Work Text:
Apollo’s face was twisted, even in his sleep. If anyone were to lay eyes on him, it wouldn’t take any power to read the discomfort that was riddled all throughout his body. His breathing was choppy but that was nothing new. He had fractured two ribs during the explosion. Even as he slept, even though the pain medication the doctors were pumping into him, he seemed to ache. And to Apollo, that feeling slowly became more and more clear to him as he began to come back to consciousness once more. His left eye fluttered open halfway before shutting again. He had no idea for how long, but it didn’t stay closed, because a sudden thought came to his mind.
Quickly, Apollo’s eye flashed open, just to glance down over his body. He let his eye close after seeing his jacket was still laid on top of him, just like he asked Mr. Wright to do. He was still with him. Apollo let out a sigh before he winced. Yeah, wow, breathing still hurt.
Even though he’d already regained consciousness back and forth, his concussion was apparently very bad. He was going to be okay, but he was told he was going to be feeling like this for a while. Even just opening one eye hurt, not even daring to try opening his eyes. A constant ringing was in his ears, loud like a siren stuck on one screech. Like the remaining parts of an eardrum after a bomb went off. Which doesn’t help the ache cocooning his skull. Apollo laughed. It hurt. He wanted it to.
I’m cursed, he thought, half-jokingly, maybe I should go before I spread my bad luck. Pack up and go.
What a funny thought.
Apollo’s eye was open then, halfway, taking around the details of the room. His bandages still covered his right eye, so everything was still hard to really see, and, quite honestly, it was disorienting. But the more details he took in, the more aware of his surroundings he was, and that was something Apollo needed; constant awareness. Scenery: check. Now, sounds…
Humming of hospital equipment. It took him a moment of glancing from side to side, carefully, slowly turning his head to see each machine and match the sound to what it does. He had an I.V. He was sure he had it when everyone visited him, but he must’ve forgotten. He’d shrug if possible. There was something else though. At first, it sounded like general background noise, like a T.V playing in a room over from him. As if he could hear that it was on, but not what was playing. Apollo closed his eye and tried to listen.
A man and a woman were talking.
“Yes, he’s going to be fine. You’re the fifth person to come by and check on him—given his previous and recent injuries, his condition may seem bad, but his recovery will only take time. That’s all.”
A nurse was talking to someone. Was it about him? Context clues said yes, but he couldn’t decipher who else had come to visit him, or why. The whole agency including Juniper had stopped by—well, really, they came with him to the hospital and didn’t leave until he woke up… how long had that been? Apollo once again closed his eye and let out a soft, pained grunt. That didn’t matter. Who was there?
“Thank you, I can’t begin to express my gratitude for allowing me to see him.”
The man. Apollo blinked. His mind was fuzzy, but the voice was familiar.
“Of course. He may not be conscious, but he’s been waking up easier and easier every few hours. Stay as long as you like.”
“Vielen Dank.”
Apollo’s eye grew wide. He heard the sound of heels clicking slowly fade away, a door open, a door close. Then, boots, getting close. The next thing he knew, someone was gently tugging his curtain to the side and peeking their head in. Sunglasses pushed up into golden hair that was pulled up into a messy bun was the first thing that caught Apollo’s sight, before he met baby blue eyes. And a large case carried on the back of the said man.
“Ah,” Klavier Gavin smiled, and Apollo didn’t even have to see it, his smiles were always very verbal, “so you’re awake.”
“Prosecutor…”
It was then that it dawned on Apollo; talking was hard and very painful, and apparently twisting his face up made that evident because Klavier was quick to close the curtain behind him and rush to the chair next to the bed.
“Shh, none of that, you’re going to hurt yourself more,” he said, and Apollo could tell he was leaning over him, “that forehead of yours has a lot of room for a very big headache.”
“And you came to add onto it,” Apollo replied, flatly. He found that he was sounding like that more and more often. That time, though, he turned his head to see the aftermath of his tone. Klavier’s smile was soft, sympathetic, and almost sorry. Apollo felt his gaze soften. “You look tired.”
“As do you, Herr Justice.” A laugh, and a smile not quite reaching his eyes or the bags that laid heavy beneath them. Apollo frowned. It seemed like things were still rough all over. “I came to see you. After what happened yesterday… I can’t believe this would come about right after.”
“You’re telling me,” Apollo grunted and began to slowly try and sit up. Instantly, his body made a cringe of pain, lips piercing to keep back the sound. He heard the sound of what was most likely the case Klavier was carrying be laid on the ground as he stood up.
“ Halt, don’t try to hurt yourself more, ” Klavier gently barked, and Apollo almost didn’t notice the steady arms that are guiding him back down, “you’ve already managed to run into danger more times this week than Herr Wright has in a year.”
“Harsh,” Apollo rasped, back once again uncomfortably down on the bed, “but he’d probably laugh. Don’t know about agreeing, but he’d laugh.”
Klavier laughed. Apollo snuck a smile while his eyes were closed.
For a moment after that, they sat in silence. Apollo’s head was turned facing forward, not to his guest. Klavier didn’t stop him. A while ago, this would’ve felt rude. It would be unnatural and unfitting for Apollo to be this quiet, this contemplative. But then? At that moment? After everything? It just felt right. What good was a voice if it didn’t do anything? He didn’t understand why Klavier was there. Or why he hadn’t gotten up and left, thinking he was crowding him.
Maybe it’s because he knew he wasn’t. Maybe it was because, even though they’ve had much time apart, no one knows they both hate being alone more than each other. Apollo can’t move his arm but he wished he could shift it closer. He wished he knew what to say. He wished Clay for strength, for what to do. The jacket laid heavy on his pained body.
“Apollo?” Klavier’s voice made him blink, making his head slowly turn to the right to see him. He was reaching down, into a case, pulling out the neck of a guitar. He had called him his name. Apollo just stared at him. Setting the guitar in his lap gently, he began fiddling with tuning it. When Klavier looked back up, he seemed surprised that he met Apollo’s eyes. His smile seemed relieved and hopeful as he asked, “May I sing for you?”
Maybe it was the pain medication. Maybe it was just Apollo—but Apollo didn’t feel like Apollo, which is why it came as a surprise when he did the most Apollo Justice thing and said what’s on his mind, bluntly.
“I thought you hated me.”
Klavier’s laughing fit was instantaneous. He bent over the instrument, one half draped over the front while the other still held its neck. Some strands of hair became loose when he shook his head, slowly sitting back up. “Herr Forehead, I don’t think there’s been a second in my life that I hated you.”
“What?” Apollo said, but if he was really Apollo right then, he would’ve yelped. “But—But your brother, and your band, and…”
His head jerked back when he found that Klavier was studying his face closely, meticulously. Suddenly, Apollo knew what it felt like to be perceived. Or at least, that’s what he thought, until Klavier said, “ Verdammt, it took two whole bandages for your forehead?”
“Aaaand he’s back.”
Klavier chuckled. Apollo did too. It hurt, but somehow it was worth it.
“You are a very hard person to hate, Herr Justice,” Klavier said as he softly tested his strings. He looked to Apollo again, a small smile on his lips with a bigger one in his eyes, but that one was just screaming “sorry” . Not in a pity way, just sorry. Something else in Apollo ached now, and he suddenly wished he could take the other chair next to him. “Now, you never answered my question. May I?”
“You know I didn’t listen to your band,” Apollo lied, “and I haven’t heard your solo—”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on playing my own music,” Klavier hummed, leaning over his guitar to get close to Apollo again. “I know what you like, Apollo. I have a couple of songs to play if you let me.”
Keep calling me that, his mind was crying. It had been screaming sobs for days. Please keep reminding me who I am.
“What’s on the wine list?” Apollo poked.
“I remember that one album by Lamiroir you liked. I know most of the songs.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to play anything that has to do with her again.”
“For you,” Klavier grinned, and Apollo couldn’t tell if he was joking, “any kind of exception is capable.”
Apollo stared at him for a long time. Klavier was used to that. Most people who knew Apollo were very used to his eyes burning into their skin, searching for signs, for anything, but that time, Apollo wasn’t searching. There was nothing to find. He was just looking.
“I might fall back asleep,” Apollo warned.
“Then take this as a wiegenlied, a lullaby. May I stay even if you do? Just until I run out of songs.”
Klavier tilted his head a bit. He reminded Apollo of his dog, that beefy golden retriever that seems to be smiling perpetually. Curious. Comforting. Familiar. He felt his cheeks move. He felt himself smiling.
Gently, Apollo closed his eye as he said, “The stage is yours, then.”