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Klavier Gavin (notably) doesn’t knock on the doors to the Wright Anything Agency. He’d just visited Kristoph in the morning - or, well, attempted to, but ended up taking a left turn on the roundabout to the office. ‘Gavin isn’t seeing any visitors right now.’ Is what they said, their low-budget blue badger pins glistening under the sunlight, a corner of the prison doors chipped. Rusted. ‘Come back tomorrow.’ Is what they said. ‘We’re sorry.’ Is what they said.
Klavier Gavin knocks on the doors in spirit, but not in practice. There’s a ghost of an action trickling down the side of his head. There’s an invisible weight on his chest that’s crushing his ribs. There’s a wallet in his pocket and a coin given to him by one Trucy Wright, pulled from behind his ear after Daryan’s arrest. There’s a whisper in his skull and he doesn’t hear it.
“Heads, I’ll go in. Tails? I’ll… I guess I’ll go see Vongole.”
“Prosecutor Gavin?”
“Scheiße!” Klavier nearly hits the ceiling, slamming his elbow directly into the office doorknob. Desperately attempting to preserve any pride he has left, he casually leans against the doorframe, flashing a rockstar smile. “Ah, Herr Wright, what a… what a surprise.”
“To see me at the entrance of my house?”
Klavier inwardly facepalms, and, more importantly, outwardly chokes on his own spit. “Ah…Ja. Certainly a surprise. Those are the right words. Ja.”
“Ah, now I get it.” Wright fishes his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the front door. Klavier continues being alive, much to his own dismay. “You’re here to see Apollo, aren’t you? Come on in, the couch is all yours.”
-
“So that’s when Trucy’s principal told me, right? That she got every teenage girl in her class to host a strike outside of the school to protest the dress code! Now, honestly, how could I even be upset? She’s got her old dad’s spirit in her, don’t you think?”
“Ah, ja, definitely.” Klavier twiddles with his thumbs, leaning back against the ripped leather cushions of the office couch. He’s never been more grateful for the pre-prepared standard dialogue responses that his manager preps him on before meeting company executives. “Real surprise.”
“That’s what I said! Honestly, I almost threw a fit during the meeting, since…”
The room has gotten hotter. Or colder. Klavier can’t tell. The sweat stings against his palms. Apologise. Here it is. Apologise. Apologise. Apologise. Apologise. Klavier’s mind is a labyrinth of scrambled thoughts, echoing through his brain cacophonously. Apollo Justice in court. Noodles at Eldoon’s. Friday’s trial. The victim, Neil Polisch. Apollo Justice in the cafeteria. A panic attack on Phoenix Wright’s couch. His brother, in prison. Apologise. Apologise. Apologise.
“...isn’t that right, Gavin?”
His brother. His brother and Phoenix Wright and his brother.
“I’m sorry!”
Klavier pants. His hands on the torn fabric of the seats. Klavier, looking at Phoenix, looking back at him. Come back tomorrow. We’re sorry.
Wright sighs. “Well, I guess it had to come to this at some point.” He adjusts his beanie, leaning over the counter. “Listen, kid-”
“No, listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I got you disbarred. I believed- I believed Kristoph, and I know that isn’t an excuse, but whatever you want, talk to me, ask me. I’ll give it to you. You’ve been living here in this trainwreck of a home for years and it’s all my fault, and scheiße it’s ridiculous how-“
“Alright, I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Wright turns on the tap to the sink. Water rushes into the drain. White noise. Klavier cushions his head on one of Trucy’s stuffed toys, mottled with grape juice and stains of unknown origins. He waits, silently. Like a lamb to be slaughtered. “I’m going to make this clear – I don’t forgive you.”
Klavier flinches. “I-I understand-“
“Nope. Wait till I’m done talking.” He arranges dishes onto the drying rack, glass clattering noisily against metal. “I don’t not forgive you either, Prosecutor Gavin. It’s never as simple as that, and it never will be. You were manipulated by your brother.”
Strike one.
Wright continues. “As was I. That doesn’t mean that a deeper part of me doesn’t hold any form of resentment for the conditions of my disbarment, just that, well, for the most part, we were just tools, weren’t we?”
Strike two.
He closes the tap. Radio silence. When he speaks, his voice lives in the walls of the agency. Lives in the pit of Klavier’s stomach.“Overall, I just mean that I’m tired. What you did to me hasn’t really been a problem for me for, well, years. So, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is, just don’t worry about it too much, alright, kid?”
Klavier clenches his teeth, walking over to Wright. A smile graces his face. He keeps it calm, keeps it easy. Like a concert. Like a fan meeting. The coolest defense in the West. “Herr Wright, I know you mean well, but you’ve been disbarred for eight years now. Surely there’s something that I could do for you, ja?”
Klavier understands what desperation sounds like, but Klavier also knows what it feels like to send your own brother and best friend to jail, so is anything really beneath him at this rate? He sticks his hands in his pockets, evaluating Wright’s reaction. Stone-cold. Stück Scheiße poker players.
“Prosecutor Gavin…” Wright buries his face in his hands. “Do you know how old I am this year? And do you know how old I was when your brother got me disbarred?” His voice is smooth, calm. A bubble about to pop. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about this every day for 8 years. Do you think that I’ve never considered that it might possibly be my fault, as a defense attorney, for taking evidence from a child I’ve never met and using it in court?”
“I-“
“You didn’t do anything, Prosecutor Gavin. You were young and stupid. I was young and stupid. And now, we’re adults, and it’s been 8 years, and I have a parent-teacher conference to attend tomorrow because Trucy set some pigeons loose during her Organic Chemistry class, and the point is that things have changed, and your mid-20s angst is something that I can’t be fretting about anymore.”
Strike three.
“Mid-20s angst? Mid-20s angst?!” Klavier slams his fist on the marble counters. The kitchenware shakes. Wright remains still, watching patiently. “Is that all you have to say to me? Blödsinn! My brother is in prison! My best friend is in prison! Now that I’m trying to be the bigger person, after you let me live in this lie so naively for almost a decade, you’re telling me that I don’t even get a shot at forgiveness?! Scheiße, Herr Wright, you’re-“
“Mr. Wright?” The door swings open. “Prosecutor Edgeworth said that he’s looking for……you.” The colour drains out of Apollo’s face. His eyes widen like paper plates. “Right, alright. I think I showed up at a bad time, so I’m just going to leave forever real quick-“
Klavier bites his lip. Before Wright can even respond, he darts out the front door, grabbing Apollo’s hand on the way out.
-
People Park is deserted. Has been, ever since the murder. Klavier keeps his voice down, vigilant nevertheless. He takes a deep breath. He takes another. Apollo stays comfortably silent, looking intently at a trail of ants slithering up the foot of the bench.
Klavier’s eyes are puffy but his hands are warm. Keep it cool, rockstar. “So, that boss of yours sure is a character, ja?”
From the corner of his eye, Klavier sees Apollo’s hand twitch. Apollo picks up on it, because of course he does. Not waiting for a response from Apollo, Klavier snickers, twirling a lock of his hair. “I suppose I really can’t hide anything from you, Herr Forehead.”
“I can take it off!” Apollo shouts (a little too loudly). “I mean, uh- I can take it off if you want me to. I get how uncomfortable it can be to be talking to someone who’s just perceiving you, like, all the time. Trust me.” He drags a finger along his neck mockingly. “I work in a building full of supernatural empaths. My life is a nightmare.”
And Klavier laughs.
The weight of the air stops suffocating his lungs, even if it’s just for a split second.
“Has anyone told you that you’re a riot, Forehead?”
“Trucy. All day. Every day. But only when I’m doing embarrassing shit like calling my cat my girlfriend.” Apollo retorts. They laugh, before settling into silence, only the rustling of leaves accompanying the low hum of their thoughts.
Klavier perches his head on Apollo’s shoulder. “Your shoulder is quite reliable, Herr Justice. Despite the short stature, anyhow.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Apollo relaxes his posture, letting Klavier sink into his weight. Klavier hums in satisfaction. “Mikeko likes short folks like me more, though, so who’s the real winner, huh?”
Klavier closes his eyes. He hears the flapping of wings, the screech of tires against concrete. Faintly, as if through the walls of a distant room, he hears Apollo’s heartbeat. He speaks.
“It’s hard to believe, I know. But…” Klavier bites his lip. “He was a good brother. He was good to me, at least.” He feels the shift of Apollo’s neck as he nods. Klavier continues. “I’d wondered. I’d wondered for a long time. I don’t know what happened. Could I have fixed him, back then? If I’d only asked, if I’d only spoken to him more, I- I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that the man on the witness stand that day could possibly have been him. Mein brudder.”
His heart falters, dampened. Soaked with the lonely mist of grief. “I almost wish- I almost wish none of this were true. That this was all just some cruel trick of fate. A set-up. A plot of revenge, initiated by Herr Wright.” Klavier clutches on to the hem of Apollo’s shirt. “But I know. I know it’s not true. Kristoph…He- He won’t even see me anymore.”
“Hey, I get it.” Apollo’s voice is hushed, a stark contrast to his usual tone, careful not to shatter the fragile atmosphere enveloping them. “I understand how difficult it must be to hear all the things they’re saying about him, especially from all the people he’s hurt. But I also know that he was more than that. He was…capable of kindness, even though that side of him was shown to me in moments that were few and far between.”
“I just…I wish I could have done something, ja? And I hate…I hate that sometimes, my resentment stretches out to Herr Wright. It’s- I feel so much guilt for it, verdammt, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but feel that all these people - Vera Misham, Zak Gramarye, even you, even me, we were just…tools. Pawns in this intimate game of chess that no one besides the two of them knew we were even participating in. It just scares me, Apollo. It terrifies me that I didn’t know a thing. That I might have forced Phoenix Wright – the turnabout terror – on this plot of revenge, and that a part of me detests him for it.”
“Well, you’re certainly not alone in that anger of yours. You know, I socked him in the face when we first met.” Apollo beams, pride filtering in through the cracks of his smile.
Klavier chuckles, leaning further into Apollo’s side. “Nein, nein, Herr Forehead. Please, you must enlighten me. How did you valiantly protest against Herr Wright’s schemes?”
“Hey, give me a break, alright.” He huffs. “I was out of a job, and Trucy was very convincing when she told me that the Wright Anything Agency pays well. Sometimes my paycheque is a little more important than how much I respect my deadbeat boss.”
Klavier sighs, watching the clouds spill over each other like slicks of oil. “Herr Justice, what is truth, to you? What does it mean to pursue the truth?” Klavier kicks a pebble, watching it dart across the water. “For the longest time, I’d thought that pursuing the truth, at all cost, should be the highest virtue as a prosecutor. That even if it meant arresting Daryan, or even Kristoph, as long as it meant the truth would come to light, I would be happy. But here I am.”
“Here you are.” Apollo cards his hands through Klavier’s hair, as Klavier sighs, feeling slender fingers massaging his scalp. “The truth isn’t ever as simple as anyone thinks. The Kristoph that was your brother is the truth, but the Kristoph that was a murderer is also the truth. The Daryan that stayed by your side in the Gavinners is the truth, but the Daryan that abused his authority is also the truth.” He pauses. “Phoenix Wright, the Turnabout Terror, is the truth, but so is Phoenix Wright, the man that forged evidence to get Kristoph arrested. What I mean is, it’s alright to feel complicated about all this…shit. I mean, it’s a fucking trainwreck. Just, uh, I guess, do whatever makes you feel like you’re being true to yourself.”
“Herr Justice.”
“Yeah?”
“The weather in People Park sure is relaxing, ja?”
“I like the pond. It’s simple.” Apollo clicks his tongue. “You throw a pebble in it, and it’ll falter. Change. The waves will break through the surface. But at the end of the day, it’s still the same old pond, waves and all.” He smiles. “At the end of the day, you’ll still be Klavier Gavin, scars and all.”
And there, in People Park, Klavier watches the gentle rocking of the water, watches the auburn leaves as they float, fractured and spotted, chasing waves.
And somewhere, in the distance, not quite truth, but not quite a lie, Kristoph and Klavier Gavin, young and not yet broken, sit by the fire in the hardened winters of their family home, feeling a familiar warmth bloom through their chests as hot, silky chocolate fills their stomachs, foam lined along their fingers.
And there, on Apollo Justice’s shoulder, Klavier Gavin dreams with his eyes wide open, lying to himself one final time.