morning. Caught up a little. He drove me here.”
“Why don't I ever get to have coffee with rock stars?”
“You share an office with a soon-to-be-famous magician,” he offered. “And he's not a rock star anymore, remember? The band broke up.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. Suddenly, the caffeine was doing less to energize him and more to make him anxious. Maybe that had nothing to do with the coffee – after all, now all he could do was dwell on what Kay had managed to find out over the past week.
Athena sidled up next to him, so quietly that he almost didn't notice. “Um...Apollo?”
“Hm?”
She was running her fingers through her hair again, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well...I know I promised I would stay out of your personal life, and I'm trying, alright? But...are you...are you sure you're okay?”
“Why do you think I'm not?” he asked, straightening up as he did.
“I've been trying not to pry, but something is bothering you, and I just know that I can do something to help, even if it's just giving you someone to vent to. So...so come on, Apollo. Talk to me...please.”
He blinked at her, then closed his eyes again, letting out a long breath and sinking back down against his chair. “It's funny,” he said, finding himself laughing softly. “I was trying to tell you the other day – and then you insisted that I was secretly dating Klavier, and I never got the chance to finish.”
“Oh! I-” She blew a halfhearted raspberry, slouching against his desk. “Dammit, I did, didn't I? Why does my imagination have to run wild like that all the time?”
“Don't worry about it...I should really tell you, anyway. I've been meaning to, and it might just be a good time, considering this...” He dropped the slip of paper she'd given him earlier onto his desk, where it would no-doubt be forgotten and buried under paperwork and ramen noodle cups within the week. “Where's the boss?”
“Meeting with a potential client. He got a call early this morning. Won't be back for another hour, probably.” She furrowed her brow at him. “Why? Do you not want him to know whatever it is you're keeping under wraps?”
Apollo scratched at the nape of his neck. He didn't exactly want to let his boss in on what he was doing – not that opening up about it would make everything blow up in his face, but the fewer people he let into his personal life, the better, as far as he was concerned. “Well...no. Not just yet, anyway.”
“Well, don't worry – your secret is safe with me.” She grinned reassuringly. “I won't tell a soul! Not even Simon. Or Trucy, or Junie, or even Clonco.”
“Alright, I get it,” he chuckled. “I guess...it's kind of a long story...”
"Well, I've been told before I'm pretty good at listening."
He supposed she did have a point.
He told her everything, staring at his desk the whole time. Athena listened in silence, attentive and quiet, and when he was done, he let out a sigh, and hazarded a glance at her. “So that's my big secret,” he said. “And that's why Kay called...because apparently she's found something else out that might help me find out something about my parents.”
“You've been looking for them?” she breathed. “This whole time?”
“Well, technically Kay has. I just told her where to start, and she's been doing the rest. Hell, I don't even know how much is out there for her to find at – Oof!”
All the air rushed out of his lungs as Athena pulled him into a crushing hug. “That's so brave,” she insisted. “Looking for your parents after so long, trying to figure out where you came from...” She pulled away, determination burning in her eyes. “Anything you need, any help you want from me, just say the word, okay?”
“You're...awfully gung-ho about this, aren't you?”
“Of course I am. I mean, if I had the chance to get to know my mom now...who knows? I just...I think it's really great is all. And hey, maybe you even have some siblings out there!”
“Doubt it,” he said with a wan little smile. “I mean, I guess it's possible, but I'm not really getting my hopes up.”
“Do you want some company when you go to meet with her later?” Athena asked him once she'd given him his personal bubble back again. “I could come with you. If you want me to, that is. It sounded important, what she was talking about over the phone.”
He opened his mouth to turn her down, to insist that he could go alone, but he'd never hoped to find anything at all, and within a week, Kay seemed to have tracked down something that had sent even her for a loop. It was all moving so quickly that it made his head spin. Maybe now was the last time to have a shortage of friends to lean on.
So instead, he smiled at her and said, “I think I'd like that, if you don't mind,” and Athena's face lit up like the Fourth of July.
Chapter 8
Notes:
I'm so sorry for the long wait - thanks for being patient. Also, I'm horrible at replying to comments, but just know that I read and adore every single one. <3
Chapter Text
If Apollo didn't have acid reflux already, Athena's driving was enough to give it to him – nevermind his nerves tweaked every time she stopped at a light long enough for him to catch his breath.
“You don't have to hang on so tight,” she said, nodding at his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle above the door. “I passed my drivers' test on the first try, and I'll have you know I've never gotten anything worse than a parking ticket.”
(First time for everything,) he wanted to say, but she was giving him a ride home later, so maybe it was in his best interest not to be pithy. “I'm fine,” he forced out through a constricted throat and clenched teeth.
“No you're not,” Athena insisted. The light turned green, and she accelerated through the crosswalk like she was starting the Daytona 500. “You're practically a ball of anxiety.” Even her fourteen-year-old car managed to be a pretty smooth ride once she got up to speed, and he loosened his grip on the handle just enough to let his knuckles get some color back into them. “What did Kay say? You know, over the phone? Did she...Apollo, did she find your mom?”
“She has a picture,” Apollo said. “That's all I know.”
God, he missed Clay's jokes right about now. Managing a laugh would at least get his mind off the way his stomach was twisting around the last of his lunch.
“I don't have to come in with you,” Athena muttered. “I can...I can just wait outside for you. Until you're done. You know, if you'd rather just talk alone.”
“No, it's okay.” He forced a smile. “It's not like I'm ashamed of it or anything. And besides, I want you there.”
She kept her eyes on the road – thankfully – but they darted toward him for a moment, wide and hopeful. “You do?”
“Yeah. You're my friend, after all.”
Maybe he didn't say that enough.
“Of course I am!” Athena beamed. “And don't you worry – I have tissues in the glove compartment and a sturdy shoulder to cry on if it comes to that.”
“I...doubt it. But thanks anyway.”
Athena parked outside of the office – managing one of the best parallel parking jobs Apollo had ever seen, no less – just as the sun was starting to set behind the Los Angeles skyline. She whistled as she got out, looking up and down its brick exterior. “Pretty cool,” she muttered.
“You think?”
“Well, I've never seen a real private investigator's office before. So I guess it's just cool by default.”
The waiting area seemed to have transformed since the last time he'd seen it – no more boxes littering the entrance, everything neat and tidy. Somehow he didn't get the feeling it would stay so organized for long, but it was a vast improvement for the moment.
Small as it was, Athena looked downright awestruck. “I can't believe someone so young has her very own office,” she said. “She's just like Jessica Jones!”
“You know, minus the super strength and the creepy telepathic stalker.”
“As far as you know!” Kay sang as she popped her head around the doorway. “I moved that couch in all by myself!” She leaned against the door frame, one ankle easily crossed over the other. “Never met anyone named Killgrave, though. You must be Athena, right?”
“Maybe she's the telepathic one,” Athena muttered.
“Nah...A.J. mentioned you once or twice.”
“A.J?”
“You said you had something for me, right?” Apollo intervened. He didn't want to think about how long it would take him to get Athena to stop calling him that now. “Something about a...a picture?”
His heart was already jumping into his throat, and he was sure Athena could hear it in his voice. Hell, he could hear it himself, and Kay must have picked up on it too, because her expression softened. She stepped back, suddenly all professionalism and grace, and gestured for him to step into her office. “You waiting out here?” Kay asked, glancing at Athena as Apollo was halfway through the door.
She didn't answer, just looked over at him. Really, there was no question in his mind as to what the answer was, and he smiled at her. “I don't mind – hell, maybe it would be a good thing to have a psychologist around.”
Athena's face lit up behind her bangs, fingers trailing through her hair as she followed him into the office. “Suit yourself,” Kay said with a shrug. “I don't have a problem sharing if you don't.”
Kay didn't sit, standing behind her desk instead and bending over a plain manilla folder that was open on the scuffed wood. Apollo barely caught a glimpse of an image paper-clipped to the first sheet there, but she picked it up and sat on the window sill behind her desk before he could make out just what – or who – it was.
“I don't want to get your hopes up too high,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ears and tapping the folder on her knee. “I still have no idea who she is.”
One word echoed in Apollo's head. “She?” he repeated.
Kay nodded. “Everything matches up. The time, the description, the location. You ought to count your lucky stars, because it was like the heavens aligned just right for me to find this.” She waved the folder over one shoulder, almost casually.
Something lurched in his gut – somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was in that folder was going to change him, in one way or another. It was unreal, and felt a little ridiculous, but when he tried to swallow, he found his mouth had gone dry. “So...what did you find?”
“It's a funny story, actually,” Kay mused. “I have a friend down in the archives of Criminal Affairs. Really sweet lady. Anyway, she did me a favor and cross-referenced police reports at the time with traffic cam footage that had been flagged as pending investigation.”
“But there wasn't an investigation,” Apollo said.
“Not a formal one, but there was a report. So when it just so happened that there was an active traffic cam right outside Safe Haven the night you were left there, some office worker must have flagged the images. It never led to anything, sure, but the old head honcho in charge footage archive was a stickler for keeping records.”
“I heard he retired years ago,” Athena said, “and the only reason he stayed for as long as he did was because it took him months just to clean out his office.” She grimaced. “I wish people wouldn't joke about that – hoarding is a real psychological problem.”
“Yeah, well it was pretty much the only reason I was able to find this.” Kay dropped the folder, still closed, onto the desk, and Apollo had to resist the urge to reach out a grab it. “The street cam footage was just hanging out in the archives for years, never used in any investigations, just collecting dust. Well..digital dust, anyway. It was due to be deleted in just a few weeks.” She smiled, looking rather proud of herself. “You have impeccable timing, A.J.”
He studied the folder, but didn't move a muscle. Kay seemed to be waiting for him to grab it, and part of him wanted to, more than anything. But all he could do was stare. “So...there's a picture of her in there,” he said. “Of my...”
“It's her,” Kay said, her voice softer now as she slid the folder toward him. “Of course, you can only expect so much from twenty-year-old street cam footage, but it's her, Apollo. It's your mom.”
Athena was staring at him, expectantly, waiting for him to make a move. Both of them were. Finally, he took a breath and reached for the folder. The moment he opened it, Athena let out a tiny gasp, covering her mouth with one hand.
“Apollo,” she breathed, “You look just like her.”
The image was grainy, zoomed in on her face. Her features were half-covered by a fringe of dark hair obscuring her forehead and an opaque scarf over her mouth, but her eyes were plenty visible. She was looking down to one side, like she was fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder, and when he squinted, he could have sworn her eyes looked misty, but the image was too blurry to tell for sure.
A flurry of emotions rushed through him all at once, making his chest feel tight and his stomach churn. Suddenly there was a face where there had been nothing for so many years, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He did neither, staring at the photo and trying to form two and a half decades' worth of memories of her face in one long, silent moment.
It wasn't until Athena wordlessly handed him a tissue that he realized he'd started to tear up, and he took it and held it in his fist as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I'm fine,” he insisted, voice ragged.
“It must be weird,” Kay offered, softly. “Seeing a face for the first time is overwhelming for more people than you might think.”
“Really, I'm fine,” he said again. “I just...I can't...” His throat ached, but the tissue still went unused. “I can't shake the feeling that I've seen her before.”
“Maybe that's only natural,” Athena offered. “I mean...it's like deja vu, or feeling like you've seen a place in your dreams. Your brain fills in things in your memories where it thinks they should fit. So maybe she looks familiar because...in your mind, she's supposed to be familiar.”
It was more than that, but he was too exhausted to give it too much thought. “Yeah,” he said instead, finally bringing the tissue to his nose and blowing. “That must be it.”
The drive home was short and quiet. Athena barely spoke except to ask him if he wanted the radio on, and he'd shrugged and told her that anything but country was fine by him. By the time they pulled up to his apartment, she was chewing on her lip and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel so quickly it sounded like a drumroll. "Are you...really okay?" she asked. "Or are you just hoping you're going to be?"
It was an odd question, but he couldn't quite answer. He still felt like he was in a dream, and he ran his fingers across the edge of the photo in his pocket as he tried to clear the fog in his brain enough to speak. "I'm fine," he wanted to say, but all he could get out was a quiet, "I'm...not sure."
"Well that's okay too," Athena said, brow knit with determination. "I can hang around for a little while if you want."
"It's okay. You should get home, and I...I kinda need to think a little. You know, alone."
"Alright." She stared at the steering wheel for a moment before lunging across the emergency brake and wrapping her arms awkwardly around him. "This is really, really great, Apollo. I'm so happy for you."
It actually did make him feel a little better.
He made his way up to his apartment, changing into sweats the moment he could. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until then, collapsing onto his sofa with a box of leftover takeout.
He couldn't stop staring at the woman in the picture. No matter how grainy or bleak-looking the image was, it almost felt like she could glance up any second and look right at him. Somehow, he felt like he was waiting for some grand epiphany. Maybe if he stared at her long enough, he'd uncover some hidden memory of her that had been buried in his infant psyche.
Maybe he'd figure out why she looked so damn familiar...
His computer was open on his coffee table, ready and waiting for him to follow through with his promise to call Clay. It was almost seven – six o'clock where Clay was, if he remembered correctly – so he'd have to wait at least another hour. Clay was always so exhausted in the evenings from his intensive training, but he never looked unhappy; he always answered with a tired smile and spent the first ten minutes of their conversation telling Apollo about some amazing new drill he'd done in the days before.
A pang of something achy twisted in his gut. Just a little over five more months to go, right?
There was a knock on his door just as he let out a sigh, and he shoved the picture into his pocket and stood. The last thing he needed now was a pissed off neighbor coming to his door to yell at him for waking them up with his morning routine – again. Or worse, someone campaigning for one of the local politicians.
But it wasn't an angry neighbor or anyone with a clipboard. Instead, Apollo opened up his door and blinked up at Klavier as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar cell phone. “Left this in my car this morning,” he said with a smile.
Loose T-shirt, faded jeans, hair tied back in a messy bun – Apollo had known the guy for years, and could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen him so...casual. Without even a single chain in sight. He half-wondered if he'd see candid snapshots of him in the tabloids the next day, headlines speculating wildly about whether Klavier Gavin was “letting himself go.”
Finally, Apollo managed to close his mouth and take the phone. “Y-yeah...sorry.”
“Bitte, it's nothing. I would have brought it sooner if I'd realized it before I got home.”
“You didn't have to bring it at all.”
Klavier's face fell. “Ah...ja, I know it wasn't the most polite move to drop in unannounced. Don't worry, Forehead, I don't plan on staying long.”
(Shit, why did I have to say it that way?) “No – no, I just meant...” He sighed, smiling again and stepping back from the door. “You came all this way. Why don't you at least come in for a soda or something?”
“Inviting me in so late,” Klavier crooned, thumbs hooked in his pockets as he leaned closer. “What would the press think?”
“I don't see any paparazzi around, do you?” Apollo huffed. “Just get in here.”
“Alright, alright. I hardly need convincing.”
By the time Apollo had closed the door, Klavier had already wandered all the way past the kitchenette into the living room. It was cleaner now than it had been in weeks, now that he'd managed to get it back in order after Trucy had left, but suddenly Apollo was hyper-aware of the Chinese takeout boxes on the coffee table and the dirty dishes in the sink.
Clay would always give him a hard time for that, despite the fact that he ate almost exclusively off of paper and plastic and came up with every excuse in the book to avoid washing cookware.
“I was gonna come by and get it tomorrow,” Apollo muttered, pocketing his phone and going to the fridge. “You didn't have to go out of your way.”
“Ja, you're right, Forehead. I confess – it was all a ploy to get you to let me into your apartment.” He plopped down on the sofa. “I wanted to see how the other half lives.”
Apollo shrugged. Just like Klavier to go ahead and make himself comfortable right from the start. At least he had the decency not to prop his feet up on the coffee table – he even grabbed a coaster as Apollo handed him a can of diet Dr. Pepper. “You've seen one tiny apartment, you've seen them all.”
“I just can't believe you never invited me over sooner.”
(I didn't invite you,) Apollo thought, but he smiled anyway. “Don't take it personally. I've never been much of a host.”
Klavier set his drink down on the coaster and sat back on the sofa. His thumb pressed against the side of the silver ring wrapped around his middle finger, turning it around and around. It was something Apollo had caught him doing more than once, usually while he was gathering his thoughts in court or trying to be uncharacteristically tactful for once. “Ah...I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Forehead...but you missed a few calls. I didn't pry, don't you worry, but I did want to make sure they weren't anything important, and-”
“Let me guess,” Apollo sighed. “From Kay?”
“Suppose she got in touch with you regardless.”
It was nothing but a friendly curiosity, but it just made Apollo's shoulders feel heavy. He sat down next to Klavier on the sofa with a deep sigh, letting the facade of “fine” fade for just a moment.
Klavier's own smile was gone. “Suppose that's a yes...not good?”
Instead of answering, Apollo reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo. He handed it to Klavier, face-down, not meeting his eye. It felt...intimate, somehow, like he was letting Klavier in on some deep, private part of his life that he barely knew enough about himself. Klavier was careful, taking the photo and turning it over slowly.
Finally, he breathed, “Mein Gott...is that...?”
“That's her,” Apollo said. “Apparently. My mother.”
“How-”
“Traffic cam.” He felt himself laugh as he said it, because it was just too surreal not to. Since when had he gotten so lucky? “The footage was archived thanks to the police report they filed after I was left at the orphanage. Never led to anything, obviously...until now.” He shrugged and sipped his soda. “No formal investigation, but at least I got a twenty-four-year-old photo of the woman who gave birth to me, so that's something.”
Klavier was staring at the picture, brow pinched. For a moment, Apollo thought he saw a flicker of recognition there in his eyes, like Klavier felt the same strange surge of familiarity when he looked at it that he had. But it was gone in a second, and there was no way it could have been real in the first place, anyway.
“She's beautiful,” Klavier said as he handed it back again. “I can see the resemblance.”
“Ha,” Apollo barked.
“Nein, I mean it. It's in the eyes, Apollo.” He smiled, warmly, taking the photo back and holding it up in front of him, as if a side by side comparison would somehow make the details clearer. “You really do have the same eyes.”
It made Apollo's heart do a strange little flip in his chest. “Y-you think so? Athena said the same thing...”
“Ja? And what about Clay? You shown him yet?”
Apollo glanced over at the laptop still open and powered down on the table. “Ah...not yet. I can't call him until after nine – he's usually back in his bunk by eight his time, so I've just gotta wait it out.” He stared at the picture on the coffee table, turning the cold can of soda around and around in his hands. “I'm still not used to this...having to work around that schedule. He was always busy at GYAXA, but it always felt like I could talk to him pretty much any time...”
Klavier shifted next to him, folding his hands over his knees and turning that silver ring around his finger again. “You miss him, don't you?”
“Of course I do,” Apollo said with a shrug. “I mean, we've known each other for something like ten years now. I'm happy for him, going off and chasing his dreams and all that, but...I'm still not used to not talking to him every day.” Despite the ache in his chest as he spoke, Apollo caught himself smiling. “He's my best friend, you know?”
After a long silence, Klavier cleared his throat and asked, “And...just that?”
Apollo almost inhaled his soda. “W-what?” he coughed.
Klavier was toying with that ring again, moving it up and down the length of his finger between his knuckles. “Well...forgive me for prying, Forehead, but you two are rather close...” Apollo stared. “And – I don't like to bring it up like this, but – you were more distraught than I've ever seen you when he...while he was in surgery.”
How could he ever forget that feeling? He'd tried harder than he wanted to admit to clear away the memory of pacing back and forth across the waiting room, counting tiles until his feet had swollen and gut had cramped from hunger. He remembered what it felt like to be sick to his stomach with worry, to be terrified in his bones that the next doctor who walked out would tell him Clay was...
“Because he's my friend,” he insisted, voice rough. His throat felt like the Sahara, and even finishing off his soda didn't seem to help. “He's my best friend. Of course I was worried.”
“Ach, forget I said anything...” Klavier stared at the carpet, folding his hands tightly over his knees. “I shouldn't have...nevermind.”
Apollo fought the urge to fidget on the sofa, chewing on his lip. Suddenly he was very aware of the silence stretching between them, and of the sound of Klavier's rings scraping against his soda can as he put it gingerly down on the table.
“I mean...” Apollo finally said, cheeks burning. “It's not like it never...you know...came up.”
Klavier's brows shot up, and he leaned his elbow against the back of the couch and rested his chin on his open palm. “Now you've got me interested, Forehead.”
“I promise it's not that fascinating a story.”
“Maybe, but you can't just leave me hanging like that.” He was grinning, all awkwardness gone. Somehow that managed to put Apollo at ease.
“It's really nothing special. We...we practically grew up together. Went through puberty together, all those hormones and awkward phases included.” That alone made him want to shiver. “It...it came up...he...Clay...he was my first...”
Klavier's eyes went wide.
“My first crush,” Apollo insisted. “Not...we never...he was my first kiss, alright?”
Now that he thought about it, it was the first time he'd ever told another person that before. Probably the first time he'd ever said it out loud.
Klavier was grinning like a madman, covering his mouth with his hand. (At least he's trying to cover up how amused he is.) “You're joking.”
“I'm not.” Apollo laughed as he said it, surprising himself. “You really want to know all this?”
“Of course, now that you have me hooked.” Klavier had a knack for getting into his personal space, and he was doing it again now, leaning in close enough that Apollo could smell the lingering notes of cinnamon on his breath from that gum he always had on him. “How on earth did that happen?”
“The same way it usually happens, I guess. I...” He sighed, letting his head rest on the back of the sofa. “Alright, alright...well, you know how it goes. We were best friends in high school. Talked about everything. School, friends, bullies, family, what we wanted to do when we grew up...Eventually started talking about girls.” A fond little smile slipped onto his face. “We both really liked girls. Him especially.”
“I never would have guessed,” Klavier quipped.
“Well...we both had that in common, anyway. But I figured out pretty quick that the guys were turning my head just as much. And we never really talked about that. It just never came up. Until...well, Clay went away for a few months one summer, and when he got back...”
Klavier nodded, smiling knowingly. “Suddenly he turned your head too, didn't he?”
“It's a cliché, I know.” Apollo scratched at the back of his neck, counting the stains on the coffee table as he spoke. “I had a crush on my best friend. It happens all the time. So...I did what any awkward seventeen-year-old with a crush would do.”
“Pined helplessly?”
“No,” Apollo said. “Told him. And kissed him in the locker room before one of his football games.”
Klavier stared at him for a moment, then leaned back with a wide grin and began to clap. “Achtung,” he chuckled. “Now that takes guts, Forehead.”
He hoped the room was dim enough so that Klavier couldn't see him blush. “Yeah, well...it sure made things awkward, at least.”
“I take it he didn't share your sentiments?”
“It was a crush,” Apollo said again with a shrug. “It passed. It's not like I'm pining after him now. Though...I did do my share of pining.”
“Ja? For how long?”
“Ah...until college.” He jabbed a finger toward Klavier, holding his eye. “But you can't ever tell him that. If he knows how long I lusted after him, he'll never let me live it down.”
Klavier threw his head back and cackled, covering his face with one hand. “Gott...fine, you have my word, Forehead. He'll never hear it from me.”
It surprised him how easily he laughed, and how comfortable he was despite the fact that Klavier barely seemed to know the meaning of the words "personal bubble." He never would have thought he would be so relaxed around a prosecutor, of all people, let alone one who had sold out stadiums and had millions of twitter followers. Klavier downed the last of his drink and stood with a satisfied little sigh. "Well...don't want to overstay my welcome, ja?"
Something in Apollo wanted to ask him to stay - he'd wanted to be alone, but suddenly Klavier's company sounded much more appealing than none at all. But instead, he just said, "Thanks for bringing my phone."
"Think nothing of it, Forehead. And ah...well..." That ring of his glinted as he turned it around the base of his finger - round and round... "Ach...thank you. You know, for sharing what you did. I'll have to repay the favor sometime." He winked, that Gavin swagger back in full force again. "Maybe some day I'll tell you the story of my first kiss."
Apollo groaned, but that only made Klavier laugh on his way toward the door.
It was nine-thirty by the time Apollo finally powered up his computer and called Clay, and it took two tries for him to finally pick up. “Finally!” was the first thing out of Clay's mouth before his face even appeared on the screen. “You're late, Pollo.”
“Missed you too,” Apollo countered with a smile, and he squinted at the screen, seeing nothing but a blur of skin and dark hair as Clay sat down. “Are you...naked?”
“I just got out of the shower – sue me.” He took the towel from around his neck and got to work drying off his hair. “I have pants on, though. I do have some decency. But geez, Pollo...you wouldn't believe the crazy day I've had. I don't think I've ever been this sore in my life...But enough about me, huh? How are you doing? You talk to Kay lately?”
The change in his expression must have been enough to tip Clay off that something was up, because he dropped his towel on the floor a moment later. “Don't tell me...she found something, didn't she?”
“Well...”
“What is it? Did she find them, Pollo? Did she find your parents?”
“No! Well...sort of. Not really. She found a picture-”
“You're kidding me.”
Apollo reached for it, staring at it for a long moment. “It's of my mom,” he said. “From twenty-four years ago, more or less. From the night she left me at the home.”
Clay looked like he was about to burst by the time Apollo finally held it up to the camera as best he could. As blurry as it already was, he wondered if any of the details got through at all, but Clay's jaw dropped. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, no way.”
“Yeah.” He pulled the picture away. “It's crazy-”
“No, no! Put it back!”
“What?”
“The picture, Pollo. I want another look!”
“It's not gonna change no matter how long you stare at it,” Apollo said, holding it to the camera again none the less. “Believe me, I've looked at it long enough.”
When he looked a the screen again, Clay was grinning. “I was right,” he said. “You do have her eyes.”
Again with that...just what made his eyes so interesting all of a sudden?
“You think so too, right? Come on, you have to see the resemblance.”
“I...” He doubted looking for what had to be the thousandth time that night would make any difference, but he studied the picture again anyway. “I guess.”
“So...what now?” Clay asked him. “I mean, Kay's gotta have a plan. She found a picture – she's gotta be out there somewhere.”
“The picture is from almost two and a half decades ago, Clay. She might not even be alive anymore. Or she might be living in Australia or something.”
“Well...you never know, right?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said, tucking the photo back into his pocket again. “You never know.”
The sheer length of his day hit him all at once, sinking into his bones and making him groan as he stretched out on the couch. “Hey,” he said. “When you said you told Klavier to take care of me...what did you mean?”
"Huh?"
"A while ago, you said you told him to take care of me."
“Well, I meant just that,” Clay said. “I didn't know if you were gonna get him in on the whole private investigation thing, but I'm kinda glad you did. I wanted you to have someone around you could talk to about it.” He sighed, heavily. “This kind of thing can get unbearable fast if you don't have anyone to talk to.”
“So in other words, you wanted to make sure I had someone around to pull me out of crisis mode if it came to that,” Apollo guessed.
“Well...not that I think it's gonna come to that...but yeah, I guess you could say that.” He shrugged and went back to drying his hair. “I just told him to be a good friend to you. That's it.”
Apollo barely felt it – the tiniest twinge at his wrist. He could have easily imagined it. Clay's face was still half-hidden by that damn towel, but he could have sworn he'd seen the slightest twitch of something in his eyes. His fingers pressed against his bracelet reflexively, massaging the sinew under his skin.
When Clay pulled the towel away again and saw that, he pouted. “Oh come on, Pollo. Don't bracelet me.”
“I'm not,” Apollo lied. He offered a placating little smile. “It doesn't really work all that well over video anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah...” He didn't sound convinced. “Why are you asking about Klavier, anyway? Has he been acting weird or something? He said anything?”
(Did you have something specific in mind...?) Apollo caught himself thinking, but he kept it to himself. Instead he just made a noncommittal gesture and said, “He's been hanging around me more. Not that I mind. He made me coffee this morning.”
“He took you out to coffee?”
“No, I mean he made me coffee. He took me to his office and made me the best damn cup of coffee I ever had. And then came over here to bring me my phone after I left it in his car. Just left a little while ago, actually. We talked a bit...”
Clay was staring at him, in that odd way that he did when Apollo failed to follow his excited ramblings about space travel or when he got so worked up about something that he slipped into Korean without realizing it. It was Clay's “I can't believe you can't get this through your thick skull,” look, and it was making him want to fidget.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Clay lied. “It's just...well I just can't believe you you haven't figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?”
“Pollo...are you really that dense?”
Apollo huffed, sitting up and ignoring the head rush as he did. “Clay, what the hell are you getting at?”
“Uh...that he's crazy about you? Seriously, it's so obvious that I could cry.”
The noise that came out of his throat was one that he'd never managed to make before – somewhere between a choke and a laugh that made him sound a little like a dying goose. “W-what?”
“Klavier,” Clay laughed. “C'mon, Pollo, the guy is hard up for you.”
He got up off the couch under the pretense of throwing the soda cans from earlier into the recycling bin. At least then Clay wouldn't see how red his face got at that. “You're being ridiculous – he's just a good friend. Don't even joke about that.”
“I'm not joking. Pollo – Pollo, get back here, would you?”
His voice was softer this time, the teasing edge gone. Apollo sat back down again, once his cheeks had cooled a bit. “C'mon, Clay,” Apollo said, a laugh forcing his way out as he spoke. “Why the hell would someone like Klavier be into me?”
“Oh, don't give me that whole shrinking violet thing, Pollo. You got a lot going for you, and Klavier isn't nearly as shallow as the tabloids make him seem.” Clay looked away from the camera, half-hiding his face behind his messy, half-dried hair. “You can't sit there and tell me that you've never noticed?" He gave him a sly side-glance, bangs obscuring most of his eyes. "Never caught him looking at you when he thought you couldn't see, or getting a little closer than he needed to?”
“Of course not,” Apollo said, and his bracelet almost cut off the circulation to his hand. The extra little smiles, the lingering touches, the flirtation that always seemed just that tiny bit warmer than it did with everyone else...Those were all things that friends did, weren't they? At least friends who were as tactile and hopelessly romantic as Klavier was.
Plenty of them were things he'd caught himself doing with Clay, a few years back.
“Maaaaybe I shouldn't have said anything,” Clay muttered, curling a strand of black hair around his finger. “You look like you're gonna puke.”
He felt like it, too, but Apollo forced down the sudden cold feeling in his gut and snorted out a laugh instead. “I think you've just gone and lost it,” he said. “All that new muscle you're building is sucking all the blood from your brain.”
“You think?”
“Definitely. Klav is – Klavier is a good friend. And he's a great guy, but come on...does he really seem like the type to go pining after a secret crush?” He turned his bracelet round and round on his wrist, the familiar coolness of the metal on his fingertips helping to slow down his heart. “He'd have asked me out a thousand times by now if he were that into me. Probably with some crazy public display that would go viral on Youtube.”
“Can you imagine?” Clay snickered.
“I'd rather not.”
Clay was cackling now. “But can you imagine?”
Something about his laugh had always been infectious – he'd managed to get Apollo chuckling through tears more than once. So even as he rolled his eyes, he felt himself smile as he said, “Unfortunately, yes.”
Their laughter died down slowly. Even as they both took a breath and settled into a comfortable silence, Apollo's thoughts kept racing, making his bracelet twitch on his wrist. “So, ah...” he finally started to say as Clay reached for a Q-tip and started cleaning out his ear. “It's funny...I told Klavier about...you know...our...thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know...homecoming? The locker room?”
Clay pulled the Q-tip from his ear – probably for the best, considering a ruptured ear drum was the last thing he needed now. “Oh...really? How did that come up?”
“We were talking about you...it just did.”
“Good stuff, I hope.”
“We were shit-talking you, honestly,” Apollo deadpanned, and Clay snorted. “I think he was impressed. Is it really that weird that I would make a first move?”
“Well you haven't before or since, so...yeah.”
“Hey, I've made plenty of first moves, thank you very much.”
“Please. The last date you went on, I set up, remember?”
“Yeah, and we had nothing in common. I don't know why I let you set me up with him.”
“The girl before him was nice. She was my idea too, remember?”
“She stole an entire basket of breadsticks and walked out on me before our food showed up.”
Clay winced. “I forgot about that.”
Honestly, Clay's dating suggestions were probably why Apollo didn't go out more often. He smirked, stroking his chin thoughtfully as Clay went back to shoving that damn Q-tip back into his ear. “You know...maybe I should ask Kay out to a movie after all this is over.”
He had no plans to – Clay knew he didn't – but that didn't stop his friend from glaring. “Don't you dare, Pollo.”
“Relax, I'm kidding. She's more your type anyway, and if she can put up with you, more power to her.”
“I'm a delight,” Clay said with a pout.
“You are.” Apollo's eye wandered before he could stop it, moving down and settling on the scar that was still all too visible, pink and puckered on Clay's chest. Something clenched inside of him, making his smile waver a little. “I miss you, okay?”
“Yeah.” Clay pulled on a shirt, finally, shaking out his hair. “You too, Pollo.”
“You should get your rest.”
“I should...” A mad grin stretched across his face. “We're going on the vomit comet tomorrow – gotta save me strength.”
“Ugh...why did you have to tell me that?”
“Because I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah...” He was smiling despite rolling his eyes as he spoke. “Night, Clay.”
“Jal-ja.”
In spite of everything racing through his head, he felt lighter when he ended the call – albeit too tired to do much more than shuffle to his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. The image of that face popped up in his mind again as he drifted off. Those eyes seemed to have burned into his memory already.
He wondered what she'd been like – if she'd ever sung him a lullaby or kissed him goodnight. If she had, he couldn't remember it. She looked like she would have had a soft, soothing voice. At least that was what he chose to believe. Maybe she'd sung other children to sleep after him.
What really got him, though, and what made his heart ache despite his attempts to shrug it off, was that if she was out there somewhere with a life of her own, plenty of people probably got to hear her voice every day, without having any idea just how lucky they were.
Chapter Text
“Polly,” Trucy cried, glitter flying in all directions as she waved her hat at him with a pout, “You have to stay still if this is gonna work?”
He gulped, trying to calm his racing heart - and failing miserably. She'd never given him a reason not to trust her aim, but he was mere inches from getting a throwing knife to the face, and that was not how he wanted to go. “I'm trying,” he groaned. “How many times have you done this?”
“Plenty,” she said. She reached up to adjust the orange on his head and took a few paces back, readying another knife. “Usually with Mr. Hat, but Athena's been letting me practice on her too. And Prosecutor Blackquill a couple of times.” Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration – a gesture that would have been adorable if it weren't for the knife she was aiming at him. “He sure didn't fidget as much as you do, Polly.”
“Sorry I don't have Blackquill's nerves of steel.” He closed his eyes, breathing in deep.
“Open your eyes,” Trucy said, and he did without thinking. The knife came barreling towards him so quickly that he didn't have time to flinch before the orange went flying backward, skewered by the blade and pinned against the tree behind him. Sticky citrus juice dribbled down the back of his neck.
He leaned against the tree with a groan, Trucy beaming at him. “Perfect! Just don't faint, okay.”
“Trying...” he managed to get out between breaths.
As Trucy collected her knife, he sat down on the grass, pulling the drawstrings of his hoodie as tight as he could. The chill in the air was barely enough for him to need the extra layer at all, but he enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped in soft fabric. It soothed his nerves. Clay had always given him a hard time for wearing it even in the warmer months – rolling the sleeves up when he started to sweat – but Trucy didn't say a thing about it.
Then again, she did make a point of wearing the same sleeveless magician's outfit to every performance, no matter how low the temperature dipped. She'd pulled on a sweatshirt for the moment - bearing the bright Gavinners' logo, no less - but her hat stayed perched atop her head regardless.
She sat next to him, casually wiping off her knife and peeling the orange. He took the slice she offered him and halfheartedly nibbled on it, watching leaves blowing across the footpath. “You talk to your dads yet?” he asked, and Trucy almost coughed around her own orange slice.
“Uh...kind of.”
(That's a no.) “Kind of?”
She worked the orange peel between her fingers, ripping it into smaller and smaller pieces and tossing it into the grass bit by bit. “We...talked. Me and Papa did. He said he wasn't surprised...didn't think I seemed happy with the idea in the first place.” She managed a smile, albeit a small one. “But...I don't quite know how to tell Dad yet.”
Papa...Edgeworth. Somehow, it was just like him to see this coming from a mile away. He'd always been an attentive man, if nothing else. It seemed that carried over into fatherhood too.
“If it helps...I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could do to disappoint either of them,” Apollo offered, nudging her gently. “Short of burning down the Agency or...grand theft auto, or something.”
That got a laugh out of her, and pride swelled in Apollo's chest.
“You know,” he found himself saying, “You're really lucky to have such great dads.”
“I know, I know. I never doubted that.” She stared at the grass, the last of her orange peel shredded and littering the ground next to her feet. “After Dad got his badge back, he was so happy. I'd never seen him smile so much. I didn't think he could be any happier. But ever since they got back from their honeymoon, he hasn't seemed to stop smiling.”
When Apollo looked over at her again, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. “Trucy...”
She sniffled, wiping them away and laughing as she did. “I love seeing them so happy. And I just want them to keep being as happy as they are now.”
He scooted closer, carefully wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him the minute he did, resting her head against his arm and letting her hat fall into her lap. “You should be happy too,” he said. “You know that, right?”
A tiny laugh mixed with a soft sob as she sat up, wiping her eyes in earnest. “Of course I know that. And so should you.” She looked at him, eyes glistening. “That's why you're looking for your mother, right? Because you think it'll make you happy?”
His mouth went dry. “H-how...how did you?”
“Ema told me,” she said with a shrug. “But don't be mad at her – she didn't mean to. She was helping me study for my AP chemistry test, and I think it just slipped out. Well, it slipped out that you were talking to a private investigator, anyway. I figured out the rest myself.” She tugged on the fingers of her gloves, stretching them out and letting them snap back into place. He'd caught her doing it plenty of times before, when she was warming up for a show or waiting int the wings to go on.
“I caught you looking at that picture of yours,” she finally said. “I didn't get a good look, but I could tell it was some woman, and the photo looked pretty old. I just sort of put the pieces together.”
He stared at her, swallowing thickly and pouring over it in his mind – he'd tried so hard to leave her out of it, to keep the burden of worrying about him off of her shoulders, and she'd gone and figured it all out anyway. “I...I didn't want you to worry about me,” he finally said. “That's why I didn't tell you. It wasn't because...it wasn't because I don't trust you. I-”
Trucy threw her head back and laughed, hair spilling into her flushed face. “I know, dummy! You didn't have to tell me. You've always been pretty closed off about your private life anyway. I didn't even know you were lactose intolerant until a few months ago.”
“Why is everyone always surprised by that?”
She was still smiling even as she looked down at the grass, tucking her knees up to her chest. “I'm always gonna worry about you,” she finally said, so softly that Apollo almost didn't hear her. She peeked over at him. “Do you think it'll make you happy, Polly? Finding her, I mean.”
“I'm...not sure.”
“Do you think you'd want to meet her?”
It was his turn to look away, if for no other reason than to try and keep her from noticing the strain in his voice as he answered her. “I don't think so.”
She sat up sharply, staring at him. "Why not?" she asked, and something in her voice sounded immensely disappointed.
Forcing a smile was harder this time, but he did it anyway, just to relieve her worry. “I guess I haven't decided yet. It all depends on what Kay finds. I don't...I don't even know if she's alive.”
After a long moment's silence, Trucy said, “I think I would.”
“Really?”
“Well, not that you have to. You're right – you never even met her. She'd be a stranger, even if she was your mom. But...I guess mine would be too. I was so young when she died, I wouldn't even remember what she looked like if it weren't for the couple of pictures my dad left.” She toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her wrists like she was trying to hide in the fabric. “But still...I think if I got the chance, I'd want to meet her again. I have so many questions I'd want to ask her.”
She leaned against the tree, staring up at the sky through the branches. She seemed more thoughtful than upset now, chewing on her lip in that way that she always did when she was turning something over and over in her head. “I have plenty of questions too, you know,” Apollo finally said.
"Like what?" She was grinning at him, hands folded attentively in her lap.
(No pressure...) he thought. “I know it sounds ridiculous," he said with a crooked little grin as scratched an imaginary itch on the back of his neck, "but I guess I'd want to know if she was proud of me.”
“I don't think that's ridiculous,” Trucy said warmly. “I wonder that a lot.”
He couldn't blame her – being the last Gramarye couldn't be an easy thing to bear. “I think she would be,” he offered. “I mean, you've got the best aim with a knife I've ever seen.”
That got a laugh out of her, and she reached up to teasingly toy with his hair. “Lucky for you! Not a single hair out of place. I told you that you could trust me.” She pushed herself back onto her feet again, placing her hat neatly onto her head. “C'mon, Polly. We're not done practicing for the day. I need to be in top form for my next big show tonight!”
Of course he wasn't going to get out of it so easily...
The Wonder Bar was packed even for a Saturday night, and Apollo had no doubt in his mind that it was all because of the posters up in the windows. The Amazing Trucy Gramarye, they said, in large purple letters surrounded by a cloud of silver and blue. The image of Trucy, posing and grinning, was stamped on each and every one, a whirlwind of playing cards spilling from her outstretched hand.
The show always brought a good turnout, but lately there had barely been room to stand. He'd been lucky enough to get a seat at the bar thanks to Ema. Never mind how far it was from the stage, and never mind the fact that the bartender still looked at his I.D. like he was sure it was fake.
Trucy was due to go on in fifteen minutes when Ema flagged down the bartender again. “Two shots,” she said. “Tequila – whatever's cheapest.”
“Please tell me those are both for you,” Apollo groaned.
“Hell no – we're celebrating.” He watched as the bartender poured their drinks, grimacing at the mere thought of downing that mouthful of cheap liquor. “You found your mom, Apollo. That's nothing to sneeze at. I say we propose a toast.”
“Kay found a picture. That's far from a family reunion.”
“Shut up,” she said, pressing the shot glass into his hand. “One step at a time, you know? To small victories.”
He raised the glass with a sigh. “To small victories,” he said, and he held his nose with his free hand and tossed it back, coughing so hard a second later that it threatened to come back up again. She handed him a slice of lime at the same time that she bit down on her own. “How's it taste?” Ema laughed, patting him on the shoulder.
“Like regret,” he croaked. He sucked on the lime like his life depended on it, but it didn't help. “I think I'll stick to my cider, thanks.”
“Fine, fine...I got one toast out of you, at least.” She nudged his arm, giggling beside him as she pointed across the crowd, toward the stage. “Hey, look. Never thought I'd see the day when Mister Edgeworth set foot in a bar like this.”
He followed her line of sight, finding Miles Edgeworth and his husband by the edge of the stage. Just beyond them, grinning as she peeked out from behind the curtains flanking the stage was Trucy. Without Athena's ears, he couldn't make out what they were saying, but she reached out a moment later, pressing her fist against Phoenix's and disappearing behind the curtain again.
“Fatherhood has made both of them so soft,” Ema scoffed, but she was smiling warmly as she sipped her freshly poured cosmo. “And speaking of, has Kay found anything else since that picture?”
“Nothing,” he sighed. “But I mean...that's not exactly a bad thing, is it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Maybe a picture is all I need, you know?" He picked at the edge of the label on his bottle. "Maybe that's enough.”
“So, what?” She put her drink down on the counter beside her. “You calling off the search.”
He shrugged, taking a few sips of Angry Orchard to wash the taste of tequila and lime out of his mouth before he said, “I haven't decided yet.”
“What are you two muttering about?” A figure hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses and an obscenely expensive-looking jacket leaned against the bar next to Apollo. Klavier seemed to be trying to fly below the radar, but the familiar accent and golden blond hair gave him away. “Conspiring, are you?” He tilted his sunglasses down to peek at Apoll from behind the lenses. “Without me? I'm hurt.”
“Are you seriously wearing sunglasses at night?” Ema scoffed. “And inside, no less?”
“Just trying to evade my fans for the night. Didn't want to distract from the real star of the evening. Speaking of which, when is the young fräulein scheduled to go on?”
“Any minute,” Apollo said. “And we weren't conspiring, by the way.”
“I just don't get it,” Ema said, swallowing back a generous bit of her drink and seeming to forget that Klavier was there at all. “Why would you get this far and then just give up?”
“Give up?” Klavier asked. “She's not talking about...” He dropped his voice low, until Apollo could barely hear him over the pre-performance din. “You know...that investigation of yours?”
“It's Kay's investigation, not mine. I'm just the client. And...and I haven't decided yet.” He took another swig from the bottle, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn't exactly a conversation he wanted to be having here and now. He wasn't sure why he was having the conversation at all. He'd barely given it enough thought to settle on a decision one way or another anyway, but so what if he ended it here? It wasn't like he had much to lose, and maybe it would save him some stress in the long run.
Ema had other plans, though. “You've come so far already. Why not follow through?”
“Well, it's hardly an easy decision, is it?” Klavier said, sagely. “There's something to be said for knowing when to quit when you're ahead.”
“This is his mother, we're talking about, not some gig.”
(Don't talk about me like I'm not here...) he thought, miserably.
Apollo held his almost empty bottle close to the chest, like he could hide behind it. Or maybe disappear into it. He should have known better than to mention this to Ema when she was already a few drinks deep.
“Klav, do you want a drink?” Apollo asked. If it would get them off of the subject, he would shell out ten dollars for whatever fruity cocktail Klavier wanted.
“Nein, danke, Forehead. Want my head clear for the show.”
“You never offer to buy me drinks,” Ema said, pouting.
“That's because you always buy them first.”
“Yeah, yeah...Have you talked to Clay about the whole, finding your parents thing?”
(This again...?)
“Sure, but I-”
“Because I'm sure he'd agree with me – you might as well follow through, you know?”
Apollo sighed. Ema was blunt at the best of times – never mean spirited, but difficult to rein in. The alcohol only exacerbated it, and it was starting to make his head swim. The whole point of coming to see this show had been to get away from the thoughts that had been racing through his head, after all.
She was right, though – Clay would tell him not to give up. And he didn't want to give up. Not really. It was just starting to feel like more trouble than it was worth.
The lights dimmed, the curtains drawing back on the stage, and Trucy stepped out into the spotlight, beaming. She lifted her hat, and as she bowed, a white dove escaped from under her cape, flying into the rafters and drawing laughter and gasps from her audience. It looked like an accident – she'd practiced it enough in his apartment to keep it that way.
He tried to smile, but his thoughts wouldn't stop racing – every time he glanced over at Ema, he swore she looked almost disappointed. She kept it from him as best she could, smiling whenever she caught his eye, but it was enough to make his chest ache.
He'd set out to try and find out where he came from, but what if it wasn't worth all the work that Kay had put into it? It had to be sucking up time that she could be using for other clients – paying clients. He couldn't be so selfish as to keep her from making her livelihood. But she wasn't the only one with stock in this. Like an idiot, he'd spread the news of what was going on to Ema, to Klavier, to Athena and to Clay. Not to mention Trucy...
If he gave up now...wouldn't they be disappointed?
The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. He hadn't wanted to give into these racing thoughts tonight. He'd hoped it would be an escape. Watching Trucy perform always helped him forget what was troubling him, calmed him just like Lamiroir's music always had.
Now, watching her...all he could think of was disappointing her too.
His head was swimming, and he quietly excused himself, ignoring Ema's questions and Klavier's worried looks as he slipped out the side door.
The narrow alley next to the bar was well-lit, but quiet, and Apollo sank onto the steps leading up to the parking lot with a sigh. The cold, concrete edge dug into the back of his thighs, but he hardly minded enough to do anything more than close his eyes and try and catch his breath. With any luck, he'd slipped out under the radar. The last thing he wanted was anyone worrying for no reason – especially Trucy.
It was cool out now that the breeze had picked up. It was almost enough to get through the thinning material of his hoodie, but he wasn't about to go inside because of a little chill. Instead, he pulled his sleeves down over his wrists as best he could and hunched over his own knees. It was enough to stop him from shivering, at least.
When the door creaked open again, he thought for sure he was about to be told off by one of the staff for loitering around the dumpsters, but instead, he had a jacket dropped into his lap. It was a familiar one – black, expensive-looking, and gave off the slightest hint of spicy cologne.
Klavier sat next to him without a word, their thighs barely brushing on the narrow staircase. “It's plenty warm,” he finally said, pointing at the jacket that was still hanging listlessly off of Apollo's knee. “You can borrow it if you're cold.”
“I'm fine,” Apollo said, out of habit. “Really...you don't have to worry-”
“Who said I'm worrying?”
Apollo frowned, tracing over the red trim on the sleeve of the jacket with one finger. “You followed me out here.”
“I came out to get some air,” Klavier said with a shrug. “Nice thing about going out the back is that you can have a little privacy.” He grinned, nudging Apollo's knee with his own. “I had to learn quick how to avoid the paparazzi, and I think it served me well. Last thing I wanted were pictures of me smoking behind bars filling up the front pages of the tabloids.”
Apollo finally looked at him, finger stilling against the obscenely expensive fabric. “You smoke?”
“Quit years ago,” Klavier said, pressing his knuckles against his throat. “No good for the voice.”
Pressed so close together like this, Apollo was warming up quickly, and he gathered Klavier's jacket up off of his knees and handed it back to him, staring at his shoes as he did. “I'm okay,” he said. “But thanks anyway.”
“Suit yourself.” Klavier pulled it on, tugging his hair out from underneath the collar and folding his hands in his lap. “I, ah...I'm sorry. For in there. Ema might have the excuse of being a bit drunk, but I shouldn't have...” He sighed. “Are you really alright, Forehead?”
His tone was soft and gentle, almost a whisper, and somehow the closeness of it made Apollo's stomach flip. “I-I'm fine,” he said again. “Really.” He finally forced himself to look Klavier in the eye again, managing a small smile. “I'm not much of a drinker. Needed a little fresh air, that's all.”
“Ja...I can hardly blame you for that. But you can hardly blame me for wanting to check up on you, hm?” Klavier's smile was genuine, eyes gleaming from the lamp above them that illuminated the stairwell like a spotlight.
He was just as primped and polished as ever – gloss on his lips and mascara lining his eyes, hair carefully straightened, clothes undoubtedly worth more than Apollo made in a year. For almost a decade, Klavier had embraced the persona of a suave, flirtatious, glamorous rock star who could make anyone fall in love with him three times over during a single, two-hour set. But it hadn't been that ridiculous stage persona that invited Apollo for coffee, and it sure as hell wasn't the one sitting next to him now. This may as well have been a different person – someone generous and caring who offered a custom-made leather jacket without a second thought just because he looked like he might have been cold.
Maybe this was the “real” Klavier. Hell, maybe they both were. It barely mattered to him.
“I don't like crowds,” Apollo finally admitted. “They make me...antsy. Usually it doesn't bother me, but I have a lot on my mind, and Ema kept talking about my parents and I just...” He sighed. “I couldn't stay in there. I wanted to...for Trucy's show...but...”
He trailed off, and Klavier let a moment of silence pass before he asked, “Still feeling antsy now?”
Apollo shook his head. “Nah...I just needed a minute.”
“You know...I wouldn't let it get to you. She didn't mean to-”
“I know.” He managed a smile. “I know Ema. She's blunt, but she's not a jerk. She was just trying to be supportive in her own...weird way.”
He copied Klavier's move from earlier, nudging him softly with his knee. “I feel kinda special, the famous Klavier Gavin coming out to check on me.”
“You sound surprised. What, did you think the famous Klavier Gavin didn't have it in him to care about a friend?”
“N-no! That's not what I-”
But Klavier was laughing, patting him on the shoulder. “Look at you – so easily flustered. Relax, Forehead.” His fingers dragged over Apollo's arm, lingering for just a moment longer before he leaned back against the concrete and stared up at the clear night sky.
“If you squint, I swear you can still see a few stars,” Apollo said.
“Over L.A? You must be imagining it. But then again, you have better eyes than I do. Without my contacts, I'd barely be able to make out my hand in front of my face, let alone anything so faint.”
Apollo squinted at him. “You wear contacts?”
“You never knew that?” Klavier asked, shooting him a lopsided grin, and he sighed as he closed his eyes again before Apollo could get a good look. “Ja...nearsightedness runs in the family, I'm afraid.”
Apollo knew that well enough – his old boss had lost his glasses one afternoon years before, and had barely managed to read his case reports. The dim light glinted off of Klavier's ring as he turned it round and round the base of his finger.
“Tell me about your first kiss,” Apollo blurted, and Klavier's hands froze before he snorted out a laugh.
“Where's this coming from all of a sudden?”
“When you brought me my phone the other night, you said you'd tell me.” He shrugged. “Maybe you were only joking, but I'm curious.”
Klavier didn't answer, but something flashed in his eyes – thank you for changing the subject, it seemed to say.
His smile stayed as he canted his head downward, hair blocking his face from view. Apollo pressed a knee up against his again. “C'mon,” he urged. “I told you my embarrassing story. Turnabout is fair play, you know?”
“Ja, you have a point.” Klavier pushed his hair back, letting it fall loosely over his shoulders. Whatever hair spray he used seemed to be losing its hold after a long day, but Apollo thought it suited him better than his usual curl. “It's not a very exciting story.”
“I don't care.”
He got quiet, twisting that ring again again. For a story that was apparently so boring, it sure seemed to be making him tense. Apollo almost regretted bringing it up, if it was going to dredge up painful memories, but Klavier hardly seemed bothered. Maybe he'd been wrong about it being a nervous tic – maybe Klavier just liked keeping his hands busy.
“I was fourteen,” Klavier finally said. “Still in school. Studied endlessly. To be honest, romance...or anything that came with it...it was hardly on my radar.”
“You?” Apollo gaped, feigning shock. “You mean there was a time when you weren't all swagger and charm?”
“Oh, I was plenty charming, thank you very much.” Klavier's teeth flashed in the dim light. “Just...distracted. Or maybe too busy to be distracted.” His thumb brushed up against the ring again, but didn't go to turn it just yet. “Living with Kristoph...my studies took priority. I'm sure you can imagine.”
His smile looked forced, and Apollo didn't bother trying to match it. “Yeah...I can imagine.”
“Anyway – it wasn't like I didn't want that. And it's not as if Kristoph forbade it. I just...I suppose it never really crossed my mind until...well, you know how it goes. You said it yourself.”
“One day it did,” Apollo finished. “Who was it?”
Klavier sat in silence for a moment, a wan little smile stretching across his face. “His name was Jonah. Two years older than I was – English...had the accent and everything. Had all the girls swooning, even though he never hid the fact that he was only interested in guys.” He chuckled, softly. “We had that in common.”
“The swooning or the interest in men?” Apollo asked.
Klavier grinned at him. “Both.”
“So humble...”
“What? It was true. Can I help it if the ladies of Themis had good taste?”
Apollo fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he couldn't quite find it in him to object. “So...who kissed who?”
“That's no fun, is it? Why don't you guess?”
“Oh, come on-”
“Go on, guess, Forehead!” Klavier cackled. “You have a one in two shot at getting it right. You might as well. And I want to see what you think of me.”
“Fine...” Apollo sighed. “You kissed him.”
“Wrong,” Klavier chimed. “He kissed me. We were in the library – periodicals section. I was so surprised I didn't know what to do with myself. Not during, not after, for days...Ach...nothing came of it, but...I suppose I still think back on it fondly from time to time.”
If Apollo didn't know any better, he would have sworn Klavier was blushing.
The wind had started to pick up, and goosebumps were erupting up and down Apollo's arms. Sitting this close to Klavier made it tolerable, but he had to set his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Before he could even think to try and hide it, Klavier was sliding his jacket off of his own shoulders again. “Take the jacket, Forehead,” he said.
“I'm-”
“You're shivering,” Klavier insisted. “Just take it, for God's sake.”
Apollo relented, pulling it on slowly and not meeting Klavier's gaze. He chewed on his lip, turning a question over and over in his head, hearing Clay's voice repeating in his memory-
It's so obvious that I could cry. Hadn't that been what he'd said? Like he was the most dense person on the planet.
“Klav...” he murmured, pulling the jacket tight around his shoulders and counting the cracks in the concrete under his shoes. “What...is all this?”
“What's all what?”
“All...this. The coffee, the...the checking up on me. And you keep...you keep playing with your ring.”
Klavier curled his fingers tight against his palm, recoiling like Apollo had burned him. “My ring?”
“Yeah. It's like a nervous tic. Like you're...you're tense around me. I just don't get it, Klav. What about me is it that makes you so nervous?”
The question hung in the air between them, until Apollo started to regret every asking it in the first place. Maybe this elephant should have stayed unacknowledged in the corner. He started to stand, stammering over some excuse about having to get back inside before Trucy started to wonder where he'd gone, until Klavier grabbed his wrist. His hold was gentle, barely there, and when Apollo looked back at him, he was still staring down at his knees.
“I could tell you,” Klavier murmured, voice wavering as he finally looked up at him. “But I'd...ach...maybe it would be easier to show you instead.”
He should have seen it coming from a mile away, but when Klavier finally stood and leaned in to kiss him, he felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his chest.
Chapter 10
Notes:
What's the plot of this fic again? I got caught up in my own shipping and forgot.
Chapter Text
Apollo had fallen off the seesaw in the playground down the street from the group home when he'd been eight years old. He'd slammed down so hard onto his back that he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him, and he could still remember the feeling all of the air rushing out of his little lungs and leaving him gasping like a beached fish. He'd been lucky enough that it hadn't happened before or since, but when Klavier pulled away, leaving his lips feeling unnaturally cold in the evening chill, he couldn't quite manage to get in a full breath.
It had been an overwhelming feeling then, and it was just as unsettling – if not moreso – now.
The kiss barely lasted a second or two, but it left a lingering sweetness from Klavier's chapstick behind. When Apollo managed to look up at him, Klavier's face was flushed red, his Adam's apple quivering as he swallowed back whatever he'd tried to say to break the silence.
“I guess that answers that question,” Apollo heard himself murmur. His own vocal chords didn't even feel like his own, like someone else was speaking through him. He'd barely managed to catch his breath to get the words out at all, but they hung in the middle of the uncomfortable silence until Klavier managed a shaky laugh.
“Ja,” he breathed, “I suppose it does.” He pulled his hand away from Apollo's wrist, taking a step back, and suddenly all Apollo wanted to do was tell him not to go. Klavier ran a well-manicured hand through his hair – any trace of his usual braid was gone now, and he didn't seem to care. “Gott...I've been agonizing over how to tell you, and I promised myself I wouldn't do anything impulsive. Didn't want to take the chance.”
He was still smiling, but it didn't sound like he wanted to be.
“Didn't want to risk ruining things,” he sighed. “Told myself over and over I couldn't afford to be reckless – not this time. Not with you, Forehead...” His eyes were hidden behind a curtain of messy blond hair, and all Apollo could do was stare at him as Klavier shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not sure what came over me.”
Apollo opened his mouth, tried to say something – anything – but nothing came out.
Klavier Gavin had kissed him. Klavier Gavin had been thinking about him, trying to come up with some way to tell him the truth. The coffee, the check-ups, the lingering little glances and touches – somewhere along the line, without even trying, he'd managed to make Klavier Gavin's silver tongue get tied into a hopeless knot.
And now Klavier's smile was starting to falter, and he was looking up at Apollo through a fringe of messy bangs, eyes wide and anxious. His voice was so much smaller than Apollo had ever heard it before as he pleaded: “Say something, would you? Bitte...”
There was plenty he wanted to say – he had enough questions banging around the inside of his head to keep him awake into next century, but all that came out was one: “How long?”
“You want an exact date?” Klavier sighed, sitting back down on the stairs again with his hand draped listlessly over his knees. “It's not that simple. This kind of thing never is.”
“A month?” Apollo guessed, voice wavering.
“Maybe.”
“A year?” His heart raced.
“Maybe,” Klavier said again. “I don't know, Forehead. If I could tell you, I...I would. But...” He tangled his fingers in his hair, holding them there until Apollo wondered if his nails would leave marks in his scalp. “Ach, this is killing me.” He looked up again, expression almost pleading. “You know I'm not expecting anything from you, Forehead – that's the last thing I want you to think. But...but please, take pity on me. Just tell me if you feel the same, if you feel anything-”
Apollo tugged his hoodie tighter around himself, not meeting Klavier's eye. He'd been so hyper-aware of Klavier's mannerisms – of the way his hands lingered whenever they touched or the warmth in his eyes whenever they talked – that he'd never even bothered to wonder about how his own stomach always seemed to do flips whenever he noticed them. He'd brushed off everything Clay had said about it because it was a fairy tale. He wasn't the kind of person rock stars lusted after.
And yet here Klavier was, waiting – quite literally – with baited breath for him to give him an answer. An answer that he'd never even thought to prepare.
Then again, he'd always been awful about over-thinking things, so maybe it was for the best.
Slowly, he sat down on the stairs again, the two of them side by side just like they had been just a few minutes before. He didn't look back at Klavier, but he could feel him shaking next to him, and not from the cold. “I...” His voice felt like sandpaper and sounded like it too. He swallowed thickly. “I've been so worried...about disappointing other people.”
They weren't the words he'd been expecting, but they were better than nothing by a long shot. “You, and Ema, and Clay, and Trucy...and so many other people. I've been so worried that I would do something wrong, that I would let them down. Not just these past few weeks, but...but my whole life. I mean...when I was little I couldn't stop asking people – complete strangers – if something was wrong with me because I thought I must have been left behind for a reason. And I hated thinking that way, but it was hard not to when you grew up in a home for kids who weren't wanted-”
“A home for kids who couldn't be kept,” Klavier said softly, eyes glistening in the dim light when Apollo finally looked over again. “Apollo, it's not the same.”
A laugh punched its way out of him, grating against his dried vocal chords. “It is when you're nine and you realize that nobody is coming to get you.” His eyes were burning, but he forced the feeling back. “I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I impressed enough people, if I made a name for myself, maybe it would fix things. Maybe it would fix...”
(Me.)
He couldn't quite get the word out.
“Apollo...” Klavier breathed. God he sounded like he was in physical pain. Slowly, he reached out and pressed a hand against Apollo's arm. “Apollo, you don't need to be fixed.”
“I know,” he managed, staring up at the light above them like it might keep the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from falling. It didn't. “But I'm sick of thinking that way. I'm sick of having to convince myself that I'm not broken. I thought finding my parents...finding some answers would help, but now I'm not so sure.”
He wiped his eyes with the corner of one sleeve, his throat aching as he tried to hold back the wave of emotion that was crashing in his chest. “I guess I just never figured someone like you would want to have anything to do with someone who was such a mess.”
“You're not-”
“I am,” he insisted. “And I'm not trying to look for pity or get anybody's sympathy. But I do know that I don't feel like such a mess around you.” He paused, hiccuping as he tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of Klavier's fingers squeezing against his arm, the pressure just barely there, and he managed to suck in a full breath.
When he opened his eyes again, Klavier's face coming into focus as the tears cleared from his vision, he somehow managed a smile. “God, you're right,” he said. “It's not as simple as I thought.”
“Told you so,” Klavier said gently.
He wiped his eyes again, leaving them red and dry and his sleeves damp. “I do know one thing, though...I've been trying so hard to keep everyone else from worrying. I just want to do something I want. I want to do something that will make me happy. I want...” He reached over and grabbed Klavier's lapels, not giving a damn how expensive the fabric under his fingers might be. “I want to be selfish,” he forced out. “Just for a little bit. Just this once. I want to be just a little selfish.”
One tug on his jacket was all it took – he could have sworn that Klavier was already leaning in himself by the time Apollo pressed his mouth against those sweet-tasting lips again. It was hardly elegant; his tears had left unsightly tracks down his cheeks and left him congested and flushed, but Klavier hardly even seemed to notice. He rested a hand on the side of Apollo's thigh, not pushing, but anchoring him as his head spun.
His body was solid and warm, easily keeping off the chill. The cool scent of aftershave and lavender shampoo filled his lungs with every short, shaky breath, mixing with the taste of spearmint as his tongue pressed past Klavier's teeth.
Selfish, he'd said – maybe it was selfish. It was selfish, and reckless, and glorious, and as hard as his heart was pounding, he never wanted it to end. It was anything but perfect; his nose was still stuffed up, and his eyes were itchy and irritated from crying. But Klavier's fingers squeezed against his thigh, his free hand wrapping around Apollo's torso and pulling him close. He wanted to be closer, sighing against Klavier's mouth as he loosened his grip on those expensive lapels and let his hands rest over his ribs.
He could melt into this, kissing Klavier this way – slow and messy and both of them just a little bit shy. It was like the rest of the world went quiet, or was at least muffled enough that it couldn't distract him.
Until-
Click!
(Was that a...camera shutter?)
He'd never flown backward from another person so quickly, his lips suddenly cold. Klavier looked dazed, just for a moment, before his head whipped around to follow Apollo's line of sight. The light above them glinted off of a phone case, clutched in the hand of a girl who looked nothing short of flabbergasted. Her hand was pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, “It is. It's Klavier Gavin.”
Apollo's mouth hung open uselessly until Klavier's hand wrapped around his wrist. “Come on,” he breathed, tugging Apollo up off the stairs and pulling him inside.
The door swung closed with a heavy creak, leaving them panting and dizzy in the dim back hallway of the Wonder Bar. Applause drifted down from upstairs, mixing with the only other sound of their own breathing. Klavier leaned against the door, eyes lightly closed, lips swollen and glistening, hair falling into his face and over his shoulders, more unkempt than Apollo had ever seen him.
(I did that,) he thought, (My hands did that to him.)
Something hot boiled in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed when he found his mouth had gone dry again.
Slowly, Klavier opened his eyes, meeting his, and he sighed. “Ach...I'm sorry, Forehead. I didn't realize we'd be found out.” He reached up, toying with a loose strand of wavy hair that was all that was left of his usual neat twist. “I'm sure nothing will come of it...if she did manage to snap a picture.”
That was a lie – no doubt it would be all over social media by the morning. He could see it now, the internet blowing up with pictures of him kissing Klavier Gavin on the back steps of some bar in downtown Los Angeles. What would his boss say? What would Clay say? No doubt he'd find it hysterical and would be begging him for details within the hour.
If he didn't know better, Apollo would have sworn Klavier was blushing. Here was a man who'd made a name for himself seducing the world, and his cheeks were turning pink as he toyed with his own messy hair.
Apollo felt it bubble up in his throat before he could stop it, and he doubled over and let out a loud, ugly laugh that echoed through the hallway. A hand over his mouth couldn't stop it – it brought tears to his eyes and made his lungs ache, but he just couldn't stop. He laughed, stumbling forward until he bumped against Klavier's chest and felt those slender arms slowly wrapping around him, Klavier's body shaking a little as he started to chuckle too.
“Suppose I can't help it if my fans are dedicated,” Klavier said, and it only made Apollo laugh harder.
Klavier's hand rested on the back of Apollo's head, fingers skimming soothingly over his hair. “Can you take me home?” Apollo asked, his voice muffled against Klavier's chest. “If you don't think we'll get ambushed by a hoard of screaming Gavinners fans, I mean.”
“They're likely surrounding the bar en masse as we speak, I'm afraid,” Klavier said. “But I think we can manage to slip out unnoticed.”
“Trucy will be disappointed that I missed her show.”
“She'll understand, Forehead. And there will be other shows.” He reached down, gently taking Apollo's hand and letting his thumb drag over the knuckles. That was a new feeling, and it made something flutter in the pit of Apollo's stomach. “Come on, spatzi, let's get you home. You could use the rest, I'm sure.”
He could. God, he could.
They ducked into Klavier's car without attracting the attention of any more of his fans – the dark coat and glasses undoubtedly had something to do with it, not to mention the fact that he'd tied up his hair into a messy bun that was nothing like his usual style. Apollo was happy to have camouflage on their side for the moment, and they made it to his apartment in record time.
“I'll walk you up,” Klavier said, insisting instead of offering. Not that Apollo would have turned him down anyway. By the time he got the key in the door, Apollo didn't quite want to lose the warm, increasingly familiar presence hovering a few inches behind him.
“Why don't you stay?” he offered.
Klavier's eyebrows arched. “Stay...the night?”
“Not – not like that. I just meant...you know, it's late...it's been a long...weird night. Why don't you just...” He trailed off, reaching for Klavier's wrist and staring down at it as he chewed on his lip. “Whatever's happening...I want it to keep happening.”
“It's hardly going to disappear if I go home for the night, Forehead.”
“I know...but I...”
Klavier stopped him with a hand pressed softly against the underside of his jaw. “I'll admit, I don't quite want it to end either. And I suppose we do have plenty of talking to do...”
He laughed as he spoke, but there was an anxious waver to his voice that Apollo couldn't have tuned out if he'd tried. “Yeah,” he said. “So...are you gonna come in, or are we just gonna wait around for your throngs of screaming fans to figure out where I live?”
“Perish the thought,” Klavier chuckled, and he slipped past Apollo over the threshold.
The sound of his doorbell chiming ripped Apollo out of sleep, and he blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through his living room window as he tried to get his bearings. His neck was stiff, his feet cold, and he was pretty sure there was a long-lost pencil jabbing him in the thigh – all reasons why he didn't make a habit of sleeping on his worn out old couch when there was a perfectly good bed just one room away.
The reason why he had slept on the couch still had arms wrapped tightly around his waist, his cheek pressed against Apollo's shoulder as he drooled on his shirt. The old throw blanket that normally stayed draped over the back of his couch was covering them both, albeit barely, and Apollo forced himself up just enough to brush his hair from his face.
Klavier hardly stirred, snoring slightly as he nuzzled closer to Apollo's chest.
Whoever was ringing that damn doorbell didn't seem like they were going to give up anytime soon, so Apollo carefully slipped off the sofa. Klavier murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, curling up against the cushions and going still again. Apollo couldn't fight off a smile – he'd never realized just how heavy of a sleeper the guy was, but it sure was working in his favor now.
Still groggy and a little sore, Apollo padded over to the door and opened it without a second thought about his bedhead or his wrinkled clothes. The second he did, Ema thrust a cup of hot coffee into his hands. “Sorry,” she said, “Did I wake you up?”
“Yeah,” Apollo croaked, staring at the steaming coffee. “But it's fine. What...what are you doing here? What time is it?”
"Almost ten." She sighed, slouching against the door frame. Her hair was a mess, and even behind those wide sunglasses he could make out heavy bags under her eyes. “I wanted to apologize,” she said. “But I'm hungover as hell, so I don't know how decent of an apology it's gonna be.” Her tone softened as she hid behind her own coffee. “I'm sorry...about last night.”
“What happened last night?” he caught himself asking. Truthfully, a lot had, but nothing he could think of that involved an apology from Ema.
“You know,” she said, shuffling in place. “For giving you a hard time about the whole...finding your parents thing.” She stared down at her coffee, steam catching on the surface of her sunglasses. “I shouldn't have gotten as wound up about it as I did. I was pretty drunk...”
“You were pretty drunk,” Apollo laughed.
“Shut up. It was none of my business and I...I just wanted to say sorry. In person. With coffee.”
“So you rolled your hungover ass out of bed on a Sunday and went and bought me coffee just because you felt bad about something you said last night?”
“Hmph...you make it sound pathetic.”
“I think it's sweet.” He smiled at her, taking a sip of the coffee to prove his point. It was perfect – just what he always ordered. Seemed she was good at paying attention after all. “Thanks, Ema.”
But she wasn't looking at him – she was looking over his shoulder, her mouth hanging open. Before he could get out a single word to ask her what she was staring at, she pushed her sunglasses down onto the bridge of her nose and gasped, “Gavin?”
Oh.
Apollo whipped around to find Klavier trying – and failing, apparently – to make his way across the hall from the living room to the bathroom unseen. He'd frozen in place, hair an unsalvageable mess and a red tint creeping up his cheeks before he shot Ema a winning smile. “Guten tag, Fräulein Skye.”
“You...you didn't.”
“No! God, no, it's not – we didn't- It isn't like that.” Apollo almost spilled that apology coffee all over his carpet as he stumbled over his words. “Ema, it's not...it's just...”
She held up a hand, pushing her sunglasses up again. “You know what? Forget it. It's...it's none of my business. Whatever this is. I don't wanna know.” There was no malice in her voice, though she did seem just the slightest bit nauseous. Maybe that was just the hangover talking. “I won't mention it if you don't.”
“Deal.”
“Deal!” Klavier chimed from the other room, and Ema grimaced.
She turned to go, but before he closed the door, he saw her smirk at him over her shoulder. “Took you long enough, Justice,” she said, just barely loud enough for him to hear, and she disappeared around the corner.
He was still smiling as he headed back to the living room, sitting down on the couch with his coffee cradled in his hands. Klavier peeked around the corner almost sheepishly. “Hope I didn't embarrass you, Forehead.”
“What? No, of course not.” (Took me long enough...what was that supposed to mean? I'm not that transparent, am I...?) “She...she was just apologizing.” He sipped his coffee with a shrug as Klavier sat next to him. “For last night.”
“And you feel better?”
Apollo shrugged. “The coffee sure helped.” He put it down on the table, not even bothering with a coaster, and an anxious little knot started tightening in the pit of his stomach as he looked back over at Klavier. “We, uh...we should probably...um...”
“Talk?” Klavier finished. “Ja...I thought you'd say that.”
He pressed his hands together, as if he were reaching for one of his rings to toy with it again. But he'd taken them all off the night before – they were all scattered on Apollo's coffee table, so all Klavier could do was run a thumb over his own knuckles.
“I'm...” Apollo groaned, tangling his fingers in his hair. “I'm no good at this...I don't even know where to start.”
“I could instead,” offered Klavier. “If you like.”
“Okay...you start.”
Klavier brushed his hair back away from his face and grinned. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”
“Wh-what?”
“Dinner. You and me.”
“Th-that's...that's not what...”
“Ja, maybe it's not what you were going to say, but it was what I wanted to say.” His hand pressed against Apollo's knee as he leaned closer. “I spent weeks trying to figure out how best to ask you out on a date, Forehead, and this wasn't how I was planning on doing it, but...well better late than never. Isn't that how the old saying goes?”
All Apollo could do was stare, warmth spreading over his cheeks and getting hotter with every second he spent under Klavier's gaze. It all felt unreal, like some kind of fever dream. Maybe he was still asleep, alone on his own sofa.
He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for when he'd invited Klavier inside the night before – conversation, catharsis, clumsy dry-humping on his old couch...He couldn't trace his thought process back to the source of his motivation. None of that had happened, anyway. The second he'd sat down, he'd been so overwhelmed with the exhaustion finally catching up to him that he had barely been able to keep his eyes open. He vaguely remembered a blanket being pulled over his shoulders, and solid warmth pressed against him as he drifted off, but other than that, there was next to nothing.
Had he really invited Klavier inside after everything that happened just to pass out on his own sofa? And still, after all of that, here he was asking him out to dinner.
“I just...I don't get it.”
“What's there to get?”
“All I did last night was cry all over you.”
Klavier laughed. “Well, that wasn't all.”
“My life is...is crazy right now. It's complicated.”
“Show me someone who isn't,” Klavier said with a shrug. “If you're trying to scare me away, you're going to have to do better than that.”
Apollo's cheeks were warm and getting hotter by the second. “You keep doing that,” he muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Making me want...” He let out a quiet little groan, because there was no way this was going to come out of his mouth sounding anything less than ridiculous. “Making me want to kiss you,” he muttered.
Instead of laughing, Klavier leaned closer with a smirk. “Then why don't you?”
He was almost glad his phone started ringing right then, because it covered up the undignified, strangled noise that escaped his throat. He reached for it, fumbling with it on the table before finally managing to make out the name on the screen. “It's Trucy,” he sighed. “Probably wondering why I missed her show last night...”
“I'm sure she's not so quick to hold a grudge,” Klavier said, leaning back again and taking the warmth that Apollo had suddenly gotten so accustomed to with him.
Apollo answered on the fifth ring – just barely saving it from going to voicemail. Before he could get out a simple “Hello?” Trucy's excited voice exploded over the speaker.
“Polly, why didn't you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” he sputtered. “If this is about your show, I was going to say something, but I didn't want to distract you-”
“Oh, forget about the show, Polly. Have you really not seen the news? It's all over Entertainer Today.”
An unpleasant feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “Uh...what news?”
Trucy giggled. “Just check it out. It's on the front page. I'll send you the link.” She sounded like she was absolutely over the moon, and Apollo wasn't sure why, but that made his anxiety even worse. “They really got your good side, I'll tell you that much!”
“Wha- Trucy?”
She'd already hung up, leaving staring at the screen and wondering if it would be worth the last of his sanity to open Google and find out what she was talking about. He didn't have to stew long, though, as she made good on her promise and sent him a text not five seconds later.
His heart pounded as he opened it, with Klavier leaning over his shoulder. “What did she say?” he asked, but the uncertainty in his voice told Apollo that he'd already heard every word and knew full well what they would see when the page loaded. It wasn't a surprise, but Apollo still felt like his coffee had turned to ice in his stomach when the picture came up: an amateur shot of him and Klavier pressed close on the stairs behind the Wonder Bar with their tongues down each others' throats.
“Ah...” Klavier breathed. “Would it be a bad time for me to mention that she was right about them getting your good side, at least?”
He said that like it helped things.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Well this took an obnoxiously long time to finish. I handed in the last of my assignments today and dedicated the rest of my evening to getting this chapter done. :)
I've also fallen deep into Yuri on Ice hell. Probably expect more of that in the future...
Please don't hate me for what happens in this chapter
Chapter Text
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
Klavier Gavin Spotted Making Out With Mystery Man!
Klavier Gavin (pictured above) was spotted last night by an anonymous fan sharing an intimate moment with a new beau. The two were found on the steps behind the local Wonder Bar, our source claims, and fled back inside soon after the picture was taken. The ex-Gavinners lead guitarist and singer is no stranger to the spotlight, but the identity of his admirer remains unknown. Is he a fellow musician? A co-worker? A fan? We at Entertainer Today will have more information as this story develops.
“Classy,” Apollo sighed, and he tossed his phone onto the couch cushions as he stood to quell the anxious, restless itch in his legs. “Is there nothing these vultures won't publish?”
As violated as Apollo felt, Klavier looked at least ten times as miserable, his palms together and his thumbs pressing against his lips. He almost looked like he was praying, or he would have, if his eyes weren't open and swimming with guilt. “Very little,” he sighed. “Scheiße, I never wanted you to get caught up in something like this.”
In spite of everything, Apollo managed a tired smile. “Guess you're used to it by now, huh?”
“You don't get far in show biz without having a thick skin,” Klavier said. “Look at it this way, Forehead – your identity is still safe enough. I doubt Trucy would go blabbing to the press about how you hooked up with a washed up rockstar during one of her shows.”
Apollo tried to keep the blush back by sheer force of will, but that didn't stop his face from heating up enough to fry an egg. “We didn't hook up,” he insisted. “And you're hardly a washed up rockstar. You've written enough songs to drop another three albums, easy.”
“Ah, but writing a few lines here and there is nowhere close to touring again. If anything, it's probably a blessing – the tabloids don't care nearly as much about your private affairs after you stop releasing albums for a bit.” He carefully stood, pressing a gentle hand against the small of Apollo's back.
Even after everything that had happened, it still felt almost intimate.
“Take it from me, they'll forget about it and move on within the week. You won't have to worry about those...what did you call them? Vultures?”
Apollo neatly raised one eyebrow. “Am I wrong?” It made Klavier chuckle a bit.
“You know...you never answered my question.”
“Huh?”
“Dinner, Forehead,” Klavier said with a grin, hands moving to press against Apollo's arms. “Hell, coffee, if that's easier. We can wait until this has all blown over, of course, but I want to take you out on a date. A real date. Might be a bit out of order, considering I've already spent the night at your place, but still...”
That damn smirk was back, and stronger than ever. Apollo tried with everything he had not to let it make him blush, but it didn't work. “You're still going on about that...”
“Why wouldn't I?” Carefully, almost shyly, Klavier took his hand. “I'd never forgive myself if I didn't get an answer.”
(Yes,) was the first thing that popped up in his mind, but as he glanced back at his phone sitting so innocuously on the couch, all he could manage to get out was, “I...can't.”
Klavier's face falling was enough to make Apollo's stomach drop to his knees, and he backed away, just a step, like more distance could make it hurt less. At least he wouldn't have to see Klavier's pained expression when it sank in. “You can't...what?”
“I can't do this,” Apollo sighed, his chest clenching painfully. “Not...not now. I want to. I thought I could. But...” His fingers curled against his sleeves, like anchoring himself would help somehow. It didn't.
Klavier suddenly looked so much more tired than he had before – not that Apollo could blame him, considering how uncomfortable that sofa was. “You said you wanted to do something that would make you happy.” He looked up, waiting until Apollo forced himself to meet his eye. “I could try to make you happy, Apollo.”
Apollo grimaced. God, the last time he'd felt this icy twisting pain in his gut, he'd been young and terrified and trying not to cry as Clay had turned down his first shaky request for a real date behind the high school bleachers.
Quietly, he took a steadying breath and murmured, “One little kiss and it's all over the internet.”
“Is that all that's stopping you?” There was no anger in his voice, but it was heavy and rough, and the look in his eyes was enough to make Apollo want to melt into the floor. “It was an amateur shot, Forehead. Nothing more. They'll forget about it within the week, I promise you.”
“That's not-” He groaned, the sound of it rattling him down to his bones. How had they gotten here, from closer than they'd ever been the night before to practically shattering to pieces in the middle of his living room? “Klav...I need to think. Not just about this, but about so much...and it's driving me crazy. I just can't...do this...”
Klavier stood across from him, staring at the floor, reaching up to massage his naked ring finger with his opposite hand. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough, like he'd been straining it for hours before: “I'm sorry.” He swallowed, took a breath, keeping his eyes on the worn carpet under his feet. “Last night...you said that what happened, you wanted it to keep happening. I thought that meant...” He shook his head. “Ach, maybe I was too idealistic, thinking of dinner and dates and romance. Of course you would need time. Of course. I'm sorry, Forehead.”
He brushed past Apollo, gathering his jacket and his rings and sunglasses from the table and trying to comb his fingers through his hair, as if that would make it look less like he'd slept on a strange couch the night before. “I should go,” he forced out, and all Apollo could do was watch as Klavier pushed down the pain in his voice, keeping his face strategically turned away. “You need your space, I'm sure. The last thing I want is to make this any harder on you-”
Even if he didn't have Athena's hearing, and even if Klavier wouldn't look him in the eye, the waver in his voice was unmistakable. Still, he'd managed a smile by the time he looked back at Apollo again. “I'll show myself out, ja? Discreetly, don't you worry.”
It felt like all Apollo could do was watch him go, staring as Klavier's smile faded when he thought Apollo couldn't see his face. It was for the best – rationally, he knew that was true, and he told himself over and over, what felt like a thousand times before Klavier made it to the door, but that didn't make it sting any less.
It didn't make it any easier, feeling like he was losing a friend for good – that was a feeling that he'd thought he would only have to suffer through once in his life.
He took a step forward, reaching out and grabbing Klavier's wrist before he could find the good sense to let him go. His throat was dry as he swallowed, and croaked, “Klav...” Slowly, Klavier turned to look at him again, but this time, Apollo was the one keeping his gaze fixed on the carpet.
“I don't...” The words caught in his throat, and he took a steadying breath to try and get them out. “I don't want this to...I don't want to lose...”
Why was this so hard to say? It felt like his body would rather shatter into a thousand pieces instead of saying it out loud.
Klavier seemed to get the message, though, as fragmented and messy as it was. Apollo was thankful for that. Getting the words out would have been too much of a struggle. “Forehead...” His voice was warm, and Apollo could tell even without looking that he was smiling again. Whether it was genuine or not, he didn't know, but it put his mind at ease anyway. “Are you really so worried that something as small as this will send me running for the hills?”
Honestly, he didn't know. He didn't say as much.
A moment later, as Klavier let out a quiet sigh, Apollo felt warm, soft skin enveloping his hand. He opened his eyes, looking down and finding Klavier's fingers gently curled over his own.
That was a new feeling, and not an entirely unpleasant one.
“Give me some credit, would you?” Klavier said. “I can't pretend I have much experience with this sort of thing, but I do know how to accept an answer with a little grace. Even if it might not be quite the one I wanted.” He gave Apollo's hand a squeeze. “Apollo, would you look at me?”
Something lurched in his chest – suddenly, he was in high school again, staring at the grass under his feet behind the football field bleachers as Clay held him by the shoulders and said something similar. He'd had to force himself to look up then, and he had to now, meeting Klavier's eye and feeling impossibly small.
“I should have waited,” Klavier said. “I shouldn't have sprung something like this on you. Not now, and not somewhere so...public.” That was a laugh, albeit a small one. “Suppose my emotions got the best of me.”
Apollo snorted at that before he could stop himself. “Who was the one crying all over you last night?”
“Beside the point.”
Apollo looked down at their hands, still gently entwined, and as much as Apollo's heart was still pounding, he found it just a little easier to breathe. “I'm not saying no,” he muttered. “To...all this, I mean. I said I wanted it, and I do. Just...not now. Not when I'm caught up in all this damn soul-searching crap.”
“It's hardly crap,” Klavier said. “But I know what you mean.” He offered a smile, and this one was bright and reassuring.
It was for the best, he insisted again. No matter how much he just wanted to forget his common sense and tug Klavier in for another kiss to rival the one from the night before. “Why are you being so...decent about all this?” he groaned.
“Would you prefer if I was an ass about it?” Klavier laughed.
“It would probably make it easier, all things considered.”
“Well, that's just too bad, then.” His hand had slipped away, leaving Apollo's knuckles feeling cold. “For what it's worth, I did some far more embarrassing things when I was younger than getting caught making out behind a bar, and my public image is still very much intact. So I wouldn't worry about the picture, Forehead. Those vultures will move onto the next carcass before you know it.”
They stood, staring, for a long couple of moments before Klavier leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Apollo's cheek. It was light, almost shy, barely there and gone before Apollo even registered what was happening, but it made his face flush red and his heart downright flutter.
When he pulled back again, Klavier's face was just as pink.
“Right...” Klavier sighed, all suaveness and bravado gone and replaced by painfully relatable awkwardness. “I'll, ah...I'll go.”
With one last small smile, he turned and left, and Apollo stood inside the door waiting for his cheeks to cool off.
Even as he sat down on his couch and stared at that damn phone, his mind turned the memory of what had just happened over and over in his mind. It still didn't feel quite real – the night before, that morning, all of it. It felt more like a crazy dream, like he would wake up in his own bed and Klavier would be the only one on the cover of some gossip website homepage.
But it wasn't a dream, and he had no doubts that Trucy had probably already taken a million screenshots of his half-obscured face pressed against Klavier's. Maybe she'd get it framed.
That made him laugh, in spite of everything.
He couldn't sit still – his legs were so restless that he was up and pacing before he realized what he was doing. The image of Klavier's face wouldn't leave his mind, playing over and over until it got hard to breathe. He'd never seen an expression so warm and welcoming than the night before, but then everything had come crashing down all at once this morning...
(It was for the best...) God, he was tired of repeating that phrase to himself.
He needed to talk to someone. To anyone. Ema was too hungover, and Trucy would probably squeal down the phone at him at the first mention of Klavier. Athena probably wouldn't be much different. Sunday was Clay's only day to sleep in, and Apollo wasn't about to take that away from him to deal with his own drama.
And he'd royally screwed up whatever he had with Klavier. Maybe from the start. At least for the moment.
He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts, and finally, one name stood out. He was dialing before he could think better of it.
“Morning, A.J.” Kay sounded as chipper as ever – if nothing else, he was lucky that she was a morning person.
“So...” he sighed, “This is gonna sound a little weird.”
“I don't have too much of a problem with weird.”
Still, how was he supposed to know if something like this was a breach of contract? Even if he was a lawyer, he couldn't remember every bit of the small print when it came to personal crises. There was no point in worrying about it, he supposed, so he forced himself to sit down on the couch again and asked, “How do you feel about pancakes?”
The last time Apollo had been in an IHOP, he'd been two years younger and about five cocktails drunker. It had been Clay's fault, of course. Apparently, he'd ordered three strawberry crepes and drowned them in blueberry syrup and honey. He didn't remember that much, but he didn't have any trouble believing it, considering that it had all wound up in his toilet the next morning.
Now, though, he was stone-cold sober, and a big part of him wished he wasn't. He'd never been so nervous waiting for someone in a restaurant before, not even on any of the – thankfully few – blind dates that Clay had set up for him. Every time the bell over the door chimed and sent a cool draft his way, he found himself craning his neck and trying to keep his heart from pounding its way out of his chest.
He hadn't even worked out what he wanted to say – how was he supposed to start a conversation like this? “I kissed one of my best friends and broke up with him within twelve hours” or “I think I want to give up on finding my long-lost parents before I find out more than I want to know?”
Finally, Kay met his eye, hands still pressing against the door as she grinned at him from the entryway. She didn't wait for the hostess, sliding into the booth across from Apollo before he even got the chance to stand up and greet her.
“I have to admit,” she said as she grabbed a menu, “You sure know how to motivate a person. I heard the word 'pancakes' and I was up and ready to go in a heartbeat.”
“Really?” Apollo sighed. He traced the restaurant's logo on the from of the menu with one finger, trying to work up the nerve to open it and pretend to be hungry. “I thought it would be...I dunno...weird? Outside of your job description?”
“I'm a P.I., not a robot. Even I crave human interaction that doesn't revolve around my job. Do you know what you want? I knew the second I parked – looking at the menu was just a formality.” She dropped it on top of his with a flourish. “Do you want to order first and talk after, or...”
That way she was looking at him – he knew that look, and his face fell when he was halfway through browsing through the french toast.
“You know, don't you?” he said.
“Know what?”
He sighed. “For someone who makes a living stalking people from the bushes, you sure are transparent.”
“I don't stalk people,” Kay huffed. “And how could I not know? I'm guilty of browsing the celebrity gossip sites on slow mornings.” She doing an awful job of trying to hide her sheer glee, but he gave her credit for trying, at least.
Red velvet pancakes sounded sickeningly sweet. Perfect.
“That's not what I wanted to talk about,” he finally forced himself to say, talking over the tapping of his fingers against the menu. “I actually did want to talk to you about...work. About the...the job.”
Why was this so hard?
Suddenly, Kay was all professionalism. Her expression changed as she leaned back in the seat – less playful, almost business-like. “You make it sound like we're doing something illegal,” she said, one eyebrow easily raised. Apollo stared at the table, biting his lip until she caught his eye again. “What do you want to know, A.J? I don't have much more to tell you.”
“No, that's not-”
“What can I get for you two today?” Their waiter appeared, all smiles and gelled hair, and Apollo choked back what he'd been trying to say and forced out instead an order for hot coffee and those godawful pancakes.
“Good, old-fashioned waffles for me. Blueberry if you have them,” Kay said with a smile. “With a glass of milk.”
By the time their menus were cleared, Apollo's mouth was still dry, and Kay was watching him like she was expecting something big. Finally, just as Apollo was about to blurt out that he thought he'd had enough of finding his parents – at least, he was as sure as he could be – Kay spoke first.
“You don't want to quit, do you?” He swallowed. Maybe he was just as transparent as he'd accused her of being. “Don't get me wrong, if that's what you want, I won't stop you. My deposit is nonrefundable anyway.”
“I didn't pay you anything.”
“I was just making a point. And can I say something first?” She held up a hand to stop him when he started to talk again. “I won't try and change your mind if that's really what you want. I just want to get a word in. That's all.”
He shut his mouth – he wasn't sure what was going to come out of it anyway, so maybe having someone else do the talking for a bit would help things. “Yeah...okay.”
Kay took a breath and crackled her knuckles, like she was getting ready to do some sort of magic trick. “There are three kinds of people that hire me, A.J. Who do you think they are?”
“I thought you were gonna tell me something,” Apollo said.
“I am, but I wanna see how you think first.”
He shrugged. “I'm guessing a lot of people who think their spouses are cheating on them?”
“Exactly,” she replied with a spirited snap of her fingers. “Cheating spouses, long-lost family members, employees who are skimming from the company profits...and what all of them have in common is that half of them want to be proven wrong, and half of them already know they're right.”
He toyed with his fork, making himself look up at her so he could ask, “So...which one am I?” He wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.
“You're the third kind,” Kay said, grinning. “That's why I agreed to help you.”
Apollo blinked at her. “What's the third kind?” he asked.
Kay shrugged. “You're not trying to prove anything,” she said. “You just want to find the truth, for the sake of knowing it. Because you think it'll make you a better person. I thought it was kind of refreshing, you know?”
He fidgeted in his seat, suddenly feeling very exposed, like Kay could see parts of his pysche that he didn't want seen. “I was just curious.”
“That's the point.” Kay was grinning, almost giddy, leaning across the table and looking at him with wildly gleaming eyes. “Good old-fashioned curiosity, A.J. Can I help it if it gives me the warm fuzzies?”
Just what was he supposed to say to that?
“Anyway,” she said, “If you want me to stop looking, I get it. But...if you want my opinion, I think you should keep at it. Or let me keep at it. I...I want to do it. To find her for you...”
Her hand wandered to her scarf again, where that bird-shaped pendent was still nestled among the folds of fabric. It made him all too aware of how often he'd found himself touching his own bracelet when he thought of that face in the photograph, wondering if his mother had left behind traces of herself in the metal, if he could get to know her by running his fingers along the same grooves and edges that she had years before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut short by a plate of whipped cream with a side of pancakes was placed in front of him. “Blueberry waffles and red velvet pancakes,” their waiter said with a practiced smile. “Anything else I can get you?” He blinked, squinting as he looked at Apollo. “Hey...do I know you from somewhere?”
That damn picture flashed through his mind as Kay snorted. “No,” he insisted, trying as best he could to hide behind his woefully unbalanced breakfast. “Water when you get the chance. Thanks.”
Their server said nothing, but turned with a shrug and headed for the kitchen.
“You're famous!” Kay whispered with a grin.
“Don't.”
She reached for her fork, cutting a massive section of waffle and shoving into her mouth. “So,” she said around her food, “You looked like you were about to say something.”
He stared at his pancakes, his stomach rumbling, but not quite feeling like he wanted to eat. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words escaped him, like there weren't quite enough in his vocabulary to get the point across. “I'm scared of what you'll find,” he finally said, softly, and Kay paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Not that she's dead, necessarily, but...maybe that she's alive, and that she never bothered to come looking for me because she just plain didn't want me. I don't want to find out that I was just some mistake to sweep under the rug. But every time I think about giving up, I feel sick, because not knowing is worse than hearing bad news.”
It was too heavy of a coversation to be having in an IHOP, of all places, but Kay didn't try and stop him. Instead, she slowly put her fork down, a chunk of blueberry waffle still speared on the end, and she leaned toward him, lips pressed against her intertwined fingers. “You know how they say the truth hurts?”
“Yeah.”
“Well it does...but I think sometimes we need to hurt. You can't heal if you don't, you know?”
He found himself smiling. “That sounds like something Clay would say.”
“Really?” She picked up her fork again, grinning at him. “I feel like I'd really get along with that guy.”
“You would, I think. But don't tell him that. It'll all just go to his head.”
Kay laughed, mouth still full. “I won't tell if you don't.”
They ate, Apollo already feeling lighter by the time he finally cut into his pancakes. Calories be damned, he finished the whole plate, along with his coffee, and by the time they'd finished, he'd managed to work up the courage to ask the question that had started to weigh on his mind.
“So,” he said, watching Kay chase a blueberry around her plate with her fork, “Where do you go from here? Last thing you found was that photograph.”
“I take it that means you're in for the long haul?”
“I guess so.”
She smiled at him, but it faded quickly. “Well...that's where it gets complicated. After all, going off of nothing but a picture isn't easy. I've been trying to find some new leads, but nothing's come up. Nobody seems to recognize her. Not that I blame them – it wasn't the greatest picture. I doubt I'd have recognized her if she was my own mom.”
“She is my mom,” Apollo said. “And I didn't even recognize her.”
“Well why would you? You were what – a few months old? Nobody would have. But don't worry, A.J. I don't give up until the job is done. My dad taught me that much, even if I was too young to understand just how important it was.”
The sudden look into her personal life piqued Apollo's interest, and again, he found himself running a finger along the edge of his bracelet. Kay's eyes followed his hand, lingering there as something turned over and over in her mind. She shook her head, like she was trying to convince herself that whatever idea she was cooking up would never work, and she stood up from the booth.
“C'mon,” she said, “We should pay before someone else recognizes you from your gossip rag debut.”
Apollo groaned, but he couldn't deny that she had a point.
“You want me to drive you?” Kay asked as they headed out in the parking lot. “And before you say no, yeah, I insist.”
“Is it part of the whole contract thing?” Apollo asked.
“It's part of the whole 'being nice' thing,” Kay told him with a shrug. “C'mon, I'm over here.”
He supposed he had little choice, not that he was planning on putting up much of a fight anyway. They slipped into a deep blue Volkswagen beetle – a convertible model, of all things, with the doors covered in scuffs and dents. “Sometimes forget to look before I open the door,” Kay said sheepishly. “Never really cared about aesthetics, though. Not like some other people I know.”
A question hung in the air as she pulled out of the parking lot, and Apollo's thumb ran over the pattern printed around his bracelet. “You seemed like you wanted to say something back there,” he said, studying the black raven charm swinging from the rear view mirror. “Seemed like you had an idea.”
“Well...I guess I did. But I'll be honest, A.J...you're not gonna like it.”
“Oh...kay...” he said slowly, rolling each syllable carefully around his mouth as he spoke. “Why?”
Kay pulled to a stop at a light and looked over at him, her eyes flashing down toward his wrist. They lingered there, flicking back up to meet his eye before moving back down again until he finally followed it. As his gaze landed on the bracelet resting loose on his arm, the pieces finally clicked.
It was one of a kind, after all.
“No,” he said.
“Just think about it-”
“No.”
“I won't make off with it if that's what you're worried about.”
“I take it off to sleep and to shower. That's it. I've never even let another person hold it before.”
“Apollo.” When he had so many nicknames, his given name had gotten pretty good at grabbing his attention. Kay was watching him intently, staring him in the eye. “I told you that you weren't gonna like it,” she said.
He cradled his arm in his other hand, running his fingers along the familiar ridges and patterns along the outside. He could practically trace the shapes by heart if he wanted, the feeling of them under his fingertips as soothing as one of Lamiroir's songs.
Kay sighed, accelerating again and looking back toward the road. “I mad this pendant with my dad,” she said, finger pressing against the tail of the bird-shaped ornament on her scarf. “He had the real one – I got it after he died, but I always liked this one a little better. It never left my side, not once. It's my most precious possession. You know how it goes.”
He nodded, wordlessly, pressing his palm against the metal and feeling it warm with his body heat.
After a moment, Kay spoke again: “For what it's worth, A.J...if there was any chance I could see my dad again, I'd give this thing up in a heartbeat.” She offered a slightly watery smile. “And I'm just asking to borrow it for a bit.”
Apollo rotated the bracelet slowly around his wrist, swallowing to try and remedy the dryness of his own mouth. “You really think it'll help?” he asked, roughly.
“I know a guy,” she said. “An appraiser. Known him for years – something that rare, if he knows anything, it might give us a lead.”
“Us?” Apollo chuckled. “Last time I checked, you were the private investigator here.”
“Please.” She smiled at him, holding up a loose fist with her knuckles pointed toward him. “We're in this together, A.J. If you're still in, I'm still in.”
He supposed at the moment, it was all he could really ask for.
Chapter 12
Notes:
Thanks for being patient, guys. Life has been stressful as hell, but hopefully you enjoy the update. I'll try to keep on top of them better, but I am trying to write a thesis here, so continued patients is really appreciated. :)
Chapter Text
“If you're still in, I'm still in.”
That was what Kay had said, and something in her words had made him trust her more than he'd thought possible after only knowing her a few short weeks. He'd offered her a weak little fist bump and a weaker smile, and resolved to work up the nerve to hand over his bracelet by the time they made it to his apartment.
By the time they'd pulled up to the curb, he still hadn't quite managed it.
“I don't need it right this second,” she'd offered softly.
“The sooner I give it to you, the sooner we can find out if it'll lead to anything,” he'd said. And the sooner he could get it back on his wrist.
He'd taken a breath, slipped it off, and handed it over to her, everything in his head screaming at him not to let her take it from his hands. She'd smiled at him, like she couldn't quite believe he'd really done it, and cradled it like it was made of solid diamond. “Wow,” she'd breathed. “Heavier than I thought.”
“Yeah.”
“Give me forty-eight hours,” she'd told him. “I'll get it back before then. That's a promise, A.J.”
He'd forced a smile, telling himself to trust her. She'd never given him a reason not to, after all.
Now, though, his wrist just felt naked. Hell, all of him felt naked. It was strange how little he'd noticed that bracelet until it was gone, like it was a part of his own body instead of an ornament. He rolled his sleeves all the way down as he left his apartment that day, like that would make its absence less noticeable. It only made it worse.
All he needed – all he wanted – was to concentrate on his work. Find a case, plow through some paperwork, clean the office for the thousandth time. Maybe it would occupy his mind, if nothing else. He climbed the steps to the Agency with his hands shoved in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the floor, resisting the urge to check his phone again for any contact from Kay that he already knew wouldn't be there yet.
It hadn't even been a full day yet. No use worrying when things were completely – literally – out of his hands.
By the time he reached the door, he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to get through the day without a mental break. At least until he walked into the office and three heads all turned toward him at once. His boss, Athena, and Ema all stared at him, going silent the moment he crossed the threshold, like he'd walked in on them planning a sting operation.
The stand-off lasted for what felt like an eternity, dragging on until Apollo expected a tumbleweed to pass by with perfect comedic timing. Finally, he sighed, letting his shoulders drop. “Who's gonna say it?” he groaned.
Athena was the one to do it: “You kissed Klavier?”
He let his head cant listlessly toward the ceiling. “Aaaand there it is,” he groaned.
“I didn't tell them,” Ema said.
“I never said you did.”
“Athena brought it up.”
“You kissed Klavier?” Athena screeched again.
“Yes. What do you want, an interview with the infamous 'Mystery Man'?”
He put every ounce of spite that he could muster into those air quotes, but it didn't make him feel any better.
Athena, however, looked anything but put off. In fact, she was practically bouncing on her heels as she grinned at him, her phone grasped firmly in her hand. He would have put money on her setting that damn picture as her lock screen background or something. Trucy must have - she'd probably get it printed on a throw pillow, too, given enough time. “Oh, come on, Apollo! I'm happy for you! Both of you! Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this to finally happen? It feels like you two have been dragging your feet forever-”
“Apollo.”
He looked forward again just as Athena turned, both of them facing their boss, and Apollo's stomach clenched. Phoenix looked stern, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed – not exactly angry, but reminiscent enough of a disapproving parent that it made Apollo feel like he was a five-year-old who had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner.
He gulped as Phoenix nodded toward his office and said, “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
(Eep.)
“And that's my cue to make a graceful exit,” Ema sighed as Athena chewed her lip and busied herself at her desk.
He supposed that waiting any longer to face the music wasn't going to make it any easier, so he took a breath and slunk into the other room, gulping when the door closed quietly behind him.
His boss didn't say anything at first, just sat behind his desk and nodded at the chair on the other side. Apollo sat, heart pounding, and waited. Finally, if only keep his mouth from going completely dry, he forced out, “Where's the lecture?”
Phoenix raised his eyebrows. “Lecture?”
“I figured that's why you asked me to come in here. To give me a speech about not fraternizing with prosecutors.”
“I'm not exactly the best person to lecture you on the dangers of fraternizing with the opposing counsel,” Phoenix said, offering as a small smile as the sunlight streaming through the window glinted off of his wedding band. “You're a grown man – you don't need an lectures on what you do in your personal life, no matter how sure I am that Miles will probably be giving one hell of a speech to Prosecutor Gavin sometime soon.”
Apollo chewed his lip, one hand moving to his wrist out of habit. When his fingers touched only skin, something twisted in his gut. “So...what did you want to talk to me about then?”
If it wasn't the picture of him smashing his face against Klavier's circulating around the internet, he didn't think he wanted to know.
“It's not a lecture,” Phoenix said. “And it's not about the picture. But it is...well, it is pretty personal. And it is about Prosecutor Gavin.”
Apollo forced himself not to blush, if only by sheer force of will. It barely worked.
“Consider it some advice,” Phoenix told him, sagely. “You can do whatever you want in your personal time. And you can do it with whoever you want-”
(Why did you have to phrase it that way?) Apollo thought with a grimace, and he held up a hand to stop him before his own dignity took any more of a blow.
“You don't have to worry about me and Kl-” He swallowed. “Prosecutor Gavin. It's not...we're not...”
Why did it sting so badly to try and get the words out?
“You're not?” Phoenix asked, and he looked almost disappointed. “That...was you in that picture, wasn't it?”
“Yes, but...but we aren't...together. Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen any time soon.”
He swore he felt a phantom twitch against his wrist, even as naked as it was.
Phoenix, meanwhile, was clearing his throat. His gaze was trained on the carpet, a frown tugging at his lips. “I just don't want to see you hurt is all,” he said. “You or anyone else.”
Apollo blinked. “Why do you think Klavier is going to hurt me?”
“I don't.” He sighed, and he nodded toward Apollo's arm. “You're not wearing your bracelet.”
He tugged his sleeves down more, as much good as that did. “Oh, I-”
“And you're trying to hide it. The last time you did something like that...”
He trailed off, but he didn't need to say more for Apollo to feel like something had stuck in his throat. He'd hardly forgotten – he wished he could, and it didn't help the little pang of guilt in his chest, imagining the red flags his showing up without his bracelet must have set off.
God, how had he not thought of that? He pressed his teeth against his bottom lip hard enough to hurt. “Is that why you brought me in here to talk?” he forced himself to ask. “Is that the real reason why?”
Phoenix finally met his eye, a deep furrow forming between his brows as he let out another long breath. “I know I'm far from the first person you'd want as a confidant. If there's something going on...something bigger than what I already know, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to talk to me about it. But I have a responsibility to the Agency, and as a boss-”
“I know,” Apollo said, and he busied himself re-buttoning his sleeves at his wrists until he could manage a smile. “Don't worry. It's nothing bad. Just...noticed a chip in the side of it the other day. Wanted to get it looked at, make sure it wasn't going to get worse.”
One look at his face told Apollo that Phoenix didn't buy it, but he didn't pry any further. “Okay,” his boss said. “If you say so, Apollo. I trust you more than anyone else when it comes to your own personal life. But ah...try and stay out of the tabloids if you can. The Prosecutors' Office might be able to shake off a scandal easily enough, but I'd rather not have to deal with it firsthand.”
“You don't have to worry about that,” Apollo insisted, hoping to whatever deities were listening that his face wasn't as red as it felt, and he turned to go. But he paused by the doorway, his hand on the knob, as another question started to nudge at the back of his mind. He looked back at his boss and said, “This might be a weird question...but was it hard, deciding to invite Klavier to your wedding?”
Phoenix shrugged. “Why would it be hard?”
“I don't know...you two have some history. I just wasn't sure if there were any hard feelings...” The reality of what he was asking hit him all at once, and he shook his head. “God, what am I saying? I shouldn't even be asking-”
But Phoenix was laughing, not a hint of offense evident on his face. “Please, I just pried into your personal life. I don't exactly have a right to mind, do I?” He looked thoughtful, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “It wasn't Klavier's fault, what happened. He fell for Kristophe's game just like all of us did, so I can't exactly hold that against him. Sure, maybe I was bitter for a while, but I was fresh out of a job and I didn't have many other people to be angry at, besides myself.”
His smile changed into a frown quickly, but somehow Apollo didn't think that it was meant for anyone else. “Besides,” Phoenix said, laughing quietly again, “All the help he gave you must have evened out against whatever harm he did me. Inviting him to the wedding was the easiest thing in the world, even if he wasn't able to make it. He did send us one hell of a nice wedding gift, though – this really nice espresso machine...Neither of us really drink much coffee, but it's the thought that counts.”
“Yeah...” Apollo sighed. “I guess that means I'm free to go?”
“It's not like I was holding you captive,” Phoenix said, “But yeah, you can go.”
Athena was pointedly avoiding his eye when he passed her desk again on the way back to his, and as he finally sat down, she muttered, “If that espresso machine is just gathering dust, he could always bring it here so we could have some decent coffee for a change.” It took her only a moment to realize her slip, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Apollo just sighed, hardly surprised as he asked, “You heard all of that, didn't you?”
“I wasn't trying to,” she groaned. “I can't help overhearing sometimes.” She went quiet for a few long seconds, like she was trying to decide which of the questions burning holes through her head were the safest to ask. Finally, she settled on, “Nothing is wrong with your bracelet, is it?”
There was little use lying to her, so he figured his best bet was to do all he could to downplay it. He grabbed the nearest pen, flicked off the cap, and grabbed the first piece of paper he could find to look busy. “It's not,” he admitted.
“It wasn't stolen, was it?”
“No,” he scoffed, and he glanced over at Phoenix's office door. It was slightly ajar, just enoug for him to get a glimpse of their boss typing away at his computer, concentrating hard on something that might have even been work related. Apollo dropped his voice low, leaning over his desk an inch or two and saying, “I lent it to Kay.”
“You think it could have something to do with-” She bit her lip. “You-know-who?”
(She's my mother, not Voldemort,) he thought, but then again, for all he knew, she might have been. “I don't know,” he sighed. “She...hasn't gotten back to me yet.”
As he was painfully aware, every time his wrist brushed up against his sleeve.
“Maybe that was the key all along,” she offered, still toying with her hair like there was more she wanted to say. If she'd heard that conversation, and he figured she'd likely heard every word, he had a pretty good idea of what it was.
“Just ask,” he said. “I know you want to.”
It practically exploded out of her: “Are you and Klavier really not a thing?”
It was hard not to roll his eyes, even if he had seen it coming. Then again, maybe it was a conversation he should get used to having.
Klavier felt a migraine coming on.
There were few less thrilling ways to start the day than with a lecture from his boss about keeping up appearances and maintaining the good reputation of the Prosecutors' Office. The stern words hadn't stung – he'd gotten used to things like that years before, growing up with the brother he had – but the memories they had brought up had left a throbbing pain between his temples.
He understood. Of course he understood. He had been an idiot for expecting anything else, with everything Apollo was dealing with. The last thing he needed was a high-maintenance suitor with scandal following hot on his heels.
Still, rejection stung, like rejection was wont to do.
He buried himself in paperwork, resisting the urge to reach for his phone around lunch. Even an innocuous invitation to talk – as friends – would be too easily misconstrued. He wasn't about to risk it, not when the pain of it was so fresh, and not just for him.
Had he really messed up so badly that he couldn't even offer a supportive hand when Apollo was in the middle of what could be the most stressful time in his life? The thought that their friendship was irreparable was too awful to bear, and Klavier shook it away. They would heal, eventually, and maybe they would even be able to try again, when the time was right. Still, every time he thought about that kiss, and about the pain in Apollo's eyes as tears had streamed down his face, about the guilt weighing on his features when he'd told him it was too much – he wanted to draw his blinds, curl up in a corner, and forget about all of it.
He was dangerously close to sulking. Klavier Gavin did not sulk.
His door opened without a knock, and he thought for sure that it was his boss back again to give him another reminder of what the reputation of their office meant to the people of Los Angeles. But instead of the imposing Miles Edgeworth, the figure striding through the door was a skinny, raven-haired woman whose heavy boots clomped against his floor loudly enough to no-doubt startle the Paynes one level down.
“Can I help you?” Klavier asked her, and she put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.
“Damn,” she sighed, “It really is you. Klavier Gavin, in the flesh.”
“Ja.”
“I've been wondering – is that accent just for show, or do you actually speak the language?”
“Kann ich dir helfen?” he repeated.
She extended a hand, grinning as she did. “Kay Faraday,” she said. “Private investigator. The guy behind the desk downstairs told me you'd be here. Said you probably weren't too busy.”
But Klavier was barely listening, as he turned that name over and over in his head. He blinked at her. “Kay Faraday,” he breathed.
“That's my name.”
“The Kay Faraday?”
“And here I thought you were the famous one.”
He could feel his brow furrowing, and it did nothing to help his headache. “Apollo told me about you,” he said, and Kay stared at him. It seemed it was her turn to be caught off-guard, and she hardly looked like she was used to it.
“He did?” Finally, she smiled, twisting a strand of dark hair between her fingers as it turned into a smirk. “Guess I shouldn't be all that surprised. You guys do seem pretty close.” He opened his mouth to counter – to try and protect Apollo's dignity more than his own – but Kay spoke again before he could: “I'm not here to talk scandals, though. Not right now, anyway. I'm here because I need a...well, a favor is closest to the right word, I guess.”
“A favor?” he asked.
“Some information. Nothing top-secret. Just any case notes you have that you're at liberty to talk about. I want to double-check my facts, make sure everything's straight.”
“I can't just give you my case notes,” he said with a frown. “Even if I wanted to, Herr Edgeworth would hang my skin in his office like a hunting trophy.”
She burst out laughing at that. “That softie? Please...I'm not asking you for anything that would get you in trouble with the law or with your boss. I know attorney-client privilege is a big deal, even for prosecutors.”
He huffed at that, standing from his chair so that he could face her properly.
“Is it about Apollo?” he asked. “About his...He's told me, you know. What you're doing for him. Is this...is this about finding them?” He sighed. “His parents? His mother?”
Kay's face barely twitched, and she ran her finger along the edge of the brooch pinned to her scarf. “You know I can't tell you that either,” she said. “I have my own confidentiality rules to think about.”
The flash in her eyes told him the answer anyway.
“I'm looking for information on a past case of yours,” she told him without missing another beat. “A pretty old one...one of your first, actually. The murder of Magnifi Gramarye.”
That name sent a chill rushing down his spine. “Why?”
“It's a potential lead I'm following.”
“He's dead.”
“I know that,” she scoffed. “I'm an investigator. I know how to use Google. What I need to know is whether he had any family...any surviving family, that is.”
Klavier shook his head. “You said it yourself,” he sighed. “You know how to do a basic internet search.”
“And I can spot a rabbit hole when I see one.”
That was pure determination written on her features, so close to what he'd seen on the opposite bench in court that he found himself thinking she might make a damn good attorney if the private investigator thing didn't work out. He kept eye contact even as the deep, gnawing feeling in his gut got worse and worse.
As far as he knew, he could be the only thing standing between Apollo and the answers he'd been looking for. Even if Kay couldn't say as much, it was easy to put that much together.
He let out a breath, and it sounded so close to pained that he regretted it. “I'm sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “You're right about one thing – it goes deeper than anything the public record might tell you. Deeper than my pay grade lets me go, even if I wanted to...”
When he gathered the courage to look at her again, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt, her eyebrows had raised almost to her hairline. “How high do I need to go?”
“You'd have to ask the Chief Prosecutor himself, for all the good it'll likely do you.” He bit the inside of his cheek, looking away twisting the rings on his fingers one by one, concentrating on the feeling of metal against skin. “I'm sorry...I want to help, but...”
He felt a gentle heat on his elbow, and when he looked up again, Kay's hand was resting there, her gaze soft and so unlike the expression she'd worn when she'd marched into his office that he almost wondered if she could possibly be the same person. “It's okay,” she said, and she offered a smile. “I guess the era of crooked prosecutors is finally ending, huh? Guess Edgeworth is actually doing some good in that big chair of his.”
She straightened up again, adjusting her scarf and pin as she headed for the door. “Don't you worry, Prosecutor Gavin – I'll take it from here, one way or another. The truth can't get away from me!”
It was oddly reassuring, and as she reached the doorway, he stood and called her name. “One piece of advice,” he told her when she turned around again. “When you talk to Herr Edgeworth – assuming you do talk and don't just break into his office-”
“Please...what do you take me for, a thief?”
“-ask for Mason,” he told her, and she blinked.
“Who's Mason?” she asked, but he raised a hand and shook his head.
“If I couldn't tell you anything about the case, I certainly can't tell you that, Fraulein,” he told her with a smile of his own. “And you didn't hear it from me, ja?” He looked away again and resisted the urge to reach for his ring. “Just...do me a favor and find her, will you? Apollo...he...deserves that much. Some answers, at least.”
Kay sent him a grin that could light a city. “Danke,” she quipped, and she headed out the door with a flourish. “Auf gehts!”
Chapter 13
Notes:
This chapter: shit gets real.
Chapter Text
He had to talk to someone.
By lunch, it felt like he was going to burst. Normally, he would have picked up the phone and called Clay, and they would have vented all of their pent-up frustration to each other over whatever they could get from the most convenient food truck. But things hadn't seemed “normal” in a long time, and he didn't have much of an appetite regardless.
He bought a bag of pretzels from the corner store down the street from the office and forced himself to eat all of it. It did nothing to calm his nerves, but at least it would help him avoid a hunger headache later. As he sat at his desk, toying with the empty plastic bag, he scrolled through the contacts on his phone and wondered who would be his best bet to vent to.
Clay was his first thought, of course, but finding his name only served as the ten-thousandth reminder that his best friend was still miles away painfully out of touch. It wasn't his fault, of course – they'd known that GYAXA was and always would be a demanding bunch. Intensive training was hardly a vacation, and Apollo refused to be the reason he lost sleep or got yelled at by his superiors for seeming distracted.
Athena was busy getting lunch with Blackquill, and no doubt talking the prosecutor's ear off about the picture of him and Klavier. The thought of that made him smile, in spite of everything, but trying to put his feelings into words was getting old. It was the same reason that Ema was out of the running, since she seemed to still be convinced that he and Klavier had spent the night in some kind of passionate encounter rather than passed out on his couch for six hours.
There was Klavier himself, too. He was, after all, one of the only people who knew the finer details of everything that had been going on with Kay. Who'd have thought that a retired rockstar like him would have become one of his closest confidants? Well...he was, at least. Apollo wasn't quite sure what they were now.
He was probably the last person Klavier wanted to talk to now anyway – not after he'd gotten his hopes up and promptly dashed them.
Apollo let out a quiet groan as he pressed his phone against his forehead. There was a headache starting to brew there, as if his day wasn't already stressful enough. But he jumped a moment later when a familiar ringtone broke him out of his own racing thoughts:
I've got the maaaaaagic in me-
Trucy.
He answered it halfway through the next line of the chorus. “Why are you calling me in the middle of a school day?”
He did his best not to sound overly worried – it didn't work.
Trucy laughed on the other end. “It's lunch, worry-wart. And since I'm a senior this year, I get to eat outside, so nobody can say a thing about me using my phone.”
“It's almost December,” Apollo insisted.
“It's California. And I have a jacket on.” She snorted. “Again. Worry-wart.”
Her smile came through in her words – he could practically picture it as clear as day even without her here. It was contagious, and he felt the pressure between his temples start to unwind, if only a little. “I'm not a worry-wart.”
“If you say so, Polly.” She didn't sound like she believed him. “So...are you gonna give me the details or not?”
He could see what was coming from a mile away. “Details?”
“You and you-know-who?” she insisted. “Come on, Polly! Don't keep it from me. I have to know – what happened after you two left? You did leave together, right?”
“Well...yeah, but-”
“Well don't just leave me hanging, Polly! Whatever happened afterward had better have been worth ditching my show, and you know I won't stop asking until you tell me.”
Guilt stabbed through his chest at that, and he chewed on his bottom lip. “Yeah...you know I'm sorry about that, right?”
“Do I sound mad?” She didn't, but she hardly ever did with him. She sighed when he didn't answer right away, and when she spoke again, her tone was softer: “You and Klavier...you know I'm happy for you, right? I mean, you always look so happy when you're around him-”
“Yeah,” Apollo forced out, his throat aching.
“At least when you're not pretending you're annoyed by all that rockstar flair.”
“What do you mean pretending?” he scoffed.
“Oh please, Polly – you enjoy it as much as everyone else does. You just don't want people to know because you think it'll hurt your street-cred or something.”
Since when did he have street-cred at all?
“Look...Truce...I hate to burst your bubble, but-
“Oh, come on, Polly! Don't tell me you lost your nerve! I know the picture wasn't all that flattering, but I've only heard a couple of people talking about it in school. And nobody knows it's you, so you're not gonna have the paparazzi banging your door down any time soon.”
“It's not about the-” He sighed. He'd had this conversation too many times to keep his exhaustion from showing. “Truce...it's...it's complicated, okay?”
“Don't talk to me like I'm some little kid, Apollo.” Oh god. Full-name basis. “You wouldn't believe how often he asked about you, and not just trying to woo you, or anything like that. He cares about you, and I know you care about him right back.”
“Of course I-”
She huffed. “Is this about your mom?”
Apollo blinked, choking on his own words. “What?”
“Your mom,” Trucy sighed. “All the searching you've been doing for her. Is that...is that why you're not letting yourself give this whole thing with Klavier a try?”
Dammit, he couldn't lie. Not to her. “It's part of it,” he said, massaging his naked wrist as he held the phone between his ear and shoulder. His voice was quiet, didn't really feel like his own as he added, “I gave Kay my bracelet. She thought she might be able to use it to find a lead.”
Trucy was quiet for a long moment – long enough to nearly make him regret saying anything about it. “Really?” she finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“So...did she?” He didn't answer right away. “Apollo...do you think she's going to find your mom?”
He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and said, “I hope so.”
“You do? I mean, you said a few days ago that you weren't even sure you'd want to meet her if she's...you know, alive.”
She was treading carefully, afraid to hurt him. As if he hadn't turned over the possibility a thousand times in his own head already. After analyzing it for so long, the fear had started to lose some of its potency. “It's funny...I thought that for a long time, but all this stuff with Klavier...well, that's the kind of stuff you'd talk to your parents about, right?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. “Boy troubles.”
“What are you, fifteen?”
It sure felt like it, sometimes, with all of his hormones going as crazy as they had lately. “I guess it's starting to seem like it would be kind of...fun, you know? Telling her about my life, about all the people I've met. You and Klavier and Clay and Ema...And getting to know her. Learning about her life, about where she came from.” He sighed. “About where I came from. I think that's why I started all this in the first place...So I could have something to go back to when everything felt like it was all falling apart.”
“Damn,” Trucy sighed. “Wow...that's...wow, Polly.”
He sat up again. “Did you just curse?”
“That's the bell,” she said, and her voice was accompanied by the sounds of muffled movement, wrappers being crinkled and her backpack being zipped closed. “I gotta go, Polly. But I...you know I love you, right?”
His eyebrows shot up for a moment before he smiled again. “Of course I do. You too, Truce. Sorry for dumping all that on you.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Like you need to apologize for opening up to me. It's not every day I see you show your sensitive side. Kinda like seeing a unicorn.”
He was about to argue, but he didn't have the heart to try, and Trucy hung up a moment later.
Athena swept through the door almost the second he put his phone down, with a smile on her face and a paper bag in her hand. “I knew you weren't gonna bother with real food,” she said. “Let me guess – vending machine lunch again?”
“We don't have vending machines,” he told her. “I bought it at the convenience store down the street.”
“Well it's a good thing I bought an extra burrito, then.” She dropped the bag on his desk and swept over to her own, grinning all the while. He stared at her, his stomach growling when the smell of grilled chicken and cilantro hit his nose. It seemed talking to Trucy had brought his appetite back again, and a bag of pretzels wasn't going to cut it.
“You didn't have to-”
“Yeah I did. I've spent enough time with Simon to recognize when someone is caught up enough in their own brain to forget to eat. And don't you even think about trying to pay me back.”
He was already unwrapping the food as he smirked at her. “Pay you back?” he scoffed. “After all the times I spotted you for lunch, I'd say this makes us even.”
Widget glowed green at Athena's throat as she pouted at him. "Fine."
As Kay slipped silently across the threshold of the Chief Prosecutor's office, she wondered if she was going to get someone fired. It wasn't her goal – not in the slightest, but considering how easy it had been to slip by security, it certainly seemed like somebody wasn't doing their job properly.
Maybe more than one person; the lock really shouldn't have been so easy to pick, after all.
Who knew what kinds of sensitive information were tucked away on the shelves? The binders and folders neatly labeled with case numbers were all long-since forgotten, only there for the sake of good record-keeping. Edgeworth would never have been so careless as to leave something too important in plain sight like that.
Which was why she passed by the shelves and went straight for the computer.
She didn't bother with the lights, letting the moonlight streaming through the far window guide her across the room after she'd let the door slip shut behind her. The computer booted up quickly, and the first screen greeted her by demanding a password. It was hardly a surprise, and even less of a challenge.
She'd sworn a long time ago to only use her skills for important causes – the Yatagarasu only picked those locks that needed to be picked for the greater good, and no more. Her father, she was sure, could rest easy with that.
His desktop background was a heatwarming sight, featuring him and his new husband in a warm embrace, dressed to the nines in their wedding attire. If she'd had time to spare, she might have taken a moment to melt, but she had a goal in mind, and she was sure Edgeworth would have a million other pictures to show her when they managed to catch up for real. Instead of letting herself linger, she got to work.
Mason, Gavin had told her. She had no idea who he was talking about, but it was a start at the very least. Her search brought up a single folder, labeled simply and clearly:
MASON footage – evidence summary
Her gut told her to click on it, and her gut was rarely wrong. She opened it.
Inside were about twenty files, all labeled with numbers in some kind of order that she was sure would have made perfect sense if she'd had Edgeworth's brain, but a few toward the bottom were named in clearer terms. The first to catch her eye was a text file: POI
People of interest.
She opened the file, heart racing, and scanned the list of names. Some were familiar, while others were new, but one made her stop. More than the name, it was the picture beside it that made her eyes go wide.
A warm smile stretched across the woman's face, her eyes focused on something – maybe someone – behind the camera. Her fingers were neatly laced together, elbows resting in front of her, auburn hair rolling over her trim shoulders. And there, on her wrists, were the familiar brass-colored accents, gleaming in the light.
She read the name: Thalassa Gramarye.
One son. One daughter. No names attached to them, but another piece of information underneath the rest of it made her heart sink: Deceased, 2016.
The lights flickered on before she could read any further, and she straightened up so quickly that she nearly toppled over backward. She was expecting security, but the person standing in the doorway, staring at her like a disapproving parent, was the Chief Prosecutor himself.
“Do you have any idea,” he sighed, sounding like he was on the verge of succumbing to a migraine, “how very close you are to being arrested?”
“Please.” She flashed him a smile. “Like you could ever arrest me.”
Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses hanging listlessly from his hand. “No,” he admitted. “But the police very well might, when I tell them there's a thief breaking into my office.” He pulled a cloth from his coat pocket, ever so properly, and rubbed the lenses of his glasses before putting them back on again. “Hello, Kay.”
“I was gonna call and catch up.”
“And you chose to break into my office instead?”
“It just seemed like so much more fun,” she laughed. She made her way around the desk, leaning back against it as she faced him. “You know, security around here is kinda piss-poor. If you wanted some pointers, I could give you a list.”
“Oh, this will certainly reflect poorly on someone's performance review, I promise you.” He had his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Never a good sign. “Do you have any clue how idiotic of an idea like this is? Breaking into the office of a prosecutor. Putting people in jail is literally part of my job description.” He glared at her – truly glared at her, his eyes flashing as his lips pressed together into a hard and unyielding line. So much for married life making him soft. “You do understand the position you've put me in, yes? Breaking into my office, gaining access to confidential materials? Do you know what – who – you could be putting at risk by-”
“Hey.” She put her hands up, palms toward him, her playful smile fading. She'd always hated having to take such a serious tone – it wasn't in her nature, sounding so solemn. It always made her feel like she was delivering bad news. But Edgeworth wasn't angry; he was livid. It was boiling just underneath the surface, held back by years of careful tempering of thick outer shell of his.
“I'm here on a job,” she told him. “Not looking to uncover any scandal or steal any top-secret intel.” She did allow herself a small smile. “Though, let's be honest – you'd never keep anything sensitive enough to start a war or something on your own office computer. That would be way too tempting for someone like me.”
He didn't answer. Just huffed as his frown deepened. “Just what kind of job is that?”
“Something for a client,” she told him. “As for details...well, a private investigator has to keep some secrets, right? Keeps things interesting.”
“I hardly care for interesting, right about now,” Edgeworth retorted, sounding exasperated.
Kay sighed. “Fine.” She rested her palms against her hips, closing her eyes. That picture popped up in her memory again the moment she did, the woman's face – her name – feeling like it was burning themselves into her memory. “I'm just trying to help a guy find his mother.” She felt something new bubble up in the pit of her stomach when she looked up at him again, and she met his eye as her brow pinched and her jaw tightened. “More than you ever tried to do, I guess.”
She hadn't been expecting the words to come out with such venom. She hadn't meant for them to. But then, she hadn't expected her own emotions to heat up so quickly either. Edgeworth stared at her, puzzled. “What are you-”
“I know you had your reasons,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could even as her hands started to shake at her sides. The realization poured over her, filling her with anger, a desire to know why. It was a question she'd been asked plenty of times before: Why did my wife cheat on me? Why did my son run away from home? Why couldn't I see that my best employee has been stealing from the company since the day they were hired?
She looked at the floor. “You always have your reasons.”
“Just as you had your reasons for breaking into my office,” he said coolly, and he sighed, stepping toward her. “Kay...you must know perfectly well why I need to know what you were looking for-”
“A name,” she said. “That's all. Just one name. I'm not trying to ruin anybody's reputation or overthrow any governments. I told you – I'm just trying to help one guy find his mother.” She met his eye again, pressing her anger down as deep as she could – it wasn't doing anybody any favors now. “All I wanted was the name, and I found it. So just let me out of here, already.”
Edgeworth, surprisingly, managed a smile of his own. “I don't doubt you could force your way past me quite easily if you put your mind to it.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn't want to risk you throwing your back out. Figured your husband wouldn't appreciate it.”
“He certainly wouldn't,” he agreed. “I would have preferred our next meeting be under better circumstances. Preferably over lunch. It's been a long time since we spoke face to face.”
As much as she wanted to smile back, when she tried, it still felt forced, leaving a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. “Am I free to go?”
“What was the name?” Edgeworth asked her, suddenly. Calmly.
She paused. “Afraid I'm going to start a war after all?”
“You never know. The name, Kay. Please.”
She supposed there was no way around it, so she sighed. “Thalassa Gramarye.”
Edgeworth looked like his mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara, his eyes widening until she could see the light from the window glinting off of his irises. “Thalassa...” he breathed, and he quietly groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I should have known this would come up...We waited too long. I tried to tell him...” He sat down on that overstuffed sofa of his. “But a private investigator? Just how long have you been working for Apollo Justice?”
Kay balked. “You did know,” she said. Damn, how badly had she wanted it not to be true? “Why didn't you ever-”
“You should tell him,” Edgeworth insisted. “It's...complicated, Kay. But he deserves to know. He has for a long time. I never realized things would go this far, but now that they have-” He looked at her again. “Yes, you should tell him. And if he's angry, Kay...tell him he can take it out on me.”
She blinked down at him, jaw slack. His eyes were wide and sincere, but so tired. Like he'd been keeping a secret so long that he no longer realized how heavily it weighed on him. There was more to this story, she knew it. Her intuition was screaming at her to dig deeper, but she had a promise to keep, and Apollo undoubtedly wanted his bracelet back.
“Whatever it is...I'm sure he'll understand,” she said. It was a half-baked attempt at comfort, she knew, and Edgeworth didn't seem to believe it. He sat there with his head in his hand as she turned and strode out into the darkened hallway.
Apollo made dinner, as usual. He sat on his couch and watched Wheel of Fortune as he ate, as usual. He washed his dishes, took a shower, and changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants for the evening, as usual.
The routine was familiar, but it still felt off. Maybe it was the fact that his wrist still felt lighter than normal. Maybe it was the fact that he still felt like his brain was hurling thoughts at him so quickly that he couldn't sort through all of them. He turned on the radio to try and drown them out.
-coming up next, we have the number one hit single from the Gavinners, Guilty Love!
Of course.
He turned it off again.
His bed was still unmade from the day before – he rarely bothered, since he lived alone. He dropped back onto the mattress, wondering if it was still too early to go to bed as he stared up at the ceiling.
His eyes darted to the picture on his dresser, propped up on a stack of old law textbooks. He'd wrestled with the idea of getting it framed, but it seemed saccharine and unnecessary. Why frame a gritty security camera picture of a woman he'd never known? It almost felt downright maudlin.
But now, he couldn't stop thinking about what he would say to her.
Before, it had seemed unreal – he'd never expected for Kay to find anything with as little as she'd had to go on. He couldn't explain what had caused the shift, but he was starting to feel almost hopeful. Hopeful that he'd get to learn about who she was, that maybe he'd even get to meet her. Oh, it would be awkward at first, sure, but a growing part of him couldn't stop clinging to the idea of hearing her voice, seeing her face.
He had a feeling – deep down in some untouchable, irrational part of his intuition – that he was going to get to meet his mother. And it terrified him, but he felt himself smile at the thought of it.
"To the moon and back." That was how much she'd insisted she'd loved him. He wondered what it would be like to hear her say it to his face.
Next to him, his phone buzzed, and he picked it up to find a text alert lighting up his screen: 1 new message from Clay Terran.
“Hey there, stranger,” it read, and god, now he just felt guilty.
“Sorry for being out of touch,” he replied. “A lot going on.”
“Nah, just giving u a hard time.” Winky emoticon. Of course. “They've been runnin me ragged anyway. Feel like I'm gonna die.”
“Try sleeping instead?”
“GENIUS!!!”
Apollo snorted out a laugh, watching as an oscillating “...” appeared on his screen. A moment later, a second text came through, with a picture attached of a pristine lake, stretching like a sheet of dark glass beneath a ring of snow-capped moutains. “It's picturesque as fuck here.”
Kissy-face emoticon. Now he was just getting ridiculous. Yet another text followed: “Any new developments?”
“Too many,” Apollo wrote back, and wasn't that the truth? He sighed as he let his phone rest against his chest, waiting for the reply.
It took seconds. “Share!”
“Not over text,” he was quick to type. “I can Skype you tho.”
“Wifi's down in the dorms." Frowny face. "They say it'll be back up by tomorrow.”
A second message: “I was almost considering sending you a hand-written letter.”
And a third: “Like a CAVEMAN.”
Apollo laughed again. “Or we could just Skype tomorrow?”
“Fine...”
He let his phone rest in his outstretched palm as he dropped his arm down onto the mattress again, his muscles burning from the effort of holding it up over his face. (Maybe I should work out more...) It buzzed again a moment later, and he craned his neck to check the message that popped up.
“Miss you, Pollo.”
Poop emoji. Fucking dork.
He wrote back a quick goodnight and put his phone back on the nightstand, something aching in his chest as he did. As he plugged it into its charger for the evening, he wondered if falling so out of touch after everything that had happened made him a shitty friend.
(Of course it doesn't,) he told himself. Life was hectic, and Clay was busy anyway. He couldn't be expected to update his best friend on everything that happened in his life. Though, maybe GYAXA's internet being spotty in the dorms was a small blessing, at least for him. It saved him from having to endure another conversation about his impromptu candid photo-op with Klavier.
His phone lit up again as he scanned through all of the half-finished books on his shelf for something to get his mind off of everything else. It was a phone call this time – from Kay Faraday.
He picked it up, his heart suddenly pounding. “Hello?”
“A.J.,” she said, sounding out of breath. “It's me.”
The next words crackling over the speaker made his breath catch in his throat: “I found her.”
Chapter 14
Notes:
A short wait and a longer chapter than usual. I'm on a roll right now. B)
I bet a lot of you thought we were close to the end. Nope. But I promise we're building to something important, so try not to hate me too much after this chapter. :P
Chapter Text
Apollo paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again, more times than he could count, from the moment he hung up the phone with Kay until the moment she knocked on his door. Probably not the healthiest way to try and calm himself down, but he doubted anything would work when he had a million worst- and best-case-scenarios running through his head at the same time, so he resigned himself to letting his heart try and batter its way out of his rib cage as he walked.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Window to refrigerator and back again. It couldn't be good for the carpet.
It was happening so quickly that he still hadn't quite managed to convince himself it was really happening at all. Just a few short weeks ago, he'd been convinced that he would never find her, never meet her. He figured she'd always be some mysterious character just outside the edge of his conscious memory.
But Kay had given her a face, and soon she would have a name. Maybe she would have a voice soon too, and a smell, and warmth. Maybe she could really be a person.
God, what would he say to her? After everything Kay had gone through to find her, he didn't think he could find it in his conscience not to at least try. Was he supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? Stand on the other side of the room and say, “Hi, you left me at an orphanage when I was a baby, and now I'm grown up, I have a law degree and I hired a private investigator to find you. Wanna grab dinner, mommy dearest?”
He stopped, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He needed a glass of water, or maybe something much stronger.
There it was – the knock on his door that he'd been waiting for, and it made the air around him feel like it was clawing at his throat on its way in. He pushed himself forward, reached out and threw open the door to find Kay standing at the threshold, her hand extended.
His bracelet rested in her palm. He'd been so busy pacing that he'd forgotten all about it.
“Figured you'd want this back,” she said with a small half-smile. “All in one piece, just as polished as when you gave it to me.”
He took it without a word, pushing it down over his hand. The metal was still warm from her palm, pressing up snugly against his skin. He'd almost forgotten just how heavy it was. “Do you wanna come in?” he heard himself ask, and she nodded as she brushed past him into the living room.
For a moment, they just stood there, both unsure of who was supposed to speak first.
Kay was the one to break the silence: “You know,” she said, “I didn't think I would get so invested when I took this on.”
Apollo felt the urge to apologize, but he pushed it away. She was fiddling with her scarf, a gesture that seemed anxious more than anything else. “Did you really find her?” he finally got up the courage to ask.
Her smile was tired as she sank down onto the sofa. She waited until he sat next to her before she nodded. “It's not everything,” she said. “There's still a lot I don't know, A.J., but...but I can always find out for you. I have a name, at least, and that's big. Huge.” She was grinning now, but it seemed forced somehow, like she was worried if she let it falter, he would catch onto something else that she didn't want him to notice.
Another question caught in his throat, but he didn't want to ask it. Instead, he pressed his fingers against his bracelet, staring down at the poor, trampled carpet as he sighed, “So this thing really did have something to do with it, huh?” He traced the familiar pattern etched into the cool metal with his fingertips and forced out a nervous little laugh. “Maybe I should have given it to you on day one?”
Kay took him by surprise, reaching out and covering his hand with hers until he met her eye again. She was still smiling, but it was softer now. “That friend of mine is good, Apollo,” she said. “He's been in the business a long time. Seen plenty of things worth way more than money, and he never forgets something that catches his eye. He didn't even have to do much digging on this, you know.” She held his wrist up, her fingers pressed against the underside of his bracelet. “One look, and he remembered exactly where he'd seen it before.”
Apollo gaped at her. “Really?”
“A traveling entertainer,” Kay said with a nod. “Decades ago, he said. Came into his old pawn shop looking for some new props for some show he was putting on. He had this on his wrist, and no matter how hard my friend tried to buy it, the guy wouldn't even listen to numbers. Said it was an old family heirloom, worth more than anything he could offer. He was going to pass it down to his kids one day.”
She cradled his bracelet in her palms, Apollos wrist limp against her hands as she laughed. “And just so you know, if you ever did want to sell it, I know a guy who would set you up right for it.”
“Not happening,” he said out of habit.
“I know, I know. But the point is, A.J...this bracelet, it's old. Really old. I couldn't say how old, but it probably goes back a few generations. And it's part of a pair.” She let his wrist go, grinning as she did, and she pressed her palms together in front of her chest, intertwining her fingers. “A matched set. And I'm willing to bet your mom gave one to you.”
Apollo stared down at the bracelet on his wrist. It had always felt like a connection, like a thin thread stretching between him and the long-lost memory of his mother. Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe she had one of her own around her wrist right now. He dragged his finger along its edge again, wondering how many times her own hands had followed those same intricate lines and ridges.
Without looking up, he finally managed to swallow despite the dryness of his own throat, and he murmured, “Is she alive?”
Kay didn't answer, and he felt like his insides were slowly filling with concrete. He forced himself to meet her eye again. “Just tell me,” he said. “Nothing else. I just want to know...is she...”
God, he couldn't get the word out a second time, and Kay's brow pinched as she bit her bottom lip, looking away. “I...” She took a breath. “I found a lead and I followed it. And there's still plenty more I could find. It wasn't just her, Apollo – the intel I got, there's so much more I could do-”
“She isn't, is she?”
He felt like someone else was talking, like the voice wasn't his own. His fingers were curled tight around his wrist, the metal of his bracelet digging into his palm as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. The mental picture of her face – painted over that grainy image that Kay had given him, augmented with color and graying hair and laughter lines – started to fade and peel away. Like a forgotten piece of artwork left for too long in the sun.
It hurt like hell.
“No,” Kay sighed, her voice heavy with sympathy and guilt. “A.J...Apollo...I'm so sorry, but...she died almost two decades ago...”
Something in his chest ripped.
He felt a sob coming, fighting its way up his throat, but he wrestled it back, held it in his chest until it was nothing but a low, throbbing ache behind his sternum. He pressed his lips together tight, pulled at the corners of his mouth until a smile formed, because if he smiled, he wouldn't be able to cry. “It's okay,” he croaked. And no, it wasn't, but he could muddle through until it was. He'd gotten good at that. “Thanks, Kay. Thanks for all of it.”
Kay was scrambling for him, finding his hand again and leaning close enough into his personal bubble that he had to fight the urge to flinch. “But that's not it, Apollo. There's more. Her name-”
He shook his head. “It's alright,” he said. “I don't want to know.”
He swore Kay looked hurt. “You...you don't?”
“No...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but...I can't. There's no point.”
“But-”
“I said no, okay?” He regretted it the moment he'd said it, should have known that he would snap if he didn't keep himself in check. “I'm sorry...”
Kay was frowning, staring down at their hands that were still folded over each other on the cushion. “It's alright,” she sighed. “It's a lot to take in. But are you...” She pulled her hand back, just barely enough for him to feel it, like she was trying to decide whether or not to let go. She squeezed his fingers instead. “Are you sure, Apollo? It might help-”
“She's dead,” he forced out, and the words made his eyes burn, but they needed to be said. “I don't need to know her name. That's enough.”
“Apollo, you have a sister.”
That made his breath catch on its way in. The prickling in his eyes almost spilled over, blurring his vision and burning when he tried to blink it away. “I don't know any more,” Kay continued. “But I could find out. I could find her name. It wouldn't be hard. Just give me a day-”
A sister. A sibling he barely knew. Just a stranger who happened to share some convenient DNA.
“No,” he said, and he pulled his hand away from hers.
“Apollo-” Kay pleaded, but he shook his head, wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and let out a sad, raspy little laugh.
“She wouldn't want some strange guy barging into her life,” he said. “Let her be. I'm through worrying about what I could have. I've got plenty already, and I'm tired of missing out on it chasing a fantasy.”
Trucy, Ema, Athena, Klavier, Clay...he had plenty of people he could consider family. What was that quote that Clay was so fond of – about being caught up in dreams and forgetting to live? If he'd been here, he would have given him hell for not remembering who'd said it. It had always been one of his favorites.
He didn't look back at Kay again until he felt a piece of paper being gently pressed into the palm of his hand. It was an envelope, creased and wrinkled and torn at the corner. “Sorry,” she said, “It was the only one I could find. But I wrote it down.” She pulled back, standing up from the sofa. “Her name. It's in there. You can read it, or not. It's up to you, A.J. But it's there if you change your mind, and so am i.”
He curled his fingers around it, nodding.
“I could...I could stay, if you want,” she offered, and he sent her a tired smile.
“It's okay,” he said. “I'm...I'm fine. Or I will be. I just...I need some time.”
“Okay...” She meandered toward the door, looking back at him with every step. “You have my number.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm sorry I couldn't do more.”
He shrugged. “Not your fault.”
She paused at the threshold. “For what it's worth...I bet she would have loved to meet you.”
He didn't have an answer for that, so he held the folded envelope tight in his curled fingers, pressing it to his chest until the door closed again.
Then he tossed it across the room and went to collapse into bed.
He didn't cry. He slept, albeit restlessly. Sleep came quickly, but he woke up several times over the course of the night, every few hours. Every time he did, his eye was drawn to the picture propped up on his dresser. Even if he couldn't see it in the dark, he knew it was there, and he could map out the blurry details of her face in his imagination easily enough that it felt like she was watching him.
He got up around three in the morning and shoved it face-down on top of the stack of books and went back to sleep.
He was still tired when he dragged himself up to brush his teeth and get dressed. A shower and some coffee helped to wash off the last lingering bit of sluggishness, and he drew in a deep breath as he headed out into the pleasantly cool morning. As he reached the bottom of the steps leading out onto the sidewalk at the front of his apartment building, a voice caught his attention.
“Polly?” He turned and almost stumbled as Trucy stood up from where she'd been sitting on the steps, her eyes wide and her lips pressed into a frown.
“Truce? What-”
Before he could ask her what the hell she was doing here instead of at school, she pushed forward and threw her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I should have told you I was coming. I shouldn't be here at all. I just...” She sagged against him, sighing into his shirt.
He brought his arms up and around her tightly. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Truce...what's going on? Are you hurt? Are you-”
“No!” She pulled away again, shaking her head. “I'm okay, I swear. You don't have to worry...I'm sorry for making you worry...” She sat on the steps again, and Apollo followed close behind, pressing a hand carefully against her back, between her shoulders as she slumped forward.
“Do your dads know you're here?” he asked. She shook her head again. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”
“Papa dropped me off. I waited until he left and then came here.”
“Why?”
Her voice was tiny: “They were fighting last night.” She dragged her finger across the concrete, tracing some pattern that he couldn't see. “I couldn't tell what it was about. Some person who they were trying to get in touch with. I think, at least. I didn't want to listen.” She hugged her knees close. “They never fight. Not this badly.”
He stared at her, worry twisting in his gut. “They'll be okay, Truce,” he finally said, gently running a hand over her neatly braided hair. “People argue. They make up. And your dads will too.”
It was an overdone sentiment, but he tried to offer a smile with it when Truce hazarded a glance over at him again, leaning against his side. “I know,” she said, but his bracelet twitched against his wrist when she did.
He couldn't blame her for worrying – she'd been abandoned more times in her short life than anyone should have had to bear. Her least of all. But she'd never let it make her bitter or unkind, and on top of so much else, he respected her for that. She deserved something perfect, or at least something as close to that as it could get. “You know they're both too stubborn to let one little fight get between them for long,” he offered, and that got a laugh out of her. “C'mon, I'll walk you back. We should be able to get there before you're marked tardy if we hurry.”
As they rounded the corner in comfortable silence, Trucy's steps slowly became lighter, like the weight on her shoulders was beginning to dissipate. It was a start, at least, and it helped to clear his own head too. The school was just coming in to view down the block when she said, “I told Dad the other day, you know.”
“Told him what?”
“About the college thing.” She toyed with the strap of her backpack, tracing the cracks in the sidewalk with her gaze as she spoke. A tiny smile crept onto her face. “He said we could put the application fees toward getting me a some new performance outfits. I think he was kind of relieved he didn't have to worry about moving me into some dorm.” She laughed. “All that heavy lifting probably would have done him in!”
“I told you he'd understand,” Apollo said, ruffling her hair as he did. “Besides, you have plenty of time to figure out what it is you wanna do. Hell, maybe you'll wind up going to law school.”
“Never,” she scoffed. “Not in a million years. I'd rather become a street performer than study law.” Her elbow found his ribs with a little more force than he'd have liked. “No offense.”
“Very little taken,” he winced, rubbing his side.
Trucy reached out suddenly and grabbed his wrist, staring at his bracelet as it glinted in the sun. “You're wearing it again,” she said. “You said you gave it to Kay.”
He shrugged, trying as best he could to ignore the stab of pain in his chest as memories of the night before came flooding back. “She gave it back to me,” he said. “Last night.”
“And?” Trucy bounced as she walked, hands balled excitedly into fists. “Did she find anything? Did she find her? Apollo-”
He put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. His face must have betrayed more of his emotions than he'd tried to let on, because Trucy abruptly went still again. “Oh...” she sighed. “Oh, Polly...I'm...”
“It's okay,” he insisted, flashing her a smile. It was getting easier, forcing those little smiles. Maybe eventually they wouldn't feel forced at all. “At least I know. And I have plenty of people in my life already. Like you.” He tugged her close, one arm around her shoulders as they walked. “I lived my whole life without a mom. It shouldn't be much different, going back to that again.”
Except it was, because now he knew what it felt like to hope he might see her again. Having that taken away stung more than he wanted to admit.
“What if I just skip school and we go see a movie or something?” she offered. “Get your mind off of it?”
“Not on your life,” he insisted. “Go on, that perfect attendance record isn't gonna keep itself, you know.”
Trucy groaned. “Alright...but text me during lunch, okay?”
He waved at her as she scurried inside. His smile lingered until she'd gotten through the front doors, and when he let it fade, it left him feeling even more exhausted than before.
The atmosphere at the Agency felt like he was walking into a sauna, the tension hanging heavy and warm in the air like thick steam. Athena tugged at her hair, so harshly that he wondered how her poor follicles were faring. “Thank god you're here,” she sighed when he walked in the door. “I thought I was gonna combust if I had to sit here by myself much longer. You're late.”
He checked his watch. “I'm on time.”
“For you, that's late.”
“Then I guess that makes you early.”
She huffed at him, casting an anxious glance toward their boss's door. “He's been in there since he got here this morning,” she said. “Earlier than usual.”
That probably wasn't a good sign. Not unless they had a new case. “Client?” he asked, already knowing what the answer were be. Athena shook her head.
Definitely not a good sign.
He plopped down at his desk, determined to get even the smallest amount of work done despite the heartache mixing unpleasantly with anxiety in his chest. He shook out his shoulders and tried to convince himself that it helped the tension tugging on his neck as he booted up his computer.
Mind-numbing procedural busywork, at least, would always be around to keep his brain occupied when he needed a good distraction.
He cast a glance over at the door and leaned toward Athena's desk, dropping his voice low. “Trucy showed up outside my apartment this morning,” he whispered.
“What?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, fingers curling against her cheek. At least it gave her hair a break. “Why?” she muttered between her fingers.
Apollo shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on his computer screen. “Probably the same reason that door is closed,” he said.
As much as she tried not to let on how easy it was for her to eavesdrop, it was painfully obvious just how difficult it was to hide a conversation from Athena's ears. “You mean him and Edgeworth-”
“Mmhm.”
“Wow...” She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. “Is Trucy okay?”
“She will be,” Apollo said. “I guess it can't be easy, seeing your parents fight. I mean, I wouldn't exactly know, but that doesn't mean I don't get it.”
Silence stretched between them, getting less and less comfortable with every passing second as Athena fidgeted in her seat. Finally, still keeping his eyes locked on his computer and concentrating on looking busy, Apollo broke it: “Kay found my mom.”
“She what now?”
And people called him the loud one.
She was standing, striding over to his desk, getting right into his personal space and throwing her arms around him. “Apollo, that's amazing!” she insisted. “When? How? Who is she? Are you gonna meet her-”
“She's gone.”
If the pause in conversation had been awkward before, it was torture now. He folded his hands in his lap, not able to bring himself to look up at her as he swallowed thickly and added, “Dead. For a while now.”
“Oh...”
His chest ached, just the same as it had every time he'd thought about it since the night before. He'd thought it would have faded by now, but it only seemed to be getting worse. “It's okay,” he said, and his voice was so soft, sounded so fragile that he knew from the second he spoke that Athena wouldn't believe him. “I mean, I know, at least. I don't have to waste anymore time looking.”
“But...maybe there's someone else. Other family-”
“And they have lives just the same as I do,” Apollo forced out. “I can't keep chasing them, Athena. I have people here who need me, and I need them.”
Athena went quiet, leaning on his desk as she combed her fingers through her hair. The tension was too thick, almost stifling, and he let out a weak little laugh as he tried to diffuse it. “If you keep doing that, you'll go bald by the time you're thirty,” he quipped.
Instead of smiling back, Athena wrapped her arms around him again, softer this time. “I know it hurts,” she murmured, Widgets deep blue glue shimmering at the edge of his vision. “Even if you didn't know her...I know it's hard to hear. I know better than a lot of people...” Her fingers curled against his jacket.
God, could she really hear all that in his voice?
Slowly, he reached up to press his palm against her back, his other hand joining it a moment later as he held her close against his chest. His eyes burned again as his nose flattened against the crook of her neck, but he swallowed back against it – the last thing he wanted was to cry in the office. He was a professional after all, even despite all of this.
Athena drew back with a deep breath, and she was smiling again as she did. “I guess it's better to know for sure,” she said. “Better than wondering, anyway. All that uncertainty can be crippling, you know? It can even keep you from doing things you love if you let it.”
He knew that all too well, and he was suddenly very aware of what he needed to do. So much so that he couldn't stand to sit there staring at his computer a second longer. “I, uh...I need to make a phone call,” he said as he stood. “Five minutes...can you cover for me?”
“Sure thing,” Athena told him, and she meandered back to her own desk. She was smiling again, but it was a small and sly thing. “I know who you're calling,” it seemed to say.
He bet that she was right, but he didn't let it show as he headed out into the hallway.
The reception was surprisingly strong at the top of the cool, drafty stairwell. Apollo tucked himself into the corner, away from the door, leaning against the wall and feeling thankful for the fact that the breeze coming in from the open window above him cooled his warm cheeks as he found Klavier's number in his contacts.
It was a long time coming, he figured. Better to start trying to fix things now, before he had time to overthink things again.
Klavier picked up on the second ring, and Apollo steeled himself, wondering why his heart was racing as much as it was. “Forehead,” Klavier crooned, and Apollo could hear the smile over the speaker. “Calling out of the blue now?”
“Bad time?” he managed, the tightness in his chest making the words sound forced and his breath shallow.
“Nein, not at all. I'm certainly not complaining.” A note of worry tinged his voice as he added, “Are you alright?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? “I'm-” The standard answer didn't quite want to come, so Apollo sighed and settled on a compromise: “I...think so. Sorry.” He curled his free arm around himself, forcing himself deeper into the corner like it would make him feel safer somehow. From what, he wasn't sure. “I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now.”
“And why on earth would you think that, Forehead?” Apollo swore he sounded almost offended.
“You know why. I dumped you.”
Klavier actually laughed. “We were never dating. And I can't blame you for being overwhelmed, all things considered. I told you...it was my fault for springing it on you the way I did. I'm not usually so bad with timing.” He sighed, the sound of it crackling over the phone. “But I'm assuming that's not the only reason you're calling during work hours.”
“If you're busy, I can-”
“I told you, not a complaint.” A beat. “Apollo...” The sound of his name made him shiver. “Is this about...Kay...did she...”
“Doyouwanttogetcoffee?”
It all came out at once, like a single word, before Apollo could stop himself from asking. Once he had, winced thanking his lucky stars that Klavier couldn't see the redness creeping onto his face again.
Klavier's response took a few moments of agonizing silence: “Huh?”
“Coffee,” Apollo said again. “And I don't mean in your office. I mean you and me sitting down at a table somewhere. Together.”
“A date, you mean?”
“Yeah...” He swallowed, tugging at his tie until it came loose from where it had been tucked in his jacket. “A date.”
“I thought you didn't want – well, the picture-”
“It was never about the picture, Klav.”
He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, wasn't even sure what he wanted Klavier to say back to him. But the more the thought about it, the less he found he cared about that picture circulating around the internet for as long as Klavier's fanbase would let it. He waited, stayed quiet, and tried to get his heart to stop pounding away in his chest.
Because if Klavier asked what it was really about, he wasn't sure what kind of floodgate it would open. Instead, Klavier just laughed, softly.
“Love that nickname,” he said, fondly.
Apollo let out a breath, the tension in his chest starting to loosen. “I was scared, okay? I wanted simple...stable...but things are never simple, you know?”
“Still can't blame you for wanting it.”
“Just don't expect me to come along to any red carpet events, alright? Black tie isn't my thing.”
“Bet you'd look rather dashing in an Armani suit, though.”
At least over the phone, Klavier couldn't see him blush.
“Let's start with coffee, hm?” Klavier said after he'd finished laughing. “One step at a time.”
Something warm swelled in Apollo's chest, so different from the twisting, sour feeling that had been festering there since the night before. “So that's a yes?”
“It's certainly not a no. You can't have forgotten already that I kissed you first, ja?”
“Ja-” Apollo stammered. “I-I mean yes. I remember.” The sigh that he let out shook him down to his toes. “God, I'm planning a date with a rockstar.”
“Ex-rockstar, don't you forget. Ah...if you're not sure-”
“I am.” He'd been sure of so little, but he was certain of that much, at least.
“Well then...it's a date, Forehead. This weekend?”
“Sure.” It was probably for the best – gave the dust a chance to settle.
“I know a place, nice and quiet. I'll buy you a latté.”
“As good as the one you made me in your office?”
“Almost.”
He managed a laugh of his own at that. “Well, I guess I'll have to make do, huh?”
“I suppose.”
The silence that settled between them was comfortable, and Apollo itched to tell him more. He was sick of the secrets, and if they were going to do this right, he wanted to be able to open up more. He wanted to be honest – Klavier had proven too many times over that he was someone Apollo could trust. He wanted to tell him how much it hurt, how desperately he regretted ever doing all this. But the time wasn't right, and as much as it hurt to keep it all to himself, Apollo forced the urge back down again.
“Hey Klav,” he said instead. “I need...to tell you something.”
“Ja?”
“But I can't.” He closed his eyes, like that would make it easier. He pressed them shut so tightly that he dark starbursts popped up in his vision. “Not right now. Not...not over the phone. So instead, I just want to say...thanks.”
“Apollo...” God, why did Klavier have to say his name like that, tinging it with his accent and making it so unique? He'd never heard his own name said with so much care. It made his throat ache again. “Are you sure you're alright?”
He was not going to make this the way things started between them, with him crying to Klavier in the cold stairwell over the phone about something neither of them could help. Things had already gotten off to a rocky enough beginning – the last thing he wanted was to hurt their chances even more. So he put everything he had into keeping his voice from betraying the fact that his eyes were burning and said, “I'm fine.” He took a breath, and said it again with more conviction, until he believed it, if just for the moment. “I'm fine. I promise. This weekend, right?”
“I wouldn't miss it, Forehead.” Somehow, the nickname was just as good as the real thing. “And ah...one other thing?”
“Yeah?”
“You're welcome.”
He was smiling by the time he hung up, despite the ever-present ache in his chest.
It took him almost a solid minute to get his breathing in check again, and his heart was still pattering away in his chest by the time he went back into the office. If Athena could tell that something was up – and he knew that she damn well could – she didn't say anything. He was glad for that. It made it easier to focus on his work.
It was five minutes after he'd sat down again that their boss finally emerged from his fortress of solitude, looking like he hadn't had the chance to even think of sleep the night before, let alone get any. He met Apollo's eyes for a moment and froze, going pale until Apollo offered a weak little smile.
“Morning, boss,” he said.
Phoenix cleared his throat, glancing at Athena. “How much did you hear?”
“I wasn't trying to,” she sighed.
“It's okay,” Phoenix told her, his voice strained, but gentle. “Not easy to ignore, as thin as these walls seem sometimes, but I appreciate you trying.” He pressed his hand to his temple, sighing. “It's personal – nothing you two need to worry about.”
He put a hand on Apollo's desk, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a near whisper. “Thank you for walking Trucy to school,” he said, and before Apollo could answer, he added with a laugh, “She texted me, told me not to get mad at you if you were late because of it.”
“She was just worried,” Apollo said. “She's alright.”
“I know. Thanks to you.” He patted Apollo on the shoulder. “So thanks.”
“Nothing special,” Apollo told him with a shrug.
Phoenix lingered a moment, fidgeting as he shoved his hands into his pockets. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but nothing ever came. He let out a frustrated-sounding sigh. “New client coming in later today,” he said as he swept back toward his office.
It took the full day for his exhaustion to catch up with him, but by the time he got back to his apartment, he was ready to crumple into bed. He closed the door behind him, leaned back against it, and took a moment to savor the silence.
He hadn't realized what a relief it could be, having time alone.
It only lasted a few minutes – that was all he needed. There was just one last thing he needed to do before the evening was over, and he'd been putting it off for too long. He booted up his computer and called a smile to his face.
He'd missed this – it had been too long since he'd talked to his best friend face to face, and it was just what he needed now. No more having to hide his emotions or force down the constant ache in his chest. Clay always knew just how to lift his spirits, and there was nothing he wanted more after the day he'd had than to forget about all of it and laugh.
Clay answered the Skype call, grinning on the screen. “Hey, Pollo!” he bellowed, hair wild and unkempt, fluorescent lights glinting off his teeth. “I've got too many questions to try and ask 'em all, so spill everything. How's it going?”
Apollo opened his mouth to speak, but when he tried to answer, something in him broke. He knew Clay saw it, could tell from the way his brow knit together. “Hey...you okay, Pollo?”
“No,” he said, and finally started to sob.
Chapter 15
Notes:
Sorry for the longer wait for this part. Between the political shitshow that has been the last few weeks, plus some pretty serious disappointments in my personal life, I haven't been in the best place to write. That's partially the reason why this chapter is a bit on the shorter side, too, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway.
Some minor drug use in this chapter, though nothing severe (and not illegal in near-future California lol). Appropriate tags will be added.
Chapter Text
Here he was, crying in front of his computer in his own dim bedroom. Shameless crying. Ugly crying. Violent, shaking sobs that made his throat burn and his chest ache and couldn't be held back even when he pressed his palms over his mouth. Tears rolled down his knuckles, hot and messy, clinging to his skin. He groaned as he slouched forward, the sound ripping its way out of him and rattling between his fingers when he tried to reel it back. It was like something in him had cracked, and he couldn't hold anything inside anymore. All of it was seeping out at once, through a wound that was already raw and painful, tearing at him even more.
This was why he hadn't wanted the floodgates to open – once water started rushing through a dam, it was almost impossible to stop it. Damn hydrodynamics.
Clay was saying something that Apollo couldn't make out. The edge of confusion and worry came through in his voice, though, even if the words never made it. Apollo tried to look up, but his vision was so blurry that it was all he could do to make out the messy dark mop of Clay's hair on the screen. Maybe that was for the best – if he saw the same look of pity and sympathy on Clay's face that he'd seen on so many others today, it might just make him crack in half.
“Pollo-”
It was the first word that he was able to latch onto, and finally, the sobs began to die down. Only barely, but it was enough for Clay's voice to break through: “It's okay, Pollo...it's okay. Breathe.”
Apollo wasn't used to this version of him, so calm and steady. He was used to Clay cracking a joke, jabbing him on the shoulder and handing him a tissue to dry his eyes. He was used to the Clay who could make him laugh through tears. But there were no jokes this time, and instead of telling him to laugh, Clay was only telling him to breathe.
He did, clumsily and painfully. His lungs quaked as they filled, only a fraction as much as they should have before he exhaled on another messy, wet sob. Apollo's fingers curled against his shirt, arms encircling himself and squeezing as he pressed his eyes closed and fought against the growing urge to throw up.
Clay was muttering something that Apollo couldn't understand, half-whispered Korean syllables getting lost under his own sniffling and gasping. But when Clay spoke again, in English, he said the same thing he had before: “That's it. You can do it, Pollo. Just breathe. You can keep crying if you have to, but you gotta breathe, okay?”
That was comforting in a way – a reminder that he didn't have to fight against his emotions. All he had to do was ride them instead of drowning, like cresting a wave instead of being sucked under by the rip tide. He pulled in another breath, and it was almost as ragged as the first, but it was deeper, fuller. The first real breath he'd managed in what felt like forever, and he hadn't realized just how much his lungs had been screaming for air until they finally had some to hold.
As he exhaled again, he felt something give way, and his shoulders relaxed. He finally had the sense of mind to reach for a tissue and blow his damn nose so he could stop getting snot all over his shirt and keyboard. He was shaking, still, his breath coming in hitching little gasps, but at least he could open his eyes and see again. His vision focused, albeit only a little at a time, and he finally managed to look Clay in the eye. His friend was smiling, just slightly, his cheeks pink and his brow knit together. The redness in his own eyes was unmistakable.
He was crying, too.
“I wish I could be there,” Clay sighed. “I should be there.” He reached up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “God, Pollo...I've never seen you this upset.”
Apollo was shaking, his face hot and the rest of him almost unnaturally cold. “I don't think I've ever...” He hiccuped, pressing a balled up tissue against his eyes to try and stop the tears that were still flowing. “I don't think I've ever cried like that...”
Clay looked somber. “I have.”
He didn't have to say when – Apollo remembered the night they'd first become friends as well as Clay did. Of course, his mother had only just died, while Apollo's was long gone. Was grief supposed to feel different when it was so belated? It sure didn't seem like it, but then again, Apollo didn't have much to compare it to. The closest he could was the agonizing night he'd spent in the hospital while Clay had been in surgery. If he had died, he wondered if it would have felt anything like this.
He was glad he didn't know the answer to that.
“Do you want to try and say it?” Clay asked. “Our usual thing. It might help.”
Apollo shook his head. “It wouldn't be true.”
“It wasn't true when my mom died, but it made me feel better.”
Maybe that was all he needed now. To feel better, if just for a moment or two. He nodded. “Okay.”
“Alright – say it with me, yeah? I'm Apollo Justice-”
“I'm Apollo Justice.”
“And I'm fine!”
“I'm f-” All that came out was another sob, and he bit his knuckle hard to keep from spiraling back into that uncontrollable maelstrom he'd been in before. “I'm...I'm fine,” he forced out. “I'm Apollo Justice and I'm fine.”
He still didn't believe it, but it had been too long since he'd said it anyway.
Silence stretched for a long time between them, and Clay waited as Apollo went to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his flushed face. He pointedly avoided his reflection in the mirror – the last thing he wanted was to see just how badly it hurt, painted all over his face. He settled into bed with his laptop on his crossed legs, draping a blanket over his shoulders to keep off the chill that seemed rooted in his own bones.
Strangely, even if he was still shaking, and even despite his irritated eyes and his tear-stained shirt, his mind began to clear. The ache in his chest that had followed him all day was gone. Maybe all he'd needed had been to get it out of his system, like bad sushi.
“Can I ask?” Clay finally prompted after Apollo had spent almost a minute staring into space.
He shrugged. “Kay found her,” he said, sniffling and staring at his keyboard. “She's ah...she's gone.”
Clay sighed – he'd probably worked it out already, so there was no surprise in his voice when he said, “I'm sorry, Apollo.”
He wanted to force a smile, say it was okay, that he'd lived this long without a mother, and that it wasn't about to change now just because he knew a little more about her. But the smile wouldn't come, and neither would the words. “It shouldn't hurt this much,” he finally managed to get out. “I don't get why it hurts this much. I never even knew her-”
“Hey...you remember the night my mom died, right?” Clay asked softly. “The first time we really talked?”
Apollo carefully measured his breathing – four seconds in, four seconds out, until he didn't feel quite like he was drowning anymore. “Of course I do,” he said. “You were a wreck.”
“Yeah, and you helped me out of that. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along. I mean, sure, maybe I would have made it through, alright, but...I don't like the idea of going through it alone, you know?” Clay had mirrored Apollo, wrapping his arms around himself, just enough to draw attention to the way his fingers curled against his ribs, fabric creasing harshly under his hands. “You need someone, Pollo. Someone who can actually be there. Someone you can hug and cry all over.”
“I have you,” Apollo offered with a shy little smile, but Clay shook his head.
“No, you need a person, not my ugly mug on a screen.”
“Hey, you're not that ugly.”
There it was, the first real laugh he'd managed in too long. As quiet and strained as it was, it still helped to undo the knots in his chest, if only a little. “Why don't you call Klavier?” Clay offered.
Just like that, the knots were back.
“I...I don't know if that's such a good idea.”
“Why? You guys aren't fighting or something, are you? Tell me you didn't get all surly and snap at him. You do that when you're upset, you know-”
“No, I-” Apollo sighed, but somehow, the smile on his face didn't quite slip away. It surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise Clay. “It's...kinda the opposite, actually.”
Clay's eyes went wide. “You...you didn't-”
“It's nothing official,” Apollo told him, hands held up in front of him like he could physically push back the incoming wave of Clay's excitement. “Just...coffee. This weekend. Maybe it'll be...something, but I don't quite know what, yet.” He didn't mention the kiss - if Clay didn't already know about it, the last thing he wanted was to open that can of worms now. Besides, he seemed happy enough without it anyway.
“Apollo, you gorgeous, oblivious idiot,” his friend laughed. “Too bad I didn't start a betting pool on how long it would take. I could be rich right about now. Or maybe not...since I thought for sure it would take you way longer to get up the courage to hit that-”
“Clay.”
“Right, right...time and place. But...don't you think that's all the more reason to call him? I mean, you know he'd come running-”
It surprised Apollo, just how right he knew Clay was about that. How strange was it to have someone like Klavier Gavin on a string that way? “I know he would, but-” He pressed his forehead against the heels of his hands and groaned. “I don't want him to have to. This is heavy shit, Clay, and we haven't even been on one date yet.”
One kiss behind a bar - okay, two kisses behind a bar - didn't make a relationship.
Clay didn't answer right away, and Apollo didn't have the heart to look up at him. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why shame was creeping hot and sour through his chest, but he knew that he didn't have it in him to call Klavier now. Not that he didn't want to – he did, more than he wanted to admit – but their relationship was already fragile enough. They weren't even sure what it was becoming yet. How could he blame Klavier for wanting to back out if he saw just how tangled and messy it was from the start? He'd seen himself just how easy it was to pull away when things were too complicated.
He didn't think Klavier would do that, not really. Still, it made him feel a little sick, thinking that way. Clay finally sighed. “You need to call someone,” he said. “Please, Pollo...you shouldn't be alone.”
He was right. Painfully right. And somehow he knew just the person.
Clay stayed on the line with him while they waited, after Apollo had put his phone down again. They talked about Clay's training, about his bunk-mates who snored so loudly that it sounded like an earthquake, and about how he'd been so sore the past few days he'd thought he'd never be able to move again. It was nice, talking about him for a change. Apollo was tired of talking about nothing but himself.
He was actually laughing, his smile coming easier by the time his doorbell rang. “I guess I should go,” Clay sighed. “Is...is that, okay, Pollo? Are you gonna-”
“I'll be fine,” Apollo assured him, meaning it this time. “But hey...thanks, Clay. Really. Gomawo.”
The foreign syllables felt awkard on his tongue, and sounded even moreso when he said them out loud. Clay snorted. “How is your pronunciation still so bad?”
“I don't exactly practice much.”
“Maybe you should. Remind me to whip your language skills into shape when I get back. We'll have you fluent in no time.”
It got a laugh out of him, but he knew Clay was only half-kidding. He held his fist up to the screen, feeling an odd little surge of relief and melancholy blending together in his chest as Clay met it with his own on his end. They got in their goodbyes, not dragging them out any longer than they had to before Apollo finally closed his laptop and trudged out into the hallway.
Ema was waiting patiently outside his door when he finally opened it, and the first thing she did after getting a good look at him was sigh heavily and say, “You look like shit.”
Apollo shrugged. “I'm not surprised.”
“Come on,” she said, brushing past him without waiting for more of an invitation and plopping herself down on his sofa by the living room window. She dropped a bag of Chinese takeout on the table. “I brought food.”
“Not really hungry.”
Out of another bag she pulled a few bottles of hard cider. “Also brought these. I know you're not really a drowning your sorrows kind of guy, but I figured you might need a drink, and I know you don't like beer.”
“Got anything stronger?” he joked.
“Liquor store was closed or believe me, I would have brought vodka.” She opened a bottle and handed it to him as he sat beside her. After she'd cracked open another for herself, she brought it neatly to her hips and asked, “So...you sounded awful over the phone. I'm assuming something happened. Something not so great.”
Apollo stared at the wall, took a long sip of the drink in his hand and said, “My mom is dead.”
Ema gaped at him, the lip of the bottle just an inch from her mouth. “Shit,” she said again, and she pulled the bottle out of Apollo's hands. “You don't need that.”
“Hey-”
“This will help more,” she insisted, pinching a joint between her fingers and pulling a lighter from her pocket.
Apollo stared at her, then finally let out a small laugh. He knew he'd called the right person. “Seriously?”
“Why do you think I stopped for Chinese on the way here?” she asked, and she leaned over to drape a blanket over her shoulders and crack the window.
She was right – it did help. Slowly, as they sat side by side on the carpet next to the window, his mind started to go quiet. They passed it between them, carefully exhaling the smoke out the window, and the ache in his chest uncinched and faded until he was almost able to forget about it. “I still can't believe you're such a pothead,” Ema said with a tiny cough. “A lawyer.”
“I'm not a pothead,” he insisted, indignantly. “And it was legal by the time I finished law school, so that's a moot point.” He held the joint between his fingers, watching the smoke waft slowly from the tip of before he brought it to his lips. “It was more Clay's thing...but he gave it up after he joined GYAXA. After that, I never really bothered. Always hated the smell anyway.”
Ema hummed, head resting against her knuckles on the windowsill. “So,” she said. “Your mom.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm sorry.”
Apollo flicked the ashes onto the outside edge of the window sill where a breeze caught them and blew them off of the ledge. “Yeah.”
She was silent for a long time, almost contemplatively so. Apollo didn't mind – he was more than content to lean his forehead against the cool glass of the window, letting his head swim and his mind stay wonderfully blank. Finally, Ema reached for a takeout box of fried rice and dug a plastic fork into it, saying, “Lots of people have dead parents.”
Apollo looked over at her, and she waved the fork at him, getting bits of rice and carrots on his carpet. Luckily, he was too stoned to care much. “I don't mean to trivialize it. I just meant...you know...you're not alone.” She swallowed a mouthful of food and added, “My mom's dead too.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It was a while ago.”
“So you don't still...you know...miss her?”
(It's not going to hurt this badly for too long, right?) he thought, but he didn't have the courage to ask it out loud. Ema seemed to get the point well enough, though, and she shrugged. “I think about her sometimes. My dad too. But it's been a long time, you know? It's just the way things are now.”
He reached for an egg roll, more to give his hands something to do rather than to sate a craving. The moment the smell hit him, though, his mouth started to water. “Thanks,” he said, not entirely sure what prompted him to say it. “You didn't have to come over.”
“Yeah I did,” she insisted as she nudged him. “You're a wreck.”
He sighed, feeling sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”
“You're holding it together well. You always do. But you were crying before, weren't you?”
Apollo picked at the egg roll, tearing off pieces of cabbage and pork and popping them in his mouth as they slipped back into silence again. “I shouldn't have done this,” he finally said, and even through the THC-filled haze covering his mind like the lingering scent of the burned out joint on the windowsill, the familiar pain started to twist in his chest again. “It hurts too much. I never should have asked you for help...”
“Hey, don't start talking like that,” Ema told him, her voice almost uncharacteristically gentle, lacking its usual edge. “Look...I know it sucks. Hell, I know it's not what you wanted. You acted all cynical, like the realist you are, but deep down, you really wanted to find her, didn't you?”
Silently, he nodded. He really had. He'd never wanted to admit it, never wanted to open himself up to disappointment by allowing himself to hope. But thanks to Kay, he'd hoped more than he ever thought he could that maybe he could meet her, talk to her...
“It was easier not knowing anything,” he said, and he swore he felt his bracelet tighten around his wrist as he leaned over and pressed his body against Ema's side. His eyes were heavy, his head foggy and slow, and all he wanted was some kind of contact, like being held would make it easier.
He allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment, but he felt Ema stiffen underneath him, and his conscience made him pull away as he wiped his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I know you're not into the whole...touchy-feely thing.”
“Fuck that,” she sighed. “C'mere.” She tugged him close again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him against her. He swore her voice sounded rougher somehow, like she was holding back a swell of emotion herself. “Weed makes me so damn sentimental anyway.”
Just how long they stayed there, Apollo wasn't quite sure. A few stray tears made it down his cheeks, but his breath stayed even and steady, and he didn't bother wiping them away or holding them back. He let them fall on the back of his hand where it rested over his leg, limp and heavy. "You wanna hear something really sentimental?" he asked, his own voice feeling far away and detached, like he was listening to himself speak from across the room.
"Hit me," Ema said.
Apollo sighed against her shoulder, lazily wiping his eyes. "Back at the group home...there was one woman I saw almost every day. She worked there, I think since way before I ever got there. Niusha...she was the one who found me the night my mom left me there. My mom put me right into her arms." He looked up, meeting Ema's eye for a moment - she was watching him, listening intently, her eyes half-lidded and a little glazed, but still fixed on him. "I loved her. She always listened, always made you feel important."
"More power to her," Ema muttered. "I don't think I'd have it in me, working with kids."
Apollo snorted out a laugh. "Well, she did. I think she loved it - she was always smiling whenever I saw her. But I have this...this one memory of her. I can remember it as clear as anything. I was pretty little, but old enough to realize that not having a family was...well, it was't normal. And I wanted to know what happened to my mom, why I didn't have one. I asked Niusha where she was, who she was, if she really loved me the way a mom was supposed to love her kid."
"She couldn't have known all that much," said Ema.
"She didn't," Apollo relented, shaking his head. "But she told me something I'll never forget. She said, 'Apollo, one thing I can tell you about your mother, wherever she is, is that she loved you to the moon and back.' Just like that. To the moon and back."
"Kinda poetic."
He shrugged. "It's just the way she talked. She loved things like that - you know, stars and constellations and stuff. Always wore this one hijab covered in silver stars." He tried and failed to stifle a yawn. "It was a good way to make it memorable, at least. I don't think I'll ever forget that, the way she said it."
"To the moon and back," Ema repeated.
"Yeah."
She sighed, shifting as she started to stand. "Come on, you," she said. "You're exhausted. You need to sleep."
He wanted to argue, but she was right. His body felt too heavy for his bones to hold up for much longer, and it had less to do with the pot and more to do with his need for a good night's sleep. So he let Ema tug him along to bed, feeling himself drifting as soon as he crawled under the sheets. "I'll stick around on the couch for a bit," he heard her say. "Hey...I wanna ask you something before you pass out."
"Mm?"
"Why did you call me instead of Klavier?"
Apollo let out a long breath against his pillow. "I wanted to call him," he admitted, too tired to lie. "Knew he'd come...but I don't want to mess this up, whatever it is."
"Like you could ever mess it up," Ema scoffed, pressing a hand against his shoulder. "Go to sleep, okay? And don't worry too much about ruining things with your new boyfriend before they even start."
He tried to insist that Klavier wasn't his boyfriend, but he was too exhausted to get the words out before Ema left him to sleep.
The bed dipped, barely enough to wake him up. The room was dark and quiet except for the soft slide of sheets on fabric and skin as Apollo turned under the covers. A hand pressed against his shoulder, a familiar voice breaking gently through the silence. "Sshh," Klavier soothed. "Wasn't trying to wake you up, Forehead. You need your rest after a day like today."
Apollo's mind slowly started to turn again, his vision clearing as his eyes adjusted. "What are-"
"Ema told me what happened," Klavier said, sounding almost sheepish. "Don't blame her, though - I asked." His hand hadn't moved from Apollo's shoulder, his thumb stroking slowly over his shirt. The metal of his rings caught against the fabric, dragging against Apollo's skin where it peeked out from under his collar. "I know...I know you might not want to talk about it, especially not when you're so exhausted. But Forehead...Apollo, I'm so-"
His brow pinched, lips pressing together into a thin line. "I can stay," he finally offered. "If you want. If just as a friend-"
Apollo pushed himself up, fighting against the wooziness and exhaustion still making his head swim. Klavier's scent was warm and familiar, his body pressed just close enough for Apollo to gravitate toward the heat without feeling stifling. He reached for Klavier, feeling the hand finally slip from his shoulder as he reached out to hook his fingers around the back of Klavier's neck. His hair was loose, tickling the backs of Apollo's fingers and wrist as Apollo pulled him closer. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse and cracking as he leaned in. "Yeah, I want you to stay."
The kiss was quick, barely there at all. Just enough to say, "I need you. I want you. Don't go." Anxiety be damned - all of the thoughts about whether this was too much, whether he would screw up what they had before it even started...none of that mattered now. So what if they couldn't put a name to what this was yet? They weren't just two strangers waiting to go on a first date - they were so much more than that. The date was a formality, and one that they could worry about later.
Apollo curled up under the covers again, slipping easily back into sleep as Klavier slid under the covers behind him.
Chapter 16
Notes:
Just wanted to say that even though I'm horrible about replying to comments, I love and appreciate all of them. They make my day, even if I can't think of anything more than a simple thanks to say in response. Y'all are the bomb. ^^
A bit of a glimpse into Klavier's POV in this one...there are some notes of past emotional abuse and gaslighting here, but nothing horrendously explicit.
Chapter Text
“This was my fault.”
Kristophe's voice sounded distant, almost muffled. Like he was speaking from the other room instead of sitting just an arm's length away, pressing a wadded tissue too roughly to Klavier's nose. His tone was steady, barely wavered despite the anger simmering under his words – easily missed by most people, but painfully obvious to Klavier. “I should have known something like this would happen. You're my responsibility, after all.”
He made it sound like a prison sentence.
Kristophe grimaced in disgust as blood dribbled over his fingers, and he pulled away to wipe it off of his knuckles, leaving Klavier fumbling to keep the tissue pressed against his nose. “My mistake for thinking you'd know better. You're fourteen – too old to keep acting like a child.”
“I couldn't help it,” Klavier blurted, voice cracking. It was a familiar voice, but not his own. It was too high-pitched, too unsteady. “He made fun of Dad-”
Kristophe's pointed, icy glare made him regret speaking before he could get another word out. Klavier lowered his gaze.
“He's dead,” Kristophe insisted. He may as well have been telling Klavier that it was raining outside. “I don't know if you think defending his honor is noble, but you're better off saving your breath, your dignity, and everyone else's time.”
He carefully straightened his glasses as he stood, the lenses flashing as they caught a glint of fluorescent light from above the stove. That steely, disapproving gaze was burned into Klavier's memory. It was enough to make his stomach turn, even seeing it just out of the corner of his eye as he counted the tiles under his feet. A spot of blood stained the one next to his left toe – he'd have to clean that up before he went to bed.
His brother was already walking away, his outline hazy as the dim light bloomed around him like an odd, twisted halo. “You're so reckless, Klavier,” he chastised, his voice fading more slowly than his image, echoing in Klavier's head long after everything else had dissolved into darkness.
He opened his eyes again, bringing his hand to his nose. It came away dry and clean, of course. Nothing but a dream – a memory. His bedroom was dark and quiet, as always.
No – not his bedroom. A bedroom, sure, but not his. He turned under the sheets, careful of the sleeping figure beside him, and as hyper-aware as ever of the way the bed dipped when he moved.
Apollo was still sleeping soundly, wrapped up in what looked like a cocoon of blankets. Klavier wondered if he always slept like that, curled up like a cat underneath the comforter. It was no wonder if he did, given the draft he could feel rolling in from the bedroom window. How the hell did Apollo force himself out of bed on cold winter mornings when his heater seemed so reluctant to do its job?
His eyes wandered down to the slight curve of Apollo's lips as he muttered something unintelligible in his sleep – Klavier's still tingled a little as he remembered that kiss. It had been so quick and unexpected that he'd almost thought it had been another dream, but it must have been real. Here he was, after all, curled up next to Apollo in his bed.
Watching him sleep. God, when had he become such a walking cliché?
He was reckless. He had always been. As hard as he'd tried to fight against it, he'd almost let it cost him this – whatever it was. It was new, uncertain, and still so fragile. So many questions still needed answering, but they could wait.
He doubted he would sleep anymore. It was almost five anyway, and even if the sun was a few hours from rising, the dream had jostled him enough that there wasn't much point. He was used to that – it wasn't often that old memories surfaced so vividly, but when they did, there was little to do except keep his mind occupied until it calmed. Hopefully with something halfway productive. If he'd been at his own place, he would have gotten out his guitar and strummed a few chords, maybe thought of a few lyrics. Composing focused him, kept him centered instead of letting him drown in a few unpleasant memories.
Apollo muttered in his sleep again, some half-formed word that got lost in the pillows partially covering his face. He nestled down against them, shoving his nose adamantly against the fabric as his brow furrowed. It made Klavier laugh quietly as he watched – it seemed Apollo rarely unwound, even in sleep. Then again, given everything he'd been through, it was hardly surprising. At least he was resting now.
He glanced over at the bedside table and found an iPod resting next to a box of tissues. The earbuds connected to it were old and tangled, but he figured a little music might help to settle him, and he doubted Apollo would mind if he helped himself, so he popped them in and began to scroll through the songs. A person could learn a lot about someone from their music tastes. He'd never expected to find things like Nine Inch Nails and DragonForce on Apollo's playlist, but there they were, along with an unsurprisingly long list of works by Lamiroir. And even one song featuring his name next to hers.
The Guitar's Serenade. Of course it was. Klavier smiled as he pressed play.
Apollo was moving in his sleep again, letting out a quiet whimper that snuck in past the ear buds before the song began in earnest. Klavier looked down at him, frowning as Apollo's fingers curled against the sheets, his breathing coming in short, shallow pants. Klavier knew a nightmare when he saw one, and given how taxing the past few days had been on his overactive mind, he could only imagine what it was about.
What was it that Apollo had always said about the charm of Lamiroir's songs? He'd mentioned more than once how easy he found it to fall asleep to her voice. Maybe it would still work after he'd already drifted off...
Carefully, keeping the volume just high enough to be audible, Klavier pressed one of the ear buds up against Apollo's ear, listening to the soft, lilting melody mixing with his own carefully crafted guitar rift. Slowly, Apollo's brow began to relax, his fingers loosening against the covers. The whimpers faded to soft sighs, and his breathing evened, until Klavier was left staring at him in the dark, in awe of just how right Apollo had been.
There really was something special about her voice. Lord knew his guitar wasn't all that soothing, at least not to Apollo's ears. Maybe even less soothing than he'd realized, he thought, as Apollo's brow furrowed again and his eyes opened just enough to glance up at him. “Is that music?” he mumbled – still half-asleep, barely coherent enough to meet his eye. “What time is it?”
“Early,” Klavier told him, dropping the iPod back on the bedside table again. “Or late, depending on how you look at it.” Apollo blinked at him, gaze drifting to his fingers resting on the hem of Klavier's shirt. They curled against the fabric as Apollo bit his lip, his cheeks turning the a shade of pink so faint that Klavier almost didn't notice it in the dim light streaming in from the window. “You seemed exhausted...didn't want to wake you. I can move to the-”
“No,” Apollo insisted, and he rested his head on the pillow again. “You stayed,” he muttered.
“Of course I did.” He smiled – couldn't tell if Apollo could see in the dark. He waited, wanting to see if Apollo would close his eyes and drift off again, but Apollo just kept staring. Klavier could feel his eyes on him. So he reached out, fumbling a little before he found Apollo's hand on the sheets. His fingers flinched, curling away for just a moment before they relaxed and let Klavier's cover them. “Do you want to talk?” Klavier asked, and as soft as his voice was, it still sounded impossibly, jarringly loud in the silence that had stretched between them.
Apollo sat up, leaning forward to look at the digital clock on the desk before he sighed. “I didn't want to drag you into this,” he finally muttered. The second Klavier opened his mouth, Apollo added, “I know, I know...You came because you wanted to.” He took a breath, slow and deep, fingers curling almost imperceptibly against Klavier's. “I wanted to call you.”
“Why didn't you?”
Apollo shook his head. “I guess in a weird way, I thought it would be selfish.”
Klavier bit his lip, moving his hand to press it against Apollo's arm – to try and comfort him, try and convince him that he didn't need to feel guilty for reaching out. But as his fingers grazed Apollo's sleeve, familiar words echoed in his head, sending a chill through his body-
You're so reckless, Klavier.
He pulled his hand away, letting it rest on Apollo's hand again. That was safe, at least – no chance of pushing too far too quickly. No chance of scaring Apollo back into his shell. “Well, I'm here now,” Klavier offered, hoping as hard as he could that it was the right thing to say. “You should go back to sleep.”
Apollo tensed at that, looking away and curling his arms around himself tightly. Klavier swore he could see his silhouette barely trembling in the darkness. “I don't know if I want to,” he finally said.
“Nightmare?” Klavier asked.
Apollo didn't answer – didn't have to.
Slowly, Klavier sat up, scooting closer and – recklessness be damned – pressing his hand against Apollo's arm. “Apollo,” he breathed, “Talk to me. Bitte. You can't keep this all bottled up inside you. It'll tear you apart.” After a moment of silence stretching between them, he finally dropped his gaze and added, “I should know.”
Apollo finally looked at him then, looking more curious than anything else. He had to have some idea of what Klavier was talking about – had to know what face was still floating on the edge of his memory from that dream or memory or whatever the hell it was. But he didn't ask, didn't push, just closed his eyes with a sigh and said, “I miss her.”
An odd sense of relief rushed through him at that. “I know,” Klavier said.
“I didn't even know her, and I miss her.”
“I know.”
Finally, Apollo collapsed back onto the pillows again. Still half asleep, groggy, eyes heavy and quickly closing, he tugged the blankets up over him until all that Klavier could see of him were his eyes and his messy hair. “You didn't have to stay,” he muttered.
Klavier pushed a stray strand of chestnut hair from where it had fallen in front of Apollos half-obscured face. “I know,” he said, and Apollo finally let his eyes close again.
Against his expectations, Klavier managed to fall back asleep, and he stayed that way until sunlight streamed through the window and landed on his face. He groaned as he pushed himself up, yawning widely and wondering just how much of a mess his hair inevitably was. He glanced over his shoulder as he stretched his neck and found the other side of the bed empty, the sheets hastily tucked up to the pillows like someone had slipped out without wanting to draw attention to themselves. Klavier sighed as he pulled himself out of bed, shuffling out of the bedroom and into the hall.
Finding Apollo was easy – he hadn't gone far. He was on the sofa, his legs tucked underneath him and his hair falling messily into his face. His brow was pinched in concentration, gaze focused on a wrinkled envelope pinched in one hand. He stared at it like he was trying to see through it, not even glancing away to look at him.
“You didn't wake me up,” Klavier said, not sure if he was supposed to be grateful or worried.
Apollo shrugged, finally looking over at him and letting the envelope drop into his lap. “You looked so cute in your sleep,” he quipped with a tiny smile. “I didn't have the heart.”
There he was, the old Apollo. Relief finally started to grow in Klavier's chest as he allowed himself a small laugh. “Please,” he sighed. “My hair is a mess – don't even want to know what my face looks like since I slept in my makeup.”
Instead of going straight to the bathroom to assess the damage, though, he let his curiosity get the better of him and sat on the couch next to Apollo, carefully reaching for the envelope. When Apollo didn't stop him, he took it and brought it up to the light, squinting as he studied it. “What is this?” he asked. “Something Kay brought you?”
“Yeah,” Apollo sighed. “It's my mother's name.”
Klavier just about dropped it. Surely, he must have heard that wrong. “A...a name?”
“And before you ask, no, I haven't read it. Don't know if I'm going to.”
Emotion welled up in Klavier's chest, hot and sudden. Not quite anger, but something equally tinged with disappointment and disbelief. But he swallowed it back, made sure to keep any hint of it out of his words and off of his face as he asked, “Why?”
“It wouldn't change anything,” Apollo said with a shrug, and his fingers moved so quickly that Klavier almost didn't notice, brushing against the bracelet around his opposite wrist. “I keep telling myself that anyway. I thought so last night. The more I think about it though, the less sure I am.” Apollo reached for the envelope again, plucking it out of Klavier's limp fingers and staring down at it. “Do you think I should?” he asked.
He wanted to say yes – he wanted to know the answer to this question so badly that he almost said so. But his own curiosity was a tiny thing, insignificant compare to what had to be going through Apollo's mind. He could see the signs on his face; they were familiar enough, even from the outside. Uncertainty, fear, desperation for something – anything – to make sense of it all.
Klavier shrugged and said, “I don't know.” It wasn't the answer that Apollo had been hoping for, but it had probably been the one that he'd been expecting. “It might make a difference. Or it might not. But the uncertainty of it all...sometimes that can be worse, don't you think?”
Apollo looked up at him, wrists limp and the envelope still pinched in his fingers, dangling over the carpet. “You speaking from experience?” he asked.
He hoped he wasn't so transparent.
“I think most people could,” he said, and left it at that.
“Most people,” Apollo repeated thoughtfully, mulling over the words for a long couple of seconds. “The millionaire rockstar who went platinum and got a law degree before he was old enough to order a beer, lumping himself in with 'most people...'” There were no malice in Apollo's voice – he said it almost fondly. “Never thought I'd see the day.”
“Ex-rockstar,” Klavier corrected, almost out of habit. “And most people have things in their past they'd rather not think about. Things they'd rather forget. Most people would probably think you should open that envelope and let yourself heal, but most people would probably also understand if you would rather just throw it away and be done with it.”
“Can't we just drop the metaphor and talk with normal pronouns?” Apollo sighed, massaging his temple. “So you think I should-”
“It doesn't matter what I think. Whether it makes a difference or not, it's an important decision, and I'd hate for you to be reck-” He stopped himself, biting down on the word before it could get out. “It's your decision.”
Apollo was quiet for a good long time, carefully laying the envelope down on the coffee table and swiping a few stubborn strands of hair out of his face. “I cried in front of Clay last night,” he finally said. “Like...ugly cried.” His words came on the edge of a tiny laugh. “Still managed to get me out of it, somehow, but he's always been good at that. And Ema...she didn't ask any questions when she came over. Like she just knew what I needed. And you...” His voice caught on the edge of some emotion that Klavier couldn't quite identify. "It's like my friends are the only things keeping me sane."
“Probably needed a good cry,” Klavier offered, and he sighed, staring at the envelope on the table. It looked so innocuous, like there was nothing inside any more important than a grocery list or an overdue library book notice. But to Apollo...to Apollo that envelope held everything he'd spent so much time trying to find. It was like the end of a long journey he'd been on his whole life, ever since he'd been left at that orphanage before he was old enough to remember anything about the face of the woman who'd given him up.
“What would you do if you had to choose?” Apollo finally asked him.
Klavier shrugged. “Write a song about it?” he offered, half-jokingly. “Honestly...I don't know.” He was silent for a long few moments, wondering if now was the time to bring it up – if he could reach out to Apollo or if it would only push him further into his own thoughts. After a breath, he spoke again. “I always tried to avoid soul-searching. It only ever made things...messy. But after Kris...” He swallowed, feeling Apollo tense beside him. “After everything he did...I started to wonder if I had that kind of monster in me too.”
“Of course you don't,” Apollo insisted, almost instantly. It made Klavier smile, oddly enough – somehow, knowing that Apollo wanted to believe that just as fervently as he did was strangely soothing.
Then again, facing the alternative couldn't be easy from any angle. “Like I said...soul-searching can get ugly. So I write songs instead.”
Apollo sat and stared at the envelope for an embarrassingly long time. Klavier was so patient that he almost wondered where the over-hyped rockstar persona had gone off to, because it certainly wasn't sitting with him in his living room now. Finally, he took a breath, and asked Klavier for his phone.
The first call he made was to Athena in the office – he was already going to be horrendously late if he tried to get there now, and Klavier had been right. He needed some distance. This was something that had to be faced head-on, no matter how hard it got – not something that he could distract himself from forever. And he had more vacation days saved up than he was going to use any time soon and no cases to worry about transferring, so it was about as painless as it could be. Athena was as understanding as someone twice her age, and he had to admit that it was a relief that she promised to pass it along to their boss.
His second call was to Kay. She was less surprised than he'd been expecting when he asked her for what he was looking for. She had it for him so quickly that he wondered if she'd foreseen his asking somehow. Maybe he really was more transparent than he wanted to let on. But with the address in hand, scrawled on the back of the very envelope that held that damn name, he finally ended the call and turned to Klavier again.
“Would you mind giving me a ride somewhere?” he asked, and Klavier offered him a smile.
“Anywhere, Forehead.”
It took them thirty minutes to get there, and Apollo didn't realize how nervous he was until Klavier pulled up to the curb and he looked down to find his hands shaking as they clutched the envelope. Klavier pressed his fingers over them, his metal rings scraping against Apollo's skin. “I can wait here,” he offered.
Apollo shook his head. “That's okay,” he said. “I don't know how long I'll be.”
“Well you're certainly not walking home.” He slipped on his sunglasses and leaned back in the driver's seat. “I already have the day off...Herr Edgeworth was far less surprised than I was expecting. Not sure if that's a good sign or bad.” He sent a smile Apollo's way, one of those bright grins that could win over whole stadiums in a heartbeat. “Call me when you're finished. Then maybe we can get that coffee a few days early.”
He did like the sound of that.
He slipped out of the car, focusing on the sound of it idling behind him as he walked down the sidewalk toward the gravel path leading up to the front door. There was a figure there, with one arm cradling a bag of groceries and the other extended to press the key into the deadbolt. Her face was almost in perfect profile, and the sight of it almost made Apollo freeze to the concrete under his shoes right then, because even with the added wrinkles and the dark eyebrows now peppered with gray, it was the same face.
The same eyes. The same thin lips framed by deep laughter lines. Even the hijab – while not the exact same one he remembered from his childhood – was still dotted with small silver stars. He swallowed and took one more step forward, wondering if she would even remember him at all.
“Miss Madani?” he called, and she paused, brow furrowing. Finally, she met his eye, and he smiled. He started to speak, started to apologize for bothering her even though she probably didn't remember him, but a wide grin stretched across her face.
Her eyes were just as bright as ever as she smiled at him from the porch, disbelief fading into excitement on her face. “Apollo?” she breathed, and hearing her recall his name so quickly made a swell of emotion rise up in his chest. “There's no way...is that actually you?”
“Yeah...” he managed. As numb as his legs felt and as much as his hands were shaking, when she put down the bag and opened her arms to embrace him, he didn't think he'd ever accepted an invitation so quickly in his life.
Chapter 17
Notes:
It's 1am I was supposed to go to bed 2 hours ago someone rescue meThis chapter is short, which I think is totally unfair after how long it took me to get done, but I think it might be the most important one yet. I like, straight up just screamed internally starting about halfway through this chapter and just never stopped.
I gotta give a shoutout to this beautiful piece of art right here that inspired me to get out of my slump.
Chapter Text
Apollo found himself studying the dogwood tree outside the living room window, unable to pull his gaze away. He watched as it swayed in the breeze, its pink branches almost bare. When it bloomed, it probably took up most of the window. It had to be a nice view.
Niusha returned a moment later, a smile creasing the corners of her eyes as she handed him a glass of ginger lemonade. “You've grown,” she said, laughing lightly as she sat down across from him. “Last time I saw you, you were...how old were you? The way I remember it, you barely came up to my waist.”
“Twelve,” he heard himself say, lips barely grazing the rim of the glass. “I was twelve when I left Safe Haven.” He managed a smile. “So I guess I've grown a few inches.”
“And a few degrees,” Niusha laughed. It was a familiar sound – warm and welcoming, and it made him feel just a little lighter. “Little Apollo Justice, a lawyer...well, I guess with a name like that it was bound to happen.”
Apollo studied the rim of his glass, one finger tracing the ridges and grooves of his bracelet. He didn't know what to say – small talk felt too trivial and he couldn't exactly rush right into telling her every agonizing detail of his life since he'd left Safe Haven. Meeting Clay, putting his boss in jail, searching for his mother...it was too fresh, too heavy, and far too much too soon.
A part of him didn't want to burden her with it. He hadn't exactly asked her permission to elbow his way back into her life.
“You still wear that bracelet,” Niusha mused, sipping her own drink as she sank into her chair. Her gaze was intent, but soft, and his hand froze as he met her eye again.
“Yeah,” he said. “Barely ever take it off. It was...the only thing I had to remember-”
There it was – that unpleasant pang of emotion deep in his chest that made him want to clam up completely. Like someone was prodding a freshly reopened wound with a hot needle. “I'm curious...” he said, desperate to change the subject. “What happened to you? I mean...I never exactly came back to Safe Haven to check in after I left, but it's gone now.”
Niusha smiled again, in that way she always did that could put even the most rapidly racing mind at ease. A few years and a few wrinkles hadn't changed that in the slightest. “I retired,” she said. “That's what old people do.”
“You're not-”
“I am,” she insisted, laughing. “But you were always too polite to point something like that out, even when you were barely old enough to hold a knife and fork.” Carefully, she set her glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. “Retired, tried to live a nice quiet retired life...but it was too quiet. I guess you don't work with kids for thirty years without getting pretty used to noise.”
“Yeah...I don't know if I'd be able to stand a boring job after doing what I do...”
“Do you ever work with kids?”
“Sometimes it feels like it...”
He didn't think it was all that amusing – Niusha on the other hand, snorted as she laughed into her hand. The smile was contagious, and by the time she leaned back in her chair and let out a contented little breath, Apollo was chuckling at his own joke. “It's...really good to see you, Miss Madani,” he finally said, softly.
She looked at him with a calm smile, like warmth was just radiating from her. He'd always thought his memories had to be tricking him – it was impossible for someone to be so kind and welcoming. But here she was, proving him wrong. “I think we've reached the point where you can just call me Niusha,” she answered. “And it's good to see you too, Apollo. I can't believe...well, I knew you were going to do great things, but I never imagined I'd see your picture in the news.”
“The news...?”
Instead of answering, she held up a finger – wait here – and got up from her chair, going into the other room. When she returned again, it was with a handful of clippings, all carefully cut out and pressed onto thick construction paper, even laminated. She handed them to him, and he felt his jaw go slack as he read the headlines.
Novice Defense Attorney Aids in Incarceration of Crooked Lawyer
Courtroom Bombing Claims Single Casualty – Defense Attorney Rescues Bystander from Blast
Wright Law Offices Aid in Arrest of Internationally Wanted Criminal
He stared, reading them over and over. He could vaguely remember a few interviews, awkwardly spitting out a statement into a microphone or two, but he'd never bothered searching for the articles. He'd always tried to keep himself out of the presses, tried to keep his reputation intact. These made it seem like his reputation was even more than that.
“You...kept these?”
“It didn't start out that way...When I first found out about you, I thought it couldn't possibly bet he same little scrappy boy I saw growing up in the group home. But when I realized it was...What can I say? I was proud.”
He sighed, smiling to keep the swell of emotion from welling up any more in his chest. “Th-thanks,” he forced out. “I...I never really thought about what other people might hear about me...The good things, anyway. I was honestly more interested in keeping the bad stuff out of the press.”
“There a lot of that?” she asked him jokingly, eyebrow arching, and he shook his head.
“N-no! No. I guess I just wondered...well, if someone wanted to find out what kind of person I was, what would they find?” He ran his hand over his bracelet again, his mind flooding with memories of wondering whether his mother could possibly be searching for him too. Of course she wasn't – he knew that now – but it had kept him up on plenty of late evenings before.
Before he saw her reaching for him, he felt Niusha's hand on top of his. “She might still be out there somewhere,” she said softly, like she could tell what he was thinking. She'd always been good at that. It was almost eerie. She glanced down at his bracelet, pointedly, and then met his eye again.
“I used to think about that a lot,” he admitted. “Now...well...I know she isn't...” She seemed to realize what was coming before he said it, but he took a breath and forced the words out anyway. “She's been dead-" His voice cracked. “-for a while. I looked. I tried to find her...but...”
Her arms were around him a moment later. “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed. “Apollo...” Her hand rested on the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair. It was a gentle touch – almost like a mother's touch. “It won't hurt forever. Knowing is always better than wondering.”
He needed to hear that – God, he'd needed it more than he realized.
Time seemed to pass quickly as they talked, and Apollo told her about Trucy, about Clay and Ema, about Klavier and Athena and even about Blackquill. She told him about her work, her love of gardening and the cello, and about the three novels she'd published after she'd retired. He vowed to read all of them.
It felt like he was finally getting to know her as a person, not as just a caregiver or a maternal figure. By the time he finally stood, his legs were stiff and his voice was tired, and he felt better than he had in days. She refused to let him leave without another hug that neither of them wanted to end, and he stared at his phone as he meandered down the sidewalk, watching the minutes tick by.
Klavier was due back any minute - said he'd pick Apollo up at the corner. In the meantime, the air was pleasantly cool, and he relished the chance to stretch his legs.
“Knowing is always better than wondering,” he repeated to himself as he shoved his hands into his pockets and felt the folded edge of that familiar envelope. He still didn't know why he'd brought it with him. Maybe part of him was still waiting to build up the courage to throw it away. Somehow, though, the thought of that felt even more daunting and insurmountable than just opening it.
Tossing it would mean surrendering himself to a lifetime of wondering, and he didn't know if he had the backbone to bear that.
He was alone here, with just enough light left in the day to read whatever was on it clearly. He could do it now, and when Klavier showed up he could ride home reveling in the relief of finally knowing, instead of stewing in his own anxiety. Maybe then he could enjoy a nice latte in peace.
So he pulled it from his pocket, ripping it open before he had the time to change his mind. His heart pounded, but he kept his hands steady as he pulled out the paper inside. It was nothing but a ripped sheet of notebook paper, lines bleeding from a water stain in the corner. Stapled to the top half was a picture – the same one Kay had given him weeks ago. And below that was just one line scrawled in Kay's messy handwriting:
Her name was Thalassa Gramarye.
The sound of a car pulling up to the curb echoed in his head.
Klavier's voice sounded like he was listening with ears stuffed with wet cotton.
The sidewalk felt like it was going to give out under him any second as the paper fell from his fingers onto the concrete.
“Forehead? Forehead. Apollo.” There was a hand on his arm. God, had he really been standing there so long that Klavier had had to get out of his car? “What's the matter? Are you-”
He was moving, walking, reaching for the car door handle. “I need to go somewhere,” he heard himself say. “Not home...I need...can you take me?”
Klavier blinked for a moment, shuffling awkwardly like he was trying to decide which way to go before coming back around to the drivers' seat again. “Sure,” he said. “Where?”
Apollo didn't even realize he'd left the paper on the sidewalk as they sped away. It didn't matter now. It was nothing but litter.
They reached the house in record time, and the drive simultaneously seemed to take forever and no time at all. The road stretched and warped out in front of them like he was in some strange, M. C. Escher-esque dream. He was out the door before the car had stopped moving, marching up to the porch and knocking with one shaking hand.
Edgeworth answered it. Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. Boss of every prosecutor in the district. Married to his boss. Apollo pushed straight past him like he was nothing but an obstacle between him and his real goal. He was vaguely aware of the noise Edgeworth made – a somewhat undignified and bewildered Oomf! - but apart from that, Apollo may as well have never seen him.
He took the stairs two at a time, eyes locked on the door he'd seen last when he'd helped them move in. Second on the right, just past the hall closet.
She was here. She was always home at five on the dot. Always practiced card tricks in her room while she listened to music – Lorde was her favorite, and it drifted from behind that door plastered with magic show posters and Gavinners' stickers. He knocked, surprisingly gently.
“Truce?” he called in a voice that couldn't possibly be his, and the door finally opened.
She blinked at him, one ear bud dangling from her hand. “Polly?” Her brow pinched in confusion, and it was familiar. So familiar. She'd always told him he looked like an old man when he furrowed his brow like that, but she never did. “What are you doing here?”
“I...”
I found her.
“I...”
She died almost two decades ago.
“I...”
Apollo, you have a sister.
He'd hugged her plenty of times before – laughed with her after he'd won a case, held her as she'd cried, reassured her before she'd left for school the day of a big presentation. But this was different. This was desperate, and terrifying, and exhilarating, and miraculous, and a thousand other words he couldn't possibly find to describe the feeling of reaching out and wrapping his arms around his own flesh and blood.
He had a sister. He had a sister.
He sobbed into her shoulder, feeling her stiffen and then slowly wrap her arms around him in return. “Polly...” She rubbed his back. “Polly, you're scaring me...”
“I'm sorry-” He pulled away, an almost hysterical little laugh escaping him because how insane must this have looked? Storming into their house without an invitation and crying into her shirt. God, he could get fired right there on the spot, but somehow he didn't care. “Sorry...I just...I needed...Truce...”
“Ssh,” Trucy told him, holding him close again. “Just breathe, Polly. It's okay.”
Where had she learned that? That was supposed to be his line. He'd practiced it plenty of times before. But he did as he was told, letting out a shaky breath as she patted him on the back. Finally, he summoned up the resolve to get out the words: “Kay found our mom.”
The moment he said it, Trucy seemed to stop breathing altogether, and that was when he realized just what he'd said. Not my mom – singular. Our mom – plural. Because it was the truth. It was the reason he'd left that damn envelope on the sidewalk and rushed over here. It was the reason he'd pushed past one of the most powerful men in the district and sprinted up to his daughter's room.
A single pronoun. Possessive, inclusive, wonderful goddamn plural.
“Our...” she repeated, like she thought he'd gotten it wrong, like she couldn't believe it was true. He still couldn't quite either, but suddenly all of the evidence made perfect sense. Her keen eye for tells, the crease in her brow, the same chestnut hair, the natural way they fell in step when he walked her to school.
He nodded, tears streaming down his face as he smiled. He felt himself repeating the words he'd read off the page, the image of them burned into his mind. “Her name was Thalassa Gramarye,” he said. “Kay told me. She left me at the group home. Thalassa Gramarye gave me up when I was a baby. She was my mom. Our mom.”
“Mein Gott,” Edgeworth breathed, seemingly without meaning to let it slip out at all. Klavier, meanwhile, stood behind him at the top of the stairs, his mouth hanging open, speechless.
“She's...she's gone,” Trucy said, sounding apologetic. Like she regretted their shared DNA if only because it meant that he would never be able to meet the mother she'd lost before she even knew how to grieve.
But Apollo didn't regret a second of it, and he would be damned if he let Trucy feel that way. He held her tightly. He was content with this. It was enough. She was enough. She'd always been, and yet he was just now realizing how true it really was. His tears were leaving stinging tracks on his cheeks, but he smiled anyway.
He ruffled her hair in the way that had always made her pout and told her, “You're not.”
Chapter 18
Notes:
Well, I'm now the proud owner of a Master's degree, so hopefully this is the last obnoxiously long wait for an update I'll put you guys through.
Thanks for your patience. <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You know,” Trucy said, “This kind of makes you an honorary magician by blood.”
That made him laugh. Here they were, sitting on the floor of her bedroom and staring at the strings of lights hanging in a criss-crossing web above her bed as the truth of what had happened sank in, and she was already talking about magic. “I've had enough knives thrown at me, at least,” he sighed. “About time I get a title for it.”
“I bet that's the reason you always make the best stage assistant,” she told him, laughing. “It's in your genetics! So if anything, I should be throwing more knives at you.”
And here he'd thought that chapter of his life was mercifully behind him.
After a long silence, Trucy spoke again: “I don't really feel any different.”
He didn't either. Not really. Sure, he knew more now than he had before, but how much did it really change things? Trucy was still the same person she'd always been to him, just with a little more insight into their shared heritage. Maybe that counted for something, but he wasn't sure what it was supposed to change. Then again, he was starting to think that was a good thing. Maybe nothing really needed to change. “Did you think you were supposed to?” he asked her.
“I don't know...I mean...I have a brother...” The word still made him shiver. He wasn't used to it yet, and neither was she by the looks of things. Not that it was a bad thing that it would take some time for the dust to settle. “And you're not...you're not disappointed?”
“Why would I ever be disappointed to have a sister like you?” he asked her with a reassuring smile, and she mirrored it, if only for a moment.
“It's just that...after all that time, I wanted you to find something, you know? Something new. I guess I thought it might be kind of a let-down, not being able to meet someone new and learn more about where you came from.” She pulled her knees up close to her chest, making herself look so impossibly small under that baggy sweatshirt. “Did you...did you find out anything else about her? About my- our mom?”
In that moment, he saw her for what she was – not a soon-to-be famous magician or a lovable honorary co-counsel who was just as much a thorn in his side as she was a help, but as a girl who still missed her mother, even after all these years. They had that in common, he supposed. Their circumstances were different, but they'd both lost her before they'd even gotten a chance to know her.
“Not much,” he had to tell her. “But...if you wanted, I'm sure Kay could find out. She'd do it, if I asked.”
“Do you want to?” Trucy asked him, dim light gleaming in her eyes.
He thought about that for a moment, when the answer didn't come as easily as he'd hoped. His curiosity wasn't entirely sated, but he doubted it would ever be. He'd never meet her face to face, or know what her voice sounded like, or what it felt like to have her arms around him. No amount of photos or stories could make up for that. Maybe for now, it was better to be thankful for what he did have. So he shook his head and answered her honestly: “No...do you?”
After a beat, she said, “No.”
“Hey...” He waited for her to look at him again after her gaze had wandered to the carpet. “I'm really happy. I mean...this isn't how I expected any of this to turn out, but that doesn't mean I'm disappointed,”
“I hope not,” she said, her grin returning again. “Not when you're dating a rockstar!”
“We're not dating,” he said, as if from some kind of reflex. “Or...maybe we are...I don't even know...”
She laughed as she stood. “You don't have to figure it out yet. But you know...if you could use your sway with him to get him to release a solo album sometime soon, that would be super.”
He smiled up at her, feeling impossibly light and happy – almost surprisingly so – as she offered him a hand to help him to his feet. “Your dads are probably freaking out,” he sighed. “I did kind of barge in here without asking. Oh god...” He went pale. “I shoved Edgeworth right to the side like he was nothing. The Chief Prosecutor...my boss's husband.”
“My dad,” Trucy reminded him. “Relax, he's not gonna eat you.”
Apollo gulped. “I hope not.”
“He won't fire you either. Now c'mon, let's go downstairs.”
She made it to the door and put her hand on the knob, but she paused a second later, all her confidence and joy seeming to fade. It was like it was drawn right out of her, right into the metal under her fingertips. “Truce?” he asked. “You okay?”
“I don't really know what to do now,” she admitted. “I mean...I'm happy. I'm so happy. But how am I supposed to just go back to practicing my magic and doing homework after all this happened?” She looked at him, and he was relieved to see that she hardly looked scared. There was only genuine curiosity in her eyes, even if they were still a little red from crying. “Is life just supposed to...go on or something?”
It was a good question, and one he hadn't quite managed to answer himself. He couldn't stay here all night – he owed Edgeworth an explanation, not to mention his own boss when he got home. Maybe he was already. According to Trucy, he'd been out buying groceries when Apollo had unceremoniously forced his way inside. How crazy would it be to come home and learn that the world had shifted while he'd been making dinner plans?
There was one strange week coming up at the office, that was for sure.
“Come on,” he told Trucy with a warm smile and a hand on her arm. “We'll figure it out. It'll be fine. We'll be fine.”
Her matching grin told him that she believed it.
The scene they found in the living room might as well have been pictured next to the dictionary definition of “awkward silence.” Klavier sat on the sofa, leaning against the arm of it as Edgeworth calmly waited in the armchair on the opposite side of the room. The moment he and Trucy saw them, they both stood, Klavier scrambling to his feet while Edgeworth carefully put his mug down on the coffee table.
“Apollo,” Klavier sighed, pressing his hands around Apollo's until the metal of his rings pressed cool against his palm and knuckles. “Is it really true? Is what Kay found...is it really...”
“Yeah,” Apollo quietly confirmed. “She found my mother...our mother...”
“Ah...” All of Klavier's breath seemed to leave him at once, along with every word in his vocabulary. Apollo couldn't blame him – what was a person supposed to say at a time like this? Congratulations? Condolences? Something flippant and clever to lighten the mood? His eye found Trucy next, and he noticed the redness in her eyes. “Oh, fraulein...it must be a shock. To both of you...”
“That sounds like an understatement,” Edgeworth said. “It's a shock to all of us.”
There was something in his expression, like he was holding something back. Apollo couldn't read it well enough to figure it out before it was hidden again, but he couldn't ignore the slight squeeze of his bracelet. But Trucy was reaching for his hand a moment later, smiling at him, and he forgot about the tightness around his wrist.
“I'm just glad to know the truth,” Apollo said. He swallowed past the twinge of nerves in his chest as he looked up at Edgeworth. “I'm...sorry for barging in...”
The Chief Prosecutor raised a hand. “No need. Given everything that's happened today, I'm hardly going to hold a grudge.”
He was bone tired, the feeling of it overtaking him so suddenly that he fought the urge to sway on his feet. He glanced back at Trucy, squeezing her hand, and she spoke before he got the chance to: “You should go get some sleep or something. You look like you're going to fall over.”
“Are you gonna be okay?”
“I'm not going anywhere, silly,” she told him. A second later, before he had the chance to see it coming, her arms were around his waist, her face buried in his chest. “I love you, Polly.”
Something twisted in his chest, making his eyes burn and his throat ache. But it was a good feeling this time. No, he was not going to cry now. He'd done enough of that. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too, Truce.”
“Are you sure you want to go?” Klavier asked, his voice soft as he leaned in close. “If you wanted to spend more time...”
He took another moment to give Trucy one more squeeze, letting her pull away when she was ready. “Just take him home,” Trucy told Klavier. “He's exhausted. Much longer and he's gonna pass out on our floor.”
“It's probably for the best,” Edgeworth said with a nod. “Get some rest, Mister Justice.”
“Yessir,” Apollo sighed.
As they left, Apollo didn't feel like his mind was nearly as hazy as it had been when they'd arrived earlier. But his legs were weak and he felt like he was walking through gelatin. “Forehead,” Klavier prodded gently when they reached the car. “Are you...are you sure you're...”
He couldn't help but laugh a little as he got inside. For someone who could perform on stage in front of half the world without so much as a drop of sweat, Klavier was less than graceful when it came to things like this. But that was okay – he didn't need grace. Right now, he just needed a ride home. “I'm fine,” he said, and even if his voice was a bit hoarse, he believed it without any trouble. “And so is she. I could tell. I'm just...”
He let his eyes slip closed, and he rested his head back on the seat as Klavier sat beside him behind the wheel. A breath left him, a sigh that rattled his entire body. “I'm so glad it's all over.”
“Ja,” Klavier said. “Ja, me too.”
Apollo opened his eyes again, to look over at the man sitting next to him on the other side of the parking brake, and an easy smile slid onto his face. Here was a guy who had stood opposite him in court, who was famous around the world, who had money to burn...and he'd quite literally offered a shoulder to cry on without a second thought. “Since when did you get so...nice?”
“Did you think I wasn't?” Klavier laughed. “Apollo, you wound me.”
“No. You've always been a nice guy. A little obnoxious, maybe.”
“Danke,” Klavier replied flatly.
“But you're a good guy, Klav. It took me a while to realize.” He reached for Klavier's hand, gripping it loosely over the smooth denim covering his thighs. “Thanks for all this.”
Klavier smirked, those eyes sparkling under his bangs in the dim light. “You don't need to thank me. Ach...I wish I could say I'd have done it for anyone, but...I don't know if I would have. I'm not that selfless, Forehead.”
“Aren't you?”
“Nein...I did it because I...well, I admire you. And I thought you deserved an answer. You deserve much more than you've gotten in life.”
Apollo didn't have an answer for that, and he didn't have a smooth response when Klavier leaned in closer, cupping his jaw in one soft palm. “If karma were just, and if I were a tenth as good of a person as you, Apollo, I'd have earned a hundred times the wealth and fame I've been lucky enough to have in life.”
How the hell did he come up with things like that – with words that could make a person melt at a moment's notice?
He didn't have time to dwell on it. Klavier was already kissing him softly, making his brows knit and his eyes close again. He barely noticed the fresh wetness on his cheeks as Klavier's thumb stroked across it. A few seconds later, Apollo opened his eyes again, just enough to catch the glare of the street lamp shining into the car and the glint of it in Klavier's eyes.
“Can you take me home?” he asked, feeling almost drunk from exhaustion and emotion, and Klavier smiled and nodded.
Apollo's thoughts were more calm than they'd been in a long time as he sat in front of his computer that night. His hands were steady as he loaded up Skype and called the one person in his contact list.
Clay looked rough when he answered, but Apollo bet he looked even worse. Still, he smiled and offered a tiny wave. “Hey, Clay.” God, was his voice really that rough? “Long time no talk.”
“'Pollo!” Clay sighed. “I was so worried. Are you okay? What happened? Did you-”
“I have a sister.”
His friend went silent. Maybe it wasn't the most eloquent way to bring it up, but he'd had it with beating around the bush and avoiding what he wanted. He wanted to tell Clay what had happened. There was no room for small talk. “Oh.” It was a tiny word, one that shook a little as Clay let it out, but Apollo felt as light as air. “Who?”
“Trucy.”
“What?” Clay's eyes were wide. “How?”
“Well, half-sister, technically. My mom...she's gone. But before she died, she had another kid.”
“It was her?”
“Yeah.”
Clay collapsed back in his bunk, all his breath leaving him in one big puff. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” he said again.
The silence between them was comfortable, and Apollo had never been more happy for it. He contented himself letting his eyes slide closed, his breathing steady and deep. He was relaxed, calm, content. He was happy.
It was over. The ordeal was done, and when he told Clay that, he swore his friend looked just as relieved as he was. Their conversation was easy, albeit slow, given how tired they both were.
“And Klavier?” Clay finally asked.
“What about him?”
“You know what. I saw a very interesting article online not too long ago...Apparently Gavin was caught making out with some dashing stranger behind a bar.” He smirked, and Apollo knew he'd been found out. It was about time.
“They never called me dashing.”
Clay punched the air and hollered. “I knew you had it in you! Ema owes me fifty bucks when I get back. Or better yet, tell her to Venmo me.”
“He kissed me,” Apollo laughed. “The first time, anyway...and since when are you taking bets on my love life?”
“Well, technically I bet her that you two would wind up having sex before the month was out-”
“What?”
“But I figure you can embellish a few details for my sake, can't you, 'Pollo?” A beat. “Unless you actually have...”
“She can keep her fifty bucks because we haven't,” Apollo insisted, hiding his blush behind his hand with a deep sigh. “So sorry – I've had other things on my mind.”
“Aww, come on!”
“No, Clay,” he laughed.
“Alright, alright...well, I'm proud of you either way, 'Pollo.” His expression softened a bit. “Really...I know it's been hard, and I'm sorry I haven't been there to help. But I'm happy for you. Really happy. You deserve it, you know?”
Yeah, maybe he did.
When they'd said their goodbyes and signed off, Apollo was left feeling less exhausted than before somehow. Still tired, but almost pleasantly so now. He padded to the living room where Klavier was almost asleep on the sofa. Apollo's sweatshirt was riding up over his stomach and his sweatpants didn't even make it all the way down his calves, but he figured they were lucky he'd found anything for Klavier to wear at all while his clothes were in the wash. Even luckier that his shirt and pants hadn't been dry clean only...
“You could have gone home,” Apollo told him with a smile, and Klavier's eyes fluttered open.
“I can't help it that your couch is comfortable,” he said, yawning magnificently. “Forgive me for wanting to make sure you were alright before I left you here alone. Just trying to be a gentleman for once.” He sat up. “You didn't need to wash my clothes.”
“You've been in the same ones since yesterday. I figured it was the least I could do to repay you for the ride.” He sat beside Klavier on the couch. “And you know I'm not gonna kick you out. You can stay if you want. Might as well – my dryer is shit so you won't get your clothes back for at least one and a half cycles, and if you go out looking like that the paparazzi will have a field day.”
“Is that your plan? Trap me here by holding my clothes hostage?” Klavier smirked.
“I like having you here,” Apollo told him. The words hung between them as he leaned against Klavier's shoulder. It was comfortable and warm, and even moreso when Klavier wrapped an arm around him. “Should we...give this a name?”
“This?”
“This.” He gestured between them. “I mean...I hate to bring it up like such a cliché, but...what is this?”
Klavier shrugged. “I like you,” he said. “You like me too. We can give it a label if we want, but I don't see why we should rush.”
“I know what I don't want it to be.”
“What's that?”
Apollo sighed, staring at the coffee table. “A friends with benefits thing,” he said matter-of-factly.
“That wasn't what I had in mind,” Klavier chuckled. “What else don't you want?”
“A secret relationship,” he said. “I don't want to hide anything.”
“You might have to deal with some publicity then.”
“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Apollo groaned. The very thought of dealing with throngs of screaming fangirls or paparazzi made his head spin, but it was the reality of what they were doing. He just didn't want to think about it too hard. “It doesn't have to be a big announcement. I just don't want to have to sneak around.”
“Fine. No sneaking.” He ran a hand over Apollo's hair, and Apollo was surprised at just how nice that felt. “What do you want, Forehead?”
That was the big question, wasn't it? The one he'd been trying to answer this whole time. A mother, a family, answers to all the questions that had been burning in him since he'd been old enough to know he was missing something...they were all things he'd craved for longer than he could remember. In the end, he wanted what everyone wanted – love.
Wasn't that just the sappiest thing ever to cross his mind?
But now his quest was over. He had a family – a flesh and blood family that he hadn't realized had been under his nose the whole time. And he had so many others: Clay, Ema, Athena, Kay, Klavier, Niusha...He had what he wanted. But he still wanted more.
He wanted to stop holding back. He wanted to stop thinking of everyone else before himself. For once, he just wanted to feel good, to let himself trust someone else enough to connect with him with nothing to get in the way.
He glanced back at Klavier's hand, gently draped over his shoulder, remembering the pleasant shiver that had run down his spin when it had smoothed over his hair. He remembered the taste of Klavier's lips and the flips his stomach had done when they'd touched his own. Finally, he let his eyes move up to meet Klavier's, and reached up to wrap his fingers around Klavier's hand, marveling again at just how soft his skin was.
“You,” he said. “I want you.”
Apollo took great pleasure in finally finding out what it felt like to make Klavier Gavin blush.
Ema groaned when her phone vibrated on her desk, the screen illuminating the dark room. She'd barely been asleep, but that didn't make it any easier to bear the blinding light of the screen as she read the time: 3:08 AM.
Underneath that was the offending text message, from Apollo Justice:
You owe Clay fifty bucks.
She sighed, smiling all the same as she tossed the phone across the room and buried her face in her pillow again.
Notes:
Do you see a "The End" tacked onto the end of this chapter? Me neither. ;)
Chapter 19
Notes:
I'm...conflicted about this chapter. It wasn't the direction I was going to take it, but this was how it happened.
I started my new job and am currently in training for the next few weeks, so thanks for your patience as I finish settling into my new apartment (with my annoyingly loud neighbors lol) and adjust to a new schedule.
A note about this chapter: consider this a trigger warning for non-graphic depictions of suicide. Appropriate tags will be added.
Chapter Text
Klavier liked this time of day, right before the sun rose, when the world was still dim and tinted blue. It was his favorite time to think of lyrics and strum his guitar, confident enough in his apartment's soundproofing that he'd never worried about waking up his neighbors.
Now, though, he was happy to stay in bed. Apollo's bed, to be exact. With the man himself still sleeping next to him.
Apollo was in a shirt and not much else, and Klavier hadn't bothered even with that. He was plenty comfortable with just the blanket covering them both, and even moreso with Apollo pressed up against his side. His dear rival attorney was fast asleep, breathing softly against his arm, hair messy and ruffled against the pillow.
God, he was a goner when it came to this man.
He didn't mean to wake him, but Apollo stirred a moment later, muttering something in his sleep before finally opening his eyes. “W'tim 'sit...” he sighed.
“Early,” Klavier told him. “You should be asleep, still.”
Even as sleepy as he still was, Apollo raised one playful eyebrow. “How am I supposed to sleep with you here?”
“Hasn't stopped you before.”
“Mm...”
He snuggled up closer, and Klavier wondered if he had any idea that he was doing it at all. He wrapped an arm around Apollo's shoulders, fingers slipping under the loose collar of his old shirt and skimming across his skin.
They stayed like that for a long time, or what felt like it, and Klavier was sure that Apollo had drifted off again until the man in his arms spoke up: “Klav.”
“Mm?”
“Are you parents still alive?”
The question made him pause, and he glanced down at Apollo to find those hazel eyes fixed intently on his face. He was awake now, and waiting for an answer. When Klavier didn't give one right away, he saw Apollo's expression falter.
“I...I don't know why I asked that...It's just never come up, and...well I sure never talked about it with...”
“With my brother?” Klavier finished for him when Apollo seemed to lose the nerve.
Apollo nodded wordlessly.
Maybe it was finally sinking in – his mother, his sister...Maybe this was what Apollo needed, someone to connect with, something to ground him. Finally, Klavier summoned a smile to his face and told him, “My mother is.”
Apollo blinked. He had more questions, but he didn't seem to feel like he had the right to ask, so Klavier answered the obvious one for him: “My father...he's been dead a long time.”
“M'sorry,” Apollo muttered into his shoulder.
“I did say it's been a long time,” Klavier said, the words coming on the edge of a humorless laugh. “Ach...it's been over a decade. I was thirteen.”
“Mm...” He seemed nearly asleep again, his eyes half-lidded and his fingers curling lazily against Klavier's chest.
“He and Kris never saw eye to eye. Though Kris never saw eye to eye with many people...But my father...he was a good man.” He took a breath, and it shook on its way in. He hadn't realized just how tight the muscles in his chest had wound up, and he wondered if Apollo had really fallen asleep again.
Apollo was awake now, eyes wide as he sat up in bed and pushed his hair from his face. The image would have been adorable if his face hadn't been pinched with worry and pain. “Klav...”
“I'm twenty-seven,” he insisted. “It was a long time ago-”
Apollo just squeezed his hand. “Klav.”
He was looking at him so fiercely, with so much sympathy burning heavily in his eyes that it made Klavier's chest clench. His manufactured smile slowly faded, and he tightened his fingers around Apollo's hand. “It's early,” he said, his voice coming out so soft and fragile that he could barely stand it. “You should go back to sleep, schatzi.”
Apollo rubbed his eyes. “M'not that tired anymore.” He stifled a yawn.
The meaning wasn't lost on him – he wanted to talk. Like somehow that would change something. But Klavier couldn't deny him that, if it was what he wanted. He'd never been good at denying him much of anything.
The sigh that surged out of him made him shiver, and he pulled the blanket closer against his bare chest. “It's not a happy story.”
“I didn't think it was.” He waited a beat. “You don't have to-”
“Nein, nein, it's fine, Forehead.” He realized suddenly that he was still holding Apollo's hand, and he didn't do a thing to change that. “After everything you've gone through, looking for your own family, I suppose it's...it's only fair. Quid pro quo...”
“It's not about what's fair,” Apollo was quick to tell him. He was anxious – Klavier could hear it in the way his voice quivered. But he cleared his throat, and a moment later, it was as steady as ever as he asked, “What made you bring it up?”
“I don't know,” he answered honestly. It had just bubbled up out of him before he could stop it. “Suppose it just...” He shrugged as he trailed off. No use trying to answer a question when he didn't have an answer to give.
It never had before. Not before he'd gotten wrapped up in Apollo's search for his family. He didn't want to trade it in for anything else, didn't regret it in the slightest, but he could feel things welling up in him that hadn't in years, and suddenly cold fear was pooling in the pit of his stomach.
He felt a nervous smile tugging at his mouth. “I'm ruining your afterglow, Forehead.”
“There'll be more.”
“Oh, will there?” he chuckled, but Apollo pressed his free hand to Klavier's arm.
“Klav...”
God, hearing that name was still so odd. Why did it make him feel so safe?
“Right...okay, okay...” God, how did they get here, Klavier dredging up so many old secrets from the depths of his memory in bed before sunrise? “There...there really isn't much to tell. I barely knew my mother, or at least that was how it felt.”
Maybe Apollo could relate.
“My father though...sometimes I wonder what brought them together, they were such different people. My mother put Kris and me both through law school, but my father...he taught me to play guitar.”
“I thought you were self taught,” Apollo said softly.
He lay back against the pillows, staring up at the dim light playing over the ceiling above his head. “Well...not entirely.” His smile was unsteady, disintegrating off of his face almost the moment it showed up. “No, he taught me, Forehead. My mother couldn't stand it – thought it was all a waste of time, distracting from my studies. I graduated suma cum laude from Themis just to spite her. Don't think Kristophe ever forgave me for that.”
“Doesn't sound like there was anything to forgive,” Apollo told him. It was a pitiful attempt at comfort, but Klavier appreciated it anyway.
“Tell that to one of them,” he sighed. “I was ten when I held my father's guitar for the first time, and I was hooked. Spent three years practicing with him in the evenings, outside, even when it was cold out. Even when it was snowing. I think those were always my favorite nights, even if we were freezing our asses off.”
He laughed until Apollo handed him a tissue from the night stand, and he realized when he looked at it, puzzled, that there were tears streaking down his own face. He blinked, staring at the tissue in his hand in some kind of shock. When had he started crying?
He shrugged it off, dabbed the tears from his cheeks and kept going. “And well...after he...after...” He swallowed, thickly. “You know it goes – I went off to school, kept playing no matter what anyone said. Suppose I just couldn't let it go.”
Apollo shifted against him, his expression unreadable. “I'm...I'm glad you didn't,” he said in a tiny voice.
Klavier let the tissue in his hand drop over the edge of the bed – maybe into a trashcan, but probably not. It was a problem for later. “God...since when does sex make me emotional...” He hated the way his voice wavered. “It's still dark out, Apollo. You should get some more sleep.”
“We should probably both get more sleep,” Apollo told him, hand resting on Klavier's chest. “C'mon...Wanna sleep in with my boyfriend.”
“Oh, so I'm your boyfriend now?” But he was already settling down into the sheets and holding Apollo close, and the silence was comfortable.
He liked the sound of that.
Apollo woke up to the sunlight spilling across his face and his phone ringing on the nightstand. He pawed at it, finally finding it and bringing to his ear without checking on the name.
“Apollo!”
(Regret...so much regret...)
He pulled the phone away again, wincing. “Morning, Athena.”
“Apollo, why didn't you tell me? I heard from Trucy! She told me what happened! You found your mother? You two are siblings?”
Oh...he would have to tell people the truth of what had happened sooner or later. It was a pretty big deal after all.
All he could manage now though was a rough and sleepy, “Yeah.” He smiled as he spoke. “Sorry...I was gonna call you...text you...something...but I got a little sidetracked.”
“Sidetracked?” He could hear her pouting. “Sidetracked with what?”
He glanced over his shoulder, where Klavier was still sleeping soundly, bare under his blankets. “Well...it was kind of a long night. I'll see you at work tomorrow, and you can freak out about it as much as you want then.”
“Aren't you freaking out about it now?” Her voice was softer now – thank God.
He slowly sat up, careful not to disturb Klavier as he tugged on a pair of discarded boxers and padded out into the living room. “Not really. I mean, I was, but...but it's Trucy. She's always been kinda like a little sister in a way. Now it's just official. I don't know – maybe I should be freaking out, but I'm not. It kinda just feels right.”
“You know, I kind of figured you'd say something like that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You've always been kind of obnoxiously reasonable that way.”
He choked on a laugh. “Obnoxiously?”
“It was a compliment!”
He sat down on his couch with a soft sigh, feeling content. Maybe it was the emotional satisfaction that came from knowing all of this work had been worth something. Maybe it was a completely different kind of satisfaction. Whatever it was, it felt good.
“What are you doing up so early?” he asked her. “It's barely seven.”
“I was out for a run when Trucy texted me. Two paragraphs. Two! It really freaked me out, to be honest. Oh! I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“You did,” he said. “But it's okay. I didn't get much sleep anyway, so I can just go back after this.”
“Why didn't you-” She gasped, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Oh my god – you got laid, didn't you?”
“How did you know?” he blurted, louder than he'd meant to.
“Well I didn't for sure, but now I do!” She cackled down the phone. “Is Klavier there now?”
“Well, yeah...in my bed.”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “You oughta be there too, don't you think?”
Yes. Yes he did.
“I should go then,” he yawned.
“Oh, Apollo – before you go...”
“Yeah?”
“I...I'm so happy for you.”
He paused, because even without being able to see her face, from just her voice over the speaker, he could tell that she was crying.
She sniffled. “Really, really happy. I mean...maybe you didn't find your mom, but...you found your sister. And I wouldn't know from experience, exactly, but maybe that's even better, you know?”
“Yeah...” He smiled a bit himself, a little tiredly, but it was genuine anyway. It felt good. “I always wanted a little sister when I was growing up. Who would have thought I had one that whole time, huh?”
She laughed, the sound of it muffled as she moved away from the phone to blow her nose. “Go back to bed, okay? I'll see you in the office, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Sure.”
“And all the nasty details about you and Mister Rockstar-”
“Goodnight, Athena,” he insisted, hoping she couldn't hear him laugh.
“It's morning!” She sighed. “Goodnight.”
He felt light as he hung up the phone, letting out a contented sigh. The morning was quiet, and his apartment was cool and dim – calm, like the world had finally stopped spinning. He put his phone down on the coffee table, and he was smiling as he stood.
He was about to head back into the bedroom again when the silence was ripped to shreds by the sound of Klavier screaming.
Klavier came home to a quiet house, sunlight streaming through the living room windows and leaving his mother's pristine white furniture tinted pink and orange. The floorboards creaked under his feet, loudly when he crossed the threshold and softer after he kicked off his shoes on the welcome mat.
He knew he was alone, and a smile stretched across his face – his guitar was waiting for him upstairs, stashed safely in his father's office. With his mother and brother out of the house, he could practice without judgment. He could fill the house with his music if he wanted.
He moved his fingers around invisible chords as he climbed the stairs, warming up his joints for the moment he got his hands on the neck of his guitar, so when his father asked him to show him what he'd learned, he'd be ready. He imagined the instrument lying heavy in his arms, fitting into the palms of his hands and against his hips with the perfect weight, and his heart started to beat faster.
A cold feeling in his gut grew and grew as he padded down the hallway, the imaginary notes in his mind turning sharp and flat as the floorboards stretched impossibly long and his feet felt heavier and heavier. But he couldn't stop moving, the smile on his face never faltering as he finally reached for the door handle, his fingers meeting cool metal, opening the door with a deafening creak.
The word his lips had been forming died in his throat, taking his excitement and his smile with it in one frigid moment. The early evening light turned from soft pink and orange to violent red, choking him and turning the anxious smoldering in his stomach to a burning in his lungs, his chest, his entire body.
He tried to close the door again, but his muscles were frozen. The door was locked wide open, like it was mocking him with some obscene presentation of the horrific image framed by the woodwork. Why had he opened it? He'd known what was behind it from the moment he'd stepped into the house – it had been burned into his memory for fourteen years now, but he could still feel the image searing itself into his mind all over again, making tears spring to his eyes.
The creak of the floorboards, the numbness of his fingers, the rough texture of the taught rope, and the sound of his own broken scream when he finally managed to breathe again-
“Klavier-”
There were hands on him. Not his mother's, not his brother's, not the policeman's or the paramedic's – someone else's. Someone familiar. That voice pulled on him, and it felt like he was being dragged up through water until he finally broke the surface again and took in a ragged, desperate breath.
He fell forward into a solid chest, feeling arms encircling him as his body shook.
“Klavier...” Apollo said, desperately rubbing his back and holding him tight. “Klavier, it's okay...it was just a dream. Just breathe...try and breathe...”
He tried. He did try. It went in rough and painful and came out as a sob that got muffled in Apollo's shirt.
A dream...it was just a dream. The same dream. Why now? Why here?
“I...” That couldn't be his own voice – it was too raspy and broken. “I'm sorry...”
“Huh? What...what are you apologizing for?”
Klavier just shook his head. “I...I don't know...”
The raw, hot emotion was fading, the way dreams usually did. The image was still so clear, though, just like he was still thirteen, still standing frozen in that doorway. But his mind cleared, enough for him to breathe properly again, and a few moments later, Apollo was pressing a cool glass of water into his hands.
They sat on the edge of the bed together, and Klavier sipped the water gingerly as Apollo scratched at the nape of his neck. “I've...had night terrors before,” he said softly.
Klavier blinked at him, then stared at the floor, curling his toes against the carpet and tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His hand was hanging down in tired-looking strands in front of his eyes. He didn't even want to know how much of a wreck he looked. If it was half as much of one as he felt, he was in trouble. “I haven't...not in a long time...” Tiny ripples grew in the glass as his hand shook. “Gott...what's wrong with me...”
A wound had opened – he didn't know where or how, but it was bleeding and stinging like it was fresh again. It left him feeling raw and exposed, made him want to hide away until it scabbed over again.
“Was it...” Apollo bit his lip. He was treading carefully, didn't want to say the wrong thing. It almost made Klavier want to laugh, because how often during the past few weeks had their roles been reversed, with Klavier stumbling over his words and trying to offer some kind of comfort that he wasn't equipped to deliver? Finally, he finished, “Was it...about your...your family?”
“My father, you mean?” Klavier said. He tried to make it sound easy to get those words out, but his throat tightened as he spoke. He stared straight ahead as he took another sip of water. “Ja...ja it...it was...”
“Oh...”
Apollo left it on that word – Oh.
“I'm...sorry,” he said, finally, and Klavier's brow furrowed.
“You're sorry?” he scoffed. Hadn't he been apologizing just minutes before? “For what, Forehead?”
“I didn't realize that this...you know, all of this...” He made a vague hand gesture. “I didn't realize it was hard for you. You...you never made it seem like it was bothering you.”
“It wasn't,” Klavier said on a humorless laugh. “It didn't. I don't...I can't explain it, Forehead. It didn't bother me. I was fine, and then...and then I wasn't...” He sighed, heavily. “Ach...shit...I don't know what broke this dam, Apollo. I don't know what did it. I went years not having that dream...not remembering that...that day...I found him...”
The quiet was almost stifling until Apollo breathed, “You...found him?”
Klavier felt like he was speaking to a massive stadium, naked and exposed on the stage, burning in the spotlight with nowhere to hide from all of the eyes on him. He swallowed, could almost hear the electric feedback from the microphone as he took a breath and said in a tiny voice, “He killed himself, Apollo. I came home from school...went to get my guitar...and I found him.”
The crowd in his mind was as silent as a sea of corpses.
He shrugged. “Like I said, Forehead...it isn't a happy story.”
His heart pounded harder with every second the silence stretched on. He waited for the inevitable excuse, for Apollo's weight to lift off of the bed springs next to him. He wished every day that he didn't have to bear the weight of this – there wasn't a person on earth who would do it willingly. How could he expect Apollo to endure it? He was bound to leave, and Klavier wouldn't have blamed him.
Apollo shifted, and Klavier braced himself for the inevitable, but the next thing he knew, Apollo's forehead was pressing against his shoulder, his arms wrapping around him. He didn't say anything – there was nothing to say. Nothing he could manage would feel real enough. The silence was somehow even more comforting than anything else.
Klavier managed to suck in a breath and sigh. “I've never told anyone that before...”
“Not anyone?” Apollo didn't sound very surprised.
He shook his head. “Never felt the need. And I suppose even if I had...well, my music was always my closest confidant. And you don't keep many fans writing songs about a tragedy like that, Forehead.”
He covered his face, groaning weakly into the heels of his hands and pushing his mess of hair out of his eyes as best he could. Maybe it was pointless trying to keep up appearances now anyway. Apollo had already seen every inch of him, in more ways than one.
The silence grew heavier and heavier until it was clear that one of them had to say something before it crushed them, and Klavier surprised himself by managing a smile. “When you told me what you were doing...that you were looking for your family, I felt like I had to help. I had to...to try and fix something, for once. My feelings for you aside, maybe...maybe it was my father's way of giving me a push in the right direction. If you believe in that sort of thing...”
Apollo shrugged. “Maybe...Does it feel like it was the right direction?”
“Well, you found your family, didn't you?” His smile felt a little lighter as he spoke. “And here I am, naked in your bed, crying all over you. It sure feels...like a mixed bag, I'll admit. But I don't regret any of it.”
“Even if it...” Apollo swallowed thickly. “Even if it...made you remember something that terrible?” His voice trembled a bit, like he was afraid of what Klavier would say.
He couldn't have that, so Klavier reached out to cup Apollo's face in his hands. “Oh, Forehead...it's not like I ever forgot it. I haven't had that...that dream in years, but you...” He felt something catch in his throat as his brain caught up with his words. “You're still here...”
“Well...yeah.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“No, Apollo, you stayed...”
Apollo's eyes were shining with some emotion that Klavier couldn't place. A moment later, when Klavier had let his hands fall into his lap again and let himself lean heavily against Apollo's shoulder, Apollo smiled that infectious, genuine smile of his and said, “It's my apartment, Klav.”
A moment later, Klavier was laughing, and after years of writing songs about it, he knew – this was what it really felt like to fall in love.
Chapter 20
Notes:
EDIT 7/24/17: Changed some wording around to fix the discrepancy around Clay and Ema's bet. I got it switched around initially. ^^; Nothing plot-related, thankfully!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After going so long without doing it, it felt good to stretch his vocal chords again. It was still early, and the air was crisp and cool – made it feel all the more satisfying to draw in a deep breath and let it all out in one booming declaration: “I'M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I'M FINE!”
On the other side of the street, a flock of birds flew off the power lines in an almost comical cloud of feathers and squawks.
He was still rusty. He hadn't done this in so long. Too long. Clay would have throttled him if he knew just how much he'd been neglecting his voice training, especially when his friend was being forced out of bed at 5am every day to run God knew how many miles in the freezing cold. Or something. He wasn't sure how any of this GYAXA training really worked, but he imagined drill sergeants and terrifying metal machines that simulated leaving the planet's atmosphere with nauseating accuracy.
All scarier than a few vocal exercises, at least. Though maybe not according to his neighbors...
He rolled his shoulders, feeling his face heat up as the collar of his T-shirt brushed against the fresh hickey on his neck. Well that certainly was...a different feeling than he was used to. He hadn't been so conscious of his own neck in a long time. Hadn't been so aware of his own body like this in even longer. Maybe ever. He wasn't sore – after all, they hadn't done anything too athletic last night. He wasn't so inflexible that a few sloppy blowjobs and plenty of grinding would leave him aching the next morning. No, his muscles didn't have anything to protest. He was just very...aware of his own skin. Maybe it was because he had some very vivid memories now of Klavier kissing up and down every inch of it...
And that thought wasn't helping his concentration. Especially not when it inevitably led him down the route of thinking about what had happened after all of that. Klavier waking up screaming, crying against his shoulder, revealing parts of him that seemed even more intimate than any part of his naked body.
The whole night had been just that: intimate. In ways Apollo had never really experienced before. Ways that should have scared him, but didn't somehow. Maybe his brain was still reeling from the events of the previous week so much that it was numb to everything else happening around him. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, yet. Maybe it wasn't either – it just was.
He pulled in another breath. “I'M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I'M-”
“I forgot you did that.” That voice was familiar, but rougher than Apollo was used to hearing it, still weighted down by sleep, but nowhere near annoyed. In fact, Klavier was smiling when Apollo whirled around to face him, already halfway through an apology. “Bitte...It's kind of endearing, if you ask me.”
He wasn't naked anymore, and a small part of Apollo was a little disappointed for a split second before his rational side took over and reminded him that they were on his balcony. His very visible balcony, open to the whole street below and another apartment complex on the next block. Who knew what the paparazzi would do if they got a shot of a naked Klavier Gavin on his balcony?
Probably just a little less than they would with a shot of a shirtless Klavier Gavin on his balcony. Klavier didn't seem to care, though. He leaned against the door frame, hands in the pockets of Apollo's sweatpants. They were too short and hung way too low on his hips to be anywhere close to decent, but neither of them really minded.
“Woke up and the bed was cold,” Klavier said, pouting.
“I didn't mean to wake you up at all,” Apollo sighed. “It's still early.”
Klavier chuckled. “I'm sure your neighbors would tell you so.” He took a few steps toward him, reaching for his hand and running those calloused musician's fingers over his wrist, across the patterns carved into his bracelet. “Forehead...about last night...”
“It's okay,” he said, before his brain had even bothered processing what it was Klavier was referencing. “I mean...I'm glad you told me.”
Klavier seemed genuinely surprised. “You are?”
“Yeah...” Barely realizing he was doing it, he turned his hand so that he could weave his fingers together with Klavier's. They were so much longer and slimmer than his own, and calloused from years of strumming guitar strings. Apollo had seen magazine articles raving about how soft and manicured Klavier's hands looked from a distance, but the callouses fit him so much better. They felt oddly satisfying brushing against Apollo's own skin.
He felt something tighten in his chest. “Do you want to go back to bed?” he finally asked, biting his lip. “You could probably use the sleep...”
“Ach, I know...I look like a mess,” Klavier mourned. He dragged a hand over his face. “Not even a single dab of concealer to cover up these horrendous dark circles...”
“Like you need it,” Apollo giggled. But it was odd, seeing him with messy hair and bare skin – the bags under his eyes weren't nearly as bad as he seemed to think, but there were the tiniest hints of wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes, and faded acne scars dotting the bridge of his nose. All things he hadn't seen before, but it made so much sense for them to be there. He was human, after all. No reason he shouldn't look the part.
The lines by his mouth grew just a little deeper as he smiled. “Not many people see me first thing in the morning, Forehead. You'll forgive me if it's not something I'm used to.”
He looked better like this, as far as Apollo was concerned.
In a sudden surge of confidence, he reached out and hooked a finger into Klavier's waistband – his waistband, technically – and tugged him closer. “Aren't these mine?” he asked, one eyebrow playfully arched.
“Didn't feel much like finding my own. I think they made their way under your bed somehow...” He stepped even father into Apollo's personal space. “Do you mind? Because if you do, I can always take them off...”
“Fun as that sounds, it should probably wait until we're not on my balcony...”
Without another word, Klavier gleefully tugged him inside, sliding the door closed behind him and leaning in for a kiss that lasted all the way from there to his bedroom. Klavier's hands were already wandering up under Apollo's shirt, callouses scratching against his nipples and making him shiver and sigh into his mouth. He reached down, sliding those sweatpants even further down his lithe hips...
His phone buzzed on his desk.
Apollo pulled away out of habit, head turning toward the noise, and even from across the room, he could recognize the contact picture lighting up the screen. “Ah-” His voice was strained, and definitely not from his voice training. “Hold that thought?” He offered a sheepish half-grin, like a wordless apology, before stumbling over to his desk to pick up the phone.
Even if it was a weekend, he just wouldn't have been able to concentrate knowing he'd let his boss ring to voicemail.
“Hello?” he answered, praying that he could manage to make his voice sound close enough to normal not to give anything away.
“Apollo...” He sounded tired, but not like he'd just woken up. More like he hadn't slept. “Sorry, I know it's early. Your day off too. I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“Um...no. I was...” (Choose your words carefully, Justice...) “...already up.”
“Right,” Phoenix sighed, and worry started to twist in the pit of Apollo's stomach. “Listen...I need to talk to you. In person. Today.”
“Oh.”
“I'd like to say it isn't urgent, but...”
“Okay.” Clearly it was. Even Klavier's brows were starting to pull together in concern, so his anxiety was probably starting to show on his face. If it was, he was sure it probably came through in his voice too. “Um...does this have to do with my employment by any chance?”
“No! No, nothing like that. Ah...I'm worrying you, aren't I? I can tell.” He sighed again, static hissing in Apollo's ear. “It's not bad news. It might even be good news, depending on how you look at it. But...I won't lie, Apollo. You probably won't be very happy when I tell you.”
Just what was that supposed to mean, he wanted to ask. But all he could say as he sank down onto the bed was, “When should I meet you?”
“A few hours?” Phoenix offered. “Can you come to the office? It'd be easiest for me to meet you there. And...I know it might be easier said than done, but try not to worry. What I have to talk to you about...let's just say it's a long time coming.”
He was right – it was easier said than done. “Yeah.”
“And just remember, I always do what I think is best when it comes to my family.”
Apollo felt his brow pinch, but he nodded again. “Okay?” It came out like a question, and Phoenix must have heard his confusion in his voice, but he didn't say anything else except:
“I'll see you there.”
He hung up after that, and Apollo was left staring at his phone, stewing in an unpleasant mixture of nerves and bewilderment as Klavier's hands traced a soothing path down over his shoulders. “Want me to take you?” he asked, his voice dropping a he shifted away from the more playful tone of before.
Apollo shook his head. “I think I'd rather just walk. I could use the air.” He tried to smile, and it only came out looking a little forced. Small victories. “I'll stop and get some breakfast at the Starbucks down the street from the office to kill some time. He said it was good news...I think...so it can't be that bad.”
“I should probably get back to my own apartment for a time, neglected as it's been lately,” Klavier relented. He held Apollo's chin between his thumb and forefinger, smiling so much more softly than Apollo could manage himself. “Should you need me, schatzi, I'm just a phone call away.”
“I...appreciate that.” He did. He really did.
Klavier got dressed slowly, and Apollo wondered if he was trying to procrastinate going back to his own apartment. It was probably a big place. That sounded nice compared to his own cramped living quarters, but maybe bigger also meant more empty.
“Hey...Klav,” he said softly as Klavier pulled on his own wrinkled shirt once he'd fished it out from behind the headboard.
Klavier hummed, not as a response, but like he was savoring the sound of Apollo's words. A small smile tugged at his cheeks. “Love when you call me that,” he sighed. He looked almost serene as he looked over at Apollo again. “Yes, schatzi?”
“Maybe...you should write a song about it.”
He wasn't sure what made him suggest it, wasn't even sure if it was the right thing to say. Klavier didn't seem to understand at first, blinking at him with his lips slightly parted. “About what?”
“About...your dad,” Apollo said. It felt like a risk, but he tiptoed ahead anyway. “Maybe even just about the good parts. When you were happy. Or...or the bad parts too, if it helps.”
Klavier's gaze softened a little before he pulled it away again. “You think?” he asked.
“You said yourself your music is your confidant. And it's...it's really beautiful, when it's just you and your guitar without all that extra showy stuff." Klavier laughed at that. "It doesn't have to be for your fans, or for me, or for anyone else...maybe just writing it for the sake of writing it would be enough to help somehow.”
Slowly, a smile slipped back onto Klavier's face. “Apollo...he would have liked you.”
“Really?” He couldn't help but give into the urge to reach up and scratch at his neck. “I mean, I'm no expert-”
“Ach, no selling yourself short now, Forehead!” Klavier chided. “I know they say modesty is attractive, but I've always been drawn to a healthy dose of confidence.” He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Apollo's cheek and letting his lips linger over Apollo's jawline just a moment longer than they needed to. “I'm sure whatever Herr Wright wants to talk about won't ruin your day. And afterward, maybe we can go on that date you asked me for, ja?”
He'd almost forgotten about that. “O-oh! Uh...doing things a little backward, aren't we?”
“I don't mind,” Klavier assured him. “Though maybe we did skip the coffee stage. Let me take you to dinner, schatzi.”
“Dinner?” He swallowed.
“Sure. My treat, Forehead.” He grinned. “Let me take you out! We've spent long enough cooped up in this apartment, don't you think? Let me dress you up and show you off.”
“I'm not a show dog,” Apollo laughed. “What about your fans? I mean...what are they going to do when they find out about...this?”
“Ach, they'll love you! Many hearts will be broken, I'm sure, but it's high time people had an answer to the question of the mystery man I was found dry-humping behind the bar.”
“We weren't dry-humping.”
“Weren't we? Well clearly you haven't read the latest theories on some of the blogs.” Klavier beamed as Apollo choked. Like he would ever go for a clothed frottage session behind a bar – he had standards, dammit. “Relax, Forehead. My fans are the least of your worries. They may be a little...over-enthusiastic at times, but they're a sweet bunch. They'll warm up to you quick – you'll see.”
He supposed that compared to having their first – okay, second – kiss plastered on the home page of EntertainerToday.com, the idea of facing the music didn't sound so bad. It would stop all the wild speculation about his identity anyway. Last he'd checked, the consensus seemed to be that he was a fellow musician who had met Klavier on the last Gavinners' tour and had tracked him down for one last fling. Almost anything would be better than that.
“Schatzi...” Klavier's voice was warm and soft, bringing him back down to earth again. “Let me worry about all that. I'll take care of it, I promise. Been doing it for a long time.”
He had a point. “Right...” He stood and started to get dressed. The longer he put off this meeting with his boss, the worse it was bound to be. “I'll call when all of this is done...whatever it is.”
“And then dinner, Forehead?” Klavier smiled like he already knew the answer. Smooth.
Apollo nodded. “Then dinner.”
The Starbucks was crowded, but Apollo didn't know what he'd been expecting. He still had an hour to kill, even after taking his time on the walk over, so he lingered by the pick-up counter, eyes scanning the tables for a vacancy as he waited for his drink and picked at his blueberry muffin.
He didn't have to wait very long before he found a familiar face, and Ema met his eye a second later. About fifty different emotions flashed across her face before her expression finally settled into a wide smile, and she waved him over just as he picked up his coffee.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him, pushing the chair opposite her out with her foot. “I thought Gavin had turned you into a coffee snob.”
“He made me a latte in his office one time,” Apollo insisted.
“With that fancy-schmancy coffee maker of his?” She rolled her eyes. “What a way to try and get into a guy's pants. Although...” That was an unmistakable smirk growing behind her coffee cup. “Seems like it worked well enough.”
He couldn't blame the flush in his cheeks on the steam rising from his drink, so he hid it behind his pastry instead. “And?”
“Aha! So I was right!”
“It wasn't exactly a secret. I told you.”
“As long as it doesn't cost me any more money, you can stick your junk wherever you please.”
Apollo groaned. “Please don't bring my junk into this...”
“I wonder if he'll forget about it by the time he comes home.”
“Ema.”
“What? I had plans for that fifty bucks. Sure, I'm proud of you for getting laid, but that doesn't mean I like having to pay up.” She took a long sip of her drink. “Still can't believe it...you and Klavier.”
“Yeah...”
“Your junk and Klavier's-”
He choked on his muffin. “Please.”
“Saying that a lot lately, are you?” It took all his self control not to smush his muffin under his palm. “What? You're making it too easy. Let me live vicariously through you, sleeping with a rockstar.”
“I thought you couldn't stand him. And besides, you're like, the most ace person I know.”
“I'm the only ace person you know. Last time I checked, anyway. And besides, that doesn't mean I'm not interested in in what goes on in your life since it suddenly got more interesting than mine.”
“It's not-”
“It is! I'm stuck in that tiny basement office while you're off having sex with foppish rockstars and finding family you didn't even know you had.” She went silent after that, staring down at her coffee as something Apollo couldn't quite name spread across her face. “Trucy told me...called me at one in the morning. I thought someone was dying, but she just went on and on about how happy she was, and how right it all felt and...” She reached up to wipe her eyes. Apollo's coffee stayed motionless an inch from his lips, steam rising and obscuring his vision. “Shit,” she sighed. “I wasn't gonna get all weepy over this. But Kay...she called this morning asking how you were. She didn't want to bother you while you worked all this out, but...she cares an awful lot about all this, you know.”
“I should thank her,” he said softly. He really should. After all the work she had put in to help him find his way, he owed her a lot more than just a thank you card.
“Maybe...but I think she'd be happy just to know it all worked out.” Ema sighed deeply, knocking back the last of her coffee and clearing her throat of the last of the emotional croak that had gotten stuck there. “Look, I'm...I'm not great at this. And I still can't believe you're really with that fop-”
“He's not nearly as foppish once you look a little deeper down.”
“But...look, Justice...Apollo...I'm...I'm so...”
Apollo felt his heart lurch when she pressed a hand against her mouth and let out a soft sob. He'd been friends with her for years, and yet when was the last time he'd seen her cry openly? And in a Starbucks of all places. Before he knew what was happening, Ema was slamming her cup down on the table and standing, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.
“Oh,” was all he could manage to say as she held him close, sniffling his shoulder. “Are you-”
“I'm fine,” she insisted, furiously wiping her eyes as she pulled away. “You tell a soul about this, and I'll end you.”
He felt a warm smile spreading across his face as he patted her back. “Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you have normal human emotions.”
“Damn right.”
She pulled away again, the slight sheen over her eyes and the rasp in her voice the only evidence of the moment they'd just shared. “It's just...you seem happier. A lot happier. In a subtle kind of way. You carry yourself different, like you're not carrying so much weight. And it's so...it's so nice to see, you know?”
“I seem...happier?” he asked, rubbing his wrist as he studied her face. There was a lot of emotion swimming there, just under the surface, but she was holding it under control. “I think I feel happier too.”
“And not just cause you got laid last night?”
“Not just because of that,” he said with a smile.
The comfortable silence that followed Ema's warm chuckle was welcome, and Apollo let himself enjoy it without feeling pressured to break it. By the time he put his cup down and walked with Ema to the door, he felt lighter, even if anxiety was still twisting dully in his gut.
Whatever he had to deal with at the office, he was ready to get it over with and be done with it. Maybe it was better to go into it in a good mood than consumed with worry. Mister Wright had told him not to worry too much, after all.
“What do you think he wants?” Ema asked him after he'd told her about the cryptic phone call, the two of them walking slowly down the sidewalk.
“I was kinda hoping you'd have an idea,” he admitted.
“No clue. But it can't be that bad. Probably some needy high-profile client that's gonna be a pain in the ass to deal with.”
“It didn't seem like a work thing.”
“Maybe some friend of his is in trouble and he needs some help off the books,” she offered. “And maybe he's gonna offer you a big bonus at the end of the year for dealing with it. That would qualify as good news, wouldn't it?”
A bonus certainly would, and even though he couldn't manage to believe her theories, he smiled anyway. “Maybe,” he said. “If it's gonna mean more work for me, I'll be sure to complain to you first.”
“I wouldn't expect any less,” Ema told him with a pat on the shoulder and a wave, and they parted ways on the steps of the Agency office.
Apollo climbed the stairs, his anxiety mounting with each step. Still, it was nothing a few steady breaths couldn't take care of as he pressed his hand against the door.
The hall was dark, the main office lights still off for the weekend. Maybe he'd beaten his boss here? But no, the door was unlocked, and he could swear he heard a voice inside. Mister Wright's voice:
“...because I can't keep lying to them,” he said. His voice was strained, exasperated, his words coming with an edge that made Apollo pause and lean in, listening from outside. Was there someone else in the office with him? He couldn't hear anyone else talking – just his boss's exhausted sigh. “I know it's complicated. I've known that from the start. But he figured it out on his own. Don't you think it's time?”
Apollo felt something lurch inside him, his feet frozen to the floor. (I shouldn't keep listening,) he thought. (I shouldn't be hearing this.)
But he couldn't turn away. Especially not when he heard Phoenix say, “I know...but she's my daughter too, remember?”
Trucy? What did she have to do with this? Apollo's heart pounded.
“Look, I can't keep doing this. He's going to have questions, and I can't lie to his face anymore, not after everything he's been through. I can't force you to come talk to him yourself, but you should.” He heard the creak of the desk as Phoenix leaned against it. “He's a good kid, Thalassa. They're both good kids. And Apollo spent so much time trying to find you.”
Thalassa.
Thalassa.
Apollo staggered, suddenly feeling too cold and too hot all at once and all over his body. He wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to fling the door open and demand Phoenix tell him that he'd heard wrong, even though he knew he hadn't. He must have made a noise, because a second later, the door was opening, and his boss was staring at him, looking pale and exhausted. He seemed far away and blurry, his voice muted as he said something that Apollo couldn't make out.
His feet finally moved again, and he staggered backward, making it to the stairs with the world swirling around him in a dream-like haze. This building was too small, too stifling. The walls were pushing in too close. He had to get out, had to get his thoughts straight again. He couldn't think in here.
He made it down the stairs, tripping twice on the way down, but managing not to fall flat on his ass before stumbling out onto the sidewalk again. It had to be a misunderstanding. It wasn't right. His boss couldn't have been talking to Thalassa Gramarye. She was dead. She had been dead for almost two decades. And if she wasn't, there was no way someone could be cruel enough to knowingly keep that from him, from Trucy.
Trucy.
If Thalassa Gramarye was alive – if the world was twisted and fucked up enough for her to be alive all this time without him ever knowing – then Trucy had grown up without a mother for no reason. She'd suffered the loss of both parents without ever having to. She'd been living with a father who had kept her own mother from her.
And that couldn't be true. That was too much of a sick joke to possibly be true.
He felt a hand on his arm, and for a moment he thought, horrified, that it was his boss coming to try and explain what he'd heard. But it was Ema, looking at him like he had a hole in his head. “Shit,” she breathed, “What happened?”
He didn't know. God, he didn't know.
“I gotta get out of here,” he croaked. He had to get away from this place, as far away as he could.
Ema nodded in understanding, didn't ask any questions. “Okay,” she said. “I'll drive.”
Notes:
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Chapter 21
Notes:
Full disclosure: parts of this chapter were some of the first things I came up with while planning this fic. So I sincerely hope I do it justice (har har).
Chapter Text
The only thing Apollo was aware of – really aware of – was how much he was shaking. Everything else seemed to twist and warp around him, moving in slow motion. Ema's voice sounded distant and hollow, and every step felt like he was trudging through jelly, but the burning in his shoulders and arms as they shook hard enough to make him wobble on the stairs was unmistakable.
“Christ, you're shaking like a wet dog.” That was the first thing Apollo heard Ema say clearly, as she draped a blanket around his shoulders and sat him down on her coach. It struck him as odd – he wasn't cold. But he couldn't stop shivering. “What the fuck happened? You went in all optimistic and then came out so white you might as well have been dead.”
He opened his mouth, figured he ought to say something, but all that came out was a laugh. It was rough and weak and hysterical, and he pressed a hand over his mouth after it came out. Ema's brow pinched, making her expression go from concerned to downright alarmed.
“Apollo...” Her voice was softer, steadier as she put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened? What did Phoenix say?”
Phoenix. Mister Wright. Oh god, it was all flooding back, all at once. It was too much, too real, overflowing in his mind like it was a crumbling dam. He could feel a vague tingling against his palm as a groan rattled its way out of his throat. He couldn't do this. He couldn't process this now. He felt like he was going to crack right down the middle.
Ema was turning him toward her, meeting his eyes even as his vision blurred. “Breathe, okay? In and out...”
His fingers were wet. When had he started crying?
His voice was rough as he slowly pulled his hand away, just enough to force out, “He knew.”
“Knew what?”
“He knew,” Apollo keened, and suddenly rage was boiling up inside him and punching its way out of him as he cried, “He knew her!”
“Knew who-” The question died in Ema's throat as realization rolled in over her features, like a storm. “Oh...oh god...He knew her? Your...your mom?”
“She's alive.” It felt like someone else speaking, like his voice wasn't his at all. “She's alive, and he knew. He was talking to her. I heard him.”
Ema gasped shaking her head. “Apollo...are you sure? I mean...did you see her?”
“He was on the phone.”
“So it could have been anyone.”
“No, no, no.” He reached for her, latching onto her sleeves and hanging on tight. “It was her. I know it was her. He...he called her Thalassa.”
Ema stared at him, going pale herself. She looked like she'd seen a ghost waltzing across her apartment. Apollo almost wanted to laugh – if she looked this bad, he couldn't imagine how terrible he looked himself. “Shit,” she said.
There, now it had clicked. Now she understood, or she was getting there anyway.
He knew.
Wright knew.
The words played over and over in his head, stoking the anger in his chest with every repetition. Wright knew. He knew Thalassa was alive. He knew who she was, where she was. Maybe he'd known all along, and even if he hadn't, why should that make any difference? He'd watched Apollo struggle and suffer and agonize over finding answers to all the questions burning up inside of him. He'd watched and done nothing.
Nothing for him, nothing for Trucy. He'd let them suffer and wonder and toil in silence.
Apollo was shaking again, but not from shock now. Now it was rage. Blinding, white hot, sizzling rage that felt like it was going to boil him in his own skin. He stood up, breathing heavy, his head swimming, hands twisting in his own hair.
“He knew everything,” he growled, not talking to Ema, or himself, or anyone else. Maybe if he said it out loud, it would actually make sense. He could rationalize it. But no, it only made it all hurt worse.
Ema stood up, reaching for him. “You don't know that,” she said, but she didn't even sound so sure herself now. “There might be...some reason. He had to have a reason.”
“Fuck his reasons!” Apollo screamed. “I don't care what fucking reasons he had. He knew, Ema! And he didn't say anything! He lied right to my face!” His hands were balled into fists so tight that his knuckles bled white. This anger was going to eat him alive. It needed an outlet, something to sate it before he exploded. “He lied! He lied, and I fell for it! I...I thought he had changed! I thought he actually cared!”
“Apollo-”
“I thought he gave a shit about me! Like an idiot! Like a fucking idiot!” The fire in his chest bubbled up all at once, and he swung his fist blindly with as much force as he could muster up. It connected with the wall with a sickening thud, pain shooting up his arm and making him crumple right there on the carpet.
But at least the throbbing in his hand drowned out the anger for a moment. His mind went quiet again, just enough for him to think, and when his vision had cleared a bit he looked up and stared at the sizable dent in Ema's apartment wall.
She watched him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Finally, she took a breath and said in a small voice, “I guess I'm not getting my security deposit back.”
He sat there, silent. Part of him wanted to laugh, to let things go back to normal for a moment, but all he could do was cradle his hand and bow his head toward the carpet under his knees. “Sorry,” he said.
“I never liked that wall anyway.” She sat next to him, tugging the blanket around his shoulders again.
“M'not cold,” he muttered.
“You're still shaking though.” She looked at him, sighing heavily. “This is...Apollo, I don't even know what to...It's all so fucked. Should I call Klavier?” His head whipped around to face her so quickly it made him dizzy. “What? You two are a thing now, officially. I'll call him if you want, and you know he'll come.”
He shook his head, pain forcing more tears from his eyes so they rolled down his cheeks. Ema reached out, clearing a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. “Apollo...fuck, I'm sorry...I know it's terrible...”
“No...” he choked.
“No?”
“I'm not...” He sniffed. Fuck, his hand hurt. He gestured with his good hand to his face where tears were still streaming down over his cheeks. “This...it's not...” She just looked more and more confused, and he finally managed to get out, pitifully, “I think I broke my hand...”
“Oh...” Her eyes went wide as she looked down at it and saw his knuckles, bleeding and already starting to swell. “Oh shit. Hospital?”
He managed a nod. At least he was able to stand on his own and preserve the last shred of dignity he still had intact.
“It's bad...really bad.” Athena's voice was hushed, but the words seemed like they were coming through an echo chamber. “He's still in surgery, but it's...not looking good...” She was crying, doing her best to hide it, but that had never been her strong suit. “The blade hit his heart...he lost a lot of blood.”
Apollo hated hospitals. He figured most people did, but the moment he stepped over the threshold, assaulted by the hiss of those automatic doors closing behind them and the smell of disinfectant and linen, memories came flooding in. Awful memories, more like a nightmare – hazy and throbbing like an old wound.
Throbbing like his hand. Fuck, he'd forgotten how much broken bones hurt.
“Do you think he's...” Trucy's voice quaked. He could feel her looking over at him, but he kept his eyes locked on the tile under his feet instead of meeting her gaze. “Is...is Polly okay?”
“No,” Athena told her, and she had to press her hands over her mouth to hide a sob. “No, of course he's not. That's his best friend in there.”
“C'mon, I'll help you get checked in,” Ema told him as she gathered the admittance paperwork.
The wait was long. Not as along as some he'd been through before, but long enough to let him watch his hand swell grotesquely as the minutes ticked by, quietly thankful Ema had helped him out of his bracelet before it got bad. Despite the pain, though, his mind was oddly numb. Almost pleasantly so. All that anger had cooled to a simmer. He wondered if maybe the pain was giving it an outlet, like a pressure valve letting off steam. At least he felt more in control – pain was physical, biological, reasonable. It was fair.
He closed his eyes and let himself feel it.
“It's been hours,” Ema sighed, looking over a the clock as she stretched her legs. His own were stiff and sore from being locked in the same position for so long, but he didn't move. Everything felt so fragile that he worried if he moved a muscle the world would shatter. So he stayed as still as his body would let him.
Clay was alive. They hadn't told him he was dead yet, so he was still alive. Or maybe he wasn't. Like Schrödinger's cat. Alive and dead all at the same time until someone came through those doors to tell him otherwise.
Apollo didn't need the X-rays to tell him what he already knew, but he sat still for them anyway and listened when they told him the predictable diagnosis. “If you think his hand is bad you should see me wall,” Ema quipped, and Apollo groaned.
At least he was lucky enough not to share Clay's fear of needles. One look at the syringe they brought out would have sent him crumpling onto the floor.
“I brought you a soda,” Phoenix said awkwardly, holding a can of something called “Diet Doctor Zip” out to him.
“I'm good, thanks.”
Phoenix sat down next to him. “Still nothing huh? Maybe...no news is good news?” He sighed. “Who am I kidding? That's horrible advice.”
He had a point. Whoever had come up with that saying had obviously never had a loved one in surgery for six hours. But it was the thought that counted – that was an idiom Apollo could actually get behind.
The room was oddly quiet as Apollo stared at his new splint, running his finger down along its length and feeling the ridges and bumps on its edge. Ema fidgeted next to him. Her foot tapped impatiently on the tile. “Does it hurt?” she finally asked him.
He shrugged. “Throbs a little.”
“Makes sense,” she sighed. “You broke it.”
“I know.”
“You punched my wall.” She didn't seem angry. More like she couldn't quite believe it even though she'd seen it with her own two eyes. “I mean...I've never seen you that angry before. I never knew you could get that angry. It...was kinda freaky.”
He tapped a finger against his splint, guilt rolling over him like a fog. “Sorry...”
“Don't apologize,” she insisted. “I would have been angry too.” A pause, and Apollo listened intently to the clock ticking on the wall above Ema's head. “I still can't quite wrap my head around it. I mean...your mom...she's really alive.”
Suddenly it all felt ridiculous. He had a splint on his hand and she had a hole in her wall, and now that he'd finally gotten the news he'd secretly wanted for years, it felt like it was going to break him instead of healing him like he'd always hoped. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen.
Not to mention he was probably going to be out of a job now too. He couldn't go back to that office after all. Even thinking about setting foot in the Wright Anything Agency again made him nauseous.
He didn't want to think about that now. Now all he wanted was to go home and sleep and maybe spend what little time he could pretending everything was okay. Ema might as well have been reading his mind when she said, “Let's go get something to eat, rent a movie...get your mind off-”
It sounded tempting, whatever she was about to finish saying, but he didn't have the time to think it over because the door opened, and suddenly he was face to face with Phoenix Wright again.
“They...said you were back here,” Phoenix said.
Instead of answering, Apollo looked over at Ema. “You told him?”
“I texted Trucy,” Ema insisted.
“She's in the waiting room,” Phoenix told him. “I...was hoping we could talk first. Alone...”
The anger was back, starting to win out over the pain again and boiling in the pit of his stomach. “I don't have anything to say to you.”
“Apollo, at least let me explain myself-”
“You really think that would make it any better?” Ema snapped. Apollo watched as she stood, fingers curling into fists. “You...you lied. About everything.”
Phoenix looked like he was in pain, and he wasn't even the one with the broken hand. “Ema...” Apollo said, and he even managed to surprise himself with how steady his voice was. “Can you go check on Trucy?”
The double meaning was clear – Trucy was bound to get dragged into this sooner or later, sooner than Apollo had ever wanted. But for now he needed to deal with this alone. One on one.
Ema sighed, slipping past Phoenix without another word, and Apollo was suddenly very aware of how quiet the room was. He forced himself to look up and meet his boss's eye.
“I heard you,” he said, and the words felt almost unnaturally steady and calm. “On the phone. You were talking to her. You said her name.”
Phoenix let out a heavy breath and tried to take a step forward. “Apollo-”
“No-” He held up a hand, pointing a finger toward him. It was a silent accusation, and made Phoenix stop mid-step. “No, you don't get to explain. You're gonna let me talk, and you're gonna listen because I have some things to say to you.”
His chest ached, but he refused to cry. Not anymore. Not now. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and held Phoenix's gaze. “I grew up in an orphanage. Did you know that?” Phoenix nodded, silently. “I don't remember how old I was when I figured out that kids were suppose to have parents. Too young to really understand why a parent...a mother...would just leave her kid with strangers and disappear. Even when I got older, I figured I'd never know. And then I met Kay...”
He felt tears streaking down his cheeks, and for some reason it just made him laugh. All that effort he'd put into trying not to cry, and now his emotions were so raw and abused that they were on a hair trigger. “Shit,” he sighed, “I knew from the beginning that this was a bad idea.”
“Apollo-”
Apollo ignored him. “I heard you on the phone. Heard you talking to her...you called her Thalassa. But that didn't make any sense. Kay had told me she was dead. She'd been dead for more than a decade.”
Phoenix took a breath in the pause. “Apollo, you have to understand-”
“Understand? Understand what, that you knew her? You knew she was alive. You knew I was looking for her, and you kept that from me. You let me go on looking when that whole time you could have just told me the truth. You kept it from Trucy! You let your own daughter go on believing she was a fucking orphan with a mother who died and a father who didn't give two shits about her!”
Anger flashed across Phoenix's face, tightening his jaw and sparking in his eyes. “I wanted to tell you, both of you. It...it wasn't my secret to share.”
“It wasn't your secret to keep!” Apollo cried. “Would you ever have told me the truth? If I hadn't tracked down Kay myself? Would you ever have decided it was the right time?” Phoenix opened his mouth to reply, but Apollo wasn't interested in his answer. “No – no, I don't care. I can't...I can't even look at you.”
He looked toward the door instead, and he saw her. Trucy. Eyes wide and sparkling, tears streaking down her cheeks, hands pressed desperately over her mouth.
Oh god...she'd heard everything.
Suddenly, for one fleeting little moment, Apollo understood. He understood why Phoenix had kept this from them, understood why he'd been avoiding having anything to do with this search for his family. Because the look on Trucy's face – confusion morphing into pain and finaly into devastation – was too awful for him to take, and he wished more than anything that he could have prevented it. Even if it was selfish, even if it was dishonest, even if it couldn't be forever, Apollo wanted more than anything to keep her safe and smiling.
“Alive?” she choked, her voice shaking with the rest of her frame. “My mom...our mom is...”
Phoenix reached for her. “Truce...this isn't how I wanted you to find out.” She recoiled. “I was going to tell you – both of you.”
“Where is she?” Trucy cried. “If she's alive, where is she? Why hasn't she come back for me?”
“It's...complicated. She wants to-”
“You're lying!” She sobbed, her face flushing red and her fingers curling against the hem of her shirt. “If she were alive, she would have come to see me! She wouldn't have...wouldn't have just left! She loved me! Dad always said she loved me to the moon and back!”
Apollo's stomach dropped as Trucy's face contorted in agony. She stepped back, turning away and running – running down the hall and around the corner and out of sight. Phoenis stood there, watching just as helplessly as Apollo, his hand outstretched like he still thought he could catch her and explain all of this away. But it was too late for that. Far too late.
He hauled himself up, feeling almost eerily calm as he brushed past Phoenix. “I'll come by the office to pick up my stuff before Monday,” he said. “I quit, Mister Wright.”
A broken hand. How the hell had Apollo gone from a simple meeting with his boss to a broken hand? Ema hadn't been generous with the details, and it had only made Klavier worry more as he'd made his way to the hospital. Whatever had happened, she hadn't made it sound good.
He peered over his sunglasses as he stepped through the sliding glass doors into the waiting area. He was painfully aware of how ridiculous it looked to keep them on inside – if Apollo were here he would have pointed it out in a heartbeat – but it was the price he paid for relative anonymity. The last thing he needed was to draw in a crowd of adoring fans before he finally made it to Apollo's bedside.
“Just try to breathe okay...come on, can't you tell me what happened?” That was Ema's voice, but it didn't sound anything like her usual self. It was heavy with worry, but almost painfully gentle. The reason why was clear when he leaned around the corner and saw her hunched over in a chair in the hallway, leaning toward Trucy.
Trucy was crying. No, she was sobbing, gasping for breath and trying in vain to hide behind her own hands. Like even as upset as she was, she still didn't want the rest of the world to know it. There was no hiding it though. Her pain was on display for all to see.
He stepped closer, worry growing in the pit of his stomach that all of this had to be related somehow, and not in good way. “Did something happen?” he asked, and Ema looked up at him, sighing heavily.
“I don't know...” she groaned. “She hasn't told me. But I have a bad feeling.”
So it wasn't just him. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse. But he knelt in front of Trucy, flashing a smile that he hoped she could see through her tears and reaching out to move a stray strand of hair from her face. “Come now Fraulein,” he said softly. “It's a shame to keep a smile as lovely as yours from the world, don't you think?”
“Can you save the pickup lines, Gavin?” Ema asked.
“I don't use pickup lines, Fräulein Skye. My compliments are always genuine.”
“Whatever. Look, you...you don't understand. Shit's really hit the fan here.”
“It sure seems that way.” He looked over his shoulder, up and down the hallway. Nobody had recognized him so far it seemed, so as long as he could avoid drawing a crowd, he didn't plan on leaving without at least trying to help. “Maybe some water might do the trick, hm? Would you mind?”
Ema stood up with a sigh. “Yeah...I'll be back.”
Trucy hiccuped as he took Ema's seat, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it into her shaking hands. “Take a breath, Trucy,” he said. “Come on, you've been doing it since the day you were born. I know you know how. In and out now.”
To her credit, she did try. It came out unsteady, edged with another soft sob, but it was something. Finally, she choked something out, but he could barely hear her: “He lied...”
“Lied? Who?”
“My...my dad...” She crumpled again, leaning helplessly against Klavier's chest and gripping the folds of his shirt as she cried. “He lied to Apollo. He lied to me. I don't...I don't know what to do...”
Klavier's hand hovered an inch or so from her shoulder for a moment before he finally let his palm lay flat against it. “Lied about what?” But somehow he already knew – anxiety was coiling in his chest, squeezing his throat as he waited for her to tell him.
It took her a few moments, a few more shaking breaths. “My mom,” she finally said. “She's...she's alive.”
Klavier stared down at her. It couldn't be. Not after everything Apollo had gone through – she was dead. He'd held Apollo as he'd cried, felt him sob himself to sleep in his arms after he'd head the news. “Gott...”
“She's alive...and my dad knew...”
“I'm...I'm sure he must have had his reasons, Fräulein,” Klavier said helplessly.
She shook her head agianst his chest. “I know...I'm not mad at him. Polly is...maybe I should be. But...but I could see how much it hurt him. He tried so hard to protect us...”
“From what?”
Her fingers tightened against his shirt. “If she's alive...that must mean she stayed away because she didn't want us. I just don't understand...why...why didn't she want me?”
It hurt seeing her so upset, but hearing her say those words...that broke his heart. He held her close and let her cry against him. “Oh Fräulein...I'm sure that couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm sure she loved – loves you. Both of you. And maybe you'll see her again one day, and hear it from her herself.”
“I've never seen Polly so angry before...not ever...”
“He'll be fine. He always is. I'll make sure of it.”
She finally looked up at him as he smiled at her. “You really do care about him, don't you?”
“Very much so.”
She managed a smile of her own, albeit a weak and watery one. “If you hurt him, I'll end you.”
“I'd expect nothing less,” he laughed. “Let me worry about him for now, ja? This too shall pass and all that.” She sniffled, nodding, and he felt like he'd just clinched a small victory.
Klavier had given up trying to cover up his dark circles about three hours into their vigil at the hospital. The longer the surgery dragged on, the more it wore on all of them, but Apollo suffered in silence, like a stoic soldier, barely moving let alone eating or speaking.
He'd disappeared from under their noses, somewhere around the six hour mark without a word.
So Klavier wandered the halls, hoping that maybe if he wandered long enough he would find him by some miracle. Not that it would make any difference – there still wasn't any news, and there wasn't anything he could say that would make this any easier.
“You look like shit.”
Klavier turned, glancing around the corner and finally spotting him, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. It might as well have taken the last of his strength to make it there from the waiting area, as bad as he looked, his hands draped listlessly in his lap as he stared at Klavier from his spot on the tile.
“You're one to talk,” Klavier said. He sat next to him without waiting for an invitation, sighing as he let his head bump back against the wall. “We were worried about you.”
“We?”
“Don't act like you're alone in this, Herr Forehead. Your friends are all out there looking for you.”
“And you?”
“Me included, obviously.”
Apollo stared at him, letting the meaning of his words sink in, but never asking if he meant it. He did, of course – the people Klavier could count as friends were few and far between, but he'd never once regretted including Apollo in that sparse group. Even when he had to put the flirting on hold.
Apollo sniffled. Then whimpered. Then a moment later, he was pressing his forehead to his knees and letting out a sob that sounded like it had been trapped inside him for longer than just a few hours. Klavier just stared, dumbfounded, as Apollo broke in front of him, wondering whether he should hold him or give him space or offer some empty words of comfort.
“I can't do this,” Apollo groaned. “I can't do this Klav...I can't stand wondering if he's still alive every minute...”He pressed his hands against his head, rocking pitifully back against the wall. “I can't take any more, but I don't know what I'll do if they come out and tell me he's dead...”
“Knowing is always better than wondering, Forehead,” Klavier said, without even thinking about it. Somehow it just seemed like the right thing to say, even if it felt pointless to try and console him.
He let Apollo cry next to him, nothing but a warm body to keep him company until the sound of sneakers scuffing on the tile floor made them both look up. They were expecting a nurse, maybe come to tell them they had to move, but instead they both found Athena – her face red and her eyes glistening.
“There you are!” she said. “It's Clay-” Klavier felt Apollo stiffen beside him, and without even thinking, he reached for Apollo's hand and gave it a squeeze. But Athena smiled a second later. “He's out of surgery. He's stable. They say he's gonna make it!”
Apollo sobbed again, but it sounded so different from before that he may as well have been jumping for joy. His other hand pressed against Klavier's wrist, the cool metal of Apollo's bracelet making the hairs stand on end up the length of his arm.
“I told you,” Klavier said, grinning. “It's always better to know.” He let out a sigh of relief that he'd barely realized he'd had in him. “Though it's probably much better when the news is good.”
Chapter 22
Notes:
Thanks for being patient. I had a lot of trouble figuring out what was supposed to happen in this chapter, but thanks so much to synnefo-nefeli (aka Saevam) for brainstorming with me and helping me figure it out. :)
Chapter Text
“I'm taking Trucy home,” Ema said, and Klavier nodded, numbly. She sighed. “She's okay...as okay as she can be. She can breathe again, at least, thanks to you.” She reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. It only lasted a second, her fingers brushing a few errant strands of hair to the side as she pulled back again. “Nice job, Gavin.”
Klavier looked up at her. “This is all a mess, isn't it?”
She groaned, rubbing her temples – he could practically see the headache coming on. “I don't know what to think. Between Apollo and Trucy and Mister Wright...” Her brow furrowed. “I still don't get it...how he could do something like this.” Her lips were pressed in a hard line, her eyes closed so tightly that her eyelashes were quivering. For a moment, she looked so vulnerable...more so than Klavier had ever seen her.
“Fraule-” He paused. “Ema...are you alright?”
“Why are you asking me that?” She looked at him, seeming to toe the line between genuinely confused and irritated. “Apollo just stormed off and Trucy broke down and you're asking me if I'm okay?”
“You care a lot about him...” Klavier told her. They had that in common – wasn't that obvious? “Worrying like this doesn't suit you.”
Ema let out a heavy breath and sank down onto the chair next to him, her back bent forward and her head in her hands. “Of course it doesn't. It doesn't suit anyone. Quit trying to be so suave...” She sighed. “But...I guess you are just being your own foppish brand of nice...so thanks.”
Maybe it was as close as the two of them could get to a moment now. Maybe it was the closest they would ever get. But he couldn't dwell long on that – not when he felt Ema stiffen beside him and looked up just in time to lock eyes with Phoenix Wright.
He was pale, and looked like he'd aged five years in the span of just one day. Klavier couldn't read the expression on his face – not when there were so many emotions fighting for dominance there, all of them making the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes look so much deeper.
The man looked lost.
Ema frowned as she stood, squaring her shoulders. “I'm taking Trucy home,” she said, but her voice had lost all of the reluctant warmth that it had had when she'd said the same to Klavier just a few minutes before. Now her words had an edge of bitterness and anger to them that made them sound harsh and forceful. Like Phoenix had no choice but to agree.
He did, without a fight. “That's probably for the best.”
Ema's eyes narrowed. “That's all you're gonna say huh?”
“Ema-”
“Save it.” She spat. “Just...save it. Fuck, I respected you, you know that? A hell of a lot.”
Those words stung, and Klavier wasn't even on the receiving end.
He watched as she turned on one heel and stalked off with her hands shoved deep into her pockets. And suddenly, they were alone. Phoenix leaned against the wall, running a hand sluggishly through his hair. “I think...maybe I deserved that.”
Klavier took a breath as he stood. “You could use some air, Herr Wright.”
Phoenix didn't argue with that either. Not that Klavier had expected him to, but there was something disheartening about the way he kept his gaze locked on the floor and his hands in his pockets, like he couldn't bring himself to look Klavier in the eye. Even when they made it outside, Phoenix leaned against the concrete barrier by the door and gazed out across the parking lot.
Now Klavier recognized the look in his eye. He'd experienced shame that deep before himself.
“Thank you for talking to Trucy,” Phoenix said.
“How did you-”
“Miles.” He managed a tired little smile as he held his phone up. “She texted him...guess she didn't want us to worry, even if she is upset with me...” The smile faded. “He's not too happy with me either honestly. I guess that honeymoon phase couldn't last forever...”
Klavier couldn't bring himself to offer any words of comfort. Anything out of his mouth would have felt cheap and meaningless anyway. What did he know about marriage or fatherhood? All that stumbled from between his lips was, “Oh...”
“It's okay...You're the last person who needs to worry about us.”
“Ja...” Hearing that made him feel heavy, and despite him trying his damnedest not to let it, he knew it came through in his voice. Phoenix must have caught it despite how quickly Klavier turned away to put a bit more distance between them, because he looked at Klavier oddly before realization flooded his face.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, I didn't mean-” He inched closer, holding a hand up like he was about to put it on Klavier's arm before he thought better of it and let it rest on his own instead. “You're good for Trucy. She really looks up to you. It's good for her to have another performer to influence her like that...I'm not sure how much help I am, since I doubt she'll ever want to become a lawyer.”
That sad little smile was back, trying to make light of what must have been a frustrating disconnect between father and daughter. It was a joke, sure, but it went deeper than that. As raw as he was from today's whole ordeal, Phoenix couldn't hide anything on his face.
“Maybe that's a good thing,” Klavier said – or rather, he heard himself say it. It came out like a passing thought had stumbled past his lips without meaning to. But now that it was out in the open, hanging between them and making Phoenix look at him quizzically, he frowned and added, “Lawyers can be a nasty bunch. I don't think Trucy has it in her to be one herself.”
After a silence that was barely long enough to make Klavier want to fidget, Phoenix said, “Something tells me you mean that as a compliment to her.”
“I do,” he insisted.
“And...something tells me you're not just talking about your brother.”
Klavier twisted his ring around his finger, jamming it back against the skin between his knuckles until it stung. “I'm not.”
It sat heavy in his chest as he stared straight ahead, unable to look Phoenix in the eye despite the fact that there was no bitterness in cruelty in his words. There never seemed to be, and Klavier was tired of waiting for it. He was tired of wondering when all those seven years' worth of anger and frustration would finally come out.
Phoenix let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. “We missed you at the wedding.”
Klavier blinked, his fingers hovering by his ring mid-twist. “Huh?”
“Miles and I...we were hoping you'd be there.”
He swallowed, dryly. “I was-”
“Traveling. Out of the country. Yeah, I remember.” His tone was gentle and understanding, but his expression was unreadable – his eyes were still closed. “Don't get me wrong, there's no hard feelings. But just for a second, man to man, be honest with me..." His eyes opened, suddenly as sharp as ever. "We both know you never left L.A.”
The silence that followed hit Klavier right in the center of his chest.
Phoenix didn't move, didn't say anything more, just waited patiently. He looked at Klavier, expectant, waiting for him to say something, and it couldn't be another lie. He didn't think he could have thought of one even if he wanted to.
“I...”
“Don't worry,” Phoenix said, taking pity on him. “I'm not offended. Neither of us were. And thanks for the gift by the way...between the honeymoon and everything that's happened, we haven't gotten around to sending thank you cards yet...” Klavier wished he would stop looking at him – he would have thought he of all people would be used to that, but now it just felt like he had nowhere to hide the guilt plainly written on his face. It was unnerving. “I just want to know...why you didn't come.”
How could he put that into words? He hadn't known what to think when he'd gotten the invitation in the mail, hand addressed with the time and date neatly stamped on embossed card stock. There was a certain easy excitement that had come with holding the envelope in his hands – the weight of the paper had been a reminder that it was real, albeit overdue. But how much sooner could it have happened? And why on earth would they ever want to look out into a sea of smiling faces of their family and friends and see the very face staring back at them that was a reminder of everything that had cost them seven years of anniversaries?
“It should have happened sooner,” he mused, still lost in the memory of checking off “Regrets” next to his name. “It would have happened sooner...if things had happened differently."
It was no secret that Phoenix Wright's disbarment had opened up a schism in more than one of his relationships. Some were probably lost forever.
Phoenix straightened up, brow furrowing, as Klavier stayed hunched over the concrete under his hands. “That wasn't your fault.”
He wanted to believe that, more badly than he could admit. The desire for it to be true twisted hot and tight in his chest, and he ran the pad of his thumb across the smooth metal around his ring finger. “Who else's could it be?” he asked – damn, his voice was rough. He'd been neglecting his voice training since he'd stopped touring.
“Kristoph's,” Phoenix said bluntly. “He's the one who fooled all of us.”
“Including me.”
“All of us. You know if we hadn't wanted you there, we wouldn't have invited you.” He did put a hand on Klavier's arm this time. “I was angry with you, you know...at first. I was angry at a lot of people.” He shrugged. “But I got over it...I met Trucy. I got my badge back. I got married. I have enough going on in my life without wasting time being angry...”
He smiled, but his eyes were still weighted down with something heavy. It wasn't hard to figure out what it was. “Apollo will understand that too,” he said. “Eventually...”
“I hope so...” Phoenix sighed. “Maybe I deserve it but...god...I don't want him to hate me...”
Klavier swore he saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “Herr Wright,” he said, and Phoenix looked at him. “Apollo has a temper, sure. But you and I both know he's too good of a person to hate anyone.” He offered a little smile, hoping that maybe it would be enough to make Phoenix believe him. “He's like his sister that way.”
Phoenix wiped the tears from his eyes with one smooth swipe with the back of his hand, and slicked his hair back as he breathed in deep. “You're the last person I thought he'd end up with. I'm starting to get it now though.” He looked at him pointedly. “You really are nothing like your brother, you know that?”
Klavier's jaw hung open uselessly as he searched for words that just weren't there, and Phoenix gave him a pat on the back as he turned to go. “I don't think enough people have told you that before,” he said. “Anyway...thanks for everything, Klavier.”
Klavier watched him go, but Phoenix stopped again. “Hey...” the attorney said, still facing away from him. “I don't blame any of them for blaming me. What I did...I wish I could take it back.”
“I know,” Klavier said. The feeling was a painfully familiar one. For a moment, Phoenix brought a hand to his face. He stood there motionless for a moment before drawing in a breath, squaring his shoulders, and heading down the hospital steps.
I fkcued up
The second Klavier saw the text message, he scrambled to call Apollo's number again. It hadn't worked yet – all of the rest had gone right to voicemail. This time, though, Apollo answered, but it didn't put Klavier at ease. Not when he heard just how badly Apollo was slurring his words.
“Klav...I did something...stupid...”
“Forehead,” Klavier sighed. “What's going on? Where are you?”
“M'fine,” Apollo groaned, sounding exasperated. “Just...really...really drunk...so drunk...” There was a soft thud on the other line and some muffled cursing. Maybe Apollo had stumbled over something. “Today's been shit...”
“Ja...”
“I might've gotten kicked out of a bar.”
“What?”
“And I might've left a...less than pleasant voicemail on Mister Wright's phone...”
Klavier's relief was very quickly morphing into worry again. “Where are you? I'll pick you up, Apollo.”
“Well I was at Rooster's,” he sighed. “'Till they told me I had to get out. So now I'm...on the sidewalk outside Rooster's...”
“Don't go anywhere-” His phone beeped – another incoming call. “Just stay there, Forehead. I'll come get you, I promise.”
“Yeah...” Apollo grunted, and Klavier frowned as he switched over to the other call, already grabbing his keys and striding toward the door.
“What?” he barked, too distracted trying to find his wallet to manage anything more.
“Prosecutor Gavin,” a familiar voice steadily replied. “I'm calling about Mister Justice.”
Klavier paused, his hand hovering halfway to his wallet on the counter. “Ah...Herr Edgeworth...”
“I'll ignore the less than pleasant greeting,” Edgeworth said. “You've been through quite a lot today...and I am calling about a somewhat personal matter.” He cleared his throat. “You probably already know what it is, so you understand my desire for discretion.”
He sat down at the kitchen table, his wallet forgotten and his keys splaying out under his hand. “It's...about Apollo?”
“He left a rather impolite voicemail on Wright's phone. It wasn't entirely surprising, considering the...circumstances. But he seemed more than a little drunk.” Klavier could imagine. “I may be wrong, but considering your relationship...I thought you might know where he is.”
“You thought right,” Klavier admitted. At least alone in his own apartment, he didn't have to worry about hiding his blush. “He just called. He got kicked out of Rooster's Tavern. And 'more than a little drunk' is right. Much more than a little...”
“Christ...” Edgeworth muttered under his breath. “He'll need someone to make sure he gets home alright.”
“I was just about to-”
“No. Leave it to me.”
Klavier was halfway standing again, but he sat down as Edgeworth spoke. “Is that an order?” he asked – maybe not the best time to be facetious to his boss, but Edgeworth took it in stride.
“You can consider it one,” he replied. “I'll bring him to your apartment if that's alright. It's probably best he isn't alone, and I'm sure you understand why staying at our house wouldn't be the most helpful thing for him.”
“Ja...danke, Herr Edgeworth.”
“Bitte,” Edgeworth said. “And Gavin...trust me. I'll make sure he's alright.”
Something in his voice made it easy for Klavier to believe him. He hung up the phone and dropped his keys on the counter again before getting up to gather the extra blankets from the hall closet.
Fucking Phoenix Wright...
Apollo leaned against the wall of the bar, listening to the thrum of activity drifting from inside. His head was swimming, and his stomach was doing lazy, sloppy flips...If he wasn't so busy stoking his own anger, he would have felt ashamed for getting himself into this situation. And with cheap rum, no less. For shame.
Fucking piece of shit Phoenix Wright...
He rested his forehead on the cool brick, closing his eyes. God, that only made things worse, but if he opened them it looked like the sidewalk was made of goopy, swirling oatmeal. Fuck, that only made his stomach feel about a million times more unsettled...
Fucking...selfish...lying...Where was Klavier? He wanted to go home.
His head was too foggy, the aftertaste of bottom shelf rum too strong on the back of his tongue for him to focus on anything, even how fucking pissed off he was. He straightened up, steadied himself as best he could, and started walking. Started, and didn't make much progress beyond that before stepping off the curb and stumbling unceremoniously.
A car slowed to a crawl next to him – sleek and red with tinted windows. Apollo sighed, waiting for some irate driver to berate him for almost stepping into the road, but when the window rolled down, what was waiting on the other side wasn't a road-raging businessman.
It was so...so much worse.
“Mister Justice,” Edgeworth said, “I thought I might find you here.”
Apollo stared at him, blinking, his mouth hanging open. “Prosecutor...Edgeworth...”
“Get in the car, Justice,” he told him firmly, his voice perfectly calm.
“I...Klavier is...”
Edgeworth straightened his glasses and leaned over to press a button, unlocking the back door. “He would have, if I hadn't insisted. The car.” His tone didn't seem to come with any room for argument...but then again maybe that came with the territory of being Chief Prosecutor of an entire district, and driving a car that probably cost more than what Apollo could sell all his organs for on the black market.
And he was drunk.
So, so drunk.
On rum that may as well have been jet fuel mixed with molasses.
Too drunk to argue, so he sat in the back seat and pulled the door closed with as much dignity as he could manage, and Edgeworth pulled away from the curb without another word. Apollo watched the streetlights go by, feeling foggy and numb. Even his anger had started to fade...and after he'd spent so much energy trying to keep it going. It was almost disappointing.
“Do you make a habit of getting kicked out of bars?” Edgeworth asked when they stopped at a red light.
“Course not...” He leaned his head on the cool window. “I don't do shit like this...I shouldn't have...I was just so...so fucking mad. I thought it was gonna kill me...”
Edgeworth sighed, eyes fixed on the road. “I can't say I agree with my husband when it comes to what he did, and you have every right to be angry. But you also need to understand that he didn't make the choice alone.”
“What, cause he and my mom conspired to keep the fact that she was alive this whole time a secret?” he asked. That was petty. He was too drunk to care.
“I wouldn't call it conspiring...but it was certainly more complicated than you realize now.” He glanced at Apollo in the rear view mirror. “And if you want to be angry with everyone complicit in the whole thing...I deserve some of that anger as well.”
Apollo would have sat up if he'd had enough control of his own muscles. “You?”
“I'm his husband, Mister Justice,” Edgeworth said calmly. “And one of his oldest friends. We share everything, including blame in this case, if you want to call it that.” Even drunk, Apollo could see it – the tightening in his jaw, his knuckles tensing on the steering wheel. Whether it was frustration with Phoenix, or Thalassa, or something else entirely, Apollo couldn't even hope to figure out. At least not now. Maybe not even sober. Miles Edgeworth was a puzzle like that.
“I'm not asking you to forgive him,” Edgeworth added after the silence had passed. “Not now. Nor am I asking you to return to the Agency. All I ask is that you hear him out, when the time comes. You deserve to know the truth, and he deserves the chance to be the one to explain it.”
“I'd rather hear it from my mother,” Apollo mumbled.
“I hope you get that chance.” Edgeworth pulled up in front of an apartment building. “For now, I think a good first step would be sobering up.”
It was a strange experience, to say the least, being pulled out of the car by Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, draping his arm over the man's shoulders and letting him help him to the elevator. As they went up and up, the silence stretching on and on, Apollo caught a glimpse of himself in the polished finish of the inner doors.
Shit...he'd really done a number on himself tonight. He didn't even have room his anger anymore with all that regret...and all that rum...
“Prosecutor Edgeworth,” he mumbled as the doors opened - (Bye bye, reflection...and good riddance...) - and they made their way down the hall, “Is Trucy okay?”
Edgeworth reached out to knock on the door. “She'll be fine.”
Klavier tugged open the door, eyes wide and hair an absolute hopeless mess, frizzy and tangled. Apollo was so drunk that it was all he could focus on, and he felt himself start to laugh. “You look like shit,” he quipped.
“Forehead...” Klavier sighed. He looked up at Edgeworth, brow knitted in concern and confusion.
For a few seconds, he just stood there, stunned, until Edgeworth said, “A hand, if you don't mind?”
“Oh!” Klavier reached for them, and Apollo's other arm was draped over his shoulders. The two prosecutors got him inside and over to the sofa, and Apollo sighed in relief when he was finally, blissfully horizontal. He stared vaulted ceiling arching over Klavier's living room, thankful that Klavier's aesthetic tended toward dimmer mood lighting as he closed his eyes.
Klavier and Edgeworth were speaking in hushed tones, and Apollo was too drunk and too tired to bother trying to make any of it out, despite the fact that he knew they were talking about him. A blanket was draped over him a few moments later when their voices had faded into silence.
“I trust you have this under control from here,” Edgeworth said.
“Ja, sicher,” Klavier said, his hand pressing gently against Apollo's temple.
Apollo listened as Edgeworth's footsteps grew more distant, and he opened his eyes for one more moment. “Prosecutor Edgeworth,” he called, sitting up slowly against the arm of the sofa. “Thank you...for driving me...”
And for more than that, but the rest was too complicated for him to put into words right now. Edgeworth smiled, though, and turned away again as he straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Thank you for not vomiting in my car,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 23
Notes:
A shorter chapter this time, but I hope you guys don't mind. After everything in the last chapter, we're finally building to the resolution. B)
Chapter Text
Seven hours of restless sleep later, Apollo settled in on Klavier's bathroom floor to ride out the worst hangover he'd had since law school. The sleek black tile was freezing against his ass and hands, and the shower's chrome finish reflected way too much early morning sunlight. When he'd stumbled in, head spinning and eyes barely open, he'd figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the toilet rather than the sink.
Turned out it was more like a thirty-thirty-thirty chance, and he'd narrowly avoided puking in the bidet. Because of fucking course Klavier's bathroom had a bidet.
(Fuck you, bidet,) Apollo thought as his head pounded, and dry-heaved over the polished porcelain.
The door opened, and the almost inaudible creak of the floorboards under Klavier's feet sounded like thunder echoing in Apollo's skull. “Go away,” he groaned into the toilet bowl.
Thankfully, Klavier didn't listen. He knelt next to him, not seeming to mind the stench of vomit and the world's worst morning breath as he handed Apollo a cup. “Think you can keep down some water?”
“Fucking hope so.” Apollo reached for it, bringing it to his lips. His stomach protested, but every other cell in his body might as well have been singing in celebration as he swallowed a tiny bit of cool water. “Rum tastes as bad coming up as it did going down...”
Klavier was staring at him, and Apollo knew what was coming. He could see the gears turning behind those blue eyes of his. His brow was furrowed – (Worry) – his the corners of his mouth drawn downward – (Disappointment) – his lips pressed tightly together – (Guilt...?). Whatever it was that Klavier was feeling, he was trying to figure out just how to put it into words.
Quietly, Apollo hoped.
“Klav...” he said when the water had settled in his stomach. “I know you're disappointed in me...”
“I'm glad you're safe,” Klavier said. “I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before.”
“Haven't been since law school,” Apollo admitted. “Not really. I didn't...I didn't plan on it...drowning my sorrows...” He scoffed, staring at the swirling surface of the water in the cup. He had the look away when it made his stomach lurch again. “Certainly didn't plan on having the Chief Prosecutor of Los Angeles drive me home...or here...”
“Did you plan on leaving that voicemail for Herr Wright?”
“Shit...didn't remember that part...” He rested his forehead on the edge of the toilet bowl, relishing the feeling of the cool material against his skin. But other memories flashed through his mind when he tried to think back on it, and something in his chest strained like an over-tightened knot. “Trucy...is she-”
“She's fine, schatzi,” Klavier said, pressing his palm against Apollo's back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. “Been texting me all morning, asking how you were.”
Fuck...now the tears were coming. He was too exhausted and too sore to try and hold them back, so he let Klavier rub his back, and let his weak, ugly sobs echo listlessly against the cold tile under his knees.
He made it back to the sofa once his stomach was done kicking back all the bad decisions he'd made at the bar the night before, and he crawled under the blanket and slept for another two hours. He woke up again to the smell of toast and eggs, and the sound of Klavier humming. Even with a fuzzy, sleepy, hungover brain, Apollo recognized the tune.
“Is that Sweet Caroline?” he rasped, and Klavier turned just as he sat up on the sofa, the humming abruptly stopping.
“Did I wake you?”
Somehow, when Apollo thought about Klavier cooking breakfast, he pictured him in puffy oven mitts and a white frilly apron with “Kiss the Cook” scrawled over the front of it – like a blond rockstar version of Marie Calendar, with more piercings and fewer wrinkles. It was a ridiculous image, and one he knew would never be real, but it was still jarring to see Klavier in sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, hair sloppily tied back and thick-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
“N...no,” Apollo said, shaking his head to stop himself staring. “My stomach did...don't worry, I'm not gonna puke again.” He nodded at the frying pan on the stove. “You're making breakfast?” He rubbed his eyes. “And...singing seventies soft rock?”
“Sixties,” Klavier told him as he dropped a spoonful of eggs and two slices of toast on a plate and slid it across the kitchen island. “And I'm a man of many talents, Forehead. Or have you already forgotten?” He flashed a bright smile as he turned around again, and Apollo dragged himself over and sat down in front of his breakfast.
It was a strange sensation, feeling both queasy and ravenous, but the second won out, and he nibbled on the toast, gaze fixed on the granite counter top. “You're not gonna try and...talk about last night?”
Klavier paused, his shoulders finally drooping as he sighed. He seemed to stare down at the pans in the sink for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally said, “I was scared, Forehead. All of us were. And I'm not used to...feeling scared for other people.” He finally turned, smiling in a way that made him look almost shy as he leaned back against the counter. “Not used to feeling many of the things I do for you, Apollo.”
How the hell did he come up with things like that? Like they were just things normal people said?
It took him three tries, but he finally swallowed his miniscule bite of toast. “We still haven't even gotten that damn coffee yet,” he finally said. It was the first thing that popped into his mind. “Haven't even really been on one date...”
“Does this not count?”
Apollo raised an eyebrow. “It would be a pretty shitty date, Klav.”
“There's food,” Klavier countered. “There's you, and me. I can light some candles if you want.” Apollo took another bite of toast, if only to cover his growing smile. “I have a reputation to uphold after all – I don't do bad dates, Forehead.” He reached up, flipping his bangs out of his eyes. A flash of color caught Apollo's eye, and he froze mid-bite, a forkful of eggs hovering just an inch from his mouth.
“Is that...red hair?” he asked. Klavier blinked. “Under your bangs...your hair – it looked-”
He swore he saw Klavier's cheeks turn pink. “Ach...I guess my roots are showing. I haven't been as good about keeping up with them since I stopped touring. My fans got so used to the platinum blond...it would have been a shame to break them out of the illusion.”
Apollo almost choked. “You're a ginger?”
“I'm surprised you didn't notice – I don't dye anything other than the hair on my head.”
It was Apollo's turn to feel his cheeks heat up, but he had a point. Now that he thought about it, Klavier's neatly groomed curls below the belt had seemed a little darker than he'd expected, but in the low light and the heat of things, he hadn't paid it much attention.
His smile faded – he'd barely realized it had slipped onto his face at all – and he stared down at his plate, his food barely touched. His head still ached, reminding him of the night before, of everything he'd done and everything that had driven him to do it. He was jobless, full of guilt and more questions than he'd had when he'd first gone to Kay for help all those weeks ago, and somehow in the middle of all of that, he'd wound up dating Klavier Gavin.
Not that he regretted that. It the wake of everything, he just had trouble convincing himself that he deserved it.
“I quit my job,” he muttered.
After a moment of contemplative silence, Klavier asked, “Do you regret it?”
Apollo shook his head. “That's not it. I couldn't go back there...I can't go back there...” He let out a heavy sigh. “I'm so angry,” he admitted, so quietly that he wondered if anyone but the eggs on his plate could hear him at all. “I'm so...fucking angry, Klavier. I'm angry, and...and confused...and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do about it.”
“I know the feeling,” Klavier told him, and Apollo looked up at him, finding him frowning down at his folded arms on the counter.
(Of course he does,) he thought, and seeing those glasses and that light golden hair framing the a familiar face that Klavier saw every day in the mirror, it wasn't hard to remember why. Maybe that red hair would suit him better if he grew it out instead of bleaching it back to the color his fans expected of him.
“So what do I do about it?” Apollo asked, and it came out sounding even more desperate than he'd though it could. “I can't keep...punching walls and getting drunk, so what am I supposed to do?”
He didn't know if he really wanted an answer. Maybe he just wanted the question to have somewhere else to go that wasn't his own head. Klavier shrugged. “I wrote music,” he offered. “A lot of it – most of it never made it onto paper.”
“I'm not exactly musically gifted,” Apollo sighed.
“I beg to differ – I've heard you sing in the shower.” He shook his head, his smile faltering and melting into a pensive frown. “If you really want to know the truth, Forehead...if you want to know how I coped when my father died, or when Kristoph revealed what he'd done...I didn't. Not well, at least...so I can hardly blame you for spiraling a bit when I did my fair share.”
Apollo watched him closely as Klavier rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, like the bad memories were pent up in his muscles. He scooped another forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed slowly as he pushed the plate away. “This isn't a bad date,” he said.
Klavier's eyebrows arched. “You think?”
“I mean...I've been on worse.”
Klavier let out a small laugh, flipping his bangs back as he looked up at Apollo again, and he got another flash of that red-orange tint hiding on his hairline. “I'll take it, schatzi. But one of these days I'll really wine and dine you, if only for tradition's sake.”
He liked the sound of that. But there was something he had to take care of first.
Klavier's office was lined with windows that looked out over the city below – something that made Apollo wonder how he ever got any work done. His stomach turned as he drew the curtains over the glass so that he didn't have to stare down at the streets all those stories down...Without the sunlight streaming in, the room was dim and quiet, a blessing for the hangover he was still nursing, but he couldn't quite fight off the urge to fidget as he sat down in Klavier's ergonomic office chair in front of the laptop on his desk.
To his credit, Clay made telling him the truth easy. As easy as it could be, at least. His friend sat there, watching and listening with an almost solemn look on his face, as Apollo told him everything – from the phone call he'd overheard to punching a whole through Ema's living room wall to quitting his jaw at the agency and getting embarrassingly drunk. Clay didn't laugh once, didn't interrupt even when surprise flashed across his features, just listened and waited until Apollo was done.
Apollo took a breath, relief flooding his chest and loosening the knot that had formed there. And finally – finally – Clay ran a hand through his hair and quietly said, “You have a mom?”
Apollo shrugged. “I always did, I guess.”
“No...Pollo...you have a...she's alive.” It wasn't a question. He'd heard Apollo clearly, and he knew exactly what it meant.
“I quit my job...” Apollo sighed. “I made an ass of myself-”
“Pollo, your mom is alive.” There was something different in his voice, something that made Apollo look up at him again. Clay was staring at him, incredulously, with tears streaking down his cheeks. He smiled, even as more tears joined them. “I mean, it's a fucking mess, don't get me wrong, but do you get what that means? She's alive. You could...you could meet her, Pollo. Isn't that what you wanted when you started all this?”
“I...I don't know...”
“You have a chance, Pollo – a real chance. Not many people get that, you know?” He wiped his eyes, muttering something as he covered them with his hand and drew in a shuddering breath. “You gotta take this, Pollo...”
“Clay...”
“No! You have to take this and run with it!” Clay insisted, eyes watery and red and gleaming. “You have a chance to make all this shit worth it! Maybe it's not the picture perfect ending you wanted, but you have to take it!” Apollo stared at him as Clay sniffled and laughed. “You have a sister and a filthy rich boyfriend – all you gotta do now is start your own law firm like you always talked about and you'll be on the road to the perfect life.”
Apollo managed to smile. “You really think I should do it?” he finally said. “You really think I should find her...talk to her...”
“Hell yeah I do.”
“She hasn't given me much reason to think she wants me to...”
“Then make her,” Clay pressed. “You deserve to hear it from her. You won't know for sure until you do right?”
He was right. Apollo knew he was right. But it didn't make the decision an easy one. Even after they'd signed off and Apollo had closed the laptop again, he didn't get up from the desk. He sat there, in Klavier's obnoxiously comfortable chair and stared at the newspaper clippings and pictures lining the wall in front of him.
Not a single surface was blank – all of it was covered: bookshelves stuffed full of everything from legal texts to romance novels and books on music theory; newspaper clippings chronicling every one of Klavier's cases in the public record – even the losses, all of them by Apollo's hand; tabloid articles lined up like a timeline from the release of Klavier's first album to the breakup of the Gavinners. There was only one blank space, and it stood out as much as anything else adorning the walls. Maybe more. It was small – just the size and shape of a standard picture frame.
Apollo didn't know what used to be there, but he could guess. It seemed to have been left very intentionally empty, like a reminder that what had been there before was gone.
But something next to it caught his eye – a tiny picture, just a few inches wide and tattered at the edges. It was a photo of a man with a guitar, and for a moment Apollo thought it might be Klavier, but a closer look revealed that it couldn't be. The man had Klavier's sharp blue eyes and his sharp jawline, but his face was lined with a few more wrinkles, and his hair was a striking copper red.
He didn't know how long he stood there staring at it, but the door slowly opened again. “I swear wasn't eavesdropping,” Klavier promised as he leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “I noticed you'd stopped talking...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Apollo looked up at him, then down at the photograph and back again. They looked so much alike... “I'm fine,” he said, truthfully, feeling himself smile as he did. “You should grow out your hair.”
Klavier blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Your real hair. That color would look good on you...”
“Well...if there's anyone's opinion I trust, it's yours, Forehead,” Klavier said with an easy grin. “You talked to Herr Terran?”
“Yeah...and he was right. I don't have a job, and I made a complete idiot of myself...but I have a mom. Someone who can actually answer all my questions...and I figure I deserve to hear it from her.”
“You're going to look for her then?” Klavier asked.
“I have to,” he said. “I came this far already. And I won't be starting from scratch. I know she's alive, and I know that Mister Wright at least knows how to contact her. If that's the only way to track her down, I'll do it.” He scratched his neck. "Might make the hangover worth it..."
Klavier studied him hesitantly. “You realize that might mean talking to him...”
“Yeah...but I have to. If he's the only lead I have, I have to follow it.”
After a long moment, Klavier straightened up and said, “When was the last time anyone told you that you were a good lawyer, Forehead?”
“Uh...not sure,” Apollo admitted with a shrug.
Klavier nodded. “Remind me to do it more often.” He reached out, taking Apollo's hand. “Let me take you for that coffee, Apollo.”
“Huh – now?”
“I'm tired of putting it off. We can come up with a plan of attack, figure out how we're going to find her. Together.” Next thing Apollo knew, Klavier was bringing his hand up to his lips and pressing them against Apollo's knuckle. Heat bloomed up his arm and spread across his face in a second. “And if I am going to be your filthy rich boyfriend, it's the least I can do.”
“I thought you weren't eavesdropping.”
“I wasn't...but you did have the volume all the way up, and your best friend is about as quiet as you are.”
Apollo sighed, looking up at him again. Determination spiked in his chest, and he turned his hand in Klavier's loose grip and entwining their fingers together. He pulled it close, pressing the back of Klavier's hand to his own mouth and watching as Klavier's eyes went wide. “You wanna be in this together, huh?” he asked.
“Ja, schatzi,” Klavier said, sounding like he was floating.
“Okay,” Apollo breathed. He supposed it was time to make a plan. “Then let's go get that coffee.”
Chapter 24
Notes:
Aaaahhhhh this is so overdue...thank you for your patience and for your feedback. I appreciate every comment I get even if I'm really bad at remembering to respond to them. :]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The smell of coffee hitting Apollo's nostrils felt like a chorus of angels welcoming him through the gates of heaven, and he breathed it in deep as Klavier led him through the doorway. “You approve, Forehead?” Klavier asked him.
Yes. Yes he did.
He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Certainly not a Starbucks or anything. But he also hadn't been expecting a twenty-minute drive across town to a tiny coffeeshop that didn't even have a name over the door – just an address number in rusted script.
“Is this where you take all your first dates?” Apollo asked him as they sat down on a plush loveseat by the window.
Klavier shrugged, his smile never slipping. “On the ones I really like,” he quipped. “And the ones I trust. This place is my best-kept secret.”
“Do you own it or something?”
“Nein, I never got into the coffee business.”
To be sure, though, if Klavier had, this was certainly the kind of place he would make his own. The ceiling was draped with hanging lights that cast a warm golden glow over the brick and wood that made up the small cafe's interior. It had the feeling of a building that had been here before everything around it, sturdy and well-worn, the walls plastered with paintings of flowers and mountains and nighttime city skylines: New York, Seattle, Paris, just to name a few that Apollo could see easily from their seat.
A woman approached them, grinning madly with a pair of mugs on a tray resting on her arm, the floorboards creaking softly under her feet as she made her way over. “Here's the usual,” she said as she cleared a pink fringe of bangs from her face with a flick of her head and a smile. She set the mugs down, and Apollo stared at them. “And one of the same for your friend – on the house.”
“Danke, Ellie,” Klavier said. He reached for the mug when it had barely hit the table top. “And he's a date, actually.”
“Oh! Even better!” She winked at Apollo. “You must be Apollo then.”
Klavier choked the same moment that Apollo did. “Um...yeah, I'm-” Apollo glanced over as Klavier valiantly tried to hide behind the steam rising from his mug. “Are you gossiping about yourself?”
Ellie delicately pressed the tips of her fingers to her mouth. “Oh...have I said too much?” She looked like she was trying desperately not to giggle. “Well...let me know if you'd like something more than the hazelnut latte. The pecan meringues are a big hit lately.”
“Two of those, bitte,” Klavier said, clearing his throat. “And one of the pain au chocolat to cover our bases.”
Ellie smiled and nodded, and as soon as she was out of earshot – maybe not quite – Apollo turned to Klavier again. “You talk about me?”
He wasn't angry, but Klavier bit his lip and flushed regardless. “Maybe a bit. Nothing intimate, though, don't you worry.” He moved closer, so that his leg was pressed up lightly against Apollo's, and he wrapped an arm around Apollo's shoulders and pointed over to the corner of the cafe. “Do you see that over there?”
Apollo looked, following Klavier's finger to a small stage prepared with an ornate wooden chair and a microphone stand and not much else, all set against a backdrop of dark purple curtains.
“That's where I've been spending my Thursday nights,” Klavier told him. “The ones I can spare anyway.” He shrugged. “It's no sold-out stadium, but a performer's heart never really leaves the stage.”
Apollo blinked, then looked back at him. “You've been doing open-mics?”
“Well, not exactly. They block out an hour for me every so often. It's not advertized or publicized, but it brings in a good crowd regardless. So I get my drinks free.” He winked as he brought the mug to his lips again as Apollo just kept on staring. “Try the coffee, schatzi. It's some of the best you'll find anywhere.”
It was, Apollo had to admit. He turned over what Klavier had told him as he sipped his latte in comfortable silence. Two meringues and half of a pain au chocolat between them later, Klavier took a long breath and leaned his head back.
“So...” he said, “We ought to come up with a plan, ja?”
Right, this wasn't just a date – this was a strategy meeting. Apollo nodded, but didn't speak, and Klavier's brows knit together. “That is...if you still want to find her.”
“I have to,” Apollo said. “After all this...I can't just give up.” He stared down at his wrist, at the splint still covering his skin, and for a moment he swore he could taste the astringent burn of cheap liquor all over again. He grimaced, reaching for another bite of pain au chocolat even though he wasn't hungry, just to get that memory off his tongue.
“We should call Kay,” he said after he'd swallowed, and all he could taste was the sweet, buttery chocolate instead of bottom-shelf rum. “She'll know what to do. If my mother is alive, there's got to be a way to find her.”
Klavier hesitated for a moment, like he was weighing options in his head before he finally spoke: “You know...there is another person who might be able to help.”
Apollo studied his face, and the pieces clicked together when he saw the hope and regret mixing in Klavier's eyes. “No. Hell no.”
“Apollo-”
“No!” Apollo smashed his hand down on the table, drawing the gazes of the waitstaff and making his hand throb. He held it tight to his chest as he sighed. “I can't...can't talk to him. I can't ask him for help.”
“You said you head him talking to her,” Klavier pressed. “Apollo, he knows her. He knows how to contact her. If anyone is a good lead, it's Phoenix Wright.”
Apollo glowered down at the table and the last crumbs of bread and meringue littering their plates. “I don't even remember what I said to him last night,” he sighed. “For all I know, I burned that bridge to a crisp.”
Klavier reached for him, slowly, wrapping his fingers around Apollo's injured wrist and lacing covering it with his hands. “Hard to tell...but he does care about you, Apollo. What he did...what he kept from you...I'm not saying it wasn't wrong. But he didn't do it out of malice.”
“He did it – that's what matters.”
“He's Trucy's father.” Apollo's chest ached. “You'll have to face him eventually.”
Apollo knew that. Of course he knew it. He hadn't been able to get it out of his head since he'd managed to start thinking straight again. Trucy was a part of his life, woven so intricately into it that it would have been impossible to separate her, and Apollo didn't want it any other way. But Trucy was a Wright as much as she was a Gramarye now, and that meant he had to take everything else – everyone else that came with her too.
“Let's talk to Kay first,”Apollo insisted, softly. “Then if she thinks we should...I'll call him.”
Even though he knew it would – that it had to – there was a big part of Apollo that hoped it wouldn't come to that.
They took another order of pecan meringues to go, wrapped up neatly in a pink cardboard box. Klavier slipped Ellie a sizeable tip – Apollo didn't see how much, but he did see her staring at it as they walked out – and squeezed Apollo's arm as they walked back to the car. Even with Klavier's sunglasses in the way and his hair down, Apollo could tell he was perturbed. Why shouldn't he be? He was wrapped up in this as much as Apollo was now...
But Apollo didn't let himself feel guilty as they drove. Slowly, the buildings became a little more recognizable until they pulled up in front of the familiar office and parked behind a sleek red sports car.
“She'll know what to do,” Apollo caught himself saying as they got out and headed up the stairs, more to himself than to anybody else. She had to know what to do. Kay Faraday had gotten him this far – he didn't see any reason she shouldn't be able to get him the rest of the way. He repeated it over and over in his head as he stepped over the threshold again.
The waiting area was cleaner now, organized and well-lit, but quiet. Almost unnervingly quiet. “Maybe she's not here,” Klavier offered, but Apollo could see shadows moving on the other side of the frosted glass that separated them from her office, and muffled voices spilled out from inside.
She was here, but it didn't seem she was alone. Nothing odd there, Apollo thought to himself. After all, she had to have other clients – people who wanted to know whether their spouses were cheating on them or if their business partners were embezzling money. She had to make a living somehow, so he put the waiting room to good use and waited.
It didn't take long for the voices to fade into silence, and finally, the door opened. The first one over the threshold was Kay herself, and she looked like she'd been expecting him. “A.J.,” she said with a little wan smile. “I figured you'd probably be coming by. Didn't think you'd be bringing celebrity company.” She nodded to Klavier.
“Fraulein Faraday,” Klavier greeted with a nod. “I hear you've been the star of the show when it comes to helping Herr Forehead find his family.”
“I don't know about star,” Kay said on the edge of a laugh. “We saw your car pull up. Just wanted to get all our ducks in a row before we came out to talk to you.”
“We?” Apollo repeated, but the inherent question was answered just a moment later as Miles Edgeworth stepped up behind Kay.
“Mister Justice,” he said, his expression almost unreadable. But tired. Definitely tired. “Good to see you with your faculties fully intact again.”
Apollo's face heated enough that he could practically feel the coffee from earlier boiling into vapor in his stomach. “P-Prosecutor Edgeworth...I...” He hung his head. “I'm so sorry...the way I acted last night...I shouldn't have...it was inexcusable and-”
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He heard Edgeworth sigh. “You don't need to apologize,” he said, his voice suddenly soft and welcoming. “You were upset. And that's one hell of an understatement...Anyone would have been in your position.”
Apollo didn't look up just yet – he looked over at Klavier, just barely able to read the encouragement in his eyes as he nodded and smiled. Finally, Apollo faced Edgeworth again. “Give it to me straight...how bad was the voicemail?”
Edgeworth grimaced, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to make guilt start to swim in Apollo's gut. “It's long since deleted. I can promise you that. And Trucy didn't hear a word of it.”
He hadn't realized just how badly he'd needed to hear that. His shoulders slackened a bit.
“And Wright,” Edgeworth continued. “Well...my husband regrets the way this happened. This whole situation is...” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. “...a real dilemma.”
“I guess that's one word for it,” Apollo admitted, absently rubbing the splint on his wrist. He caught Edgeworth eying it, his brow pinched and a pair of deep lines creasing the corners of his mouth as he frowned. “Prosecutor Edgeworth...I don't have any problem with you. And I'm really grateful for your help last night, even though I don't remember it very well...”
“I thought you might not.” He swore that was the edge of a laugh in Edgeworth's voice just then...
“But...with all due respect,” Apollo continued, “This doesn't have anything to do with you.”
Edgeworth's brows rose, and he felt Klavier stiffen next to him. But if Edgeworth took offense, it didn't show on his face. Kay stepped forward through the doorway, sympathy painted in her eyes as she spoke: “Apollo...you're wrong – he came here to-”
But Edgeworth lifted a hand, just barely, enough for her to go quiet again. “It's alright, Kay,” he said. “This isn't between him and myself. It isn't even between him and Wright.” He turned to Apollo again. “But you're wrong, Mister Justice. This very much does involve me, to a certain degree.” He took a breath and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was looking at Klavier. “As you might understand, when you care deeply for someone, you take on some of their pain. And Phoenix is my husband. His mistakes are his own, but their consequences affect our entire family.”
He looked back at Kay again before meeting Apollo's eye. “And I...have something I need to confess. Wright wasn't the only one who knew that your mother was alive. He needed my help, and I offered it, but neither of us had any idea that it would come to this.”
Apollo stared at him, swallowing against the dryness that had suddenly taken hold in his throat. “You...you knew?”
Edgeworth nodded. “So I suppose you do have a problem with me.”
A hand pressed gently against his arm – Klavier's, judging from the soft drag of metal against his shirt. But Apollo pulled away, taking a step toward Edgeworth. “Why?” he asked, his voice rough. “I...I wanna know why. Why did you...did both of you...keep this a secret?”
“We shouldn't have,” Edgeworth told him. “We wanted to tell you...you and Trucy. Keeping this from you was hard, but keeping it from her...from our own daughter...please believe me when I say it was torture.” His voice was strained, grating over the edge of every word, like they hurt him. “We were trying to protect you. Both of you.”
“From what? What could possibly be so bad that you had to keep this from us? What terrible secret could my mother possibly have that it would make this okay?”
“She didn't remember you, Apollo,” Kay said, and all eyes turned to her. She looked at him with her eyes wide and glistening, her hands clasped in front of her like she was begging him to listen, to understand. “She...she had some kind of accident. She lost her memory. She didn't abandon you and Trucy because she didn't want you, or because she didn't care. She didn't know...”
Edgeworth sighed, his lips pressed in a hard line, and Apollo felt the bottom drop out from his stomach. “She...doesn't know me?” he asked.
“She does,” Edgeworth assured him. “She regained her memory, but only recently. She's been rebuilding an entire life from scraps, trying to find the right time. And Wright and I...we've been trying to help her. Trying to keep everything in check until she was ready. But obviously it was much more complicated than we realized...”
Apollo looked at him, and suddenly the pain in his eyes made sense. The tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion tugging at his features – he wondered just how long he'd been carrying this secret. His secret. And all in a fledgling marriage, no less.
He'd seen that same expression on Wright's face, and if he'd noticed, he would have bet anything that Trucy had too.
He swallowed hard and looked back up at him again. “Thank you...” he forced out. “All of you...thank you for helping me find the truth...” He could feel their eyes on him, so he held the tears back. He wiped his eyes with his healthy hand and took a breath. “But I need to hear this from her.”
Edgeworth nodded. “Luckily, that may be much easier than you'd think.” He glanced back at Kay, and Apollo's heart leaped. “As you might have already guessed, we've been speaking with her for some time. And we've all agreed – Wright, Thalassa, and myself – that this charade has gone on long enough. She's coming here, Apollo. She's coming to tell you the truth herself.”
Apollo swayed on his feet. “W-when?”
“Soon...last I heard, she's getting a flight by the end of the week.”
“I already said she can come here,” Kay chimed in. “So you two can talk alone.” Her voice quaked a little as she talked – whether from excitement or anxiety or some other emotion, Apollo didn't know.
“Does Trucy know?” Apollo asked.
“She will,” Edgeworth promised. “Thalassa wants to see both of you. But she wanted to speak with you first.” The smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. “For what it's worth...when we told her just what you'd managed to do, and how much you'd managed to uncover with Kay's help, she sounded exceedingly proud.”
Apollo's breath caught in his throat. He nodded, biting his lip. “Okay,” he said, and just that word felt like it carried a weight of finality to it that he couldn't explain. “But...but before all that...there's something I need to do first.”
Apollo brought his fist to the door and knocked, heart racing as he waited. He glanced over his shoulder at Edgeworth's car parked in the driveway; the prosecutor was still keeping his eyes fixed on the steering wheel in front of him. He'd asked to have the chance to talk alone, on the condition that he didn't take any swings. He figured that was an easy enough promise to keep.
His mouth went dry as the door opened, and Phoenix Wright's eyes went wide when he saw him. “Oh,” his old boss said softly. “A-Apollo...”
His hair was a mess, gel from the day before still sticking in all the wrong spots. His eyes were tired, no doubt from lack of sleep, and it seemed like the wrinkles around his mouth had amplified a hundred times since he'd last seen him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Apollo mimicked one of Edgeworth's gestures of choice and held up a hand to stop him.
“Don't say anything,” he said, and Phoenix closed his mouth. “I...I'm not ready to hear any apologies just yet. I will eventually, but...not now.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the folded, crumpled envelope he'd shoved there, handing it to Phoenix. “That's my official letter of resignation from the Wright Anything Agency.”
Those words were harder to get out than he'd thought. Watching Phoenix's face fall didn't make it any easier. To his credit, though, Phoenix took it, sighing as he looked at it.
Apollo took another breath. “Edgeworth told me why you did what you did,” he said. “That doesn't mean I forgive you, or that I think it's okay. But I...I think I understand a little better. And that's all I really wanted – to understand.” He folded his arms tightly in front of him, fingers running over his bracelet on one arm and his splint on the other, and he looked Phoenix in the eye. He could do that, at least – look another man in the eye as he told him the truth.
“Keeping that secret for as long as you did...from me, and from your daughter...it must've been really lonely, Mister Wright.”
Phoenix's shoulders slumped, his eyes filling with emotion as he held the envelope tightly in his hand. “I know you don't want to hear it,” he said, “But I'm so sorry, Apollo.”
Apollo nodded, and held out a hand, sunlight glinting off his bracelet as he did. “Thank you.”
Phoenix took it and shook it firmly.
As he slid into the passenger's seat of Klavier's car, Apollo let out a massive sigh of relief, feeling the tension in his chest and shoulders melt away. “You alright?” Klavier asked him.
“No,” Apollo said. “But I feel better.”
In the rear view mirror, as they pulled away from the curb, Apollo glimpsed Edgeworth finally making his way up the steps of his house and pulling his husband into a tight embrace.
Notes:
Next chapter is exactly what you think it's gonna be. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I'm excited and I hope y'all are too. <3
Chapter 25
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“She's coming?” Ema asked, sounding like she'd just gotten the wind knocked out of her. “She's really coming? You're sure?”
“She's coming,” Klavier confirmed. “At least she promised she would. I only hope she keeps her word.”
“She damn well better. She owes him and Trucy that much, at least...to show up after all these years making them think she was dead-”
“You and I both know it's not that simple-”
“Do we?” Ema snapped. “How do we know this Thalassa character isn't some flaky low-life who's just gonna leave them wondering again?”
Klavier sighed. “I guess I just like to believe the best of people.”
There was silence. A long silence. Then Ema spoke again: “Yeah well...that's noble of you, Gavin. I guess...”
Apollo wondered if they knew he could hear them. As soon as he'd turned off his shower, their voices had drifted through from the other side of his poorly sealed bathroom door. He half-listened as he toweled off his hair and pulled on clean clothes, part of him wishing that they would talk about something – anything – else. Another part of him hoped that maybe their bickering would help him settle on a way to feel about all this.
Like Ema, he was angry – angry that he'd been put through all this only to find out that the answer had been so close the whole time. Angry that all of it was now out of his hands. Angry that he could do nothing except sit here and hope that some woman he couldn't remember ever meeting would follow through on a promise to fly God knows how far just to see him. And on top of all of that, angry that he was out of a job.
But like Klavier, he deeply, desperately, longingly hoped that it would all turn out for the better. For his sake, and more importantly, for Trucy's, he hoped that their mother was as good of a person as he'd always imagined her to be.
He took a breath and opened the door, and Klavier and Ema's heads both whipped around to face him, the two of them finally going silent.
“You know I can hear you talking about me, right?” Apollo said. At least they both had the decency to blush.
“Can you really blame us?” Ema asked, a little sheepishly.
Apollo tossed his towel into the laundry hamper and futiley tried to slick his damp hair back from his face. “I'd probably be talking about me too,” he admitted. “Thanks for coming over, Ema. You didn't have to.”
“Like hell I didn't have to,” she said, hands planted firmly on her hips. “I may not be getting into your pants like this one here, but I'm still your friend. And if this woman doesn't show up, I'll track her down myself.”
“She'll come,” Klavier said. “We may as well have a little faith, don't you think Forehead?” He turned to face Apollo with a supportive little smile, but his expression fell a moment later. “Don't you think so?”
He wanted to, but he ran his fingers over his bracelet and didn't like the idea of feeling it squeeze his wrist if he said he did. Instead, he mustered up as big of a smile as he could manage – which wasn't very big at all – and said, “I'm just gonna get some sleep.”
As he closed the bedroom door, he heard Ema mutter, “Not gonna join your boyfriend, Gavin?”
“Maybe I ought to give him some space for now,” Klavier sighed.
Apollo collapsed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His music player lay ignored in one up-turned palm. He didn't think even Lamiroir's voice could soothe him to sleep tonight. His old reliable method of relaxing seemed too trivial now against the backdrop of harsh reality that was starting to close in.
His mother wasn't a fantasy anymore that he could fill in with whatever details he pleased. She was a real, flesh-and-blood human, with fears and insecurities and flaws. And soon – if all went according to plan – he'd get the chance to learn all about them.
(Great,) a bitter little voice piped up in the back of his head, (She can finally disappoint me in person.)
He swatted it away, burying his face in the pillow to keep it in the easily-ignored periphery of his mind. He only looked up again when he felt his phone vibrating on the pillow beside him, and he picked up without looking at the number on the screen. “H'llo...”
“Hi Polly.”
He sat up. “Trucy,” he breathed. “Hey...it's late. What are you-”
She pulled in a breath – ragged, strained. She'd been crying, or she was about to. Either way, the sound of it made his stomach ache. “My dads...they told me what happened.”
His resignation from the Agency, his estrangement of her father...oh god, what was she thinking? That he didn't want anything to do with her family anymore? “Truce, I-”
“Is our mom really coming, Polly?”
Oh.
Apollo let out a long breath. “I...I don't know. I think so, but there aren't any guarantees, I guess.” (No point sugar-coating it,) he thought. She was more adult than a lot of people he knew most days anyway. He swallowed as a question he hadn't considered came to his mind. “Do you...do you want to see her?”
“I don't know,” she said, sniffling. “I mean...I do, but...I just don't know if I'm ready yet. It's all happening so fast. I thought she was dead...”
“Yeah.” He wished he could offer more words of wisdom, but it was all he could manage. “Yeah...”
“Do you?”
Instead of answering, Apollo thought back to that day that felt so long ago now, when they'd sat in the park practicing for Trucy's big show. When she'd figured it all out before he'd even gotten the chance to think she might. “You told me a while ago that you had a lot of questions for her,” he said quietly. “For your mom...I'm curious. What kind of things do you want to ask her?”
“I...” He could hear her shifting uneasily. “I had a lot of questions when I thought she was dead...I wanted to know if she'd be happy that I became a magician like her, or if she hoped I'd do something different. I wanted to know how she fell in love with my first dad.” She let out a fragile little laugh. “I wanted to know if she ever wanted me to have any siblings, but that's kinda a moot point now.”
“I guess,” he chuckled.
“But I don't know, Polly...it's all...all different now. Now all I want to know is why she never came back. Papa said she lost her memory, but I know there's more to it than that. I know something must have been keeping her away...I just don't like feeling like it was me...”
Her last few words came out so small and scared that it broke Apollo's heart. “No...Truce, it could never be you. I don't think it was either of us. I think maybe...maybe she was just scared. But I'm gonna find out okay?”
“So I guess you are gonna go see her, huh?” Trucy asked, and Apollo suddenly realized that the answer to that question had never been clearer.
“Yeah, I'm gonna see her. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, for both of us, okay?”
“Okay...” She sounded like she was smiling at least. “You probably need to get some sleep, huh?”
“I can stay up and talk if you want,” Apollo offered, eyelids drooping.
Trucy laughed. “Nah, you sound tired. And Pearly is here anyway. I'm fine, Polly.”
Apollo smiled. “You can say it louder than that.”
“I'm Trucy Wright, and I'm fine!”
Finally, he managed to laugh too. “Perfect...goodnight Truce...”
Just as he hung up the phone, a figure in the doorway caught his eye. It was a familiar silhouette, leaning against the doorframe and hands resting in the pockets of those obnoxiously tight pants. “Didn’t want to interrupt,” Klavier said softly. "Ema is heading out." He nodded at the phone still in Apollo’s hand. “Is she doing alright?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said with a small smile. “She’s tough.”
“A lot like someone else I know,” Klavier fired back.
In the other room, Ema groaned over the sound of the front door opening. “So much for giving him space, Gavin.” The door closed again, and the apartment went quiet.
They both managed a laugh, and Apollo moved over on the bed, patting it invitingly. “She has a point,” Klavier said as he shut the door and sat down. “You make it very hard to stay away from you, Forehead.”
“Really? I would have thought all this family drama would have sent you running for the hills.”
“I know a thing or two about family drama,” Klavier reminded him. “Besides, if you can handle the paparazzi, who would I be to run off at the first sign of trouble?”
“Would sure make Thanksgiving more interesting.”
Klavier neatly raised one eyebrow. “The family drama or the paparazzi?”
“Both,” Apollo said, and his heart skipped a little as Klavier settled down against him. He caught his lip between his teeth and reached toward him, letting his fingers skim over Klavier’s waistband. “Hey Klav…”
“Mm?”
“You know what Clay said when I talked to him on Skype…you know, when you weren’t eavesdropping?”
“I wasn’t,” Klavier insisted, with enough force that it made Apollo laugh.
“But you know what he said? That…joke he cracked about you being my filthy rich boyfriend?”
“Ja, I remember,” Klavier said, more easily than Apollo would have expected of someone who had absolutely not been eavesdropping. “What, are you going to ask me about my net worth, schatzi? Because I’ll be the first to admit you might not be ready to hear that number.”
“It can’t be that high,” Apollo muttered. Though he was certain that it most certainly was that high, and he probably wasn’t ready to hear a number. He might just keel over on the spot if he didn’t get the chance to brace himself first, and he didn’t think he had the mental strength to do much bracing now. Before Klavier got the chance to prove him wrong, he shook his head, “Besides, that’s not what I wanted to ask. I was talking…about the other part. Not the filthy rich part.”
“The boyfriend part?”
Apollo swallowed, and it felt like his mouth and throat were lined with sandpaper. “Yeah.”
Klavier’s hand inched its way up Apollo’s side, his lips close enough to Apollo’s ear that when he spoke again, Apollo could feel the warmth of his breath on his jaw. It sent a shiver up the length of his body as Klavier asked, “Are you asking me to go steady?”
His voice shook a little as he laughed. “We’re not in high school!” Apollo insisted, squirming away from him. Then letting Klavier come close again, because the arm around him was starting to feel really damn nice… “But…I mean…maybe we should make it official?”
“Is it not already?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t – should I call my publicist and make a formal announcement to the press?”
The fact that Apollo couldn’t tell if he was joking made him feel a slight urge to throw up. “Y-you don’t actually need-“ He settled back against him again, surprised at how easily it happened and now secure it made him felt. Just a few months ago, he never would have thought it would feel so comfortable having Klavier’s arm around him in his own bed.
But a lot of things had changed over these past couple of months, so holding back now didn’t make much sense. Apollo took a breath and steeled himself, before reaching up and pressing one hand on either side of Klavier’s face. His cheeks squished comically between his palms, his lips puckering just enough to make Apollo chuckle. “Klavier,” he said, “I want to be your boyfriend okay? Er…or…partner…lover…whatever label works.”
Klavier stared at him, his face unreadable even when Apollo let his hands fall away from his jaw. Finally, he moved and caught Apollo’s wrist in his hand, pressing it onto the pillows and turning them until Apollo was gently pinned. Klavier loomed over him, eyes soft and mouth curved into a playful little smile. “Lover?” he asked, quietly, reverently almost.
Apollo swallowed and nodded. “Sounds better when you say it.”
Klavier finally leaned down to kiss him, and Apollo sighed against his mouth, Klavier’s silky hair dragging over his knuckles and palms. “It sounds perfect when you say it,” Klavier whispered when they pulled away. “Say it again, schatzi.”
“L…lover,” Apollo breathed, feeling a little less ridiculous this time. The word had barely left his lips before Klavier moaned and kissed him again.
Apollo was thankful for several things that night: the box of Trojans that Clay had jokingly bought him before he left, the fresh sheets he’d put on his bed just a few nights before, Klavier’s patience and encouraging little kisses when it took him three full tries to get the condom on…But more than anything else, Apollo was deeply, profoundly grateful that for a few euphoric minutes, he didn’t have to think about anything but the feeling of the sheets clenched in his fists and the way Klavier said his name when he came.
Apollo treaded water through the next few days.
It wasn’t effortless – his heart leaped into his throat every time his phone rang at the mere possibility that it might be Kay, and rent came due just in time to remind him that he needed to find a new job in the very near future – but he made it work. He survived without breaking, threw himself into searching for hiring law firms and updating his resume, talking to Trucy every day and keeping himself afloat.
And whenever it got harder to breathe, Klavier was there to distract him – with movies and lavish candle-lit dinners and sex. Like they were making up for lost time, the rest of the week was saturated with romantic gestures and soft kisses and orgasms.
Klavier was good at those. Thank God. Thank fucking God, because he was pretty sure it was one of the only reasons he managed to get as much sleep as he did.
They floated through a strange sort of pleasant purgatory, just waiting for something to happen, something to change. And something did, on Friday. After what felt like an eternity crammed into a few short days, Kay called.
Klavier drove him to her office. They pulled up to the curb just as the sun was starting to set, and Apollo rubbed at his wrist. He’d been doing it the entire ride. In fact, he didn’t think he’d stopped since they’d left – not when Klavier looked just as nervous as Apollo was. Their nerves fed on each other and made Apollo feel like his bracelet was going to pop his hand right off at the wrist.
“Are you ready?” Klavier asked him after a few moments of silence as they both stared at the door. Soft orange light drifted out through the windows, but Apollo couldn’t see anyone inside.
He swallowed, or tried to. There was nothing there to swallow. Not a single drop of moisture left. “Can’t just turn around and leave,” he said, wondering if they could.
Somehow, he made it out of the car and up to the door. The waiting room was empty, just as they’d left it the last time. It was all the same as ever – like nothing had changed. He forgot how to breathe for a moment when Kay finally opened the door to her office.
“Hey, A.J.,” she said, softly, smiling at him. God, she was anxious too. He gripped his own wrist.
“Is she…here?” he managed to ask.
Kay nodded, gesturing toward the door behind her. “You…can take some time if you want. But don’t psyche yourself up too much okay? She’s…just a person, you know?”
Apollo nodded, the words echoing in his head. Just a person. Just like everyone else. He could have passed her on the street a thousand times without ever knowing, without sparing a second glance. He took a breath, tried to convince himself that she was right as he anchored himself to the feeling of Klavier’s hand on his back.
The room seemed to stretch in front of him, the door filling his vision until it was all he could see. He couldn’t wait – not anymore. It was time.
He thought of Trucy.
“I wanted you to find something, you know? Something new.”
He thought of Ema.
“I don't mean to trivialize it. I just meant...you know...you're not alone.”
He thought of Clay.
“That's it. You can do it, Pollo. Just breathe. You can keep crying if you have to, but you gotta breathe, okay?”
He thought of Niusha.
“Oh sweetheart…it won’t hurt forever. Knowing is always better than wondering.”
And – because he couldn’t not – he thought of Klavier, even as he felt the ghost of that hand on his back, leaving a tingling little patch of warmth even after the contact was gone.
“Didn't want to risk ruining things. Told myself over and over I couldn't afford to be reckless – not this time. Not with you, Forehead...”
He opened the door, stepped inside, and there she was.
She was facing the window, and didn’t seem to notice him at first. In the next few moments of almost eerie silence, Apollo took in every detail of her face in perfect profile: the furrow in her brow, the gentle swoop of her nose, the sparkle in her brown eyes that were still half hidden behind a smooth fringe of chestnut hair.
(She looks like Trucy,) he caught himself thinking. Maybe that meant she looked like him too. Or he looked like her. Suddenly he couldn’t quite remember what his own face looked like.
She was familiar, though, and not in a deep, emotional kind of way that stemmed from shared genetics and wishful thinking. No, he knew her. He knew her face. He’d seen it somewhere before, outside of the pictures. It wasn’t until the door closed behind him and she turned his way that it finally clicked.
“Oh,” she said, and it seemed to take all the air in her lungs to get out. Just that tiny hint of her voice was all it took, and the second it hit Apollo’s ears, recognition lit up his brain like a Christmas tree.
He laughed.
He stared at her, opened his mouth, and laughed. “No way,” he said as she looked at him, bewildered. “There’s…there’s no way.”
Her brow pinched, making her look equal parts concerned and confused. How could he really blame her, he thought, when he was standing across from her in near hysterics? This had to be some kind of joke, some kind of cosmic prank, because there was no way in cold snowy Hell that his long-lost birthmother was the same woman whose music he’d spent years listening to late at night when he couldn’t quite sleep.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Apollo beat her to it: “You’re…you’re Lamiroir,” he gasped, staring at her like a dumbfounded fan trying to stumble his way through a request for an autograph. “You’re – you’re really her. Lamiroir.”
“I am,” she finally said, and God, she sounded so sad that the sound of it probably would have made Athena cry. For a moment he caught the beginnings of a forlorn little smile forming on her lips. “It…feels strange to say that now.”
His laughter finally died, leaving them standing there in silence until she stepped a little closer. She didn’t reach for him, though something in her eyes made him think maybe she wanted to. And – it surprised him – part of him wanted to, too.
Part of him wanted to forget the details, to forget the past and throw himself into her arms so he could soak in the reality that he finally had what he’d wanted since he’d been old enough to miss it. His childhood self was screaming at him to hug his mother, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had so many questions that it paralyzed him.
“But we’ve met,” he blurted. “That case, two years ago – you…you were blind, but we met back then. I defended you in court. You knew my name.”
“I did,” she said, and admitting it sounded like it pained her. “I…I’ve replayed that day over in my head. The sound of your voice, how patient and confident you were. I wish I could have connected the pieces back then, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t, for the same reason I couldn’t see your face…”
Suddenly he remembered – everything that Edgeworth had told him came flooding back. “Your…your memory…” he said, and Lamiroir – Thalassa – nodded.
“I should have come back sooner,” she sighed. “When I remembered my life, my children, I wanted to come flying back right then. I missed you so much…more than I thought it was possible to miss a person…”
Apollo swallowed. “So…so why didn’t you?”
She went quiet, turning toward the window again with her hands clasped in front of her chest almost prayerfully. Apollo could barely make out that she was smiling from the way the shadow fell across her lips. “I almost did,” she quietly told him. “I knew that all I had to do was ask for Phoenix Wright’s help, but then I saw something that made me realize…it wasn’t that simple. A picture of Trucy on stage, with you as her assistant.” She let out a tiny laugh. “She was sawing you in half if I remember correctly.”
“I remember that…” Apollo said, grimacing at the memory of his legs being crammed in that tiny box while Trucy slid a sharp blade in dangerously close to his toes. “I thought…I thought you’d be proud of her…”
“I was…I am,” she said. “So proud. So unbelievably proud. But I realized…both of you had your own lives. Full, rich lives full of people who loved you, full of mistakes and triumphs and heartbreak…and I hadn’t been there for any of it. I was a stranger.”
She turned toward him again, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Who was I to force myself into that, when neither of you would have even remembered me? If I’d known you were looking for me, for answers, I would have come, but…Apollo…I had no way of knowing…”
Apollo ran his fingers across his bracelet, across all of its grooves and edges. “You left me with this, didn’t you?” he asked softly, after the silence had stretched between them long enough to make the air too thick to breathe. “Because you…wanted me to have something…”
She pulled her sleeve back so that the light glinted off a familiar piece of metal, and Apollo’s breath caught. “I would have given the other one to Trucy…if things had been different.” Her eyes were heavy with sadness, with regret, as she mirrored his actions and ran her fingers along the edge of the bracelet. “Apollo…”
Her voice had gone so soft, and Apollo could barely breathe, listening to her say his name like that. He’d imagined it a thousand times, and it had never sounded quite right. “I…” he choked out. “I just need to understand…I’m not angry for you leaving me…I don’t blame you, but I need to know…” He looked her in the eye. After everything, he needed that at least. “I need to know…after everything, after losing your memory, after hiding for so long…do you…do you still…”
“Love you?” she finished, quietly, and he nodded, his heart pounding. She seemed to melt, finally reaching forward and taking his hands. Her skin was so soft, so warm, her hold so gentle that it was barely there. “Oh Apollo…I love you to the moon and back.”
Finally, something in him cracked, disintegrated, and his emotions rushed out like a flood. He stared up at her as his eyes clouded over with tears that overflowed, and he finally collapsed into her arms.
Notes:
(╯°Д°）╯
Chapter 26: Epilogue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Apollo stared at the towering Arrivals board on the wall of the receiving area, fidgeting in place. Next to him, Trucy giggled. “Polly, he’s not gonna get here any quicker if you keep checking the board. Remember that thing about watching pots boil?”
“His plane got in like twenty minutes ago – he should be here.”
“He probably went to the bathroom or something. And that terminal’s like a thousand miles away.” She poked him in the ribs, making him flinch with an undignified yelp. “Re-lax, Polly! Klavier would probably say the same thing if he wasn’t so busy.”
She smiled as the two of them looked down the hall where Klavier was taking a selfie with a pair of teenagers who were practically on the verge of tears. He smiled, threw up a peace sign, and gave the camera a million-dollar wink before straightening up again with a good-natured laugh. He didn’t get much time to rest, though, now that there seemed to be a line forming.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Apollo sighed with a little smile of his own as he watched. Klavier had come to pick them up that morning in a loose sweatshirt and jeans with a pair of sleek sunglasses perched on his nose. Apollo would have thought that the clothes and the haircut together might have bought them some time, but pictures of Klavier sporting a fiery orange-red undercut had spread quickly on the internet within hours, and he’d been swarmed the moment they’d set foot in the airport.
He handled it with aplomb, just like always. In fact, he was beaming as he signed autographs for a hoard of young fans. Apollo was just happy that they hadn’t turned their attention to him yet. Ever since they’d gone totally public with their relationship, he’d gathered a fanbase of his own. For now, though, they seemed more than happy to keep their attention on Klavier.
Thank God.
Trucy tugged on his sleeve, and he looked over at her just as she grinned widely and pointed down toward a figure barreling toward him from the terminals. He barely managed to brace himself before Clay grabbed him in a fierce hug, so tight that it knocked the wind out of him. “C-Clay!” he gasped.
“Pollo!” Clay said, grinning as he lifted Apollo clear off the floor. “I thought that flight would never end!”
“Jesus, have you always been this strong?” Apollo rasped. He finally managed to wrap his arms around Clay, feeling more muscle than he’d ever remembered being there. “Feels like I’m hugging a brick wall.”
“Yeah, I got ripped.” He pulled away, waggling his eyebrows. “You like what you see, Pollo?”
“You smell like airplane,” Apollo groaned, laughing. “And I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, famous boyfriend. Oof-!” Even as strong as he was, he was no match for Trucy. Few were. She howled with laughter as Clay lifted her with one arm, seemingly just to prove he could.
As Apollo watched and laughed, a pair of arms looped around his waist, pulling him close. “Look who finally arrived,” Klavier hummed. “Herr Terran…sorry for stealing the show. Afraid duty called.”
Clay looked like he’d just seen a three-headed alien, mouth agape as he stared at Klavier. “Wha…your hair!”
Klavier blushed a bit, getting his face just a bit closer to his hair in shade. “Ah…went back to my natural color. I guess you never saw the pictures online?”
“Natural? Apollo, why didn’t you tell me you were dating a ginger?” Clay leaned in closer. “How natural are we talking? Like are the carpets just as red as the drapes?”
Apollo’s blush surpassed Klavier’s by about ten shades. “Clay!”
“I could prove it if you like,” Klavier said with a smirk.
“Klav!”
Meanwhile, Trucy sounded like she was on the verge of passing out any minute, laughing so hard that tears were running down her cheeks.
They got Clay’s back to the car, managing to avoid any more run-ins with Klavier’s fan’s. They seemed satiated for now, lucky for them. Clay collapsed in the back seat of the car with a long groan. “Finally…feels like I was in the air for days.”
“Just four hours,” Trucy chided. “It can’t have been as hard as all the training you did in Alaska.”
“Five hours,” Clay told her, sprawled out on the back seat until Trucy shoved his legs out of the way to sit down. “Five long, grueling hours, and I landed in a parallel universe where my best friend is fucking a redhead.”
“A rockstar redhead!” Trucy corrected, laughing along with Klavier as Apollo’s face grew hot again.
Clay popped up in the back seat as they pulled out of the parking garage, and he leaned over Apollo’s shoulder. “And that’s not even the most interesting part of things. Pollo…you gotta tell me, how are things with your mom?”
Apollo sensed Trucy going quiet again, her expression pensive when he studied it in the rear-view mirror. But she smiled at him when she caught him looking, and he smiled right back as he turned to face Clay. “Good,” he said. “Surprisingly…pretty good.”
It was the truth – they had talked only for about an hour that first night in Kay’s office, their eyes red and their faces stained with tears. He had gone home that night and slept curled up against Klavier’s chest on the sofa for a straight ten hours, and when he’d woken up the next morning, he’d felt so light that he could have floated to the kitchen for breakfast.
They next time they’d spoken, it had taken hours. Apollo had asked questions that he’d harbored so long he’d forgotten them – about her life in Borginia, about her time in Troupe Gramarye, even about his father. It had been strange at first, but as he’d talked to her about law school, about Clay and Ema and Athena, it had begun to feel more natural. Like chatting with an old friend who had lost touch years before.
Trucy had taken longer, but she’d gotten there. One step at a time, she’d gotten there. Apollo hadn’t pressed – she would move at her own pace, just like always.
She smiled in the back seat, a little wider. “She told me all about the Gramaryes,” she said. “Things I never knew – things my birth dad never told me. It’s been…really nice to have that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Klavier said warmly. “And you can bet I can’t wait to see how much better your skills as a performer will be for it, fraulein. I don’t doubt you’ll exceed all expectations.”
Trucy beamed, but Klavier wasn’t finished. “Reminds me,” he said. “I’ve been trying to decide how best to kick off my revival tour. My fans are excited, so I’ll need to start things off right. And I figure…well, every great show needs an opening act to match.”
“Yeah?” Trucy asked, and Apollo could see excitement rising on her face.
“What do you think, fraulein? Maybe you and I would make a good pair on the stage, ja?”
Trucy’s eyes went wide. “You…you want me to open for you? R-really?”
“Oh, no no, fraulein,” Klavier said. “Nein, you’ve got it backwards. I wasn’t asking for you to open for me.” For half a second, Trucy’s face fell, but it only lasted a moment. “What I meant was – well I was asking if you’d give me the honor of opening for the great Trucy Gramarye. What do you think?”
The look on Trucy’s face said more than enough – Apollo stared, as she pressed her hands over her mouth and her eyes welled up with tears. “You…you want…want to…”
“Whoa…” Clay breathed.
“Take pity on this old washed up rockstar, fraulein,” Klavier pleaded, smiling as he looked at her in the mirror. “I can’t take wondering.”
Trucy’s answer was immediate – she threw her arms around Klavier from the back seat and almost sent them all running off the road. But she was laughing so brightly that none of them quite minded. At least not when they got straightened out on the road again and their hearts had slowed back down.
Backstage at his sister’s first show at the Penrose Theater, Apollo straightened Trucy’s cape. She’d had a new one designed, dyed deep midnight blue and hemmed with bright silver. It was dotted with glittering stars and came all the way down to her ankles, flowing majestically behind her every time she turned.
She took a breath. “Mom’s in the audience,” she said. He couldn’t see her face in the mirror, and her voice was unreadable, at least for him. For Athena, it might have been a different story. “I saw her sitting with Papa and Dad. Those flowers are from her-“ She nodded toward the bouquet of violets on the counter. “Dad told me she agonized forever trying to decide what kind to get.”
Apollo smiled a little as he patted her shoulders. “When did you start calling her ‘mom?’”
She shrugged. “I dunno…it just felt natural.” She turned around to face him. “There are a lot of people out there, Polly.” He didn’t need Athena’s ears to hear the anxiety shaking in her voice, but excitement was plainly written in her wide eyes and the smile that stretched across her face. “More than I’ve ever seen before. Klavier said the show sold out in a week – can you believe it?”
“They all came to see you,” he told her, laughing. “Klavier might have more Twitter followers, but your magic will always outclass his music in my book.”
“You wound me, Forehead,” Klavier said, meeting Apollo’s eye in the mirror as he leaned on the doorframe.
Trucy pouted. “Polly, don’t talk about your boyfriend like that!”
“He does have a point, fraulein,” Klavier chuckled. “I’m old and washed up…you’re the real star of this show. And you look gorgeous.” Trucy beamed. “Ach…I hope you don’t mind – I brought some fans of yours backstage for a quick meet and greet before the show starts.”
He barely got the words out before Trucy was quickly surrounded – Klavier only just stepped aside and avoided being trampled.
“You look so pretty!” Athena crooned, grabbing at the cape that Apollo had just so painstakingly straightened. “The new outfit is perfect! I knew midnight blue was your color – it makes you look so refined!”
“She’s always refined,” Clay insisted. “Hey Trucy – sign my GYAXA jacket?”
Trucy snorted out a laugh. “Is that even allowed?”
“No – but they can’t fire me for it. I’ll pay for a new one.”
“I can’t believe they’re sending you to space,” Ema sighed.
“Only into low orbit. It’s not even that big a deal.”
Apollo poked him on the shoulder as Trucy carefully signed Clay’s sleeve. “Don’t you have a date to get back to?”
“Kay’s getting snacks,” Clay told him, grinning. “I can’t believe she agreed to go out with me. I’m still giddy, Pollo. My hands keep sweating like crazy…”
“Are you sure she knows it’s supposed to be a date?” Ema asked him. “Maybe she’s just using you for the free tickets.”
“It’s a date,” Clay insisted, pouting. “We got dinner before. There was a candle on the table and everything.”
Ema smirked, barely containing a giggle. “Wow, a candle. I hear wedding bells.”
“Don’t worry, Clay, I’m sure she’s positively smitten,” Athena assured him. Good thing, too – if Clay sulked any harder he’d probably wind up with a permanent crease in his brow.
Apollo felt a hand snake around his waist, and the familiar scent of Klavier’s musky cologne washed over him as he drew Apollo close to his side. “Spare a moment in my dressing room Forehead?” he asked quietly.
“You better not be propositioning me,” Apollo told him. “My sister is right there.”
Klavier’s body shuddered against Apollo’s as he laughed. “Nein, nothing like that. I have some class, you know.”
“Do you?” Apollo shot back, but he followed Klavier to his dressing room without any fuss. Once the door closed, he pressed a hand against his bracelet as Klavier strode over to his mirror and picked up a tube of mascara. His hand quaked for just a moment as he brought it to his lashes. “Klav…you alright?”
Klavier sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Ja,” he said. “Just…” He let out a sad little laugh. “Ach, it’s been a long time since I performed solo. A long time since I took the stage at all. I feel like a shy virgin performer again.”
Apollo blinked. “You’re…you’re nervous? You?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. But I can admit it…” He bit his lip as he tried again with the mascara and put it down with a frustrated grunt a second later.
Apollo closed the distance between them, taking Klavier’s hand and closing his fingers around the tube. “Here,’ he said softly. “Let me…”
Klavier didn’t put up a fight, and turned to face him, leaning down just enough for Apollo to reach his eyes. He could feel Klavier’s breath against his nose as he brought the brush to his lashes, applying an even coat with a careful flick of his wrist. “There,” he whispered after a moment of comfortable – almost intimate – silence. “You look great.”
Klavier’s smile warmed. “Somehow my nerves feel calmer already.”
A sharp rap on the door drew both of their attention. “Five minutes, Mister Gavin,” the stage manager called.
“I’ll be there in just a moment, Fraulein Nichols,” Klavier called, and he looked down at Apollo again. “Can't be holding up the show...Danke for the help with my makeup, schatzi.” He winked, and he took a deep breath as he strode over to the door.
“Klav-“ Klavier stopped, and Apollo took his hand again, his bracelet still squeezing his wrist insistently. “You know there’s no reason to be nervous. You’re gonna do fantastic out there. And even if you don’t, Trucy will make everyone forget pretty quick.”
“That she will,” Klavier laughed.
“And look, I’ll come backstage to see you after the show. I can help you get out of that makeup.” He let Klavier get a good look at the way his eyelids drooped suggestively, and got a nice little rush out of watching him gulp. “But…if you need a reminder…here.”
His fingers closed around his bracelet, easily sliding it off of his wrist and onto Klavier’s. Klavier’s eyes widened the second he felt it. “Forehead – Apollo, I can’t-“
“Give it back,” Apollo interrupted. “After the show. You know, don’t throw it out into the crowd our anything.” He laced their fingers together. “It’s a loan. So just…consider it a reminder that I’m right up there on the stage with you.’
He fought the urge to wince at how downright ridiculous that sounded, but Klavier threw his arms around him a second later. “Thank you, Apollo,” he said, kissing the shell of his ear. And as he drew back, he was smiling, visibly more relaxed. “Well, I ought to give you a little something in return, don’t you think? If this is a loan, there should be some kind of collateral.”
“You don’t have to-“
“I insist.”
Before Apollo could say another word, Klavier slipped one of his rings off of his finger – a plain silver band with a pair of scales neatly etched into the side. The light caught on the design as he carefully slid it onto Apollo’s left ring finger.
Apollo stared at it.
“Consider this-“ Klavier brought Apollo’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “-a promise that I’ll bring this bracelet back to you like new.” He let Apollo’s hand go, fingers sliding over his skin along the length of his palm, and Apollo was left gaping at the ring on his finger as it glinted against his knuckle.
“Oh,” Klavier added as he paused in the doorway, “And you might as well keep that ring, Apollo. I had been planning on giving it to you anyway.”
With a wink and a smile, he was gone, replaced a moment later with Clay as he leaned around the edge of the door. “Hey, what are you waiting for, Pollo? The show’s about to start! We have to get to our seats or we’re gonna miss Klavier’s opening number.” His brow pinched. “What’s going on? You look like you just saw a three-headed dog or something.”
“I…” Apollo couldn’t take his eyes off his hand. “I think I just got engaged.”
Clay’s excited scream was loud enough to echo down the hall, and even enough to drown out even the sea of cheering fans as Klavier took the stage.
Notes:
IT'S DONE (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻
I honestly can't believe it's finally finished - it feels weird to bring it to a close. But thank you so much to everyone who read, stuck with me, left comments and kudos. You mean the world to me. <3
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garbage_dono on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Aug 2016 05:55PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 08 Aug 2016 05:55PM UTC
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