Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Klavier was a thousand apologies, ones he wished he could carve into skin with bloody thorns at this point, tell the world he was sorry. But he never did, he never told anyone anything that openly, because being Klavier Gavin meant nothing could be out of place. He hadn’t yet counted the flowers he coughed up every time he saw Phoenix Wright. Or, really, the instances when he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom before anyone mentioned Wright. 

The efforts were never enough, and he’d identified the flower as a type of rue. If not bloody thorns, the apologies did blister along his hands and arms with the stems and petals that fell from his lips. Being Hanahaki, it had no logic; his throat and mouth never blistered with them. If Klavier thought hard enough about it, maybe it meant that the world wanted him to apologize first.

And of course it would be rue, as if the injustice of the world saw the irony in providing him with symbolic imagery to drown him further in guilt. He couldn’t help but agree: he rued the day he’d ever listened to Kristoph, and all the days that followed in which he never asked about it, and how many people would have been saved. Too bad chronic versions of Hanahaki didn’t actually kill you, unlike the popular conceptions. He sighed, and shoved a folder to the side. 

Though he had ended up in fairly dire straits over the forget-me-nots version and Kristoph: I just wanted him to be my brother. To not forget me. To not have done what he did. The day Kristoph had been convicted the first time, he’d nearly choked on the bundled deluge of forget-me-not’s, turning bluer than the flowers. That had been handled discreetly, in a hospital in Germany. 

Funny how all he wanted to do now was forget Kristoph, and couldn’t. Wonder what flowers I’ll get for his execution date. Daryan had been dark, dusky cranesbill. Flowers for every fucking occasion, whether he wanted them or not.

“Prosecutor Gavin?” 

Klavier’s head shot up at his boss’s voice. “Herr Edgeworth!” The Chief Prosecutor carried a case file under one arm.

“I knocked, my apologies for startling you. I thought you might have been listening to music.” 

“No problem,” said Klavier, slipping on his genial grin. “What can I do for you?”

“The Aster Gardens case is unassigned on our end, given it happened mere hours ago. The police have arrested a suspect - I know you tend to enjoy working opposite Mr. Justice?”

“Ja, I do,” affirmed Klavier. “It was on the news earlier - murdered groundskeeper, temp garden worker is the accused?”

“That’s the one,” said the Chief Prosecutor. “I have serious reservations on pinning this on the convenient suspect, however.” He handed Klavier the case file.

“Ja, all this evidence is circumstantial, just from glancing at it. I can definitely work with Herr Forehead to find the truth!” Klavier snapped his fingers.

“Thank you, Prosecutor Gavin. I’m told Mr. Justice is headed to the crime scene - he is taking Ms. Sye’s case. Detective Skye is already there.”

“Danke, Herr Edgeworth,” said Klavier, reading the case file as he stood up. 

“Prosecutor Gavin, one more thing,” said his boss, and Klavier looked up slightly from the file. “Can you give this to Wright?” 

Klavier’s hands stopped working, and he dropped the file and papers as his chest constricted. He knelt down behind the desk and began coughing as he grabbed the papers back together. “Sorry - it’s very dusty beneath my desk, ja?” he supplied when he stood back up. 

“If you’re feeling under the weather, Prosecutor Gavin, I don't want to stretch you too far - I’ll take these myself. Detective Skye and Mr. Justice await you.”

“... Sorry. Auf wiedesehen, Herr Edgeworth!” Klavier debated over whether his boss had actually bought that excuse; probably not, but what could the  Chief Prosecutor do about it? It wasn’t like the flowers had been visible.

Back in his office, Miles Edgeworth frowned, hand over his cell phone. He’d had suspicions over the young prosecutor’s health for a while. Even if it wasn’t as severe as Miles thought it was, the visceral reaction to Wright’s name certainly suggested that Prosecutor Gavin was not coping very well. 

He flicked to Phoenix Wright’s number, and hit dial. “Wright Anything Agency!” 

“Wright, you’re on your personal cell phone, and I know you have caller ID.”

“Hello to you too, Miles!” 

In the background, Miles heard Trucy practicing something to do with her magic show, and smiled a bit before getting down to business. “I need to talk to you about Prosecutor Gavin. Do you think you could go somewhere private?”

“Sure, let me just go to my room, one sec..." Shuffling and scraping noises ensued. "...Right, back. You want to talk to me about Klavier Gavin? Why?”

“While I cannot, as his boss, in good conscience describe what’s going on in detail, I would like to know if you and Prosecutor Gavin are getting along well enough?” Miles rested his elbow on the desk, staring at the polished reflection.

“I mean, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t know if we’re getting along because he won’t come near me. Which means there's not anything to get along with.”

Miles frowned. “Can you say more?”

He heard Wright take a long breath. “Apollo’s mentioned he makes up excuses to not meet at the Agency for cases… and somehow manages to disappear from talking to Apollo or Trucy whenever he even thinks I’m about to show up. So, he probably thinks I hate him and blames himself for ruining my life? I mean - I can’t say I’m thrilled that he never asked questions of his brother, but he was seventeen - and Kristoph took advantage of his trust… It can be hard because of the physical resemblance, but I don’t - hate him.” 

"This is all helpful. Thank you, Wright. I sense the… matter with Prosecutor Gavin both heavily involves you and that case, and also goes far beyond it. Perhaps you could speak to Mr. Justice - get him to reach out to Prosecutor Gavin?”

“Maybe,” said Wright, with an audible sigh. “Apollo’s not the most fantastic at feelings, either…”

“Well, Prosecutor Gavin’s not liable to talk to either of us, and Apollo is a walking lie detector, if memory serves me correctly.”

“It serves you correctly. Do you want my magatama, maybe?”

“Hmm.” Miles gave it some thought. “No... I do not think it would be appropriate for me to do so.”

“Fair enough. I wonder if Trucy’s noticed anything; you can’t get anything past her, and I know she likes Prosecutor Gavin well enough.”

“Perhaps..." mused Miles. "He might talk more to her, too... do you suppose that's a possibility?"

"I was thinking more asking if she's noticed anything - wouldn’t want to involve her too much. Prosecutor Gavin has got to be upset by his brother’s actions, and Kristoph killed Zak Gramarye, so…” 

Distantly, Miles heard Trucy yelling something. “That’s true. I’m sorry for keeping you, Wright. You may want to go check to make sure the office is intact.” He chuckled

“Yeah, I hope she hasn’t disappeared the desks again… and no worries, Miles, love you, talk to you again soon!”

“Yes, the same to you. Until next time, Wright,” said Miles, letting fondness enter his voice before he hung up. He rubbed at the lines indenting into his face from his glasses.

Miles was cleaning up the prosecutor’s offices. He needed his trustworthy prosecutors well enough to carry on the work. And he cared about Prosecutor Gavin as a human being, too: betrayal was a terrible thing. Miles knew that so intricately and devastatingly, and so did Wright, of course.

The young prosecutor had trusted the wrong person - his brother, someone he should have been able to trust - and still tried to make it right, while earnestly caring about others and the truth. Kristoph Gavin and others had fractured so many lives, leaving shadows that remained both personal and in the field of law. The Dark Age of the law still lingered, and would continue to do so for a while yet. 

Chapter Text

Klavier shook his head a bit, curisng his luck. All that, in front of Herr Edgeworth... Verdammt. Hopefully the ride to the crime scene would clear his mind. Klavier tucked the files in his briefcase, swept up the rue buds on the floor, and headed to the parking garage. He should be seeing a doctor for the Hanahaki flare medication. But Klavier couldn’t bear the idea of trying, with the paparazzi still hounding him after the Misham trial.

“Herr Forehead,  Fraülein Magician!” he called upon arriving, with his signature cheer and smile. Apollo whipped his head around, and Trucy turned on her toes. 

“Prosecutor Gavin!” Trucy bounded up and tackled him in a hug. 

“Oof!” Klavier laughed. “Hallo, Fraülein Trucy. It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

The teenage magician withdrew her hands to put them on her hips. “Prosecutor Gavin, we haven’t seen you since the last case.”

“That’s true,” said Apollo, tilting his head a bit. “It’s been kind of weird without you dropping by.”

“Ach, Herr Forehead, I didn’t know you noticed me that much,” Klavier teased. 

“It’s pretty easy to notice when your glimmerous presence disappears.” Apollo now eyed him, and Klavier opened his mouth to deflect with more banter.

Trucy was faster. “You missed my magic show the other week - without a word, too!” 

“Objection! The defense is ganging up on the prosecution!” Klavier said, strumming an air guitar, but let it fade out quickly. “Es tut mir leid - my deepest apologies, Fraülein Magician. I have been quite busy organizing mein bruder’s affairs still.”

The air seemed to freeze for a minute. Apollo rubbed his wrist at the slight twinge, but either the partial truth had fooled his golden bracelet or the man had elected to not pursue it. 

“Well, you’re always welcome, you know that!” chirped Trucy. “You have stage experience, you’d make a much better assistant than Polly!”

“Hey, Truce, that’s not fair! Anyway, Prosecutor Gavin, they’re not letting us into the crime scene again…” 

“I’m sure Herr Forehead entertains the crowds with his Chords of Steel, ja?” said Klavier with a low chuckle. “Herr Edgeworth, as you may have guessed, assigned me this case. I’ll take you to have a look around.”

The garden caused Klavier’s throat to itch when he entered, if only at the fact that flowers were rather off-putting at this point. There were so many of them… 

“Trucy. I’m sure you’re not allowed to take any of these flowers for your tricks,” grumbled Apollo from somewhere behind him. “Maybe if we solve the case, they’ll send you a bouquet.”

“Polly,” whined Trucy. “You’re no fun.”

“Stealing is illegal, Trucy.”

“Ah, but Herr Forehead, you’re a defense lawyer! It would require the police and prosecution to make a case, ja? Not that I endorse Trucy doing so, but -” Klavier snapped his fingers - “Ah, we’re almost to the crime scene.” He opened his briefcase. “I have copies of the crime scene photos from the body discovery for you.”

It was a bloody scene; Klavier could still see blood spattered across a patch of grass and aster flowers near the chalk outline. As Apollo and Trucy began examining the scene, Klavier drifted to the opposite side, kneeling to get a better look at some dislodged rocks and dirt. 

“- Trucy, I can see you figuring out the sleight of hand to steal some of the flowers.”

“But I want to make a bouquet for Daddy!”

“I’m sure Mr. Wright would rather you do a magic trick involving an actually legal acquisition,” said Apollo dryly. 

Klavier pressed a hand to his mouth, stood up, and nearly fled around a particularly leafy arbor trellis, the foliage blocking him from view. He stifled his coughs the best he could. This was getting out of hand. His hand blistered and burned from holding the rue petals in, and so did his lungs.

“Well, it’s not like he has to know - hey, where’s Prosecutor Gavin?”

Klavier would have replied from behind the trellis, to tell them that he merely had to check his phone, but the fit wasn’t done with him; rue stems and buds streamed out of his mouth. Doubling over, he managed to finally quell the fit shortly before Trucy and Apollo’s footsteps came near.

Apollo blinked. The blonde prosecutor had disappeared rather abruptly. “Prosecutor Gavin?”

“I’m over here, Herr Forehead,” the prosecutor’s voice drifted over from behind a trellis, after a few paused seconds. “I needed a moment to breathe - all these flowers,” he added, chuckling.

His bracelet reacted minutely. Trucy and Apollo darted to where the blonde was standing, hand resting on the trellis. The magician stared at the flowers on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“Just allergy clogged,” Klavier tried to assure her. 

“Objection!” she said dramatically, pointing at the yellow flowers on the ground. “Those aren’t from this garden!”

Trucy was right, Apollo realized, as the prosecutor replied, “Those could be from anywhere.” 

Again the minute reaction. Apollo remained pensive, tapping his forehead, then turned the fiery gaze on Klavier. He recalled Mr. Wright’s phone conversation with him: “Miles called me, by the way. He’s worried about Prosecutor Gavin and how he’s handling the aftermath; he might be avoiding me - or us, really, but...” The short attorney had tried to keep it casual until he knew more, not wanting to charge to conclusions before he had all the facts.

“I’m sorry, Klavier, but you’re lying, and something’s wrong,” he insisted, using the prosecutor’s first name to indicate how serious he was.

He shrugged. “Ja, well, my brother and former best friend are in jail, so I do think about that.”

A marginally stronger reaction from the bracelet. Apollo thought for a few seconds, and of the flowers on the ground that shouldn’t be here. “That’s part of it - but you’ve been avoiding the agency and Trucy’s magic shows because you’re having reactions to Mr. Wright, aren’t you?” Apollo tried to keep his voice gentle, but it clearly didn’t soften the blow.

Klavier’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back. Apollo could see him fighting to breathe, and tried desperately to remain calm. Shit shit did I push it too far - The other man’s knees folded, his desperate attempts to remain upright only causing him to fall backwards into the flowers.

“Prosecutor Gavin?!” Trucy’s eyes went just as wide in shock. 

“ Klavier!” shouted Apollo, panic flooding his veins, and knelt to pull Klavier half-upright as the man coughed and heaved violently with small yellow flowers and stems. “Do you need an ambulance - or a doctor -and  Holy Mother, how long have you been letting this go on?” 

“Nein, no ambulance,” rasped Klavier after what seemed like an eternity, and Apollo realized that the blonde’s head had slumped in exhaustion on his shoulder. 

“Well, I think I shoud at least get you someplace where you can rest before we figure anything else out…! But we don’t have a car.”

“No cabs either,” mumbled Klavier, momentarily stunning Apollo with his lack of resistance. “Paparazzi.”

Apollo tapped his forehead once more. “Well, there’s always Mr. Edgeworth… or how would you feel if I got my friend Clay to drive us? I’d trust him with anything.”

“Ja, that’s fine. I trust your judgment of people more than mine.” Darkness shrouded the latter part of the blonde’s sentence.

Apollo decided to not address it at the moment. “Okay, that’s settled, uh… What do we do about the crime scene?”

“Well, first we’ve gotta get Prosecutor Gavin looking presentable again!” interjected Trucy. “I’ll help you rebraid your hair.”

“Ach, verdammt,” said Klavier, reaching to fiddle with all the hair coming loose. 

“And then I’ll create a diversion so no one notices you leaving! How does that sound, Prosecutor Gavin? Polly, I can ride your bike home.”

“Call me Klavier, not that formal title, bitte - you are too good to me, Trucy. And ja, that’s fine, if Apollo does not object to you using his bike.”

“Just don’t wreck it or disappear it, Truce.” Apollo let Trucy take his place to redo Klavier’s hair, and pulled out his phone to call Clay Terran.

Chapter Text

Klavier’s head sank against Apollo’s shoulder in the car; the repeated episodes had left him fatigued, and when he woke up, the sun had fallen. A blanket tangled in his legs when he tried to sit up on a couch that wasn’t his. 

“Oh, Prosecutor Gavin, you’re awake!” 

“Herr Forehead?” rasped Klavier, putting a hand to his own. “I’m… verdammt, es tut mir leid… Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Apollo insisted. “Well, except for letting it get this bad.”

Klavier’s brain was still catching up, his body feeling sluggish and leaden, and then inhaled sharply. He forced himself upright, muscles quivering and leaving him shaky. “No one’s supposed to know,” he managed, breathing getting faster and shallower as fear pulsed between his fingers and his temple.

“Klavier,” said Apollo somewhere to his right, the first name startling, and he couldn’t believe Apollo had taken him home and cared for him over something so stupid and ugly. Fabric dabbed at his eyes and cheeks, Apollo’s golden bracelet flashing in the waning rays of light. Gott, he was crying now, too? “This isn’t your fault, you’re ill.”

He jammed his left hand under his chin, the rings biting into his skin. “And you’ve seen the inside of my head, have you? Thoughts that a better man wouldn’t have?”

“I swear to God, Klavier, what do you want us to do? Berate you? Ignore you? Inflict pain and misery on you for the rest of your days, as if you’re not already in pain? And - we also know you are not the crimes of other people, you dingus!” snapped Apollo, startling the blonde. 

“I…” Klavier finally looked over. The shorter attorney’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and he had to look away. “Gott, Apollo, I wish I knew what I wanted!” He moved as though to push Apollo away, but his fatigued body simply pitched into Apollo. “Everyone thinks,” he mumbled, “that I’m a successful adult, a prodigy, that I know what I want and how to get it... or that I’m like him, or a vapid pretty face…”

Klavier felt Apollo’s hands hold him tighter. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, Klavier… y’know, me and Trucy and Mr. Edgeworth - we’ve all been lost before, and we don’t want you to feel like that. We want to help.” 

The last barrier broke, and Klavier sobbed exhaustedly into Apollo, unable to think straight anymore. 

Klavier had nearly been asleep by the time his tears had run out, and heard Apollo shifting slightly, arranging him back onto the couch. He slid in and out of restless nightmares, and woke up choking on flowers. One must have involved Wright… Apollo’s hands were on him, and the man’s mouth was moving. The sound rebooted slowly, and Klavier dimly heard the panic. “Nightmare,” choked out Klavier, “it’s -”

“It is not fine!” shouted Apollo, and Klavier flinched at the loudness. Apollo noticed, and added quietly: “I’m sorry, Klavier, but… it really isn’t.”

It was less that things were fine and more that they had to be. “I can’t… do this. It hurts, Gott, Apollo…” 

“I think you’re running a fever -” His hand pressed against the blonde’s forehead. “Klavier, you need to see a doctor, now.” 

He hadn’t noticed between the fits of coughing and exhaustion. It must have crept up as he tried to sleep. The coughing had lessened, but his lungs burned, his body shaking from fever and exhaustion. “I - don’t leave me, Herr Forehead.”

Apollo’s mouth softened at the edges. “I’m calling Mr. Edgeworth to take us to the hospital.”

“Everyone… verlässt mich,” mumbled Klavier. “Leaves me holding the mourner’s bouquet. Flowers… that never stop. Ich bin... alleine hir.” He couldn’t keep the languages straight. “I’m scared, Forehe- Apollo.  Es tut mir leid.”

Apollo was wrapping up a phone call, and came to sit by Klavier. “Shh. We’re going to get this figured out. Just - it’ll be okay! Even if it’s not right now.”

Klavier wanted to believe the fierce, short attorney, and maybe that was why he let Apollo and his boss bundle him into the latter’s red sports car. He wasn’t quite sure, only that he was too exhausted to fight through this on his own. 

Edgeworth had managed to secure privacy for Klavier’s hospital admittance, who had gone in the span of 1.5 days from ‘appearing vaguely on edge’ to ‘seeming about to pass out on the floor.’ 

“They’ll take care of him, Mr. Justice,” he told Wright’s protégé, who with sweat on his forehead looked more than ready to bust out in a Chords of Steel exercise.

“He asked me not to leave him, though...!” 

“You’re not. Stepping away from his side for a brief time so they can provide him with medical care is not leaving him.”

“Yeah, I guess I know that intellectually…” the shorter attorney said with a sigh. “Yknow, Trucy’s gonna want to come see him. And… now that he’s got care here, I guess we should do something about the whole Mr. Wright thing.” Apollo scratched the back of his neck a bit anxiously. 

“Probably,” Miles said, frowning. “With all the cases he takes against the Agency, I’m astounded he hid it this long.” Or that it took me this long to address it.

“He thinks Mr. Wright blames him still. Or like… I don’t know if he even thinks that more than he blames himself. Klavier’s… very good at dancing around the subject, and also disappearing when Mr. Wright is anywhere nearby.”

“That is troublesome, of course,” Miles mused. “I suppose the medical team will have opinions on controlled interactions with Wright, however.”

How many times had he been in the hospital as a visitor, supervisor, family, patient? Too many. He wasn't used to it, still. But Miles would be concerned if he simply got used to it, hazardous line of work or no. The lingering sense of unease that spread down hospital corridors would never be something he adjusted to. 

A nurse called them back, and a doctor met them in the hallway. “Mr. Gavin’s probably asleep; we’ve given him sedatives for rest, along with the standard Hanahaki regimen. Don’t,” and his look was aimed at Apollo, being the more flustered attorney, “be too alarmed at how he may look. Mr. Gavin just needs plenty of rest, fluids, and medication for the time being. If he’s asleep, do not try to wake him.” 

Miles thanked the doctor and assured him they would follow the instructions. The nurse took them down the hallway and to the right, and as they got closer, Miles fought the urge to grip his arm in anxious tension.

Chapter Text

Phoenix Wright jerked awake at an ungodly hour to his phone ringing. Miles Edgeworth, the caller ID read. For a few seconds, half-asleep, he swore and scrabbled for it. Not everyone is awake at these hours, Miles! Then: Oh, shit, something must be wrong. There wasn’t an earthquake, was there?

His hand finally closed around the phone on the end table. “Miles? What’s wrong?” 

“A-Actually, it’s Apollo - Mr. Edgeworth is fine! But my phone doesn’t get cell service here -”

“What happened? Where are you?” Phoenix groaned, hoping Apollo was okay as he sat up in bed, trying to find his sandals.

“It’s Kla- Prosecutor Gavin, actually, he um, he -” Apollo cleared his throat, sounding jumpy and a bit shrill as he said something so fast Phoenix couldn’t make it out.

A muffled exchange, and then Miles’s crisp voice came through the receiver. “Apollo’s having a bit of a time of it, I’m afraid - Prosecutor Gavin is very ill. They’re saying Hanahaki of the chronic kind.”

“Oh, shit… it’s related to him avoiding me, isn’t it?”

“It seems likely, related to the guilt and shame.”

“Is Gavin able to not be extra about literally anything?” He snorted a bit. Before Miles could say something disapproving, Phoenix continued, “I know, he’s sick, it’s just… he could have talked to someone about it.” 

“Wright… You should know how hard it is to force others to face the past, more than anyone else I know. Regardless, we need to find a way for him to move past this, and you have to be part of it. As per what the doctors lay down.”  

He chuckled softly. “I know, Miles. You prosecutors are a stubborn bunch. And right, of course,” said Phoenix, mind already drifting to possible scenarios to work through. 

“Don’t pretend you aren’t a stubborn and tenacious man yourself, Phoenix. After all, you…” Miles made a vaguely strangled noise before continuing in a much softer volume and pitch. “That’s why we get along so well, apart from seeking the truth. I would not have it any other way.”

“I love you too, Miles,” said Phoenix, smiling a bit. “Let me know what I can do, okay? Does Apollo need me?”

“I believe a more reassuring face might be helpful for him, yes, if it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“It’s not, I’ll just have to talk to Trucy before I leave.” Phoenix sighed.

“Are we going to the hospital to see Klavier, Daddy?”

“Trucy!” Phoenix jumped, nearly knocking everything on the end table off. “How long - Miles, I have to go, I’ll be there soon.”

Miles made a faint noise of amusement, said, “We’ll see you when you arrive, then,” and hung up.

“You’re not that quiet, Daddy, I heard you from my room, so, have been listening a good bit!” Trucy pointed out. “I don’t have school tomorrow, either. So, are we going or not?” Klavier was ill, he needed his friends! Even if the reason for it was apparently that he was very stressed about her Daddy.

“You’re much too perceptive for me, Trucy,” he said, laughing a bit before rubbing his face. “I guess you should get dressed, then… Bring all the stuff you think you’ll need, I don’t know how long we’ll be there. I’ll call a taxi.”

Trucy ran the mental checklist through her head:

• Magic Cards, Cape, Mr. Hat
• Book of tricks to read and annotate and improve 
• Phone, Phone charger
• Pens and paper (and markers), to make cards for Klavier
• Stuffed platypus (to keep herself company)
• Stuffed dog (to keep Klavier company)

“That was fast, kiddo,” Daddy said as she emerged less than 10 minutes later. 

“I’m used to being fast!” she replied, and it was certainly true. Trucy didn’t know if Daddy had figured out she kept go-bags. She had never been able to shake the feeling that her life might fall down around her without warning. That she might need to disappear if something happened. 

So many people thought she had long moved on from events long past, able to be naive yet perceptive - and always, always, cheerful. Trucy thought her Daddy might have guessed the ruminations and reminiscing, when he learned to check for her awake at night and make her hot chocolate if she was. The taxi ride seemed to take far too long, and lights from the darkened city flashed by, here and gone, like her sleights of hand. 

Klavier opened his eyes slowly to lights and sounds, blurry around him. His mouth tasted metallic and dry, and his arms were dressed in bandages. Hospital. He was in the hospital. A glance around confirmed his theory: IV, heart monitor wires, and when he tried to talk, an oxygen mask got in the way. 

“Please remain calm, Prosecutor Gavin,” said someone nearby. “Mr. Justice, would you fetch the nurse and tell her he’s awake?”

Herr Edgeworth, he realized. No one else talked like that, and the maroon and ruffles also gave it away. His throat had started to burn, and his chest and lungs tingled. 

Footsteps pattered into the room moments before he saw the nurse appear. “Mr. Gavin -” and at that he flinched slightly. 

“Prosecutor Gavin works better,” Edgeworth told the nurse. 

“Prosecutor Gavin, we’re going to switch over the mask soon to something that will let you talk, but we’ll need you to not overdo it, okay? You came in with a fairly advanced case of Hanahaki, but the medications are still doing their work - and at this point, might not substitute for resolving whatever is at its center.” She bustled around, taking his vitals and adjusting something in his IV. A few minutes later, the mask had been replaced by tubes around his nose.

When he tried to speak, he started coughing. Apollo had appeared, holding a cup of ice chips. “Uh, you’re probably going to have a hard time with that for a while…” 

Klavier grumbled and took the ice chips, and eventually managed to make noises that at least sounded like words. “How long have I -”

“It’s… like 8 or 9 am? We brought you here around midnight last night…” Apollo fidgeted.

“You were coughing up rue, Prosecutor Gavin,” said Edgeworth, his eyes softening slightly. “I see the poetics and metaphors of music catch you even there.” 

Klavier balled some of the sheets into his hand. “I suppose, ja.”

“Just get some rest for now, Klavier,” Apollo said, a bit anxiously. “We can - talk about whatever - and I know Trucy wants to see you, she’s brought a stuffed dog of some sort to give you.” 

“You are too good to me,” groaned Klavier. “Tell Fraülein Trucy she can come soon - whenever she wishes.” 

“I have to head into the office for a while, Prosecutor Gavin, but please don’t hesitate to contact me if there’s anything you need on my end before I return.”

“Ja, I will. Danke, Herr Edgeworth.”

“Take care of him, Mr. Justice.”

“I’ll do my best!” said Apollo, several decibels too loud. 

With Edgeworth gone, the room suddenly seemed quieter, more strained. As if his professional presence that prevented certain conversations at length left them wide open. Apollo also seemed on edge, rubbing his bracelet. 

Klavier spoke first. “Herr Forehead, I am sorry to have put you through this.”

“It’s hardly your fault that the world keeps throwing - I don’t know, flaming guitars and critical hits - at you…!” Apollo stared at him more earnestly. 

How to respond without letting control go? Without causing a reaction from Apollo’s bracelet? “This is hardly Dungeons and Dragons, Apollo,” he attempted to say with his usual levity. 

“It’s not the first time this has happened, has it? You’re too good at hiding the signs for it to be the first time.”

“Ach, Apollo…”

“Like I said, we don’t have to talk about it right now, maybe you should rest until Trucy shows up, but - we’re asking questions because we care about you, Klavier.”

Klavier made a strangled noise, then cleared his throat with a wince. “Ja, rest sounds good. Make sure I’m not asleep when Trucy comes, bitte.” He clenched the sheets with one hand, and dug fingernails into his other palm. This was a mess, and part of him wished he’d just dissociate through some of it. But Klavier’s head, through his body and brain were groggy, remained stubbornly grounded. 

Chapter Text

“Wright,” said Miles with a sigh, “I really don’t know how this is going to work out.” He rubbed his face, then his left arm. “I’m worried we’ve let the issues run on too long and too deep.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Wright took his arm. “You turned out pretty well in the end.” 

“I had you, Phoenix, even when I told myself I did not.”

“Well, who says Klavier can’t get my support, as well? And I know Apollo and Trucy are fond of him.”

“That’s true,” said Miles absentmindedly, then: “You’ve heard how bad it all is, then?”

“Apollo told me, and I did take a peek through the room door while he was asleep. Looked pretty awful. Trucy’s in there now, and eventually…” 

Miles looked into Phoenix’s face, and groaned. “Whatever happens, you can’t steal one of my best prosecutors.” His head throbbed with the beginning signs of a headache. “He does good work, and he’s a good man. Neither of you deserved all this.” 

“I know,” Wright answered , giving him a quick kiss to the temple. “We’ll end the dark age of the law soon, together, with the younger generations heralding it in.”

“Sometimes I forget you did theatre,” said Miles, and twined his fingers with Wright’s briefly. “But I hope so, too.”

There was a stuffed dog resting by his hip. Klavier blinked, stared at it, and tried to remember if he’d seen it before. 

“Hi, Klavier!” chirped Trucy nearby.  

“I told Forehead to keep me awake for you,” said Klavier, shifting. Whatever painkillers they had him on seemed to be doing their job a little too well. “ Wer ist der Hund? Ach, I meant... ” He wiggled his fingers at the stuffed animal. 

“I brought him for you!” said Trucy, unfazed by the German. “I have my platypus here, her name is Pips. The dog is supposed to be named Chippy, but you can rename him if you want.”

“You’re too good to me, Trucy,” he said, trying to sit up and reach for the dog, only to feel sharp stab of pain even through the morphine, all the breath temporarily driven out of his lungs. 

“Klavier!” Trucy grabbed the stuffed dog and nestled it in the crook of his arm that didn’t have an IV. “Are you okay? Should I get someone?”

“N-Nein…” he managed to regain his breath. “I feel as though I shouldn’t … move that much yet.” 

“Yeah, the medication’s still trying to repair the lung damage, probably.” Trucy eyed him.

As if on cue, he coughed, lungs burning. It hadn’t been that terribly long ago when Kristoph had been convicted the first time, and he’d been lying in a hospital in Germany with the same damn problem. Except it wasn’t the same, he’d thought it would go away and leave him alone, never to return.

“You’re in pain,” said Trucy, her eyes a bit bright under the hospital lights. 

He couldn’t tell if she was referring to his general state of affairs or his lungs. Klavier met Trucy’s gaze, and swallowed painfully. “Ja,” he admitted. His hand closed involuntarily around the stuffed dog. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Fraülein Magician.”

“I’m sorry you feel so awful!” she said. “We need you to get better. Polly needs someone in court, and I need a friend, and Mr. Edgeworth cares about you - not just because you’re a great prosecutor! And… you just… deserve to feel better for your own sake.” 

Klavier tried to shut off the influx of emotions even through the morphine. Gott, why are they so kind to me? His chest constricted, whether from his condition or anxiety, he couldn’t tell. “You’re… all too good to me,” Klavier gasped, hating how his voice shook. 

“No, it’s what you deserve,” said Trucy fiercely.  

No, what he deserved was to be six feet under, or at least, somewhere with no one for him to hurt and no one to hurt him. But he didn’t say that to Trucy.

“Are you sure about this?” Miles asked Phoenix, who nodded determinedly. The turnabout terror was back… to turnabout some trauma, he supposed. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll be right outside if anyone needs me,” his partner murmured, and reflexively ran his hands through Phoenix’s hair. “Be careful, he’s in a whole world of pain.” And nobody I’d trust with someone so hurt more, was unsaid. 

“I will be,” Phoenix promised. Another kiss to Miles’s temple, and then he opened the door to Klavier’s hospital room. Trucy met his gaze, fiercely, then got up to wait with Miles outside. 

The blonde prosecutor looked pale, face a bit glazed on morphine. The doctors were on standby, and had adjusted the Hanahaki medication dosage enough that there shouldn’t be a crisis.

“Pollo’s staying,” mumbled the German. 

“Sure,” said Phoenix, and took a seat, resisting the sudden urge to brush Klavier’s hair out of his face, like he did when Trucy was sick. The prosecutor looked young, vulnerable, and slightly feverish, strands of hair sticking to his cheeks. For a minute, there was nothing but the sound of Klavier faintly coughing and Apollo’s foot tapping the floor. “Klavier,” he began. “I’ve left my magatama outside with Miles, so, anything you’re not ready for won’t be prodded at.” 

“Uh-huh, “ said Klavier. “I’m... going to be…”

Apollo grabbed a tray, and Klavier threw up bundles of rue, tear tracks on his face. This time, Phoenix did scoot closer, rubbing slow circles in the younger man’s back. 

“Gott, it hurts.” 

Phoenix’s jaw set. “I know. I know, but shh, I don’t hate you.” 

Klavier turned his head to Phoenix, seeming confused. “Was?”

“You’re in agony, Klavier, and have been for years over it. You were about Trucy’s age when someone played on your ideals of truth and justice and family. It physically hurt to confront him, and you’ve been having flower problems ever since.”

“How did you…”

“A lucky guess on the last part.” Phoenix smiled wryly. “I don’t hate you, Klavier Gavin, even though sometimes it’s been hard given all the muddled circumstances.”

Something in Klavier’s face seemed to break, the dazed mask flashing into something real and lonely and terrified. He’d seen variations on it with Trucy when she didn’t realize he was looking. Performers and their emotional shields, prosecutors and magicians, Miles gripping his left arm and trying to pretend the earthquake hadn’t had him on the floor sobbing, Trucy smiling bright and performing to make everyone happy until it all fell down. And Klavier, the self-assured smiling and friendly rockstar prosecutor who relied on everyone not looking past to his real self.

Phoenix caught him as Klavier half-fell into him, sobbing. Apollo came around to their side as Phoenix said something in soothing German. The prosecutor’s breaths evened out until he was asleep. Apollo helped Phoenix get Klavier back onto the bed. “Take care of him, will you, Apollo?” 

“I - yes, of course, Mr. Wright! I wasn’t expecting it to go that well? And where did you learn German?”  

Phoenix smiled at his protégé, not the thin and sardonic one he’d worn when they first met. “You'll learn about why I know German soon enough. And I think we’ve accidentally added another kid to the family club." And it would probably take a while for Klavier to put himself back together now that he’d finally let himself break, but he’d have a patchwork family to do it with. 

Chapter Text

Klavier blinked, the world shifting back into focus. He’d been dreaming again, hadn’t he? Phoenix Wright would never - He coughed, once, and lifted his head. Shadows had fallen, and his head felt a little clearer. 

“Klavier?” whispered Apollo. 

“Herr Forehead,” Klavier replied, blinking. “Isn’t it a bit late for visitors?” 

“I’m not staying all night, I just wanted to check on you before I left.”

The prosecutor tried to sort his memories out: the interaction had been brief. He remembered Apollo by his side, seeing lights through tears, and Phoenix Wright holding him like he’d - he’d hold Trucy, or Apollo, if either were upset? It didn’t make sense, and he tried stringing the pieces together in different directions, coming up with the same conclusion every time. 

“Apollo?”

The brunette startled at the use of his given name. “Yeah?”

“He wasn’t lying, was he?” whispered Klavier. He said he didn’t hate me.

Apollo held up his braceleted arm. “No, he wasn’t, Klavier.” 

Klavier stretched his hand out, running his fingers lightly over the gold bracelet. Apollo twitched, but didn’t pull his arm back. If he thought hard enough, he could trace lines everywhere that led back to who you were. 

The intricate lines in Apollo’s bracelet, Phoenix Wright’s sharp and weary smile, the stark edges of Trucy’s magic cards. (The bloody ace, pulled out of the house of cards that was Kristoph’s diabolical machinations.) 

Apollo’s fingers brushed his. “Will you be okay? What are you thinking about?”  

“Just that life is like a house of cards sometimes, ja?” And the jagged pieces its collapse leaves.

(The house of cards where Klavier thought, once upon a time, he had a home and a family.) The glass shards off broken bottles in the Borscht Bowl’s Hydeout. Lines that were crossed or never touched, and the lines too far to go back from.

“It can be a bit fragile sometimes,” Apollo agreed. “I just - you know you have us, right?”

Klavier stared fixedly, unable to respond, still thinking of patterns going back years. The identical sharp twists of blonde hair and glaring light off Kristoph’s glasses; guitar picks and music lines that he never managed to read between. Finally he spoke: “You mentioned you’ve had to find new family before?”

“Yeah. I was in foster care. Some of the places were decent, but some weren’t. Did you know I - I didn’t want the one I have, at first. After that first trial, I was furious.”

“What made you decide in its favor?” Lines in a family tree and lines rehearsed for ages in a script unbroken, over and over again, I will do anything to stay in your graces, I’m afraid without you. You love me, don’t you, Kris? Eventually all he heard was the echo of his own voice. 

Apollo seemed contemplative, rubbing his forehead a bit. “Honestly, I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I had Clay, but… that’s kind of how it works. The Agency is one of the places where lost people go. It grows on you. And Trucy is like a sister to me now.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Klavier, and meant it, even if just not for himself. 

“You could have it,” said Apollo, very quietly.

“Was?”

“You could be family there, too. Maybe not until you’ve gotten the worst of your illness over, but... Y'know, I think he has protective feelings about you now. Mr. Edgeworth values your integrity and skills. Trucy adores you, and I -” Apollo ducked his head. “I don’t think you’re too bad, myself.” 

Klavier coughed, chest spasming for a few seconds, but only a few rue flowers came up. “Do you really,” he gasped, trying to mask his panic with the rue episode, “think that’s a good idea?”

“No one’s asking you to make decisions right now.” Apollo frowned: “Should I get a nurse?” 

“Maybe,” said Klavier, unsure if it was the panic or rue in his chest, even when so often they were the same thing. Painkillers didn’t seem to be adequate, regardless. 

Apollo biked to the Agency the next morning after feeding his cat Mikeko, who had expressed many meows of displeasure at the routine disruption. He would visit Klavier later in the day, after some paperwork… and possibly cleaning the toilet, knowing Mr. Wright. 

He did not expect Miles Edgeworth to open the door when his hand reached the knob. “Er - Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Good morning, Mr. Justice,” said the Chief Prosecutor, stepping aside to let Apollo in, and closing the door. This was not anxiety-inducing at all… “I trust you are well?”

“Uh. Yeah. I’m fine! Worried about Klavier, but I’m fine.”

“Miles, are you intimidating Apollo out there?” called Mr. Wright from the center of the offices.

The man let out a hmph, and crossed his arms, though his expression softened. “I am not -” He looked at Apollo, who was trying to edge toward where Mr. Wright was. “I am not trying to, at any rate. You were merely still trying to braid Trucy’s hair - an endeavor you need serious lessons on -”

“What is going on?” Apollo finally exclaimed. Mr. Wright was, indeed, badly braiding Trucy’s hair. “Is Klavier okay?”

“Hi, Polly!” chirped Trucy.

“He’s okay, as far as I know. Can’t a man spend time with his boyfriend, Apollo?” 

“Hi, Truce - and not when it’s you, Mr. Wright, something always happens around you,” Apollo returned exasperatedly, then sputtered. “Wait, what?” He looked back, and the Chief Prosecutor had tinged pink. 

“I am more than than Prosecutor Gavin’s superior sometimes,” was all he said. 

“He’s my Papa Miles!” interjected Trucy.

“R-Right…” Apollo couldn’t process it all and still think about anything else, so he didn't. “I was gonna go check on Klavier later. I think he’s feeling a bit better.”

“That seems wise,” said Mr. Edgeworth. For a few seconds, awkward silence fell. 

“How do we make him know we actually want him here?” said Trucy, frowning. 

“Leave that to me,” said Mr. Wright, a gleam in his eye. He dropped Trucy’s braid, grabbed a pad of paper. Trucy clasped her hands together, a wearing a face he knew as ‘scheming.’ Braiding the rest of her hair within 10 seconds, she leaned forward into Mr. Wright. 

But how did you make someone realize they weren’t alone, when they really thought they deserved it? Did you invite them to things starting out small? Trucy mentioned something about the Wonder Bar. Did you show up to their apartment with takeout and bad movies? Do you finally accept the dinner invitation? 

Apollo didn’t want to move into risky territory, not when Klavier’s psyche seemed to have taken what DnD would call ‘critical hits’ so often. But he could try to be a friend. He found the prosecutor’s surface-level charm irritating, but by now… 

Apollo knew that was just a shield. And he was certain Clay would be thrilled at least meet Klavier, if not become friends. A start, right? “We could get him to hangout with me and Clay sometime for bad movies or something…” 

Several days later, Phoenix Wright came into his hospital room with Apollo and Trucy, and Klavier tensed and coughed, though not to any effect; the previous sessions and medications had helped immensely. “The hospital wants to discharge you."

Klavier flicked his gaze to Apollo, who smiled. Trucy had her hands clasped in glee, and he - didn’t know what was happening. “You’re family now.” The young magician beamed.

He didn't know how to unpack all. "Ach, Trucy, you have been wunderbar - and danke, Herr Forehead,” said Klavier, taking the cup of water Apollo offered him and drinking half in one go. Then: “Why are you here, then, Herr Wright?”

“To take you home,” said Phoenix, and smiled so genuinely it hurt. 

Klavier opened his mouth, and expected to say No thanks, Herr Wright, I’ll manage, but what came out was a quiet, choked “Home?” 

Wright smiled at him again, more softly, like he might at Trucy or Apollo. Home implied family. Trucy had said it already. He certainly didn’t think they were taking him back to the Agency. Once upon a time, Klavier would have chalked it up as an unintentional metaphor. But Phoenix Wright, despite the chaos, did little without intention. He had meant the symbolism to show. 

“I… I suppose I’d be honored, Herr Wright,” Klavier whispered.