Chapter Text
"I'm sorry, you were stabbed! Of course I’m -”
"I said lightly stabbed, Herr Forehead,” said Klavier, and smiled in true grin-and-bear-it fashion. “I’ll be fine, ja?”
Apollo winced; his bracelet must have caught the lie. Then he shook his head. “Klavier, you’re bleeding.”
“Herr Forehead, I don’t know if anyone’s pointed this out, but -" Apollo’s face drifted farther away, blurring, as if Klavier’s contacts had fallen out. Apollo’s hands displaced Klavier’s weakening grip, and pressed something against the wound.
“Klavier – Klavier?!”
“’pollo? You sound... quiet…” His head met something soft and red: Apollo’s suit. When did Apollo get such quietness to his speech? “Schatzi, I...” When did words get this hard?
It had been a simple investigation, in theory, to ease up on the heavier cases the Wright Anything Agency had taken recently. Apollo was definitely going to strangle Mr. Wright later for the assignment. Because Klavier’s blood wasn’t supposed to be coating his hands, redder than his suit. The prosecutor himself kept trying to talk, slipping in and out of German and English and sounding mostly incoherent in both.
“Klavier, I’m going to get us out of here."
Klavier smiled a bit at that. “Schatzi...”
Apollo undid his tie, knotted the ends, and cinched them against Klavier’s side, trying to keep pressure on the wound. Klavier hissed something in pained German. “I’m sorry. Hang in there.”
He wiped his hands on his pants, grimacing, and began scouting the dank room for an exit. If they both lived, he was going to murder Mr. Wright and Klavier, now that he thought about it. Stupid, stupid Klavier. Blocking a masked guy from reaching Apollo with a knife. Offering up his own body as a sacrifice to save him. And then the door had shut and locked, knobless on their side, no cell service.
Focus, Justice.
Dust clouds went into his nose as he stepped toward the corner, trying to see about the tiny window high in the wall. He noticed a spot significantly less dusty than the others, and swept his gaze over the room again. Something must have been there. Think. This room isn’t as empty as it seems.
...Or maybe it was just removed and I’m back to square one. He was too short to reach the window, even jumping; he pressed his fingers to his forehead in frustration. Wait. Window. Chords of Steel. Possibilities formed in his head.
Klavier made only a faint noise of protest when Apollo extricated the chainlinks he wore on his belt and tied it his messenger bag straps.
After the third try of swinging it, his bag succeeded in showering glass somewhere on the outside. There were voices on a sidewalk he couldn’t see, and he cleared his throat. “HEY!” he shouted, standing near the window. “I’m Apollo Justice, and I’m trapped with an injured colleague!”
A pause in the chatter.
“This isn’t a joke, I swear! My friend’s been literally stabbed, okay?”
“Lightly,” mumbled Klavier, slightly lucid again. “Lightly, Herr Forehead.”
“Shut up, Gavin,” said Apollo, voice shaking slightly as he turned to look at the blonde prosecutor. More gently: “Save your energy.”
Klavier smirked, and then coughed and shuddered, blood dripping and smearing onto his chin. “Herr Forehead… Apollo.”
There was more shouting involving Chords of Steel out the window, before Apollo’s face floated into his vision again. “Klavier, if you die, I swear I will resurrect you just to punch you in the mouth.” Softer, almost to himself. “You can’t. You can’t.” His eyes were bright.
“’pollo...” Klavier tried to say, tried to focus his gaze on Apollo’s wonderful, expressive face.
“Someone’s calling for help, which means Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth will know soon, and if the police can’t get into the room, Kay Faraday can. You’re not going anywhere, even if you have a chronic death wish. You can’t. I…”
Klavier’s consciousness started to slip again, nearly blocking out the last two words that the defense attorney couldn’t possibly have meant. Apollo’s face swam in his vision, eyes warm and brown, shifting Klavier into his warm grip.
Ten minutes later, help did arrive. After several desperate attempts of unlocking the door or prying it open, there was what sounded like a small explosion, and the door fell back off its hinges. Apollo’s fingers had gone numb trying to hold onto Klavier and press his hands against the wound both.
How long has it been since the initial wound, how long ago did he develop breathing issues, how long was he conscious… The questions went on as they got the now-unconscious prosecutor onto a stretcher. They took vitals and staunched the ugly, ugly wound, bringing out tubes and needles and an oxygen mask. They were talking to Mr. Edgeworth, too, and he guessed that made sense - he was Klavier's boss.
Then they left with Klavier, and his thoughts seemed to leave around the same time.
“Apollo,” said Mr. Wright. “Don’t worry, Miles will make sure you can see him.”
He hadn’t realized Mr. Wright had been standing there. For a few disconnected seconds, Apollo stared at him. The previous urge to berate him had vanished.
“Miles is going to take us to the hospital, Trucy's already in the car. We'll get someone to bring you clean clothes,” Mr. Wright elaborated.
“Won’t I get blood in Mr. Edgeworth’s car?” Good going, that’s what you think to ask?
“Do you really think he can’t afford to get it cleaned?” A spark of humor amidst the turmoil. “Also, I brought towels. Come on, Apollo.” The older defense attorney put his hand on Apollo’s shoulder, heedless of the blood, and the touch jarred Apollo mostly back to the present.
"How's Trucy taking the news?" Apollo started walking with Mr. Wright.
"She's upset, of course, but frankly I'd be more worried about you. You and Prosecutor Gavin seem to have become friends."
Is that what Klavier and I are? Down the hall, down the stairs, to where the Chief Prosecutor paced just outside the door to the building.
“Wright,” he said, without preamble. “Mr. Justice. I have instructed Detective Gumshoe to meet us at the hospital. And to let you get cleaned up before you have to give a statement.” His gaze softened for a second, then reverted back to seriousness. “Let’s go.”