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He was a dark-haired man with a dry sense of humor and a boyish laugh. He was an unusual companion for his boss and mentor; Mr. Gavin was all prim and proper, pressed suits, carefully groomed hair and carefully shaved face. Meanwhile, this black-haired man couldn’t seem to be bothered with anything dressier than nice jeans and a white t-shirt that seemed cleaner than usual. His black hair never seemed to be properly brushed, when one could see it- it was hidden beneath a hat of some sort most of the time, either a baseball cap or, more frequently, a blue knit cap with “PaPa” scrawled across the side in hot pink, with a strange pin adorning the front. And shaving? Only when Mr. Gavin teased him that it was almost a proper beard.
And after seeing the man come and go, several times, he had yet to hear this strange man’s name. Ever. Mr. Gavin never called him by his name- something Apollo got the sense was intentional and much more than the need to never arising- and he never volunteered it.
Then again, he only ever saw this strange man coming or going. Upon the first time their paths crossed at the office, it was due to Apollo’s carelessness. He had been asked to get together a couple of files for Mr. Gavin, and he wanted to get them to the man before he closed up his personal office for the evening. And so, without looking, Apollo barreled through the office, files in hand, and straight into that dark-haired man.
Upon impact, the stranger’s hand shot out and caught Apollo’s shoulder before he lost his balance, steadying him. “Careful,” he said, not unkindly. “Those files look like they’d be a bitch to have to get in order again.”
As the teenager was stuttering out an apology, the man’s blue eyes caught the bracelet he always wore- his only link to his natural family- and cut off his apology. “That’s an interesting piece,” the man said mildly. “Where’d you come by it?”
“This?” Apollo raised the wrist in question, and the man nodded slightly. “I’ve always had this. It was my mother’s.”
“Oh? It looks kind of familiar. Who-“
Apollo shook his head sadly. “She died when I was an infant.”
“That’s unfortunate. Sorry ‘bout the callous question. I’m good at sticking my foot in my mouth.” He smiled blankly.
Apollo returned his smile, baffled. He wasn’t getting the sense that this man was hostile, but he also didn’t seem surprised to hear that his mother had died. “It’s not a problem,” Apollo replied. “Uhm… if you’ll excuse me, sir- I- I have to deliver these files to Mr. Gavin-“
And, even though the dark-haired man opened his mouth to question the teenager further, he stopped, and went back to standing around, waiting for Mr. Gavin. The files in question were deposited on Mr. Gavin’s desk, thanks for Apollo’s promptness was given, and Apollo hurried back to his filing work, keeping his head down as he passed the dark-haired man again.
Five minutes later, the dark-haired man’s voice rang out through the office: “Kristoph! Stop wasting time! I’m about to leave without you!”
“Did you, of all people, just accuse me of wasting time?”
“I certainly did!”
Apollo listened to the two bicker, an absent, void, half-smile on the strange man’s face. He really didn’t want to do whatever the two were planning, Apollo could tell, despite the blank expression he wore. He also thought that the man’s voice was terribly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before...
~*~
The dark-haired man waited patiently for the pair to finish what they were doing: discussing the differences between duplicate evidence and forgeries. Of course, Phoenix Wright came up; the dark-haired man was still during this conversation, as he usually was, that bland smile still on his face. Something was bothering him.
Apollo grimaced as Kristoph stated, as a fact, that Mr. Wright forged the diary page that got the legendary lawyer disbarred. “Objection!” he cried; the strange man, sitting in the corner of the office, jumped and stared in bewilderment at the youth. Apollo blushed, murmured an apology for his volume as Mr. Gavin sighed, and said, “There was no proof Mr. Wright actually created the forgery,” Apollo told him.
Mr. Gavin nodded. “Indeed. Mr. Wright was an art major initially in college-“ Apollo gasped, and scrabbled for his textbook, quite sure that hadn’t been mentioned in the section on the man- “but he certainly didn’t have the skill to create a forgery as clean as the diary page. He commissioned it. And stop that. He’s mentioned because of his methods as an attorney, it’s not intended to be biographical.”
The young student stopped trying to get his textbook out of his backpack. “But sir,” Apollo said, “there was no proof that he commissioned the forgery, either. I mean- he’s- well, I’ve done a lot of research on him.” Apollo noticed the strange man in the corner shift physically, as his mood did as well, although what he was feeling was still veiled. “A forgery of that caliber would have taken a lot of cash to commission. Mr. Wright was famous, but he took most of his clients pro bono.”
“He defended several celebrities,” Mr. Gavin pointed out.
“It still wouldn’t have been enough to pay for a forgery like that page,” Apollo insisted. “He had to live on the money he got from the celebrity cases. By State v. Enigmar, he hadn’t defended a celebrity successfully in quite some time. He had to be running out of funds by the time he took Mr. Enigmar’s case!”
“There was no solid proof that he didn’t, though,” Mr. Gavin challenged. “Proof is everything.”
“Exactly. Proof is everything and there’s none that he did commission the forgery, either.”
“Well argued, Mr. Justice.” Mr. Gavin beamed at him. “What are the principles you can take away from studying Mr. Wright’s case?”
Apollo thought hard, the older man’s sudden praise and question catching him off-guard. “The need for proof, ideally, should go both ways,” he said finally, “and, assuming Mr. Wright’s version of the events is the truth- which they are- a lawyer needs to be extremely careful with the evidence they intend to present.”
“Good.” Mr. Gavin sat back in his seat, shooting a glance at their silent companion. His look caused Apollo to do the same, and in time for him to see the stranger glaring, almost hatefully, at Mr. Gavin. It was only a moment before the bland mask had returned, though, and the dark-haired man offered, “I thought this lesson was on the difference between forgeries and duplications. The principles that can be demonstrated by State v. Wright are largely irrelevant to that topic.”
“You’re correct, of course,” Mr. Gavin said with a charming smile. “I’m afraid we got a little off-topic.”
“A little?” There was something accusatory in the stranger’s voice.
“A little,” Mr. Gavin confirmed. “We’ll go back and actually discuss duplications versus forgeries tomorrow. It’s way past time for you to head home, Mr. Justice.”
“Right. Have a good night,” Apollo replied, zipping his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He left, closing the door behind him. The stranger’s voice, as quiet as he spoke, still carried through the door: “How dare you, Kristoph!”
He left. He wasn’t sure what dispute the two were having and it obviously didn’t involve him.
~*~
They seemed to be over it the next time the strange man appeared in the office. This time, Mr. Gavin and the blue-eyed man were collaborating over a case; the stranger examined each piece of evidence Mr. Gavin gathered, each photograph he took and each page of his summarized interviews with his client and witnesses. It took a while, but eventually the stranger was just as baffled as Mr. Gavin was. “None of this makes any sense,” he said plaintively.
“I don’t stand a chance if you can’t piece this together, do I?” Mr. Gavin said, sounding dejected, something Apollo had never heard.
“I think you’re selling yourself a little short,” the stranger replied, picking up a previously-discarded photograph and scrutinizing it intensely. “It’s entirely possible that one of the prosecution’s witnesses will foul up their story and tell you what really happened.”
“I’d rather not rely on that happening.”
“You might have to. Sorry.”
Apollo approached them and the table the evidence was spread out on. Both men looked at him, but neither said anything. Feeling awkward, he started examining the photographs as well; it sounded like Mr. Gavin was in trouble. He wanted to help.
He half-listened to the two men exchange theories, debunking each other as they went. Something caught Apollo’s eye as the stranger said something about the photo of the crime scene, his attention drawn to that particular photograph. The dark-haired man was saying there was something off about the photograph, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Apollo picked it up, tense; when neither man told him to drop it, his eyes swept the scene contained in it. The stranger was right. Something in this photograph made no sense, but what was it?
He went over the tiny details of the picture. The blood splatter on the victim’s hands, the exact position of the second hand on the clock on the wall, the way the knife was sticking out of a piece of furniture, how far the blinds were drawn- “Wait a minute!” Apollo gasped, his gaze drawn to the shadow the knife was casting. “That shadow! It’s all wrong!”
Mr. Gavin suppressed a sigh of annoyance, even as the stranger took the photograph from him, examining the knife and its surroundings once more. “Apollo,” Mr. Gavin said, “I understand that you’re eager to help, but you might want to leave this to-“
“Wait!” the stranger interrupted, his blue eyes going wide. “Wait wait wait! He’s right, Kristoph! The lamp is off and the shades are drawn. Those are the only light sources the knife’s shadow could come from.”
“What?” Mr. Gavin reached for the photograph and the man surrendered it to him. The blond attorney examined it now, and his lips pressed together in a grim line. “This photograph is doctored.”
Mr. Gavin and the man looked at each other in grim silence. “Who would want to pass the defense a doctored photograph?” the dark-haired man asked.
“I think I have a good idea,” Mr. Gavin answered after a moment. “Thank you for your help.”
“Don’t mention it.” The man glanced at the clock on the wall. “And just in time for me to pick up Truce, too. Good luck tomorrow, Kristoph. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will. Have a good evening.”
The man gathered his sweat jacket and beanie hat, and turned to leave. And then stopped. “Hey kid,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re studying to be a lawyer, right?”
Apollo was stunned that the man was addressing him again, only the second time in the half year that he was regularly visiting the office. “Y-yes sir.”
“Keep it up. You’re going to be brilliant. I’ll just ask for- what was your name? Apollo-?”
“Justice, sir. Apollo Justice.”
The blue-eyed man smiled. “Apollo Justice. I’ll keep you in mind if I ever need an attorney, once you get there.”
Apollo returned the smile a bit hesitantly as Mr. Gavin came up beside him. He seemed to be glaring at the man, silently ordering him to go away. He knew that Mr. Gavin wanted this conversation ended, but he couldn’t help himself. He was terribly curious who this man was who spent so much time with his boss and custodian and whom Mr. Gavin allowed to help with his cases and whose voice was hauntingly familiar. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I ever caught your name.”
“Oh! Yeah, I’m kinda rude like that.” The smile turned to a dopey, arrogant grin. “Name’s Phoenix Wright. See you around, kid!”
If Phoenix caught sight of the way Apollo’s jaw hit the floor, he had the good graces to wait to laugh before he was out of earshot.