Chapter Text
Klavier Gavin should not be here.
“‘Time of death,’” he mumbles to himself, glancing at the autopsy report as he paces around the chalk outline on the ground. “‘Yesterday, between noon and one o’clock. Cause of death was a blow to the head. Victim died instantly. Time of death, yesterday—’”
Verdammt, he read that already. Klavier groans, dragging his hand over his face. He’s been staring at the autopsy report for ten minutes now, ever since Ema and the rest of the detectives left, but the words keep swimming all over the page, jumbling up in his head. Even if you held a knife to his throat he could not tell you the victim’s name.
He is exhausted. It is far too late in the evening for Klavier to be at a crime scene, especially when the trial is tomorrow morning. But he hasn’t had time to investigate at all during the day, too busy running around with paperwork. Nor has he had time—or desire—to rest in these past few days.
You need to take better care of yourself, Klavier, Kristoph would say, without a flicker of warmth in his tone. His face still appears engraved in the back of Klavier’ eyelids whenever he tries to sleep. A Gavin can’t stand in court in less than tiptop condition, now, can he?
Klavier shakes his head, trying to dispel his thoughts. Kristoph is gone. Now it’s recently-promoted Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth narrowing his eyes at him whenever he stays at the Prosecutor’s Office past midnight more than three times in a row. Edgeworth was the one who kicked him out, actually, telling him to go home for the day and get some rest before the trial tomorrow.
But instead, Klavier is standing outside in a cold, empty courtyard, inhaling the lingering smell of blood in the air as he flips through pictures of a dead body.
It’s going to be a long night.
Klavier gives up on the autopsy report, closing his eyes. Maybe he’d have better luck figuring out a possible murder weapon, if he doesn’t keel over from exhaustion and become a second chalk outline next to the victim—
“Prosecutor Gavin?”
Klavier freezes. Sees his brother’s face flash again before his eyes fly open and he regains control of his muscles. A smile goes up on his face, automatic, as he turns around. “Ja?”
It’s Apollo.
Klavier nearly loses the facade, twitching in surprise. What is Apollo doing here? Klavier hasn’t seen him in nearly a month, ever since…
He swallows. Ever since Kristoph’s second murder conviction.
Apollo looks well, at least compared to how Klavier feels. He’s bundled up for the cool weather and his hair spikes are perking up as usual. There’s a hesitant smile on his face, though his brow furrows as he gives Klavier a once-over.
“Herr Forehead!” Klavier greets reflexively, then winces at the faux cheer in his voice. He dials it down and settles for a small nod. “Long time no see. What are you doing here?”
Apollo shrugs as he approaches. “This courtyard’s a shortcut to my apartment. Figured I could give the crime scene one last look before the trial tomorrow.”
“I see.” Klavier nods, absently, before the rest of Apollo’s sentence registers. “Wait, the trial? You’re the attorney for tomorrow’s case?”
Apollo tilts his head. “You didn’t know?”
“I…” Klavier thinks hard, but honestly, the whole day has been a blur. He really doesn’t remember seeing Apollo’s name anywhere on the report. He clears his throat. “It must’ve slipped my mind. I’ve been quite busy today—didn’t even get to investigate until now.”
Apollo raises an eyebrow. “It’s getting late, though. You’re not headed home?”
“Ach, you know. Duty calls.” Klavier waves his hand as flippantly as he can. “But enough about work. How have you been this past month, Herr Forehead?”
“…pretty good,” Apollo says after a moment’s pause, which makes Klavier nervous, but his voice is casual enough. “No cases, really. But I’ve been helping Trucy with her magic.”
“Wunderbar.” Klavier remembers attending one of her shows—her stage presence was absolutely electric. “Has the little Fräulein been well?”
Apollo nods, a small grin on his face. “Yeah, she’s been busy practicing ever since she got the rights to Troupe Gramarye’s magic. I wish she’d stop trying to chop me in half, though.”
Klavier laughs softly. It’s good to hear about her, he thinks with a twinge of relief. The last time he saw Trucy Wright was also at that trial, when she was learning the truth about both her fathers’ fates at Kristoph’s hands.
At least one of his victims has made it out alright. But Klavier’s own hands twitch, and he reminds himself, my victims, too. For hammering the final nail in the coffin seven years ago.
“What about you?” asks Apollo, snapping Klavier out of his haze. He tilts his head. “How have you been?”
He asks the question almost carefully, and Klavier straightens. He graces Apollo with his best winning smile. “So kind of you to ask, Herr Forehead. I’ve been as gut as always.”
The tired little lie slips out of his mouth effortlessly as he drops his gaze down to the autopsy report. He’s said it without thought so many times in the past few weeks—turns out waving most people off is easier with a bright grin and a bit of cheer. He can stomach their pitying looks if it means avoiding an actual confrontation about the elephant in Solitary Cell 13.
Except Apollo is not most people.
“You don’t have to lie, you know.”
Klavier freezes. Apollo is frowning slightly at him, hand wrapped around the odd gold bracelet around his wrist. And his eyes…
He’s seen this multiple times in the courtroom, Apollo’s unwavering gaze of steel pinned onto a lying witness. How could he forget something like this, especially after that last trial? But seeing it from the prosecutor’s bench is nothing like having the full brunt of Apollo’s eyes on him, piercing through his paper-thin excuses and into his soul.
“I…” Klavier struggles to recompose himself. “I’m not lying. Really. No need to worr—”
“You’re fidgeting.” Apollo’s voice is soft. Tentative. But his words, and his gaze, are still firm. “Picking at your nails, specifically.”
The rest of what Klavier was going to say gets sucked out his lungs as if he’s been punched. He jerks his gaze down, and sure enough, he’s fiddling with his fingers, a movement so small he hadn’t even noticed it himself. He quickly drops his hand down to his side, curling it into a fist.
The night after that trial, Klavier had gone straight home and scraped off every last bit of Ariadoney gloss on his nails. He had bought the bottle himself—there was no way Kristoph could’ve gone to this one, too—but he still rubbed in the nail polish remover so hard that his skin felt raw for hours.
It’s how he feels now as well. Raw, too worn out for fear but not enough for numbness. He keeps his eyes down on the ground, unable to meet Apollo’s gaze.
The gravel underneath crunches as Apollo shifts on his feet. “Gavin…”
Klavier swallows. “Don’t.” Is it possible to get sick of hearing your own name? “What is it you’re always saying before trials? I’m fi—”
“Klavier,” Apollo says, instead, and Klavier inhales, eyes involuntarily flicking upward. “I’m…I’m not going to force you to talk about it, okay? Especially not to me. But I just want you to know it’s okay if you’re not fine.”
Klavier doesn’t know how to respond. Apollo’s eyes on him have dried out his throat—the wide, honest, open gaze that strikes a chord in Klavier’s soul.
It takes a few more moments for him to regain control of his vocal tract. “I-I don’t blame you for what you did, Herr Forehead. It was necessary.”
“I know,” Apollo says plainly. “And you don’t have to blame yourself. You weren’t aware of what Mr. Gavin was doing.”
Klavier wants to be reassured by that, he really does. “But I should’ve known . He was—is mein Bruder.” The ground suddenly feels unsteady beneath his feet, churning like the thoughts he had tried so hard to suppress in the past month.
Seven years. Seven whole years, and he hadn’t suspected a single thing. Kristoph had banked on that.
He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he feels Apollo touch his shoulder. He’s startlingly close now—his eyes are nearly overwhelming. “Klavier…”
“I…” Klavier shudders. He debates shrugging Apollo’s hand off, but the touch feels grounding. “Es tut mir leid, Herr Forehead, that was awfully unprofessional of me.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who’s calling me ‘Herr Forehead’ in the same breath,” Apollo says wryly, but there’s quiet reassurance in his tone. “It’s fine, don’t apologize. And, uh…” He holds out something with his other hand. “ You dropped the autopsy report, by the way.”
“O-oh. Danke.” Klavier hadn’t even realized his hands were empty. He quickly takes the papers back. “Can’t lose this before the tri—”
“I can give you the details of what I found,” Apollo interrupts. “In my own investigation today. So you don’t have to stay out here.”
Klavier looks up sharply. Apollo seems almost as surprised as he is by the words out of his own mouth. “Was? But I’m the enemy.”
“Er.” Apollo scratches the back of his head. “Well, I’m not giving up my trump card, but I still want to help you. You look exhausted—I don’t think investigating right now will do you any good. No offense to your prosecutorial skills.”
Klavier opens his mouth, then closes it. A voice in the back of his head whispers for him to refuse the offer, to wave him off with another smile and get it all under his own control.
Except Apollo sounds so genuine. After the truth came to light last month, Klavier was afraid that everyone involved would never want to see him again. The seething rage in Kristoph’s eyes as they escorted him away only solidified that terror. But here Apollo is, meeting Klavier head-on without a single shred of resentment. How does he do that?
“Danke sehr,” Klavier says finally. “Really. It means a lot, Apollo.”
The first name slips out almost unconsciously. Apollo blinks at him. “Oh. D-don’t mention it.” He coughs, holding out his phone. “So, uh, can I have your number? I’ll text you the info when I get home.”
“How forward of you, Herr Forehead.” Klavier doesn’t mean to tease, but the atmosphere feels so heavy that the words come naturally as he reaches forward.
And seeing Apollo grumble is always endearing. “Oh, so now I’m ‘Herr Forehead’ again, huh? Never mind, maybe I won’t help you after all.”
But he still deposits the phone into Klavier’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brush slightly in the exchange, and Klavier feels his heart stutter traitorously at the contact. He ducks his head down to type in his number, willing the sensation away—he’s had enough tangled emotions for tonight.
“Ach, you wound me,” Klavier jokes to cover up the strange feeling, returning the phone.
Apollo rolls his eyes as he pockets it. “You’ll live.” Then he looks at Klavier, his gaze serious again. “Go home. Not the Prosecutor’s Office. And get some sleep for tomorrow.”
Even if Klavier wanted to stop by the office, Edgeworth would dock his salary upon seeing him again tonight. “Ja, I know. I will.”
“And…” Apollo touches his bracelet. His next words come quieter. “If you ever wanna talk about what happened, you can text me for that, too. I’ll listen.”
Klavier inhales. He…isn’t ready. He doesn’t think he will be for a while. But there’s so much sincerity in Apollo’s voice, his eyes, that Klavier can’t help but nod, heart in his throat. “I-I’ll consider it.”
“Cool. Great.” Apollo lifts his hand with a small wave of his fingers. “See you tomorrow, then, Klavier?”
Is that going to be a thing, now, hearing his first name from Apollo’s lips? It’s not a bad feeling. “Wir sehen uns dann, Apollo.”
Apollo gives him one last smile before he’s off, following the path out of the courtyard. Klavier stays for a moment longer—to give the crime scene one last look, he tells himself, but he finds his eyes lingering on Apollo’s retreating figure until he turns the corner and disappears.
But Klavier is still true to his word. He tucks the autopsy report under his arm, turns around, and starts on his way home as well, feeling another smile—not forced, this time—spread across his lips.
He honestly misses it, facing Apollo in court. Even if Klavier ends up losing again tomorrow, Apollo will find the truth. Klavier knows he will.
And in the aftermath of seven years of lies, that certainty is just what Klavier needs.