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When something smashed into his front door, Apollo more or less had a general idea of what to expect. Sure, possibilities were endless – it could be anything from a stray cockroach to a bomb threatening his office. Maybe he was too pessimistic, he thought as he moved to carefully peek, maybe he got a gift. Or, most likely, it was nothing and some kind of trash just hit his door with the evening wind. But if that were the case, judging by the sound, it had to be something big, so it was safer to check regardless.
He opened the door, and found a body.
Sure, why not. Maybe up to last month, he would have shrieked, but there were few human-made horrors he hadn’t seen as the only defense attorney of Khura’in. From Ga’ran fanatics threatening his life in very creative ways to simply the horror of the murder cases he had dealt with, it honestly felt like it was about time a case came to him in a bizarre fashion, like they tended to back in LA.
Though of course, he wasn’t so inconsiderate as to not check the body’s vitals. With luck, they might have been still alive, just unconscious from an accident. This country was a mess from Ga’ran’s rule – roads were unmade, public cleaning was minimal, and something as simple as tripping on a rock could crack your skull if you were unlucky enough.
Apollo kneeled, and as he prepared the turn the body on his feet, he also felt a wrist for a pulse. Seemed alright. Just unconscious then. He gave a relieved sigh – that he was way too numb for corpses now didn’t mean he was alright with someone dying before their time, on a stranger’s doorstep. Worst of all, Apollo’s doorstep.
It occurred to Apollo that if this were a dead body, it might have been an attempt to frame him. Hah. He was now very glad he didn’t have to waste his precious time proving his innocence and halting many trials he had to work on.
Then he finally turned the body.
Then he finally screamed.
Out of anything he could find on his doorstep, seeing the unconscious face of his dead boyfriend wasn’t something he could ever be immune to.
The noise got a pair of brown eyes to slit open. “Hey, AJ,” said the unnaturally raspy but all too familiar voice. “Got water?”
Apollo fainted.
He came to with a pair of fingers tapping on his cheek.
“Morning, sunshine,” Clay said from his spot, lying next to him. The only half-joking nickname almost choked Apollo. “Your hook shot knocked you unconscious-” he coughed “-and I lied down next to you so everybody would think we were chillin’.”
Only Clay fucking Terran would make Scrubs references when he could barely talk. Yeah, no – no way. Apollo suddenly found it very hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them back up, he was still staring at the face he had been trying to forget for six months now.
Was he hallucinating? Did he repress his grief to the point his brain would fool his five senses for some relief?
No, that didn’t make sense. The image was too imperfect. He wouldn’t remember his Clay with dull eyes. He wouldn’t remember his Clay with slimmed cheeks. And he certainly wouldn’t remember his Clay without a band-aid covering the scar on his nose, the mere feel of it bringing Clay unwelcome memories.
Still on the floor, Apollo lifted a shaky finger toward Clay’s face. When he made contact, the surprise of it gave him a jolt so striking that he nearly jumped on the spot.
Clay closed his eyes. “Look I know-” cough “-I know I was declared dead. But I am so thirsty I couldn’t even get up to slap you conscious, AJ. And hungry, I suppose, but. Water. Please.”
Right. Apollo could do things. Apollo was very content to be given a task he could mindlessly fulfill, actually. He jumped on his feet, swayed because he literally just had fainted, but with sheer willpower he balanced himself and went to fill a glass of cold water from his thermos flask. He also got some granulated sugar to his finger from the sugar bowl and sucked on it, hoping to help his blood sugar – he didn’t know if it was placebo or sugar flakes immediately dissolving into his system, but he felt much more comfortable standing on his feet. With a little more sense, he registered Clay had to be dehydrated for at least a couple of days if he was reduced to this state, hence he also grabbed some clean cloth and wetted it.
All this was done in half a minute, Apollo moving with urgency, and he was back sitting on his doorway next to Clay, dibbing the wet cloth on Clay’s dry lips before slowly tilting the glass of water toward them. Clay wanted to hold on the glass himself, frantic in trying to get to the water and swallowing it all in one gulp, but Apollo knew better and stopped him with one hand, the effort way easier than it should have been, cloth balanced on his knee and soaking his sweatpants. “Don’t take it all in at once,” Apollo warned him. The eight-year-old Clay voice in his mind that always squeaked ‘that’s what he said’ to this kind of wording was barely a whisper, but still there.
With Apollo’s effort, Clay drank the water slowly, taking forced breaks every couple of sips. After some time, the empty glass was discarded, and Clay cleared his throat, closing his eyes with a relieved expression.
“Smart,” he admitted as Apollo grazed the wet cloak around his visible skin. “Not letting me drink the whole thing at once. Scary how instincts just take over me like that, though.”
Apollo glanced at the back of his hands, pink lines of flesh indicating where Clay’s nails dug when he tried to fight for the glass. The sight horrified him, not because Clay fought – the man didn’t seem to have had enough strength to even dig in enough to hurt - but because Clay was desperate enough to mindlessly act like that. How long had it been since he had water?
He didn’t respond. He didn’t know what he could say. He didn’t even know what to feel. Relief? Happiness? All he had was stress and shock, with a side of numbness. Somehow, it felt wrong. He had just found out his best friend and boyfriend wasn’t dead after all, he should have been a puddle on the ground with joy.
He didn’t feel anything good, though. He had so many questions. So many doubts. He had to focus on the moment, on taking care of Clay, because if he started to give into his thinking, he was going to go crazy. Clay had said he was also hungry too, right? Made sense, if he had something to eat, most likely he would have had access to water in some shape or form, too. The estimated time for dehydration implied that he probably couldn’t handle solid food, either. Maybe some juice, or soup? Apollo doubted he had any. Stores tended to be already closed, and the poverty that the community struggled with for decades had made restaurants almost extinct. An open restaurant by evening? Practically impossible.
With the lack of internet, Apollo whipping something up was also out of question.
Maybe he could ask around? The sense of neighborhood and community was strong here, and there were many people who loved shoving food into Apollo’s office. That was basically the main source of Apollo’s nourishment. The idea wasn’t his favorite, he usually wasn’t one to ask for anyone’s aid – but for Clay, he was not above it. Especially not after just getting him back… back? Was it really him? Didn’t Apollo investigate Clay’s own corpse? What the fuck was going on?
So much for not giving into thinking.
When he believed Clay had the strength to move, Apollo helped him up, and supported him until they were next to the couch. Gently guiding Clay to lay down, Apollo made sure he would be comfortable, and went back to thinking about immediate solutions to immediate problems.
Did he have some fruit? Apollo didn’t have a blender or anything, but he is sure he can squeeze some things until they were puree. Puree would be fine, right?
He found a few peaches discarded in a shopping bag. He pushed the mess on the counter he called his kitchen, and started meticulously peeling the peaches.
What if this was a new Phantom, here to fool Apollo? The idea froze his blood. Technically, it didn’t make much sense – someone he knew but hadn’t seen in a while would be easier to make Apollo believe than Clay, who was supposed dead for six months. A spirit medium? He doubted connection would persist while unconscious, and even if it did, wouldn’t that mean he was talking to Clay himself anyway? Oh, and the medium would keep their own hair. Sure, Clay’s hair was longer and very dirty right now, but if the theoretical medium’s hair were this similar to Clay’s, it would have been quite the coincidence.
Apollo turned around to see if he could somehow see a sign to be able to tell if this was really his Clay. He found Clay’s eyes following him in turn. An instinct struck, one that probably didn’t make sense but he had to see, and he dropped everything. He took two wide steps from the kitchen counter to the couch and reached down, unceremoniously lifting Clay’s shirt up.
“Couldn’t wait a second more to you stare at my tits?” Clay asked, playful.
Apollo didn’t feel playful.
The muscles were no longer defined on Clay’s torso, but Apollo merely noted this as an observation before he saw the giant scar near the middle of his chest.
It was swollen and red even though it had to be half a year old. Shaking, he raised his hand to touch it, disgusted with the overly smooth texture of the swelling. And yet, it took Clay’s pained flinch for Apollo to stop stroking it.
“It wasn’t perfectly cared for, AJ,” Clay commented with a painful smile. “I am still alive so the infection somehow didn’t spread, but I have no idea how long… it would take… to…” His tone went slower and lower until it died down, gaze following Apollo’s to his own right arm.
The dirty topcoat Clay had on was limp on his right. Apollo stripped the coat off of that side and revealed that the arm was amputated from elbow down.
How did Apollo miss that before? Yes, on his door he was more focused on Clay just being there, but he didn’t even realize Clay’s right hand wasn’t around while swabbing his skin? Was he that focused on hydrating and superficially cleaning what he saw, that he didn’t even realize what he didn’t see? What the fuck?!
“Oh yeah, we may need to spend the top surgery fund on a prosthetic. Not a fan of being single handed, to be honest with you, respect to all who manage. Does that fund still exist? Please tell me you didn’t waste it on my funeral.”
“How…” Apollo had so many questions – how did Clay survive that stabbing, what happened to his arm, how did he find Apollo’s place in Khura’in, how did he even know Apollo was in Khura’in, how- “do you know you were declared dead?”
“The lady at the embassy almost got me arrested because Clay Terran is dead, apparently.”
“Embassy?”
“We’ll talk, Apollo, we have a lot to talk about – but I need some energy. Nutrients. My body would appreciate even the empty carbohydrates of instant noodles right now.”
“No solids. And instant noodles are not exactly common here.” Reminded of his task of taking care of Clay, Apollo gently dropped the shirt to cover Clay’s body again, took off the overcoat completely, threw it on one of the armchairs, and returned to the kitchen counter.
“Oh no, no instant noodles? Are they force feeding you vitamins and protein?”
Apollo couldn’t help his shaky smile. “The broths, the greens – all the horror.” His joking tone wasn’t quite there yet, but it didn’t seem lost. Clay of course would know that Apollo would rarely cook for himself – it only took a mention of noodles for him to make fun of that.
He sliced peaches in cubes as small as he could manage. This way, he could press down the whole thing with a fork. It took a little while, but it was soft enough for Apollo to feel confident feeding it to Clay.
Thankfully, unlike the water, Clay didn’t try to take it all in at once this time.
“It’s weird,” he said between teaspoons. “I’m starving but it is really hard to eat.”
“Your stomach got way too used to being stuck to itself. We are paving it open.” Apollo reduced the dosage to half a teaspoon. “Try to keep it in. I’ll boil you some sugar water in a couple hours – I don’t think you can eat much yet, even as puree.”
Clay gave a nod of agreement, and Apollo didn’t insist when he refused to eat half the plate. He figured the peaches must have been hard to hold it in, and as long as Clay didn’t pass out from malnutrition, it was best to take it slow.
Sitting on an armchair, Apollo didn’t know what to say. What to feel. He had a lot of case reviews to do but he couldn’t be assed. A part of him didn’t want to give into optimism, like Clay could be taken from him again any second now. He spent way too long pretending he got over Clay’s death. Now, it was hard to get used to the fact that… that Clay was not dead. It felt like something had to give, there was a downside – he was inclined to believe that this was a giant moth dressed as his best friend, trying to toy with his emotions because she got sick of butterflies getting all the attention.
He was terrified to hope that the impossible had happened.
“Okay, here is what I know,” Clay started, sufficiently breaking him out of his haze.
Apollo sat up eagerly.
“I don’t know much.”
“Nice one, Socrates.”
“I mean it.” Clay straightened his posture a little. “I was in a place, I got fed minimally, my wounds didn’t kill me. Hand was gone when I came to. I ran away after an infinite amount of time, apparently a finite six months, I asked the date to someone on the street. Maybe she now thinks she met an alien, time traveler, or a crazy beggar. It’s only after that I know what I went through.”
“You don’t know how you survived the stabbing?”
“No, but if top surgery is anything like this, I am reconsidering.”
Apollo found his eyes hard to tear away from Clay’s chest, where the wound is hidden under the shirt. “I can find a doctor to start getting it treated tomorrow. But who held you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why with minimal treatment to keep you alive?”
“I don’t know.” Clay seemed frustrated, albeit with low energy from exhaustion. “And I don’t know how and why my death was faked, either, because it had to be – you wouldn’t be so dumb to confirm my death without seeing my body, would you?”
Apollo shook his head. “Even if I were, a lot hinged on your trial. A variety of professionals were involved. All very convinced that Clay Terran was lying cold.” Leaning forward, he intertwined his hands on his lap, staring into Clay’s eyes.
If this was a fake Clay, it was an indescribably perfect one, down to those two little greenish spots that were barely visible on each of his irises.
Had he looked at the corpse’s eyes? Could DNA be faked to the point that it would all come down to such a small detail, one that everyone could miss? Apollo wouldn’t miss it, but… he wasn’t shown the eyes, was he? Freaking barely visible dots on irises wouldn’t come to even Apollo’s mind to check, not when he was told his other half was dead and he needed to confirm it. Like normal people, Apollo had checked his moles and birth mark – didn’t think to check something he only remembered existed while he was staring into Clay’s eyes with a probably unhealthy attention. Especially not while the world was crashing down around him, the sight of Clay’s body in a pool of blood making Apollo feverish.
It didn’t make sense. That Clay was alive was too much of a stretch, after everything he went through. But this was not a dream, either, dreams did not feel like this, not to Apollo. Maybe he was in a coma. Sensations were way too solid for a hallucination, and Apollo couldn’t think of any other way for this to be not real.
He could also see no proof toward the person across him not being Clay, excluding the fact that Clay died Apollo touched his corpse he turned the world upside down trying to look for who did it Apollo never got free miracles what was going on-
He took a deep, shaky breath. It was no time to freak out. He didn’t have time to freak out about many things since he settled in Khura’in, so he had gotten used to ignoring the sensation – up to a point.
Clay’s proximity helped, too, as it always did, to focus his thoughts. How much of what someone made you feel depended on them, and how much of it was your reception of them? Was the fact that Apollo felt better with Clay around enough proof that this really was Clay, or would Apollo just feel that way with any realistic mannequin wearing Clay’s face if he didn’t know better?
There were so many unknowns and what ifs that it took all of Apollo’s willpower – and Clay’s presence - to not descend into madness.
“So, what do you know?” Apollo finally asked.
“There was a crisis of some sort in the base. I think I was held in a base?”
Apollo opened his mouth to ask, but Clay beat him to it.
“If I knew what the base was for, I could at least theorize. I am telling you everything I know, Apollo, don’t ask about whatever information is missing because I don’t know.”
“No details caught your eye as you got out?”
Clay shook his head. “Eerily sci-fi with how empty and white the place was. At least, the corridors I’ve passed. Not a defining detail on the outside of the building, either. It looked like a villa – luxurious but ordinary. You’d think they would have a spa or an elegant layout inside, but no. Only sci-fi white.”
Apollo had no choice but to believe him.
“Of course, remote too. I don’t know what the crisis was, but it let me get out of there. It took me quite the walk to get to civilization – but without a watch, I cannot tell you how long. You know how I am with time.”
“Awfully precise?”
“Yeah, if I know how long the days are or if I have music to estimate the time with! I have no idea if I started one hour to sundown or four, all I know is that by the time I was in a town, the sun was setting. And I rested a lot, the limits I know for my stamina were not exactly good to judge here – I know I lost too much weight. Without knowing, I might even have rested as frequent as every five minutes.”
“You really don’t know anything.”
“Yep! Socrates could suck a dick.”
“He probably did, knowing Ancient Greeks.”
Clay flashed a grin at him, dimmed without the energy Apollo had came to know Clay with, but still that freaking lopsided grin that was driving Apollo crazy. “Maybe he was a prude who only gave it up the ass.”
“Tragic for Plato. How exactly did you get out?” Apollo asked, because it was all too vague and he couldn’t trust that.
“Oh, Plato doesn’t deserve any sympathy. And basically, I was in a locked room, occasionally dragged out with restraints for medical stuff. If they were probing anything they shouldn’t, I wouldn’t know, I would get sedated and wake up in the bed…room?” Clay didn’t seem to know how to describe the place at all. “Well, some time ago, something happened so they left me on the table. At least, when I came to, I was still on the operating table. Door was open, the only other person in the room had her back turned to me, and I hit her so hard that if I killed her please give me to a dishonest lawyer because I don’t deserve to be locked up over that.”
Apollo shook his head, amused. “Don’t worry, it’s easily provable self-defense.” Clay knew that though – besides, he also knew Apollo wouldn’t let anyone get away with an actual crime, not even Clay.
“But lemme tell you AJ, the adrenaline from seeing opportunity in a desperate situation… It’s something else. It would usually take me hours to stop feeling dizzy after being sedated. But when I realized what I was staring at an open door, my eyes snapped open so fast – I felt like an action movie protagonist. I don’t think I took in information as fast as that in my entire life.”
“And attempted murder,” Apollo teased.
“Self-defense! And how should I know how much power do I need to take someone out without damage? It’s not like I ever did it before, and I couldn’t risk only managing to anger her.”
“Of course.” Apollo was surprised how easily he was taking this – the possibility that Clay hurt someone… but he also understood. You didn’t get out of captivity with sunshine and rainbows. He still asked for details, just to be sure. “What did you knock her out with?”
“IV pole.”
“And she didn’t see it coming - even with the corner of her eye?”
“If she did, it had to be too late.”
“The noise? When you were getting up and taking the pole?”
Clay thought for a second. “The space was tiny. I like to think she didn’t have time to register it, and that I was fast enough.”
As long as nothing contradicted, Apollo had to believe him. “Not convincing, but…”
Clay shrugged. “Dunno, ‘Pollo. I of course would like you to believe me, but I didn’t actually see things in novel detail when I was running for my life.”
Apollo had to give him that. “Fair enough. But- hold it.” He noticed a small contradiction. “You said everywhere you had been to was white and empty. An operating room doesn’t sound empty.”
“Well, the room I was kept in also had a toilet, shower, and a bed, but I didn’t see anything that could identify the place’s purpose. Same goes for the operating room – it had… an operating table, closet with medical stuff in it, IV pole, a counter, those medical devices on the rolling nightstands, you know, like in medical shows?”
Folding his arms on his chest, Apollo leaned back and nodded. “Alright. Then why not assume you’re in a hospital?”
“The only people I had ever seen were the ones that had something to do with me. Guards moving me, what I assume was a medical staff in the operating room… And when I was being walked the corridors before whatever they were doing to me – not a single person would be around. No tools, no furniture, no open doors in sight. Hospitals, even the most private ones, would have some decoration, right? Waiting area, glass doors to somewhere, hospital emergency instructions framed, anything. There was this generic painting of daffodils, I suppose, but I only sometimes saw it. Maybe they moved me through different routes each time. Hard to tell with all the blank white.”
It was hard to find contradiction in unawareness.
“…also,” Clay continued after a delay, “I saw way too many movies to not find it weird that an evil secret base would have its own operating room, if I am to be honest with you.”
Apollo snorted. “Evil base?”
“Holding me against my will and doing whatever they want with my unconscious ass isn’t exactly virtuous.” Clay paused for a second. “I hope they left my literal ass alone.”
“So they sedated you and operated on you without your consent. Aren’t you scared that they did something awful to you?”
“Terrified.”
The answer was so eerily honest that now Apollo was, too. He hadn’t gotten worried at first, because Clay was across him, relatively healthy sans malnutrition, amputation, and improper wound car. But of course. Of course, what if there was something internal?
“We will get you checked out,” he said with certainty. “At least… if you were lacking an important organ, you wouldn’t survive, right? Oh,” Apollo gasped. “Maybe you were falling because of that! Let me- I need to call Nahyuta-”
“I don’t think that’s the case. A checkup is definitely needed but I am pretty sure my energy was just steadily running out this whole time.”
“I… no, I will definitely feel better if we can get you checked right now. The technology in this country is still catching up, so if Nahyuta says their equipment isn’t enough, we might have to send you to States somehow, or maybe Japan or Europe could be relatively nearer-”
“No! Ah-” Clay gasped, the sudden move he made seemingly hurt his chest. “Look- I- I ran away to find you, they were going to send me to LA to sort this entire fake death business out… I know you wouldn’t like that but- Apollo, they told me I was dead.” There were tears in his eyes, but they didn’t spill. “How could I let you keep believing that, over fucking procedure? Not being able to contact you all those months, knowing – or, well, thinking I was missing and you were looking and probably worried for me – it was hell, okay? And I found out I was legally dead, and they were still not letting me contact you before confirming my identity? Fuck that!”
Apollo didn’t know how to respond to that. He was relieved that Clay prioritized letting him know he was alive, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Clay knowingly letting him marinate in that pain, but also, from a legal standpoint, it was… all kinds of wrong.
“And… and, I needed you. I missed you, I was alone and mentally tortured for months, and this is gonna sound so pathetic but I didn’t have the power to go through any kind of State investigation or questioning without seeing you. So when they said I had to-”
Apollo was confused. “Wait, did you run away from the government? I thought you ran from an ‘evil base’? Can you- can we rewind?”
“Right, I didn’t get to tell you the embassy part,” Clay mumbled, worrying his lower teeth. “Still want the details of my escape?”
“Later. Tell the most relevant parts to you running away from going to LA? How did you even get to that point?”
“So I walked, made it to a town. Apparently Rome’s outer skirts. Asked what year it was, where I was, got weird eyes… but at least my Italian is still up to snuff. I also found some recycled outfits for homeless people so I couldn’t be found with an outfit description – I suspected a place with such secrecy wouldn’t be happy someone escaped, right?”
“Right – but the government part? You said embassy, right?”
Clay nodded. “Made it to Rome with hitchhiking – it was dumb, people could be after me or I could be abducted by someone else this time, but I was tired and the hunger got me impatient. I think I came by a nice family. Even offered me some snacks, but I didn’t eat them, you know, paranoia. Found the USA embassy, went hey can you help me I am from California, I think I was abducted, and I barely know where I am? They ask for my identity, I of course don’t have ID but I say my name is Clay Terran, which, after some database reading, gets me in questioning. That’s how I found out I was assumed dead.”
“It was a tad more than assumed, Clay…”
“Yeah, you said you saw my body. Whatever that was. Last I checked, you didn’t go through me, so I’m probably not a ghost. Hence, this has to be my own body.”
Staring, Apollo was struck with a horrible idea. He started easing Clay into his next question, cautious, “Hey… this is gonna sound weird, but trust me when I say this is about Khura’inese practices and take me seriously, okay?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you…” Apollo sighed. How would he explain this to his scientist boyfriend who never witnessed a spirit medium? “Are you sure you’re not possessing someone?”
“Come again?”
Fidgeting with his fingers, Apollo tried to think about a way to make this make sense. He failed. “So, in Khura’in, people sometimes… invoke… dead people? Maybe an accident happening and you taking over a spirit medium somehow is… I don’t know if it’s possible, but doesn’t look like a stretch.”
Clay looked at him weird, but gave him the benefit of doubt. “I’d love to see that for myself, but you are even more skeptical than I am, so… If you are saying you saw such a technique, I believe you. And in that case, would the spirit medium maintain anything from themselves?”
“Hair and clothes definitely stay the same.”
“Hm. Well, can’t speak for clothes, I woke up in some apron-like thing after the incident at GYAXA, but the hair was definitely mine? How likely do you think a spirit medium exists with my hair – well, my old hair, when it was shapely and not passing my chin.”
“A spirit medium demanding his barber to cut his hair in a star shape instead of a traditional hairstyle? Unlikely, especially because spirit mediums are actually as rare as it is.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I would hate to leave this body out of moral obligation. Should I eat more? I feel like I can eat more again.”
Apollo handed him the plate from the coffee table. “Will you be able to eat by yourself?”
“Yeah, yeah, feeling better now.” Despite his claim, Clay still ate the puree in half-a-teaspoon doses. “Anyway, I get taken in for questioning, and Interpol gets involved. They want to know details of where I was kept, because apparently my supposed death included a weird organization?”
“In theory, yes. Your killer was working for someone or someones – I don’t know who.”
“Met a lovely lady. And by lovely lady I mean I was almost getting whipped. I thought only a red-obsessed defense lawyer could get me whipped, but she had an actual whip, and she kept waving it in the air, like Zorro.”
“Zorro used a stick whip, like a sword.”
“Nuh-uh, I am sure it was a regular, long, string-like whip.”
“A stick, Clay. And I know that for sure because Trucy almost made me a tenderized schnitzel after watching him.”
“Mandela effect?” Clay questioned, and Apollo shrugged. “Well, if it helps, you would make a delicious schnitzel.”
“Doesn’t really help, but thanks.”
“Anyway, news of Clay Terran is alive somehow makes it to your Miles Edgeworth. Apparently he was also involved?”
“Remind me to tell you about your case in full detail sometime. Your jaw will drop.”
“Of course I will make you tell about my case, what do you take me for? Hope it made you sweat.”
“Yes, I even sweated from my eyes.”
The rather sad joke strikes Clay visibly, pausing with his teaspoon hovering mid-air. “Apollo…” Dropping his plate on his lap, Clay turned his upper body toward his boyfriend, opening his arms, all one and a half of them. “Come here,” he demanded.
That was a bad idea. Apollo still wasn’t ready to solidify the information that Clay is back with an affectionate touch, in fear that he would slip away from him, somehow, again, but when offered… he couldn’t refuse. Not after all this time.
So he complied.
Apollo tried his best to not apply pressure, having seen Clay’s stab wound was sensitive, but he lost it when he smelt Clay. His Clay. Clay stunk, for sure, but he stunk with pheromones that was undoubtedly him, not any of his shampoos or conditioners but the underlaying smell Apollo felt any time he buried his face in Clay’s neck for a decade.
Apollo had lied for the sake of the joke. He hadn’t properly cried, not while investigating Clay’s supposed murder, hiding behind his rage; and after that, after accepting facts, under the name of moving on, he buried his feelings. He told himself he was only missing him a normal amount, like how a lovely grandmother missed her deceased husband but had long accepted he was gone and only smiled, but in truth, Apollo didn’t smile with the thought of Clay. In fact, he didn’t allow himself to think about Clay at all, because he would cry and he had to avoid that. When a stray memory escaped its cage, he felt his lips tremble immediately, and he tucked the memory back in its prison by force, by focusing on whatever he had in front of him. Taking on Khura’in’s legal reform on his shoulders helped, because he had so little time that a stray thought couldn’t threaten to even peek its head; he had way too many things to focus and think on. He actually thought he had gotten good at ignoring the painful, especially after the whole mess with Dhurke, when he had got two people on his hands to grieve but it hurt way too much to not try and ignore it.
But now, his face buried in Clay’s neck again, smelling Clay again, feeling Clay’s arms around him again…
Apollo started sobbing.
It took all his willpower to not squeeze Clay, mindful of the wound, thus he couldn’t spare any to stop crying. Despite his own reluctance, Apollo felt Clay hold him tighter instead, kiss the top of his head before Clay’s cheek laid on the same spot.
Worried, Apollo tried to pull away, “Your- Your wound-” but he was stopped by Clay holding him even tighter.
“Fuck my wound,” Clay responded, his voice shaky – he was crying, too, and Apollo would be the voice of reason and insist to not pressure it but honestly, if it wasn’t going to kill him again, Apollo couldn’t care either, not right now.
What he couldn’t help saying, because apparently he just had to ruin the mood, was instead: “Well that’s a bit gory but we can arrange something if you’re into it,” and Clay groaned, and Apollo laughed, a strangled sound mixed with his sobs. Clay to pushed him away. Didn’t let him go, though, hands moved to hold Apollo’s face and bring it in front of Clay’s, where Clay could kiss Apollo’s forehead before leaning his own to the same spot.
Clay was snotty. Apollo was no better. Despite that, Apollo wanted to kiss Clay, badly – now that he actually touched him, he wanted more, and he didn’t know where he would want to stop. Probably nowhere, and never. Thus more self-restraint was necessary, but it was hard when Clay was grinning his lopsided grin, the one Apollo had been deprived of for so long, and Apollo had to kiss it.
And he did.
And fuck, was it like finding the oasis in the middle of the Sahara.
Clay tasted like peaches, and himself, and the sensation alone run a shiver down Apollo’s spine. Sure, Clay wasn’t at the peak of hygiene, naturally so considering the situation, but Apollo couldn’t care if he tried. Which he didn’t. He sucked at Clay’s lips, tasting him all over again, and his tears were falling but he was not sobbing, finally having surrendered to the happiness he was terrified of accepting.
Apollo was still afraid. But with Clay in his arms again, whatever random thing dared to take Clay away from him would have to chew Apollo’s dead body and spit it out. If Clay really ran from the government, Apollo would hide him as a fugitive, sure, why not. He deserved a little moral compromise for Clay, as a treat.
He still wanted an explanation for that, though.
Pulling away enough to talk but nowhere enough to let go of each other, Apollo asked that. “So, where does running away from the government comes in?”
“Oh…” Clay was panting. “Well. I may have exaggerated that a tad. Edgeworth helped me get here, with the condition of you contacting him after I get to you, but technically I did run from Interpol.” Clay laughed a breathless laugh, and Apollo gave a sigh of relief. “But the reason I said that- I protested like that was… I don’t want to risk separation again. Yes, I am clingy now, deal with it Apollo, I hate the idea of you possibly sending me away for health reasons? Logically, I have nothing to argue against it, and you would be right, but I am way too mentally drained to be pulled away for you so soon. I think Edgeworth saw that, too.”
Apollo couldn’t keep away from Clay. He drew on Clay’s face with his fingertips, kissed Clay’s jawline, held Clay’s hand – he still paid attention to what he was told, though. “I’m not letting you go, either. I’ll come with you, if you have to get treatment somewhere else.”
“Can you? I talked to Edgeworth about you a bit, sounds like your responsibilities here are insane.”
“I will figure it out.” And he would. He had stayed in Khura’in because he was the only one who could help them, and he wasn’t needed elsewhere. If Clay needed him, that was it, he would choose Clay. Fuck Khura’in. Fuck the whole world, when it came to Clay needing him.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t that heartless – he would find a substitute, invent facecam trials, do something, but he would find and demand a solution. Clay came first, and if only he could help Clay, Apollo would choose him before anyone else.
“We’ll figure it out,” he repeated, embracing Clay again. “You said Prosecutor Edgeworth expects contact?”
A nod. “Apparently you are a big deal in Khura’inese government, AJ, and he expects you to be able to do that, through formal means. Actually, is it the time for my questions yet? The fuck ya doin’ in Khura’in? Didn’t I spend years helping you through the trauma this place caused you?”
With a laugh, Apollo nuzzled Clay’s shoulder. “Technically, the trauma people in it caused by abandoning me. But yes. It’s a long, long story. Which you will be told, but I think you need a bath and a rest.” Wait, if he was in the embassy’s and Interpol’s care before… “Why were you starved? No way they denied you water and food in Italy, did they?”
“Uh, well…” Clay deliberately looked away. “I arrived here, expecting you to know that I am coming, but you didn’t, and I asked around for you… three days ago?”
“What?”
“Yes, but you already made enemies, didn’t you, my hot-headed little demon?”
Apollo lazily slapped Clay’s left arm. “Don’t string those words together ever again.”
“Because it is a cute pet name we should have gotten for you years ago?”
“No. And not even because some people seriously think I am a demon, but because that sounds so cheesy that rats will infest this place again. What about my enemies, though?”
“Well, the first group of people I asked about you were probably the wrong people to ask, because they hate your guts and wanted to beat me up for it.”
Apollo groaned. “But you’re okay right?” He pulled away to inspect the visible parts of Clay’s body, though he was pretty sure he couldn’t miss cuts and bruises, no matter how big the stab wound was to grab his attention.
“Yeah, I ran, don’t worry. But I got spectacularly lost. Why is there a mountain here?”
Apollo groaned again.
“Until I found someone again, days passed. And my physique decided it couldn’t take it anymore when I finally found your door. At least I didn’t misunderstand the directions…”
“Clay Terran, you are so smart yet so fucking dumb, did you know that?”
“And you love that in a man, right?” Clay grinned, and Apollo kissed that stupid grin again.
“No, I love you, and you unfortunately come as a package. Come on, let me wash you. How is your stomach feeling?” Apollo lifted the plate from Clay’s lap and back on the coffee table, carefully lifting his boyfriend up. “Will you eat more?”
Clay hummed. “Probably a bit more before bed.”
Apollo led Clay to the bathroom. He expected to have hot water, solar panels were working quite hard in the summer and Apollo had to try really hard to run out of it.
He didn’t have a bathtub – he kept telling himself that he was going to get a shower or a bathtub installed only to settle for the wide basin from Dhurke and Datz’ days, way too tired to deal with construction in his space on top of his exhausting workload. He wondered if Clay and he would stay here longer. His work here was definitely not done, but Clay was a previously unconsidered variable, and he didn’t want to be separated from Clay even for his responsibilities. If Clay was to stay with him, in Khura’in, he might have to stop being lazy about talking to constructors for a proper bathroom.
Apollo set Clay carefully in the basin, played with the tap until he was content with its heat, and dragged the basin with Clay now naked in it until the water could fill it.
“I feel like I’m in those floaty pools we had when we were kids,” Clay said, and Apollo grinned at the way his knees were pulled up to his chest like an oversized child.
“Well, I usually just use this to fill water in and bathe from it, but I doubt you can stand up that long right now. So, kiddie pool it is.” Apollo leaned down to kiss Clay’s nose, turned the water tap off and left Clay to soak in the water for a couple of minutes.
He needed those minutes to call Nahyuta.