Chapter Text
"Prosecutor Gavin!"
The unfamiliar voice, young and female, startled Klavier from his sleepy post-flight thoughts.
It had been a long series of flights and, with a significant number of experiences to compare it with, the last leg of the trip had provided what was easily the least comfortable flight of his life. It might, however, have been the most memorable. The whirring of the engine had been audible from inside the plane, through the barrier of noise cancelling headphones. Jolts and vibrations had plagued him whenever he tried to rest his head against the tiny window. There had only been a handful of other passengers, but the plane still felt cramped, bordering on claustrophobic. When he disembarked, there had been several stratifications of duct tape holding pieces of the ramp in place. He'd had to find his luggage in the small pile dumped unceremoniously on the tarmac.
Bags slung over both shoulders, wheeling his suitcase behind him, Klavier was confronted with a building that looked less like an airport terminal and more like a misplaced gas station. As the entry point for an entire country, it lacked presence and gravitas. The only thing preventing Klavier or one of his fellow passengers from opting out of customs was the fence surrounding the area in all directions --
-- which was, admittedly, both extraordinarily high and topped with wire beyond barbed, perhaps even beyond razor. Klavier was not moved to investigate personally but, looking at the glint of sunlight on the sharp edge of metal, had to allow there was merit in the low-tech approach to unauthorized extranational visitors. Klavier had been following the other people who had disembarked, a small collection of older women, a bent old man stamping an equally bent cane with enough force to crack the concrete, and a few disparate clusters of students, when the unexpected salutation came.
Reflexively, Klavier lowered the bill of his baseball cap and ducked his head, glancing through dark lenses in the direction of the voice. He resisted the urge to raise the hood of his jacket and hide further; the movement would look suspicious now that he'd been noticed. He hadn't spent over a decade cultivating a friendly, approachable, sexy without being dangerous persona for his fans to ruin it being needlessly hurtful to a young woman in a foreign country.
"Prosecutor Gavin!"
Gavinners fangirls were not, however, in the habit of referring to him by his job title. They also didn't tend to go from cheerful to irritated between one exclamation and the next.
Klavier adjusted his glasses and looked at the unexpected greeting party of two -- neither of whom were Apollo Justice, both being too tall and one being a young woman. The man next to her, a solid figure in a baggy camouflage print jumpsuit, raised a hand to waive Klavier over. Presumably in case he thought they had been calling for a different Prosecutor Gavin.
"Prosecutor Gavin, is there a reason to be concerned about your hearing?" the young woman asked, barrelling forward without introduction once she had Klavier's attention. Her hands were on her hips, and she stared at him with fierce green eyes, strongly lined in black and red. But Klavier had been pinned by more intense stares.
One specifically intense stare which, if he'd expected to be greeted at all, would have been the stare he'd hope to have been on the receiving end of.
Klavier moistened his lips and smiled politely. "Fraulein." The man gave a loud crack of laughter, catching the cigarette that fell from his mouth before it could hit the ground, and the young woman ignored him, continuing to stare in silence. He yielded to the stern certainty of her gaze. "I didn't know I was expected?"
The young woman flipped a braid, long and black, reaching nearly to her knees, over her shoulder dismissively. "You failed to provide the details of your flight, so the precise time of your arrival was not known. This is not the same as being unexpected. It is your good fortune that I've been monitoring the flight manifests."
Klavier glanced from the young woman to the man. Aside from her startlingly long braids and the red markings on her forehead and cheeks, she looked like any university student, clad in black leggings and a white windbreaker with neon pink butterflies near-clashing with her green turtleneck. Her sneakers were brand name, expensive but grey with dirt and use. The man, however, grinned at Klavier like he could read his mind, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Klavier thought, shamefully, that his face belonged on a wanted poster. Was he going to be the victim of a lowkey, understaffed kidnapping attempt? "I think that may be illegal, Fraulein."
The man responded with a loud, barking laugh, catching his falling cigarette again.
The woman said, "If I do it, it is not illegal."
"I think technically it is," the man said, his interest casual. "Maybe."
"If it is illegal for me, there clearly are not sufficient systems in place to prevent such behaviour." The young woman's other braid was tossed back with its mate as she sniffed, evidently unimpressed with the Khura'inese legal system.
An angry defensiveness on behalf of his overworked colleague sparked in Klavier. "Fraulein, I understand yours is a country with a difficult legal past, but --"
Thick black eyebrows rose in surprise. "Do you?" the young woman asked over the sound of her disreputable companion's laughter.
Klavier and the young woman stared at each other, the arch of her eyebrows and twist of her lips increasing in condescension and challenge by the second. She tipped her chin up and cocked her head to the side and a piece of the jigsaw puzzle in his mind snapped into place. He hadn't even realized there was a puzzle but the small jerk of the chin brought back the memory of a young Trucy Wright sitting faux-casually on the steps outside the courthouse one afternoon, before they were friends, back when she was simply a cheerful girl he had too many not-at-all-simple connections to, waiting for Klavier so she could share complicated feelings under the guise of gossip and pictures of the then-recent Wright Anything Agency trip to Khura'in. Photos of temples and market stalls and birds and statues and selfies, candid shots of her father with the Chief Prosecutor and a laughing woman, comically posed photos of Trucy and Fraulein Cykes, a photo of a cranky Apollo Justice squeezed between the tall, beautiful figure of Prosecutor Monk Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, his expression serene, and a girl younger than Trucy who looked almost as irritated as Apollo, her head to one side and her chin tilted up, challenging the camera to battle.
"It was so much fun, Polly decided to stay."
The perfect smile and chipper voice of a lifelong performer hiding grief from her audience, keeping the vulnerability and tears in a box to be opened only in private.
"A pleasure, Your Majesty."
"That remains to be seen, Prosecutor Gavin," the Queen of Khura'in said, but her teeth flashed in a sudden smile. It contained a hint of danger but didn't -- quite -- register as unfriendly.
"Do royal duties often involve personally greeting visitors?"
"I'm not here as part of royal duties. This is a fraternal matter. Hence: Datz," the Queen said. The words were such a non-explanation that Klavier ran them back through his mental ear, confirming they were in a language he knew.
"Datz Are'bal," the man said, providing a sliver of context. He grabbed Klavier's hand in his and shook it vigorously. "I'm kinda the informal bodyguard for Majesty here when she's being a normal kid."
"Your editorializing is not necessary, Datz."
Another puzzle piece clicked. "You were arrested in connection with the Buff murder."
Are'bal whistled. "That's some memory you got there, Prosecutor! That was, what, five years ago now?"
"I take an interest in certain trials," Klavier said carefully. "You were found not guilty."
"Absolutely in the clear on that one!" Are'bal agreed, flashing Klavier a wide grin and a too-casual thumbs up.
"That one --"
"I inherited Datz," the Queen interjected smoothly. "He's obligated to aid me in my personal endeavours."
"Like greeting visitors at the airport?"
"Like doing my brother's guest -- that he did not think to tell me about -- the honour of welcoming him to Our kingdom and providing personal guidance and hospitality."
"Your --"
The Queen didn't let Klavier finish. She would make an excellent lawyer if the queen thing didn't work out. "My other brother's guest. He's never had one before. You're his first."
The feeling warming Klavier's chest did not require in depth examination, but: "I'm not exactly --"
Are'bal shook his head solemnly. "You know it's a sad thing when the monk's got a better social life than you do. We worry about him, don't we, Majesty?"
"We worry about certain things relating to him," the Queen corrected before turning sharply and striding away from the men. And the terminal.
"The exit --" Klavier gestured helplessly in the direction of the small building; the other passengers were long gone. He was alone on the tarmac except for the head of state and her casually criminal bodyguard.
In retrospect, coordinating with Apollo directly might have been a better plan.
"Datz recommended using his personal exit for the sake of expediency."
"There's just the one custom's official; I like to spare her unnecessary work whenever I can." The grin Are'bal flashed Klavier offset any hint of chivalry in his words. "Lemme give you a hand with the bags there, Prosecutor."
"Klavier, please." He looked once more in the direction of the terminal. "Are you quite sure --" he began, but Are'bal had already taken possession of Klavier's suitcase and was walking quickly to catch up with the Queen.
"My brother says you take great pains to avoid going through customs because Dau T'freh was no longer interested in your courtship advances and expressed this in very clear terms." The Queen stopped in front of a stretch of fencing that looked identical to the rest. Sharp yellow and green grasses gathering aggressively where the tarmac ended.
Are'bal crouched, coughing and ducking his head. "Those aren't exactly the words I'd have used --"
"He also says you are a criminal and likely in Our kingdom illegally."
"Right on the money there," Are'bal agreed, fiddling in the grass nearest the fence. He swore abruptly, jumping to his feet and sticking a finger in his mouth. "I hate that stuff." A perfect rectangle of door swung out from the fence, smooth and silent. "I'd rather deal with the scalpelwire up top."
"I look forward to hearing about that," the Queen said, pushing past Are'bal. She glanced over her shoulder. "You know We will have to report this source of breach to Transit and Security, of course."
Are'bal sighed, shoulders slumping. He looked mournfully at Klavier, shrewd eyes searching for sympathy and understanding, feeling out Klavier's potential as an ally. "The reward for a job well done is another job, huh KG?"
"Is that so, Herr Are'bal?" Klavier said, unsure what job the man had completed, let alone the metric for assessing the quality of same. It might have been easier to wait for someone Apollo knew to be murdered or arrested in LA instead of coming to Khura'in to see him.
Among other things.
But principally to see Apollo Justice.
There was no vehicle outside the airport except for two small taxies, aged but brightly coloured. They were already occupied by Klavier's fellow travellers. If there had been transport for the Queen and Are'bal, it had left. A quick survey of the area confirmed no stealth, royalty-appropriate transport and that the airport had not been constructed near anything that could plausibly fall under a queen's definition of 'personal guidance and hospitality'.
Klavier wished Are'bal had taken more of his luggage.
The Queen and Are'bal set an alarmingly brisk pace in what could only be described as the hike to the palace.
There had been no discussion of their destination.
Klavier thought he kept himself fit, with the assistance of a personal trainer and a cautious eye on the tedium of calories and food labels, but after a long series of flights, partially in cramped conditions, his fitness could not compete with that of a teenage girl or whatever Are'bal was. His self-declared guides kept up a commentary between them, requiring minimal input from Klavier.
Once they were in something Klavier could recognize as a city, Are'bal lit another cigarette, puffing out smoke in pleased clouds directed away from the Queen. The streets were narrow by design, made more so by movable stalls crowded close together while businesses with permanent locations were spilling out their doors and spreading their wares in the sun. When asked about cars, Are'bal waved vaguely, either dismissing the question entirely or poorly indicating the direction of streets more accommodating to modern transport. The older man was more interested in pointing out a smoky stall that sold, "The best -- meat", a crucial word getting swallowed by a terrible screaming roar coming from nearby.
"A warbaa'd," the Queen said; Klavier murmured a nonsensical, "We've met," before she could launch into an explanation of the nightmare noise.
Are'bal laughed. "I damn near shit myself the first time I heard one of those in the wild! What 'bout you, KG?"
"Nothing so --"
"Fecal?" the Queen suggested.
Klavier coughed. "I was going to say dramatic; but your version would also be accurate, Your Majesty."
"A man shouldn't be afraid or ashamed of expressing himself in a real powerful way, you know. Just really feeling it on a physical level. Raw and honest and powerful. All that shit." Are'bal cackled.
The Queen rolled her eyes, lips twitching to she suppress a smile. Her gazed locked with Klavier's and her eyebrows rose, inviting him to share in the joke of refusing to be amused by Are'bal. "Don't project on Apollo's guest, Datz."
"I'm not actually Herr Justice's guest --" Klavier's words came to an abrupt halt as the amusement vanished from the Queen's eyes. He found himself pinned between two equally intense stares. "That is, it's rather a busman's holiday for me, ja?" Are'bal blew a mouthful of smoke at Klavier. The stares did not lessen. They exerted their own gravity field. Klavier's pace slowed, his feet dragging in the dirt.
"Our public transit system is not as robust as We would like, but if need be Datz can appropriate a rickshaw for you."
As suddenly as he'd been pinned, Klavier was freed from the intense stares. He stumbled momentarily, his limbs tingling like they'd fallen asleep. The Queen and Are'bal walked on either side of him as before. "Nein, nein, it's an English turn of phrase. English-English, I believe, perhaps antiquated but when it is not your first language you sometimes acquire unusual vocabulary and colloquialisms, ja?"
"I think I can see why you and AJ get along," Are'bal said under his breath.
The urge to correct Are'bal was strong, but Klavier had no idea how to properly attack the statement. It wasn't that he and Apollo didn't get along -- it was, in fact, increasingly, hopefully very much the opposite -- but he wanted to explain that his current behaviour was not typical of Klavier Gavin. Any unsmooth aberrations these strangers might detect were merely the result of anxiety spiking because the last time he had seen Apollo Justice, Apollo Justice had kissed him with enough force that the sense memory lingered months later. Whatever existed between them had many complicated layers and Klavier had no experience with navigating any of them. Certainly not in conjunction with the way his blood rushed from his head to his dick when Apollo had yanked his tie --
Klavier inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled.
"I understand from conversation with Herr Justice that there continues to be an abundance of legal work out of proportion to the number of legal professionals available. I hope to provide some small assistance during my visit."
After a moment, Are'bal said, "Sounds like you're terrible at vacations, KG."
"He is like Apollo, isn't he?"
"I should take this as a compliment, ja?" Klavier wondered if Apollo would view it in the same light.
It probably wasn't actually a compliment.
"That's up to you, isn't it?" The smile the Queen flashed over her shoulder was sharp enough to cut.
The Queen and Are'bal put their heads together and conferred sotto voce when they neared what could only be the palace. Their exchange was entirely in Khura'inese; Klavier was starting to suspect both parties suffered from a tendency toward dramatics.
When, Klavier wondered, had he started considering drama an infliction as much as an affectation?
Klavier politely pretended not to notice as the needlessly secretive exchange continued in the middle of the street without consideration or awareness of other pedestrians. He examined a stall display. The number of street vendors had only increased the closer they got to the palace and while it was as noisy and chaotic as any proper street market, it was an unexpectedly polite cacophony. He wondered if it was a cultural aspect or an indication that the Queen's unofficial escapades were less subtle than she thought.
Klavier thought of the intense green eyes and sharp smile. Perhaps he shouldn't presume to know what the young woman thought. It seemed unlikely that the dark red markings on the Queen's face were something that would go unobserved. She was young, but Klavier had ample experience -- was, modestly, an example himself -- of the fact that youth did not correlate to ignorance.
The stall Klavier was inspecting had jewelry on display, beautiful and easily sold to tourists as souvenirs, whether purchasing as a personal reminder or as a gift for a loved one back home. Thick enamel bracelets, long necklaces with roughly polished wooden beads, earrings and cuffs of jade set with intricate scallops of gold. Klavier brushed his fingers over a rounded metal bangle with a mosaic of tiny stones picking out a circling lotus pattern in pale pink and green. The vendor had gone respectfully quiet in the presence of his attention and Klavier quickly withdrew his hand, murmuring a quiet apology. Who would he even buy a souvenir for? The thought was a depressing one; he couldn't choose which was bleaker: the idea of buying a gift for his brother or that of buying one for his therapist. Staring at, but carefully not touching, a heavy-looking necklace of embossed brass rectangles held together by chains that looked too fine and fragile to bear their weight, he remembered his secretary. He could bring something back for her.
Something less fraught with implication than jewelry.
"If you're not Apollo's guest, what are your arrangements for accommodation?" the Queen asked casually, as if she and Klavier were in mid-conversation and she had not, in fact, been engaged in a secret discussion in a foreign language with Are'bal for the past ten minutes.
With another apology to the vendor -- something almost resembling his usual smoothness about gold not complimenting his skin tone -- Klavier rejoined his unsought guides.
"Feel damn foolish if we'd walked you right past your hotel carrying all your stuff for no reason." Are'bal laughed. "Not that there are hotels!"
"Bitte?"
"We have hotels," the Queen said stiffly. Defensive.
"You say 'hotel' to an American," Are'bal ignored Klavier's mild protest at the designation, ruthlessly pushing forward, "they're thinking a Motel Numbers or a Holiday Hotel or, for a fancy lad like KG here, a Geraldo or Maddisson."
Klavier would be lying if he denied part of him had been hoping -- not presuming, but certainly hoping -- that the matter of accommodations would be resolved by Apollo Justice extending an invitation. Some sort of invitation. Not necessarily an inherently carnal invitation, but a friendly invitation, an invitation between colleagues, friendly colleagues, colleagues who were friends and had, incidentally, kissed. Been kissed.
If such an invitation was not proffered, there were always --
"You don't have hotels."
"Most visitors take lodging at a temple," the Queen said. She sniffed. "And, of course, there are guest houses."
"One guest house," Are'bal corrected cheerfully. 'Cheerful' seemed to be the man's default state; Klavier wondered that the Queen tolerated it, let alone Apollo. It only seemed to amplify in the face of the Queen's irritation. Before Klavier could ask for directions -- just in case -- Are'bal continued, a conversational steamroller of a human being. "It still can't host outsiders after midnight, yeah?"
"Hä." Klavier pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he'd researched the country properly before his visit or asked Apollo in more detail about the challenges he was facing but putting into e-mail, text, or even a phone conversation a subject with such potential for intense discussions had seemed --
-- a waste. A waste of the opportunity for in-person intensity and the way Apollo's face got flushed when he got legally passionate and his voice went raw with emotion and sweat would bead on his upper lip before it began trickling down his neck, his mouth red and eyes hotter than fire --
Klavier swallowed and ran a finger under the collar of his shirt.
"Prosecutor Sahdmadhi, Minister Justice, and myself arrived at the particulars of Ersin Inproht'st's bail arrangement after much discussion. Certain compromises and concessions were made by all parties."
"Which all boils down to -- no hotels. Sorry, KG," Are'bal said in the tone of a man who had no experience apologizing and had no intention of making today the start of his studies.
Klavier forced a smile before he could be swallowed in the embarrassment of his assumption. "Then I'm afraid, in light of this information, that the answer to your question, Your Majesty, is no. I failed to consider that the recent history of your lovely nation might have resulted in an absence of economic demand for tourist accommodations."
The Queen pursed her lips.
"I hope it will not inconvenience anyone if I rely on the kindness of your local temple --"
"We will give you a room at the palace, of course."
"That's very generous --"
"As you said, you are not here as a tourist but to provide a service to Our legal system and Our Minister of Justice. It is appropriate, not a matter of generosity. Although We can, of course, be very generous when We choose." The capitalization was clear and artful on her lips, as natural as breathing.
"Thank --"
"You could always put him up in AJ's rooms; it's not like he uses them."
"Please do not imply that Our circumstances are reduced to the point to necessitate appropriate private quarters to privately house one of Our guests." The Queen fixed Are'bal with one of her sharp smiles and grasped Klavier's upper arm.
At the palace entrance, Klavier's guides turned left. They made an extensive circuit around walls and barriers, so long that Klavier felt a momentary pang of fear that putting his trust in the two strangers was a mistake. He was being lured to an isolated area for murder or kidnapping purposes. He hadn't set his out-of-office message to explain delayed responses due to murder-kidnapping.
Then a perfectly normal gate opened and Klavier was politely ushered into a place of quiet ponds and peaceful plants, soft flowers and contemplative stones. If he were to be murder-kidnapped, this was probably the ideal location, aesthetically speaking.
"The royal residence," the Queen interrupted Klavier's thoughts. "My brothers are probably still working in the Pavilion of Meditation. Datz, if you could take Prosecutor Gavin's bags to a guest chamber -- and please direct whoever is tending that area to speak with Us for directions on making the chambers appropriate for Our guest."
"But --" Are'bal pouted, an expression Klavier planned to retire at age 40.
"We will, of course, be mentioning the hole in airport security to Our brothers."
"-- I should really get these put away. Can't be good for my back, hauling around all this crap -- no offense, KG -- at my age."
"Mm," the Queen agreed seriously. There was the barest twitch of her mouth and eyebrows hinting at the farce she and Are'bal had enthusiastically created for themselves.
"Herr Are'bal? I just need one item from my bag, if you wouldn't mind." Klavier indicated the small carry-on-in-intent-if-not-execution, as the plane into Khura'in did not so much have rules against what could be brought aboard and more did not provide space for luggage in the passenger compartment.
"Oh?" the Queen infused the syllable with intense curiosity.
"A gift for Herr," Klavier hesitated, warmth unexpectedly burning high on his cheeks and the back of his neck, "Justice."
"Oh?" Are'bal made the sound comically lewd. He might as well have waggled his eyebrows and pointed to his crotch.
The Queen shook her head, pressing a finger to her lips and frowning sternly at Are'bal. Klavier pretended not to notice and grabbed the gift, slippery crinkling pharmacy bag and all. It did nothing to diminish the grin on Are'bal's face, the man a perfect embodiment of the sexually lascivious cartoon wolf.
There was, despite logic and geography, a presumption in Klavier's bones that with queens came ancient gothic-Germanic stone castles, their towers suitably high to imprison enemies and great halls with huge fireplaces to combat whistling drafts through crumbling masonry. But as the Queen lead him along paths tiled with colourful mosaics, the absence of any central unified building fitting his understanding of 'castle' became clear.
In the distance, not in the direction Are'bal had left or the direction the Queen was taking him, he could see the peaked roof of the large building he had thought to be the entirety of the palace, golden beams gleaming in the light. There were low buildings that could be family homes and enclosed gazebos only big enough for garden tools. He caught glimpses of pavilions, their towers rising high compared to the other Khura'inese buildings he'd seen. The Queen helpfully pointed out specific buildings, the general shape of which Klavier would probably remember, if not their locations, and statues they passed, including a dragon that appeared to have been carved from a single piece of monochrome marble, the hard black and white stark compared to the flowering greenery and the glit buildings. It was new enough that the edges were chisel-sharp, and no plants had taken an opportunity to colonize the gleaming surface. The dragon was the only thing they passed that the Queen did not comment on; she stopped, so Klavier stopped and waited patiently as she stared at the sharp head and smooth marble curve of the dragon's eyes, hands clenching behind her back. Then, as though responding to an inner timer, she continued, sneakers hitting the path heavily. Klavier looked back at the dragon, but the statue remained a statue, no more communicative or obviously significant than anything else they passed. He spotted no other dragons, though, the motifs favouring birds and butterflies, maidenly silhouettes and spreading flowers.
"Nahyuta has proper prosecutorial offices in the Temple, off the High Court Chambers, of course --"
"Of course."
"-- but he claimed and refurbished this after I came into my majority as a private, secondary office. I suspect its ironic."
The building the Queen was casting a skeptical eye over -- apparently undecided whether, if its naming was ironic, irony was something of which she approved -- had unadorned white walls, the main level not much larger than Klavier's office, the second small enough it could have been an aesthetic affectation rather than useable space. The roof was pale green bamboo. There were glass windows on the main level; the upper level had simple circles covered by plain paper screens. An old stone bird bath was the only decoration. It sat unobtrusively in the meticulously maintained little sand garden circling the building, the sand bordered by small, many petaled white flowers he didn't recognize. Maybe they were weeds. Kristoph had always expressed frustration over Klavier's disinterest in 'the fountains of knowledge to be found in studying flowers'.
They probably weren't poisonous.
The Queen didn't knock; likely, queens were never taught how, like American boys with toilet seats. Any rapping wouldn't have been audible over the verbal explosion that hit them before the Queen had both feet inside the door; angry, thundering Khura'inese clashing against calm, deep, and immovable Khura'inese.
"Are you two still on this?" the Queen asked with a sigh.
In response, the argument transitioned to English. It was like she had flipped the language settings on a video.
"That's not even close to a compromise! That's you saying: 'excellent point, Apollo, could you get me the wastebasket, so I don't have to get up when I throw it out'!"
"Your problem -- one of your many problems, let us be honest with each other, if nothing else --"
Klavier didn't know it was possible to shout the act of choking, but Apollo Justice remained full of surprises, some of them baffling, most of them so loud it was a wonder they were able to be surprises.
"-- is that you are so certain of your position's the correctness that you view the smallest suggestion of the slightest alteration as complete rejection."
"That's you!"
The Queen popped a finger in her ear and waggled it around. When the exaggerated gesture failed to command attention, she cleared her throat with astonishing loudness. Both men snapped their heads in her direction and said, "Your Majesty," like guilty schoolboys.
"Your brother," Apollo Justice said hotly, hands braced on the table in front of him so tensely Klavier could see the tendons popping on the backs, "is being insufferable and needlessly obstructing tangible progress in the matter of prison reform."
Nahyuta Sahdmadhi stood stiffly on the opposite side of the table, cool and tranquil like a deep pond with a venomous serpent lying just below the surface as he said, "Your Minister of Justice wants the streets to be overrun by ever criminal in Khura'in, from pickpocket to serial murderer."
"That is not what I said! There's a backlog of cases you have to prosecute, the prison is still overcrowded, and the economy is stagnant and I said maybe if you made it easier for people in prison for minor charges --"
"You include treason in your list of minor charges --"
"Are you seriously objecting to my objecting to there still being people in prison for trying to hire a defense attorney?"
"There are people who committed dangerous acts of terrorism against my family --"
"Controlled arson of an empty guard station is not an act of treason!"
The Queen pressed a hand to her forehead. Cautiously, Klavier entered the room. "Are they always like this?"
"Only every other month or so, now. You got lucky, Prosecutor Gavin."
"Bad luck is a kind of luck," Klavier agreed as Apollo and Sahdmadhi continued their argument, the Queen's presence already forgotten.
"-- and I agreed with you which is why Proht'ist is out as a trial of your bail system proposal --"
"-- thank you for that magnanimous agreement where you still managed to hamstring a perfectly straightforward system to the point of uselessness --"
"There are still people in this kingdom looking for any excuse to reinstate the previous regime --"
"Why don't you just take over as Minister of Justice since you're the expert? Then I could focus on doing my job without all this bullshit!"
"And how do you intend to pay rent, let alone someone's bail, with the income you earn from the nothing you charge your clients --"
"It's called bartering! It's an ethical compromise with people who, for random example, haven't been able to earn a substantial income because the family patriarch has been incarcerated for a decade for protesting a bloody regime that --"
The Queen slammed her hands down on the table, the force scattering the papers between the two men. The coffee cup by Apollo's elbow spun before clattering to the floor, rolling away like a thing possessed. "Enough! You're supposed to be the advisors I can actually trust without worrying about their ulterior motives or about getting lost in petty grudges and needless masculine tantrums."
Apollo pushed his bangs back from his eyes, inhaling deeply. Sahdmadhi coolly tucked errant strands of hair back into his braid.
"Standard legal discourse, Your Majesty, nothing to be concerned about."
"Just a bit of a disagreement, we're cool."
"Maximally cool," Sahdmadhi confirmed, his face and voice equally expressionless.
"Maximally, ja," Klavier said, trying not to laugh. An amused snort still escaped, and the other men snapped their gazes from the Queen to Klavier, finally registering the presence of a fourth person in the room. One gaze was cool green, recognition registering and expressed through a languid blink and a slight inclination of the head. The other --
Intense. Pupils like banked embers, irises like sepia-toned fire. Dark, tired bags underneath and frown lines between. Irritation moving to confusion before being swallowed by embarrassment.
Klavier wiped his palms on the seams of his pants. Apollo Justice needed to return to America so they could face each other in court again and Klavier could get properly inoculated against the way he was burned by those eyes.
"Kl -- Prosecutor Gavin. Were you -- you're arriving today?"
"Did you learn that kind of evidentiary analysis in your American law school?" Sahdmadhi's eyes cut to Apollo. When he moved to bow and take Klavier's hand, Apollo stuck his tongue out. Klavier and Apollo's eyes met; caught, Apollo's embarrassment deepened, colour rising in his face. He stiffly lowered his head and began pulling scattered papers back into order. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Khura'in, Prosecutor Gavin. A pleasure to see you again."
"Likewise." Klavier grasped the man's hand, eyes flicking with surprise to the black tattoo briefly visible on the pale palm, incongruous with the pristine monk, and withheld his opinion on the other prosecutor's taste in body art. "I don't believe I've seen you since you attended my talk at the Dusseldorf conference."
"Polyglot Prosecutors and Proper Professional Precautions: Ethics in Evidence and International Interrogation."
"What the fuck?"
"Is that what it was called?" Klavier asked, keeping his voice mild. He fiddled with his sunglasses before carefully removing them and sliding them into the case in his hooded jacket. "I'm flattered you remember. Although, I believe the panels were, ah, named by the conference's organizing committee." He tried to observe Apollo from under his eyelashes and gauge the target of his irritation.
"Since when do you two know each other?"
Ah. Klavier moved to twist the end of his hair around his fingers before recalling the travel-mussed bun stuffed under his baseball cap and turning the gesture into scratching the back of his neck. "The small world of prosecutors with multinational legal licenses, Herr F -- Justice."
"Your friends are allowed to know people besides you, Apollo. Professionally or otherwise."
Apollo grimaced something like a smile at Sahdmadhi.
"Wouldn't it have been lovely if this could have been Prosecutor Gavin's first impression of the heart of our legal system?" The Queen pulled out a chair and threw her windbreaker over the back before flopping down. "Up to a point," she added, propping her feet on the table near Apollo's elbow, censure via dirty sneakers.
"It would have been even lovelier if you had informed us that you were meeting Apollo's guest --"
"He's not my guest --"
"Prosecutor Gavin is Our guest, not Minister Justice's," the Queen said, moving a stack of papers with the heel of her shoe.
"Wait, what --"
"All the more reason to inform us of Prosecutor Gavin's arrival. Please tell me you didn't meet a royal guest alone."
"Of course not."
Apollo and Sahdmadhi exhaled in unison. Apollo massaged his forehead.
"Datz was with me."
Apollo's forehead hit the table. Sahdmadhi pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rayfa --"
"I was greatly honoured to be greeted by the lovely personage that is Her Majesty," Klavier said. Sahdmadhi's perfect eyebrows pulled together in an elegant frown, his eyes narrowing. As smoothly as he might amend a statement on the fly in court, Klavier continued, "And it was an ... honour to meet Herr Are'bal. I had barely a concern about being kidnapped."
Almost as smoothly.
Sahdmadhi shot an unreadable expression in the Queen's direction. She dodged it neatly by slumping down in her chair until her head vanished beneath the edge of the table. Apollo turned a crack of laughter into a cough, covering his mouth with a fist. Klavier's heart stuttered.
"I believe that's the best first impression Datz has ever made on someone," said Sahdmadhi.
Apollo failed to hide his grin, the edges sneaking past the cover of his hand. "There's room in there for the possibility of a successful kidnapping, yeah."
"If kidnapping was intended, I don't believe I would have Datz as the key actor."
"Also, the Kingdom of Khura'in doesn't sanction kidnapping of anyone for any reason, Your Majesty."
The Queen waved away what Klavier hoped wasn't a necessary reminder from Apollo. Sahdmadhi's unsmiling presence gave everything in the room an air of seriousness that Klavier preferred absent when heads of state discussed directly committing criminal acts. "That aside, it is Our pleasure to have Prosecutor Gavin as a guest. Datz is putting his luggage in an appropriate guest chamber. We hope you won't hesitate to make any needs or desires known to Our staff during your stay; the majority speak English and those who do not will be more than capable of finding one who does."
"That's really not necessary, but I'm flattered by your generosity," Klavier said. "Danke."
"Your opinions and expertise will be greatly appreciated," Sahdmadhi said, sliding back into his position at the table. He folded elegant hands over his own stack of paperwork and looked at Klavier through absurdly long lashes. Klavier felt like he was in a job interview with a silent film starlet. "It has proven difficult to get assistance from the wider legal community with the --" he tapped a finger to his chin, and Klavier hadn't realized monks were allowed indulgences such as manicures, "-- complexities of the situation in our kingdom."
"How there are basically no lawyers here due to all the defense attorneys and pretty much any other lawyer with something resembling a moral compass getting hung," Apollo said, more matter-of-factly than Klavier could have imagined possible. Some measure of alarm must have been visible on his face, because Apollo added, "Execution by hanging is cost efficient," as though the method was the area of concern.
And state frugality something that would alleviate the concern.
"We don't do that anymore." The Queen crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. "I've never had anyone executed." Her tone suggested this was a great sacrifice on her part; there likely was a list of people she would have liked to have executed.
Klavier had a vision of a little girl's diary, complete with lock and key, listing the names of political dissidents with each 'i', or the nearest Khura'inese equivalent, dotted with a heart.
"Unfortunately, the history of two decades of a legal act requiring capital punishment is not erased with words," Sahdmadhi said.
"Not to mention the impact on the number of qualified professionals in the population," said Apollo. "Which is why we need to increase the opportunities for bail, parole, and exonerations in our prison population, because we can't just import an entire legal community --"
"Prosecutor Gavin's here now, though," the Queen said. She flashed Klavier a smile, welcoming and dangerous in equal parts.
"We aren't importing him, Rayfa --"
"It would be tantamount to human trafficking," Sahdmadhi said.
Apollo glared at Sahdmadhi, "He doesn't speak or read the language."
"I'm a quick study," Klavier said.
The glare moved to Klavier. "This isn't a job interview."
"Ja, ja," Klavier said quickly. God, he wished it were a job interview. "I am merely a guest. On vacation, ja? Visiting an old --" he squeezed the back of his neck, "-- colleague."
"Of course," Sahdmadhi said with something like a smile. "Apologies for inadvertently pulling you into our concerns before you have even unpacked. Or, indeed, provided all your luggage to Datz."
All eyes went to the plastic bag poking out from Klavier's jacket pocket. "Ah -- no. This is a gift for Herr Justice." He fumbled for the bag, the plastic crumpling too loud in the abruptly quiet room. Sahdmadhi and the Queen exchanged looks while Apollo --
Apollo looked startled. Embarrassed. Red spreading from below the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears to the perfect junction of his forehead and hairline. A finger and thumb twitch, tearing at the corner of one paper that Klavier hoped wasn't an original document.
Klavier nearly dropped the bag before holding it out, aiming for casual, fully aware of his failure. "From Fraulein Truschi." It was alarming how Apollo Justice could turn him into a coward without a word.
The Queen's eyebrows rose, and she shared another look with Sahdmadhi.
The red didn't fade from Apollo's face. He squeezed his wrist near the bracelet, probably massaging a cramp from working without resting his hands. Perhaps Apollo would allow Klavier to show him hand exercises to reduce repetitive strain injuries. He couldn't claim to have a better work-life balance than Apollo, but years as a touring musician equipped a man with a great range of survival techniques.
Apollo took the bag, as stiff as Klavier and opened it carefully. The Queen twisted around to kneel in her chair and peer over Apollo to see the 'gift'. Finding nothing more interesting than a jar of hair gel, she thumped back into her seat. "This is the good stuff," he said, frowning.
"It was on sale," Klavier said quickly. "Ah, or so Truschi told me."
Apollo's frown only deepened -- hardly an appropriate response to a gift from a thoughtful little sister. He rubbed his wrist again, fingers picking at the skin under his bracelet. "I'll be sure to thank her," he finally said. Hopefully, with his workload, lack of sleep, and Klavier's presence, thanking Trucy would slip Apollo's mind.
"Your sister," the Queen said sweetly, staring at Klavier, "is very thoughtful. Of course, if there are items in America you are having difficulty importing, Minister Justice, We would be more than happy to review Our customs and import regulations --"
"We really wouldn't," Sahdmadhi said. "Maybe Minister Justice would like to try doing literally anything with his hair beyond plastering it to his skull with transparent glue." His words held such perfect cadence for intoning a prayer that a marginally more jetlagged prosecutor-rock star on hiatus might have missed that the respected prosecutor-monk-prince was engaging in catty digs at his brother-colleague's hair.
Apollo lifted a finger in his brother's direction. He shot a pointed glance at his bracelet. "Oh, look at the time, it's go-the-fuck home o'clock."
The Queen pouted. "Apollo --"
"Tomorrow," Apollo said firmly. He pulled a briefcase out from under his chair and began shuffling through the papers, sorting some into bulging file folders and pointedly setting others on Sahdmadhi's side of the table. "Good to see you again, Prosecutor Gavin. Welcome to Khura'in." Awkwardly, Apollo patted Klavier's shoulder, the gesture stiff and ill-fittingly heterosexual.
"Herr Justice," Klavier began, before swallowing the impulse to offer to walk the other man home. Not only would the offer sound absurd, not only did he not know where Apollo was going, but he doubted his ability to easily find his way back to the palace. He was too old and too cool to turn 'I cannot find my way back to my evening's lodgings' into an overnight encounter.
The way every part of Klavier stiffened with aroused attention at the way Apollo snapped his briefcase shut was also a strong case for needing sleep more than attempts at romantic overtures. Was absurd and inappropriate horniness a common symptom of jetlag? If so, Klavier knew it wasn't the true culprit in the case at hand, watching Apollo throw his suit jacket over his shoulder.
Klavier had never seen that jacket do anything but be draped on furniture.
"Good to see you as well, Herr Justice. I look forward to working with you in whatever capacity I can assist." Klavier aimed his voice for casual. Judging from the way Apollo's face reddened, he missed the mark.
"Don't worry, Hornhead. We'll take good care of Prosecutor Gavin in your absence."
Sahdmadhi coughed delicately into his hand. Klavier probably imagined the muttered "Coward" as Apollo left.
"Trucy Wright, I'm going to murder you," Apollo hissed, his phone wedged awkwardly between ear and shoulder as he powerwalked back to the office, briefcase in one hand, plastic bag in the other.
The noise from his (half) sister was the incoherent sound of a mouth trying to speak into a phone set on speaker while being smashed into the depths of a pillow.
"The jury will not convict me."
There was the soft sound of fabric moving against fabric and the harsher sound of something being spitefully rubbed very roughly and closel to the phone, like Trucy had found a way to produce nails on a chalkboard-level noises using only what she could reach from her bed. "Your conscience," she said, yawning hugely between each word, "would never let you bribe a jury."
"My case will be very convincing," Apollo growled, his expression shifting quickly to flash polite smiles and bowing his head as people stepped out of his way or waved to him from their doorways.
"Why'm I getting premeditated murdered this time?" Trucy yawned so hard Apollo could hear her jaw click. "It's not even 8 AM, Polly; it better be super justified."
"That is not engendering the sympathy you're hoping from in your audience."
"You're already maximum sympathetic to me at all times."
Apollo scowled and huffed as he turned a corner. Admitting Trucy was anywhere near right was not an option. Neither was lying to her.
"If you've dropped your notes, I give you permission to hang up and call me back when you've got everything together again. At a normal hour. Maybe noon?"
"What's Klavier Gavin doing here, Trucy?"
"It sounds like you've got a more relevant witness to cross-examine; I'd ask him. I bet you wouldn't be waking him up. Unless --"
"Trucy!"
"Haven't you been talking for months about him coming to work for you or Nahyuta or something?"
"Act as an outside consultant!"
"Right, some kind of poorly disguised lawyer vacation to see a boy you like."
Distantly, a familiar voice yelled, "Is that Apollo?"
"You don't have to yell, Daddy, it's on speakerphone!"
Apollo fumbled for his keys and swore, taking a moment to rest his forehead against the door to his office. "Trucy, please take it off speakerphone."
"Daddy hasn't left for work yet and it would be super rude to be on the phone all by myself and just ignore him when he's making me breakfast since I got woken up crazy early."
"He's not making you breakfast."
An explosion of clattering cutlery, clinking plates, and running water came over the phone. It was convincing foley work from Mr. Wright. "Anything for my hardworking girl getting woken up at an uncivilized hour by her bullying big brother!"
Apollo gave up on smoothly unlocking the door and dropped his briefcase to better juggle the keys. "Could you answer the question, please?"
"I did." Trucy huffed. Apollo could see her blowing bedhead bangs out of her eyes with the exhalation. "He's doing that gay lawyer thing where you say you're going to help out someone you like with their lawyering in another country as cover for pining or kissing or something."
"He's not --" Apollo fumbled the keys, cursed, and grabbed them off the ground. "It's not --" He jammed his key into the lock with too much force; from inside, he could hear Mikeko's grumbling at being woken without an obvious source of adulation. "The legal system in Khura'in is a mess and trying to fix it while keeping it running is a lot of work and we need outside help and it's not easy to get and when we do get it no one can afford to take that much time out of their own practice and we have to pay them something lawyers don't travel to foreign countries to consult on government policies or do work in another country's justice system pro bono --"
When Trucy interrupted Apollo with a yawn it was a loud, extended performance yawn. The sort of yawn that could have been stretched into scales. "This is why you shouldn't call so early, Polly. Or maybe just text so I can skip over all the boring stuff."
"My job is not boring stuff," Apollo could feel himself tense defensively as he entered the office. Mikeko glared from where she sat on his desk, tail lashing and sweeping several pens onto the floor in the process.
"Being a lawyer is very exciting, honey!" Mr. Wright yelled with support that Apollo did not need or want.
"I didn't mean that," Trucy said sweetly. "I meant if you want to become one of those lawyers who writes up a fictionalized version of his life and cases for, like, TV or something, maybe take a class or five in creative writing and talking to non-lawyers first. Not everyone can be a born entertainer."
"At least I can carry a tune," Apollo muttered, dropping briefcase and bag to pick up Mikeko. The cat made cranky noises, dangling from his hands and stretching her legs out until a paw connected with Apollo's vest. Anchored, she slithered out of his grasp and onto his shoulder, winding around to try and bite at his phone and shove her face into the wedge of space it occupied.
"Hey! Daddy! What did you call it when you used to go to Europe to see Uncle Edgeworth?"
Apollo let Mikeko shove his phone to the floor and press her nose into his ear, purring deafeningly as she kneaded his shoulder. He took his time picking it back up, moving it to his other ear.
"-- olly? Did your goddess or whatever strike you down for the sin of wanting to murder your much cuter and more talented sister?"
"Lemme try this again: Trucy Wright, did you know Prosecutor Gavin was coming to Khura'in?"
"Prosecutor Gavin still?" Mr. Wright laughed.
"Duh. Didn't you?"
Apollo looked at the cat-induced chaos on his desk (which was on top of the chaos that was Ahlbi's persistence in being 'helpful' [which was on top of the chaos that existed because of Apollo coming home too-late from work at the palace and collapsing face first on his bed instead of taking the time to sort through the other two kinds of chaos]) and prevaricated. "Vaguely."
"Then I don't know why you're murder-mad at me."
"I'm not --" Mikeko bit Apollo's earlobe lovingly. "I just didn't know he was arriving today, that's all."
"Surprise!" Trucy said, her father echoing her a beat later.
"Did you know he was arriving today?"
"I don't even know when today is here, let alone in Khura'in." Trucy yawned. Apollo could hear her wash it away with something -- probably coffee -- and a quiet 'Thank you, Daddy'. "Time and dates and all that aren't even really real, Polly."
"Just standard real," Apollo sighed, moving his briefcase to his desk and snapping it open, trying to focus on sorting the mess. Palace documents in one pile, Justice Law Office documents in another, each split again based on whether they were predominantly in English or Khura'inese. "I would have appreciated a heads' up, that's all."
"Any particular reason you wanted advance notice of 'Prosecutor Gavin's' visit?"
Apollo glared at the mug he was moving to act as a paperweight for the Khura'inese-language documents. "Because I don't like surprises, Truce."
"Is it that you don't like surprises or that you're emotionally constipated and uncomfortable with being put in a position where it's harder to hide from non-professional interactions and feelings?"
"I called to yell at you, not Athena."
"It's okay to want to kiss Klavier. Lots of people do. Really, it's more normal than not wanting to kiss him."
"You're not to go kissing Prosecutor Gavin!"
"Tell your dad to go to work."
"He can hear you, Polly."
"I'm pretending you listened to me when I told you to take it off speakerphone."
"Oh! Like how I'm pretending you're listening to me when I call you out on your crush?"
"Listen to your sister, Apollo!"
"That's right, listen to your me, Polly! Resolve some of that tension and smooch the rockstar already!"
Apollo pressed the knuckles of his fist into his forehead, turning a single hungry, burning kiss in the airport over in his mind for the millionth time. He grunted noncommittally. "I'll pretend to keep your advice in mind, Truce."