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Everything Comes Back to You

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A soothing voice filled Klavier’s room inside his small apartment, pulling him out of a deep sleep. Normally he would be irritated, rubbing at his eyes and plotting to stomp over and ask what his neighbors thought they were doing at eight in the morning, but this wasn’t something he would complain about even if it was 3 am and Klavier was stuck with a hangover. The sweet, lilting melody was hauntingly beautiful, though Klavier didn’t recognize the song. With a quiet grunt, he sat up in his bed and pressed his ear against the wall closest to him, trying to pick out the words.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to study the song as his piercingly loud alarm rang out. Klavier cursed and fumbled for his phone, searching through loose white sheets to find it. It took him a full five seconds to locate the source of the ringing and with a quick swipe, Klavier turned off the offending alarm. He put the phone back on the stand and pressed against the wall again, hoping that he hadn’t interrupted the siren of a neighbor Klavier was blessed to have.

Silence. Figures, it’s just his luck. Klavier sighed and pulled his legs over the side of the bed, yawning and stretching his arms. Today was going to be a busy day anyway, and Klavier had to get ready. He was waiting for him, they waited for this day for so long, a promise that was finally going to be fulfilled.

Klavier jumped into the shower and lingered for only a moment, thinking over how he was going to take the case. The defendant wasn’t exactly a nobody, after all. In fact, Klavier had faced against him in court seven fateful years ago. Straight from the defense stand and into the defendant’s chair. What a disappointment.

He honestly expected more of the world famous “Turnabout Terror,” Phoenix Wright.

But that wasn’t why Klavier was so excited. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, combing through his hair and styling it, just like him. Like he’d been doing ever since he was little.

Today was important because he was going to face off against his brother, Kristoph, in court.

It was Kristoph who had nudged at Klavier to become a prosecutor in the first place. “Come on, wouldn’t it be fun? We could see who has the most wits of the two of us!” Kristoph had said, “You’d be so good at it!”

And good he was. Klavier Gavin, at the age of 17, graduated law school in Germany and earned his right to stand in court among arguably the greatest prosecutors of his time. He took his first trial and expertly proved not only the defendant guilty, but the defense attorney, Herr Wright himself, to be using false evidence in an attempt to get his client off the hook. It had been one of his prouder moments. And it wouldn’t have been without the help of Kristoph, of course. It was a miracle that Kristoph even found out Wright was using forged evidence in the first place, and when Wright used it in court, Klavier shoved Wright into the grave he’d dug himself.

But now without Kristoph by his side, guiding him in that strict, but helpful way of his, instead having to act like his rival for the sake of this trial, Klavier was going to have to work a lot of this case out on his own. He talked to Ema Skye, the detective for this case, went over the details. He looked over his court record, ruled out what he could and couldn’t use in the courtroom. He pondered over theories and motives for the longest time, and now that it was… was… 9 am?

Klavier rushed out of the bathroom as the time on the clock registered, nearly losing the grip on the towel around his waist. He had one hour to dress himself and get to the courtroom on time, and it took 30 minutes to drive to the courthouse, even on his motorcycle.

He burst into his bedroom and headed straight for the closet, pulling out a familiar purple suit. Same as always, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look hot as hell in it. He put it on and looked in the mirror. Klavier would honestly make out with himself if he could.

He was about to leave the room when he overheard a voice, the same voice that woke him up this morning. Klavier almost forgot about needing to leave soon, almost stayed for a while longer, listening to the silky voice next door, before the voice faded and the tell-tale sound of a door lock clicked shut.

No, no no no no no. He was not going to miss who this angel-voice was. He pulled on his pants as fast as he could (as fast as one could with skin-tight jeans, anyway) and stumbled out the door, near faceplanting as he turned the corner to see who left their apartment.

Alas, there was no one on either side of the corridor. It was just empty, save for a cart stuffed with towels parked by the adjacent door. Fuck. He missed it.

Klavier figured that while he was out here, he might as well get to court and try not to be late. Kristoph would chew him out if he arrived even a second late. Oh well, sometimes there are exceptions to laws when your life’s on the line. Klavier hopped on his bike and sped off down the road, heading towards the court at high speeds.

 


 

Klavier checked his phone as he ran up the stairs of the courthouse. 9:37 am. He was cutting it close, that much was certain. Whether or not Kristoph would still find excuse to punch him over this was a different matter altogether. But it’s fine. It’ll all be fine—

“I’M APOLLO JUSTICE, AND I’M FINE!” someone screamed from one of the lobbies, presumably the defendant’s. Klavier checked the files under his arm, catching a flash of a name, Apollo Justice, on the sheets. Ah, yes, the new one. Kristoph’s employee. For the sheer volume of the outcry, Klavier thought Herr Justice was not as fine as he proclaimed. He only hoped his chords of steel – Klavier snickered to himself at the joke – wouldn’t manifest themselves in court in the form of an objection. He probably should’ve brought earplugs for the court just to be safe.

Just keep walking, Klavier thought to himself, picking up his pace to a light jog, no one will notice you weren’t here. He fumbled with the keys in his pocket, looking down for a split second to locate them, where were they? before smashing his face against a solid, warm object.

“Brother, I hope you have a valid excuse as to why you’re running so late,” Kristoph crossed his arms, looking down at the man who had fallen on the floor in front of him. “Apollo was running late too, but I already gave him a scolding that should last him the rest of the year. Do I need to do the same to you as well?”

Klavier swallowed, then forced a laugh as he picked himself off the floor when he realized Kristoph really wasn’t going to offer a hand. “Hey, Kris, I was just distracted, it’s not a huge deal! I’m here now, right? And the trial hasn’t started yet!”

Kristoph moved and by instinct, Klavier flinched back, his eyes wide. Kristoph sighed, uncrossing his arms. “I just thought you would care more for our first trial together. It’s a special occasion, you know. I had to do a lot of convincing to make sure the judge would allow us to rival each other, what with us being siblings and all,” he spoke coolly, pushing up his glasses and glinting the light that reflected off them from the courthouse windows. “Have a little respect, Brother?”

“J-Ja!” Klavier stuttered out, a complete opposite of his usual behavior, “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful and set an alarm earlier. You should get back to your client though, right? Trial’s about to begin anyway.” Klavier rubbed the back of his neck and eyed the door behind Kristoph.

“Right. Love you, Brother. See you soon,” Kristoph said and headed towards the defendant’s lobby.

Klavier let out a sigh of relief. He loved Kristoph more than anything, and would do anything for him, but sometimes he was wound up so tight, and being around him for too long became stressful. Klavier was just glad that Kristoph finally allowed him to play in his band, at the cost of becoming a prosecutor at the same time. He was lucky, after all. Kristoph always told him so. He could be on the streets.

Pulling the keys out of his pocket, Klavier opened the door to the lobby, passed by what could only be Apollo and his screeching, hoarse voice, and entered the courtroom. He looked at the time by a clock on the wall. Only fifteen minutes until the trial started. He guessed the trial would be over in an hour, based on the evidence he had in his possession. Not even Kristoph, the greatest defense attorney in town, could best him like this.

When fifteen minutes passed and the court doors were closed, Klavier straightened his papers and spoke calmly, even though internally he was practically buzzing with anticipation, certain to best his brother in court.

“The prosecution is ready to rock, Your Honor,” Kristoph coughed across the room, once, sternly. Klavier cleared his throat and ducked his head. “I-I mean. The prosecution is ready.”

“The defense is fine – I mean, ready, Your Honor!” But there was no stern cough that time. Apollo had it lucky. But Klavier still chuckled underneath his breath. At least they were in the same boat.

The bailiff escorted Phoenix Wright to the stand in the middle of the room, and the judge looked expectantly over at Klavier. “The charges, if you will, Mr. Gavin?”

“Ja, of course. The defendant, Phoenix Wright, was playing a game of poker with the victim, Shadi Smith, when he was caught cheating. Out of a fit of rage from the accusation, Herr Wright grabbed a grape juice bottle nearby and struck the poor man over the head with it. Here is the murder weapon, Herr Judge.” Klavier passed the bottle on the bailiff, which accepted it into the court records.

The trial progressed as normal, Phoenix denying the claims and giving background to the story, painting a perfect picture. But something was very clearly missing. And luckily, Klavier had just the thing.

“But Herr Wright, you stated that you were using red cards that night, ja? But why, then, would the back of this card be blue? It would indicate a clear cheater, wouldn’t you think?”

Wright hummed. “I suppose,” he started, before Apollo objected, fairly clumsily. Klavier would have laughed, if he wasn’t absolutely brimming with anger.

“But he couldn’t have been cheating!” his voice cracked, “Why would a professional poker player make that large of a mistake? That would also be including Olga and Shadi! They would have noticed the cards were red, not blue!”

Phoenix spoke up. “That’s right. Now who thought the cards in the final game were blue, if not for Olga, Shadi, and myself?”

Apollo breathed in through his nose, rifling through his papers. He pulled out a list of profiles that were included in the case. Phoenix Wright, Shadi Smith, Olga Orly, Kristoph Gavin, Klavier Gavin, himself…Wait.

“That would have to be… Kristoph Gavin…?” Apollo asked, turning to his boss on his right. Klavier’s expression was unreadable, save for a small smirk. “But…”

“You’re correct, Apollo. Kristoph was the fourth person in that room on the night of the murder,” Phoenix reassured, looking at Kristoph, who was still strangely quiet. However, Klavier was quite the opposite.

“Objection!” Klavier yelled, his voice teetering on desperate. He knew where this was going, and he would do anything to stop it. “How could Kristoph have not known about the color of the cards? This photo right here reveals their color!” Klavier raised the photo of the poker cards into the air. “You can very clearly see that this is red!”

Phoenix shook his head. “The photo shown of the cards was black and white, it was impossible to know the color of the cards. And Kristoph himself told the court the cards were in ‘blue flame,’ so to speak. The colored photo came after that statement.” Klavier gritted his teeth. No, this had to be a lie. Phoenix lied in court before, what was stopping him from doing so now?

Finally, Kristoph spoke up. “Wright, you’re not seriously accusing me, now are you…?” he asked, the light of the courtroom blocking any view of his eyes. Kristoph was furious. Klavier gripped the stand, white-knuckled, braced himself out of habit, then relaxed. He was fine. This wasn’t home. This was court, and Phoenix Wright was accusing his brother of… of murder!

Apollo, white as a sheet, was staring holes into the floor. He looked unsure of himself. Klavier relaxed a bit, thankful. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing, maybe he was as much as a bluffer as that Herr Wright –

“The… The defense would like to call Kristoph Gavin onto the stand,” Apollo spoke softly, near unsurely, “please.” He added.

Kristoph turned to Apollo. “You can’t be serious. You want me to take the stand? What about loyalty, Mr. Justice?” he asked, sounding incredulous. Apollo shook his head, his face set in stone even if his hands were shaking.

“No, sir. This isn’t about loyalty. This is about justice.”

Klavier grit his teeth, staring daggers at Apollo. His own coworker, conspiring against him with that thief, that liar of an ex-defense attorney. There was no way Klavier was going to let them get away with pinning the murder of a man his brother hardly even knew onto Kristoph. So much for the fun trial Kristoph had in mind.

“Objection! Where’s the proof that – “

“Stand down, Brother. I’ll take the stand and prove how I’m innocent without a doubt. It’s the least I could do for them, considering they’re itching for some sort of break in their case anyway.”

The trial weaned on. Objections flew from both the defense and prosecution. It was no longer a battle of wits against Klavier and Kristoph, but one of Klavier and Apollo. And Klavier was not going down without a fight.

“You can’t honestly say that the bottles had been mixed up. There was only one found at the scene of the crime,” Klavier argued, slamming a fist onto the wall behind him in anger.

Yet despite this, Apollo fought back just as strongly. “The bailiff is back from the crime scene! He investigated the room in full and we think that we might be onto something, Your Honor, something you might like to see!”

“Bull –“ Klavier started, before a huge BANG! bounced around the court as the doors of the room slammed open.

“We have bottles, Your Honor! Just as Mr. Wright had asked!” the bailiff said, out of breath. He gave a bottle to Wright, who examined it in his hands before handing it to Apollo. Whatever was in that bottle couldn’t incriminate Kristoph, right?

But Apollo thought differently. “Your Honor!” he shouted, before realizing his vocal tone was too high and quieting down sheepishly. He held the bottle in his hands, twirling it for a minute before speaking again. “This bottle could have been grabbed upside down. Since Wright was sitting, and the easiest way to grab something in that position would have to be upside down, around the neck of the bottle!”

Klavier grunted as if he were stabbed in the stomach. No way. He couldn’t have overlooked this. If Kristoph was helping him, then only…

“And that’s how the bottle had my fingerprints on it. It was a different bottle,” Phoenix explained, leaning forward, “This is the bottle that had my card in it. I wasn’t lying.”

Klavier, unable to speak for some time now, watched as the bottle was carried over to the judge for examination, sweating. There was no denying it at this point. His brother, his own brother…

“My, there is a card in this bottle! And it’s…the five of hearts!” the judge proclaimed, studying the bottom of the bottle, “proof that Wright was being cheated!”

Kristoph swung his head down as if he’d been hit, his bangs shielding his eyes from view. Then suddenly, he raised a fist, clenched tight enough to bulge a twisted vein. Klavier looked away, cringing in on himself. With a loud slam that Klavier was more than prepared for, Kristoph smacked the stand in front of him once, powerfully, enough to make a statement. That he was entirely, thoroughly, fucked.

But suddenly, he forced himself up, snapping straight. He smiled at Justice, the man who had dealt the final blow onto Kristoph, hammering the final nail into the coffin. “Alright, Mr. Justice. I’m glad we could have this little tête-à-tête.”

The bailiff escorted him from the stand, cuffing his hands behind his back. Klavier stared after him in horror, willing himself to cry out, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He couldn’t even cry as his own brother was taken away. Something twisted in his gut. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was anger, hatred. But it sure as hell wasn’t sadness. That’s what scared him the most.

Klavier turned to Justice, deciding that he knew what exactly he was feeling. He stared at him for a long time, studying him, committing his face to memory. He didn’t speak, he didn’t have the words to say. Nothing in this world could possibly convey exactly the sheer amount of rage and hate that Klavier felt for the man standing across the court from him. The man who took away his brother.