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Apollo had known nothing about stars when he first met Clay in middle school, aside from the fact that they existed far away, beyond his reach. It was unfortunate, but true - he had possessed little aptitude for science anyway. Clay had laughed then, and he continued to laugh about it years later, his apparent lack of astronomical knowledge an embarrassing equivalent to a bad joke - 'Oh Pollo, what do you mean, you don't know what Orion is?'
He was glad Clay had found ignorance funny, instead of stupid. Children at their age could be unbelievably cruel, and Apollo had experienced first hand how damaging they could be. Good thing he'd learnt to brush it off, the bullying, else he'd have probably transformed into some kind of delinquent by now.
On hindsight, his appearance was probably asking for it - short, even then, banged up and bruised from his many scrapes and fistfights, hair sticking up in odd directions, dressed in oversized, baggy clothes with a gaudy bangle almost falling off his wrist. His relatively good grades were the only reason the teachers didn't examine him too closely, writing off his many fights and fits of temper as 'boys at play' rather than the serious incidents they were.
Clay, on the other hand, had been adored by all. Top student, teacher's pet, class clown - he managed to get away with all of it, and somehow had a great personality on top of it all. Apollo had been smitten before he even knew his name properly, and he'd been in love ever since.
Two years of pining from afar culminated in rather dramatic fashion during 8th grade, when Clay received the news that his mother - an astronomer herself - had passed away. He'd been absolutely devastated, but managed to put on a brave face in school. Apollo, perfectly attuned to Clay's various moods by then, had immediately spotted something was wrong, and gathering up all the courage in the world, decided to approach him about it at the end of the school day.
They ended up bonding over his positive reinforcement slogans, of all things, something that terribly amused Apollo when he thought about how they met, later on. That night, yelling 'I'm fine!' at the top of their lungs, was a beautiful memory, stained as it was with Clay's sorrow.
Finishing high school, Apollo had made considerable progress in his knowledge of stars. Years of Clay's friendship, countless museum exhibits, lectures and stargazing trips had left a distinctive mark, and Apollo was proud of all that he had learned, even if it was quite useless to him in the larger scheme of things. Astronomy was not needed for studying law, unless one wanted to specialize in outer space affairs, which was a rather niche sort of field and Apollo wasn't sure he possessed the necessary acumen to go about constructing intergalactic treaties.
He had achieved everything he had through hard work, grinding away with sheer, stubborn will until something gave way. He could never be Clay, with his natural talent and predisposition towards calculus and advanced physics. But Clay was the reason he had scraped through those mandatory math classes in the first place, and he could never begrudge him anything.
They had fallen into some kind of relationship over the years, one that was loose and precariously defined. What Apollo knew was this - Clay seemed to enjoy spending more time with him over entertaining his various hordes of admirers, and Apollo was perfectly happy with the arrangement. It had made him feel slightly smug, and he'd made sure to drape a hand over his best friend's shoulder as much as possible to stake a claim. It had worked, mostly.
This routine had continued throughout university, where they'd roomed together, huddling for warmth because the heater didn't work most nights, sharing pot ramen on rainy days and ironing each other's clothes. Apollo had kissed Clay for the first time in a dingy alleyway next to a vending machine, pressing him up enthusiastically against a cold brick wall. They had shared a grape jelly after, and Clay had crowed in delight after collecting a free astronaut charm with a joke package.
They had drifted a little after finding work, but Apollo made sure to spend any free time he could salvage with his best friend. It was strange, how he still referred to him like that, but that was what they were - best friends, who just happened to love each other.
Clay had been his only support system through the consecutive messes of his initial cases, and when he'd discovered the truth of his murdering ex-boss Kristoph Gavin, he'd been the first to offer him a shoulder and a drink.
Apollo tried to be there for him as much as could in return, spending his paltry salary on bubble tea coupons and the newest sci-fi releases at their local bookstore. He knew his colleagues made fun of him for his miserly habits, but they clearly didn't know how much he loved spoiling Clay.
No one else had known about their relationship, and Apollo was just fine with the status quo. Athena had been the first person he'd truly wanted to share with, her bright youthful nature made him trust her instinctively. Perhaps she could even give him advice about some things he'd been pondering recently, seasonal dates and flower assemblies.
Of course, that was before HAT-2 was sabotaged and the courtroom exploded.
Apollo walked out of the ruins of C-4 in a daze, trying and failing to wrap his head around all the events that had just taken place. Clay's coat lay draped over his good arm, still tattered and burnt at the edges. He'd managed to get the blood out, enough to leave only a pale oval stain, but he hadn't had the time to properly mend it yet. Then there was the matter of his flat, and personal belongings…
He was interrupted in his quiet musings by the chief prosecutor. He looked haggard and stressed, carrying a large pile of documents in one arm and balancing his briefcase in the other.
'A word, Justice.'
The man strode down the corridor towards his offices without bothering to check if Apollo was actually following him, pausing to wrestle a key from his overcoat pocket. Once inside, he switched on the kettle and laid out teacups.
'We have much to discuss, Apollo, and I fear we may need the tea for the news to settle.'
Apollo stared uncomprehendingly as the man stirred milk into his brew and offered him the sugar pot with a polite gesture. The chief prosecutor rarely addressed him by his first name, and that in itself was a warning sign.
Once seated with his china cup, Edgeworth steepled his fingers together and levelled him with a serious gaze.
'I understand this may come as a shock to you, Apollo. But knowing of the relationship between you both, you must be the first to know.'
Edgeworth paused emphatically.
'Clay Terran is alive.'
Apollo didn't realise he'd dropped his cup until he felt the scalding burn of hot liquid on his thigh. Even then, he did not register the pain until Edgeworth reached out with a silk kerchief to mop up the mess.
'I'm fine, I'm fine', he whispered mechanically, and then the weight of what the man said began to sink in.
'What do you mean, he's alive?!'
'Exactly what I said, Mr. Justice. If you'd let me explain -'
'No. No. Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Clay's dead! DEAD! Stabbed to death by a spy in an international conspiracy - we just spent the better half of two days accusing 4 people in succession to determine how it happened. I saw the pictures, and the bloodstains, and the goddamn death certificate - I, I went to pieces after I found out. I'm still carrying around his bloody coat, trying to process the fact he's gone - my best friend, the only person I've ever loved...You've no right, you hear me? No right to bring me here and tell me he's alive -'
'It was a ruse. A ruse, do you hear me Mr Justice?'
Edgeworth had no business being this bloody calm, Apollo thought viciously.
'I understand your pain, Apollo, but I need you to listen to me now.'
A deliberate pause, but the hitched breath belied his calm demeanour.
'Clay is alive. I know this must be hard to believe after you have spent the past week grieving his demise, but it is true. He was grievously injured during the sabotage of the HAT-2 mission, but he survived, though barely, as the medical records tell me. Once the initial calls came in, we knew there was something much larger at stake. Our government has been trying to identify moles within its space agencies for a long time, since HAT-1 went awry, in fact. We were not sure if the rumours of another event were true, but the happenings at GYAXA alerted national security to a possible breach. Clay Terran was not declared dead at the scene, but it became imperative that he must be, in order for us to launch our investigations. His alleged death kept him safe until we could identify the perpetrator and the individuals associated with him.'
Apollo's head was swimming.
'I don't understand. We had a trial, and evidence -'
Edgeworth cut him sharply.
The trial was a farce, Mr Justice. From beginning to end. The only reason it was instigated was because an engineer threatened a courtroom with the life of hostages if it didn't comply. Truly, I was hoping for a more discrete investigation and a stay on Simon's execution order, but things never come to pass as I expect them to. Though perhaps it was a good thing that Wright brought up UR-1 and cleared up the whole mess for us. I had never imagined the Phantom to be in the guise of Bobby Fulbright, but it looks as though we've all been a bit misled.'
'But there was a certificate, an autopsy report-'
'All cleverly fabricated. They have medical examiners in national intelligence trained for this sort of thing. I gather it was not so much a fabrication, but an extension of truth. Mr Terran could have easily died on the scene if he'd been left unattended for just a few minutes longer. His injuries and estimated time of death were described accurately.'
'What did national intelligence expect to achieve from our last trial?'
'I don't think they were expecting it at all. They like to be quiet about this kind of event, threats of espionage are no trivial matter. I suppose the initial plan was to protect the injured parties and launch a private investigation, but that was foiled by the antics of Ms Aura Blackquill and the publicity of her hostage situation. Luckily the leaked news reports have been centred around connections to the original HAT-1 incident, which happened under similar circumstances. If you noticed, Mr Terran was never mentioned by name, and pictures of the crime scene remain confidential. Though Ms Blackquill's meddlesome behaviour did cause some problems, she also managed to secure the GYAXA building from intruders and press, so most of the case information remains intact. Our recent trial cannot be considered legitimate under the situations it happened in, with the ruined courtroom and actions under duress, but it has pointed us in the right direction and given us the Phantom. He is currently in custody and will be privately charged at a later date for the deaths of Metis Cykes and countless others. The testimony of this trial will be taken off record in an official capacity but a transcript will remain with the office of national security intelligence until they are satisfied with the proceedings. We will be questioning the Phantom after he recovers from his bullet injuries and hopefully gain information about his associates and the orders he was given.'
This was all getting a bit too good to believe.
'If Clay is alive, where is he?'
For the first time in their long winded conversation, Edgeworth smiled.
'He's currently in the private care of a team of government authorized specialists. He's still in a medically induced coma as his body recuperates, but the surgeon who oversaw his operation believes he will make a complete recovery.'
He prepared some Earl Grey in a fresh cup and stirred in a generous spoonful of sugar. He offered the drink to Apollo, who grasped it gratefully.
'The sugar will give you some energy, Mr Justice. I know all this must have been very shocking to hear, but I hope you understood why it had to be done. Even your life came under threat with the courtroom bombing, and we wanted the least number of casualties we could afford. I was not in a position to inform you until now, in order for the trial to proceed. But I hope that your presence will prove to have some healing effect on Mr Terran, and he should be waking up soon in your care. I would also strongly suggest a vacation after this incident has died down, preferably someplace quiet with some fresh air, for Mr Terran to recover. No doubt the incident has left him with psychological shock of some kind. He will need all the peace he can get.'
Edgeworth stood up with a flourish and pulled out a small scrap of paper from his cardholder.
'Here is the address. Do make plans to visit as soon as possible.'
As Apollo proceeded to leave, Edgeworth seemed to recollect something.
'Oh, I almost forgot Justice. Starbuck was adamant in not pressing charges, so you needn't worry on your friend's account. He will not face a trial. The director of the institute, Yuri Cosmos, has absolved him of all involvement by stating that he held Mr Terran's occupation over him to ensure he followed instructions to drug Mr Starbuck before the supposed launch. That has been recorded in his witness testimony, and we will ensure he sticks to it. Consider it a means of recompense, after all the pain we have caused you.'
Apollo draped Clay's coat around his shoulders, spying rain outside the prosecution office window.
'Thank you, Mr Edgeworth. For everything.'
Apollo was surprised to find that he meant it.
~ 1 Year Later ~
Apollo wheeled Clay onto the grassy bank by the river, taking care to adjust his robes to prevent the new material from getting muddied.
Clay lay peacefully in his wheelchair, a wooden contraption that Datz had helped him put together as soon as he found out the recovering astronaut would be landing in a government authorized medical flight a few months ago.
Apollo remembered how weak and pale Clay had been when he first arrived, heavily drugged to prevent any incidents mid-flight. His muscle had significantly atrophied while in coma, his skin taking on a bloodless, papery quality that had frightened Apollo the first time he'd seen him, after Edgeworth's dramatic confessions. He'd been tubed up then, a dozen needles sticking out of his limbs, blood transfusions and protein drips the only thing sustaining him from day to day. The surgeon had assured him that Clay's healing progression was going as expected, if a little slow, but that was understandable given the trauma of his injury.
Alive, the heart monitors had beat out, with their rhythmic patterns. Alive Alive Alive. It had been the only thing preventing Apollo from having a complete breakdown in the ICU, the assurance that his best friend, despite the murder trial and life threatening injuries, was alive. That, and the fact that him blubbering on the sickbay floor was probably not giving Clay the peace he needed to recover.
A year on, and here they were. Khura'in, the land of his childhood. He'd told Clay stories about his upbringing here, when they were in school, back when Apollo thought he needed cool stories to impress his lovely crush.
He'd taken Edgeworth's advice seriously, and made plans to relocate Clay as soon as he'd concluded Dhurke's trial. What a mess that had been. Another farce, from start to finish. Of course his father hadn't killed his uncle, of course it was his Aunt Ga'ran, who also happened to be the reigning sovereign of the nation, responsible for upholding legislation that executed defence attorneys. Of course his brother was being blackmailed, of course his sister had séance powers that were a threat, of course his foster mother was not actually dead but cavorting as a servant. What was this, an actual trial or a badly written pulp fiction novel?
He'd only bothered coming here because of Dhurke, the sole father figure he'd had in his misguided youth, the father figure who had abandoned him in an unfamiliar country he had known nothing about without so much as a letter of explanation. Of course he'd gone carousing off at the drop of a hat to help him, unthinking of the consequences, almost drowning in dangerous cave systems and facing his mentor across a foreign courtroom - all for what? Some kind of holy glassware.
He'd won his case against Phoenix - how many attorneys could say that? - and just as he thought it was all over, Dhurke was accused of murdering not just his pandering uncle, but his foster mother as well, the former Queen - Amara Sigatar Khura'in.
And then came the mounting realizations - Dhurke was dead, Maya was inhabiting his body so he could visit him one last time, he hadn't been forgotten after all…
He hadn't had time to properly grieve before being forced to defend his brother - stupid self-sacrificing Nahyuta - and then condemn Ga'ran himself. He and Phoenix had been put on death row for all of 4 minutes before he'd soundly turned the tables on her and demanded a show of her spiritual power, which she had been unable to perform. Instantaneously deposed, his younger sister Rayfa had been declared the rightful queen of Khura'in.
Everything fell right in the end, though not without some personal cost. Dhurke was dead, and all three of his children grieved a father they had lost too soon. They'd rallied together somehow. Rayfa had come crying to him in the night, demanding stories. Amara had offered him rooms in the palace, which Apollo had politely declined. From Nahyuta, he'd received eight stilted apologies.
Apollo, despite all the angst the country had given him, rather enjoyed Khura'in. He'd immediately thought of how the environment would benefit Clay's health and asked for an audience with Nahyuta the following day. By then, he'd already made up his mind to stay, not just to honour his father's memory, but also because it looked like the country's legal system needed all the help it could get. He wasn't sure if the move would be permanent, but for now, it looked like this was home.
Clay had woken up a few weeks before he left for Khura'in, and Apollo had made it a point to text and call him everyday for updates. Clay was a ghost of his former self, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered to Apollo. He sweetly reminded his brother of all that he owed him, and Nahyuta was happy to arrange for a specially chartered plane to bring Clay back to him. He and Datz had worked to make one of the rooms on the ground floor wheelchair accessible, and read up on all the various safety measures they'd have to take to look after Clay and his still fragile heart.
And that brought him here. Him and his best friend, seated by the river, sun shining down on the flower meadows in the valley. They were both dressed in traditional Khura'inese robes, Clay's material consisting of a softer, handspun wool that wouldn't chafe his still delicate skin. He'd begun to look better now, eating more, walking a small distance unaided each day.
The villagers had come to adore them both, plying the office with fresh fruit, baked treats and home mulled wines until Apollo didn't know what to do with all the confectionaries littering their front porch.
There was still much to decide. For now, Apollo was managing his seemingly never-ending caseload and trying to get the offices in order, but he had no idea of how the future would play out. There were home repairs to be done, legislation to be rewritten, Nahyuta's increasingly insistent offers of promoting him to a government position, correspondence to be maintained with the Wright Anything Agency, the matter of Clay's flat and belongings, and of course, Clay himself.
They'd skirted around this a few times, and Apollo hadn't spent the past 26 years of his life with a lie detecting bracelet to miss the obvious cues that Clay was still uncomfortable to talk about the sabotaged rocket launch and his future plans. He spent most days in the fields, playing with children and entertaining them with space stories or helping Apollo reorder his numerous case files. He'd playfully suggested that Apollo should maybe consider hiring him as his legal assistant, and then been resolutely surprised when the lawyer actually began to consider the offer.
For now though, with Clay by his side, warm, happy, alive - he hadn't a care in the world.
This was a pinch hit. I love receiving treats, so if you'd like to write me something in return, feel free to look at my Yuletide Letter , Trick or Treat PH Letter and Fic in a Box PH Letter