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If Klavier were inclined to be charitable with the variety of people he worked with, he would call this incident an "honest mistake." Unfortunately for those aforementioned individuals, he was not inclined to be charitable. Not this time.
Naturally, he wasn't in charge of the paperwork surrounding his employment. He had a hundred other things to divert his attention, and the prosecutor's office had people employed to shuffle things like records and proof of identity around. Sure, he was no stranger to people being confused when they dealt with his passports, but this...
No, this was a dishonest mistake made by someone with bad intentions. Despite every other piece of evidence to the contrary, someone had seen one document with their outdated name on it and taken it as fact, changing it on the central office database.
So, several frustrated emails later, Klavier took a folder of documents down to Human Resources, because they'd be damned if they weren't going to get this fixed immediately.
And on the whole, this wasn't the kind of conversation that bothered them all that much. The fact that they had to have it bothered them, but the words themselves? Klavier couldn't care less. They knew where they stood legally, had never once lacked the confidence to speak their mind, and they weren't going to let anyone walk all over them when it came to this.
He was in the right, and yet- there was something wrong, he found, when he got elbow deep in the minutiae of whether a German deed poll was legally binding (yes, it was, he had an official translation right there, and yes the translator was certified). Maybe it was being in a country where he still didn't have the kind of professional connections he was happy with, or because he'd made more enemies than friends in his workplace after the trials he'd prosecuted so far, or maybe...
Maybe, when he was faced down by a cisgender white woman in an open plan office where all her coworkers could hear her mess up—and him painstakingly explain—basic courtesy towards him, he lost a little of the pleasant persona he was usually so proud of.
"I don't think this has the right numbers on it," the woman said, her voice sickeningly sweet as she looked up at them, counting along the lines of numbers with one bright red fingernail. "Is the signatory legal?"
"He's a colleague," they replied. "In law enforcement, actually. But I wouldn't call him, he's on duty; he doesn't like to be interrupted, ja?" You'd be wasting his time, they didn't say, but they were sure she'd get the message if she was paying any attention.
Naturally, she wasn't. Naturally, she continued to ignore them, raising questions about every single detail about the stupid paperwork and forms on her computer and why the mistake was made and- honestly? It was a minor miracle that Klavier wasn't already working out which of his friends he could contact for a fake alibi at this point.
And that, of course, was the very moment that Klavier's day pivoted from 'bad' to 'terrible, please don't ask me anything about it.' Because if there was anything worse than being forced to air the details of his past to a large group of definitely-eavesdropping individuals he didn't know, it was being forced to air them in front of someone he did.
Well, 'know' was probably a bad word to describe the situation, but needless to say he cared a little more about what was being said in a room when Miles Edgeworth walked into it.
Logically, he already knew that he would meet Prosecutor Edgeworth at some point. He was a 'mainstay of the office, if not the courtrooms,' according to those he'd spoken to (he hadn't been checking; it was idle curiosity). He just hadn't expected to encounter him so soon.
Knowing that he could be heard by someone whose impression he cared about made his stomach sink in a way rather akin to the feeling he got when Kristoph fixed him with that subtle disappointed expression of his. Channelling that energy, he renewed his efforts and resolutely tried not to think about the man speaking to someone only a few desks away.
"I'm sorry, I really don't understand why this is an issue." He just had to channel the middle aged white woman inside him and beat her at her own game. Easy, right? "I have all the paperwork."
"Mmm." They hated that smile she had. It was barely a smile at all. "Are you sure?"
"Utterly positive," they replied, doing their best not to grit their teeth. Cool and unflappable, unflappable and cool. They could do this. "You pull up the record, change the name in all those boxes to my legal name, and then I will be out of your hair."
She ummed and aahed a little more, and then a little more, and Klavier hadn't come so close to hitting someone since that infuriating magician had come to him with some nonsense about slander and then hadn't stopped talking for a solid hour.
But he couldn't hit her. Partly because he didn't do that, but mostly because Miles Edgeworth (Miles hecking Edgeworth!) was right there, and if he hit her then she'd win because he'd have to go away disappointed.
Looking at her again and starting the whole process of explaining it again, he was starting to think that she was doing it on purpose. Why, he couldn't understand, but he could probably guess.
Of course, it was also that moment that his day got immeasurably worse (how was it fair for it to get even worse? He'd already hit his transphobia quota for the month), and it turned out that Edgeworth's HR individual of choice was far better at their job than Klavier's. His conversation over—leaving Klavier once again the only person speaking in the stupid office—he didn't even have the good sense to head straight out, instead walking directly over to the site of Klavier’s suffering.
And then, like he hadn't been able to hear the whole conversation from just a few desks away, he spoke. "May I ask what the problem is here?"
Klavier wondered, idly, if maybe the prosecutor's office here just didn't have a concept of sensitivity. Not even specifically for trans employees; just in general. That was the only logical explanation for what was happening. "It's just a little issue," they said, gesturing at the papers spread out over the desk in front of them. "With a handful of snags. I'm sure it'll be sorted soon."
"Yes, there's no need to worry, Mr Edgeworth." Funnily enough, the woman's voice sounded so much politer the moment he joined the conversation. Maybe it was a matter of his lack of seniority?
Ah well. If Klavier didn’t get chased out by constant microaggressions, they'd have plenty of time to change opinions that inclined towards looking at his age before his skill.
Prosecutor Edgeworth still didn't leave, however, his gaze unrelenting. He had quite the glare; maybe Klavier would have to practise their own.
"It's certainly not a problem that can be helped by an extra pair of hands, I'm afraid," the woman said.
"Alright." His arms folded over his chest, and Klavier had watched trial recordings but they'd never really grasped the presence he had. They weren't the kind of person to be easily intimidated by competence, but at this point they were just expecting the worst. "Everyone in this office can hear exactly what is going on. So could you please explain what the problem is?"
"It's an issue of misfiled paperwork," the secretary said. If Klavier hadn't been talking to her for the last humiliating quarter of an hour (more? He couldn't see the clock from here), he might not have noticed the slight tremor in her voice. He hoped Prosecutor Edgeworth could hear it too. "To rectify the issue, I have to verify that these documents are correct and legal, or the issue could recur. It's simple enough, just time consuming."
If Klavier still felt charitably towards her, they would have let it drop right there. If she was telling the truth about 'simple but time consuming,' the rest of her words would hold true and it would be better if Prosecutor Edgeworth just let it be. He didn't need to know the details.
But he'd run out of charitable thoughts and feelings hours ago. He was tired, she was being vague, and, well... Prosecutor Edgeworth had asked. Maybe it would hurt the first impression he left for the man, but hadn't it already been dashed by this woman already? If admitting the real problem could wreck it further, he didn't need the time of day from Edgeworth.
Trying not to let the combination of nervousness and rage get to them, Klavier made another attempt at explaining. "It recently came to my attention that my name was changed on the systems here to one that is out of date, and in contravention with my legal identification documents. I am trying to rectify the issue, but the various proofs of identity I have here do not seem to be enough."
He finished his words with another thin smile towards the woman sitting at her desk, who somehow didn't look quite as confident as before. Good.
But then he turned just a little, catching the thunderous expression on Edgeworth's face, and he understood. There was something cold there, and for just a moment concern shot through Klavier again.
"How long have you been at this?" His searing gaze turned to the woman at the desk, and she sat a little straighter in her (hopefully uncomfortable) office chair.
"About half an hour, sir." Oh, sir, was it? Klavier hadn't been afforded that privilege.
Prosecutor Edgeworth looked down at the documents, craned his neck to look at the computer screen, and scowled. "Absolutely disgraceful. This should have taken ten minutes at most, assuming that it should have been allowed to happen in the first place."
Klavier's hand clenched in his pocket. Was this what he thought it was?
"Your persistent badgering of Prosecutor Gavin when presented with perfectly legal documents—which aren't even required to change names in half of the places on the system, I'd have you know—veers away from professional caution and into workplace harassment." The rest of the office was definitely looking now, not even pretending that they had something better to do.
"This is a very serious breach of the very purpose of your work in this office," he continued. Klavier didn't know when he was going to stop, and honestly? They didn't want him to. This was everything they’d wanted to say from the very beginning. "You really should be more careful about which of the rules you decide to blatantly break; even the first five minutes of your interaction were likely grounds for a review of your performance, let alone everything else."
In any other circumstance, Klavier liked to think he would jump in alongside Edgeworth, piling up the list of her wrongdoings until she cracked. Instead, he just watched, letting a warm curl of satisfaction settle in his chest.
This probably wasn't Prosecutor Edgeworth. It was just some... god of vengeance, maybe, descended in his form. One who knew what felt like every line of relevant legal material on workplace discrimination and the prosecutor office's policy on exactly this kind of activity.
And okay, maybe Klavier was overreacting a little. Maybe this was an emotional response he'd have to carefully pick apart, rationalise, and tuck away into a corner for another time. But at that moment? He sort of wanted to cry.
The woman who'd definitely just been in this to see him deadnamed didn't even wait for Prosecutor Edgeworth to finish what he was saying. Even as he walked her through the process of what a review to her behaviour might look like, she tapped away at her keyboard, glancing only occasionally at the documents that were now unobjectionable. Klavier didn't know whether they wanted to laugh or cry at that, really. They'd probably do both when no one could see.
"Alright, Prosecutor Gavin," she said. Her hands were shaking on the keyboard, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bad for her. "That should be all sorted."
"Danke." He didn't bother with a smile; he didn't think she'd appreciate it all that much. "I will let you know if there are any issues."
"Of course." She smiled at him, then at Prosecutor Edgeworth - he didn't smile back either, nor dignify her with any kind of response. He simply turned and headed for the door, Klavier trailing after him with the unnecessarily over explained documents gathered under one arm.
When the door to the office closed behind them, leaving them both out in the corridor, Prosecutor Edgeworth let out a long sigh. "Why can't anything change for the better around here?"
Klavier didn't respond; it didn't seem like a question designed to be answered. "Thank you for your help," he said instead, and Edgeworth startled slightly.
"You shouldn't thank me." The answer came after a pause, one with a meaning Klavier couldn't quite grasp. "Just as I said, it shouldn't have happened in the first place. Anyone in that office should have stepped in to stop that."
Klavier just laughed. Easier than explaining the alternative. "Ach, but they didn't, so it fell to you - please accept my thanks."
"No need." Prosecutor Edgeworth met their eyes for a moment. He wasn't nearly so intimidating when he wasn't glaring - he looked more tired than anything. "If anyone is passing on courtesy here, it is myself. I am Miles Edgeworth, a prosecutor who occasionally works in this office."
He stuck his hand out. Pleasantries, at least, were something Klavier could handle with no problem. He turned up the brightness on his smile and went in for a firm handshake. "Klavier Gavin," he said, hoping he was imagining the shadow that crossed Prosecutor Edgeworth's face for just a moment. "I'm fairly new to the district, hence the teething problems."
"Ah, I've heard a little of your activities so far," he answered. His tone was decidedly neutral, which could probably mean anything. Klavier was fine with that. "Where is it that you work?"
"I'm in 1205," he answered. He just had to keep it casual. Edgeworth didn't necessarily know what had been done with the room since his arrival, after all. There was no knowing if he'd judge the... extensive modifications.
"That would be a few doors down from my own, then." Prosecutor Edgeworth barely even glanced at the elevator before he turned. That would be the end of the conversation, then; naturally, he had more important places to be than talking to the upstart who worked down the hall. "Do you mind if we take the stairs?"
"Ja, of course!" he replied, the easy smile hopefully covering up the fact that he definitely already knew where Prosecutor Edgeworth's office was, but not because he'd stared at the nameplate a couple of times or anything. Definitely not.
They started up the stairs, and Klavier was pretty convinced they could make a full recovery from whatever that terrible first HR impression had been by the time they reached the top. They were many things, and charming was definitely one of them.
"So, Herr Edgeworth, did you return to work here recently?"
Edgeworth nodded. "I have been overseas on an issue relating to a cross-borders prosecution," he answered. "A handful of items were moved in my office while I was gone, so I had to report it to HR, hence my walking in on your... ordeal."
Yes, it turned out that Klavier's earlier suspicion was correct: sensitivity was a foreign concept in the prosecutor's office. They'd much rather the topic be left well alone, but if a conversation had to happen, it may as well happen on all these stupid stairs. "I hadn't dared suspect that the conversation would be easy," they admitted, "but I didn't think it would last that long."
"It shouldn't have," Edgeworth answered swiftly. "There are specific policies in place for the exact scenario where an individual's legal first name has changed, and ones for preferred names in the event that legal measures are unavailable. I worked long and hard drafting half of them, so their ignorance of everything very clearly set out within is frustrating, to say the least."
Prosecutor Edgeworth stopped for a moment on the edge of progressing to the seventh floor. "My apologies if I came off as overly enthusiastic in springing to your defence," he said. "I understand it is a personal issue, but the injustice frustrated me."
Klavier just laughed, painting a smile on his face and continuing up the stairs. No more than a moment later, Miles Edgeworth—hopefully blissfully unaware of every difficult emotion hidden behind the smile—continued behind him. "It was appreciated. I wasn't getting anywhere with her."
Prosecutor Edgeworth nodded, a little composure coming back to his face. "It shouldn't happen again - but then again, who can tell with these people? So if it does, you can always come to me about it. I'll back you up in sorting them out."
It would be unprofessional of him to admit it, but Klavier was perhaps dying a little on the inside. In the best way, yes, but it was harrowing nonetheless. He'd never once imagined that this would be how he met Miles Edgeworth, a veritable legal legend. The concept of ever hearing him be so fervently on his side in this, when so many people contented themselves with 'I'm so sorry it happened, I hope it isn't a problem again,' was beyond strange; it was absurd.
But it was happening, right in front of them, and all Klavier could do was offer up a grateful smile and hope that their eyes didn't betray everything else. Of course, that was the moment Prosecutor Edgeworth decided to put the final nail in the coffin.
"Ah, and forgive me if this is too personal of a question," Prosecutor Edgeworth began, apparently (thankfully) unaware that Klavier would spill their life story to him if he caught them at an off moment, "but may I ask what pronouns you use?"
Klavier blinked. He must have heard that incorrectly. There was no way, not in- people never just asked him, he always had to say, always had to wait for something to go wrong before he could pick up the pieces. He'd certainly never been asked in a professional setting.
"Please, don't answer if you don't wish to," Prosecutor Edgeworth added. "You should in no way feel pressured to give me an answer here."
Klavier shook their head, forcing the right kind (the normal, polite kind, rather than the 'I could jump over the moon right now' kind) of smile onto their face before they replied. "He or they." They just had to stay calm. This was a regular conversation he could absolutely have with people over the age of twenty five.
Prosecutor Edgeworth nodded, like they were having a perfectly normal conversation. "I use he and him," he replied, like he'd said it a hundred times before, and it wasn't a forced or arbitrary thing he did out of politeness. "Und auf Deutsch?"
"Er oder sie," he answered. He was pretty sure he heard himself wheeze a little, but he was going to wilfully ignore that and hope that Prosecutor Edgeworth hadn't heard. He'd reached the end of his ability to actually hold it together in this conversation.
Thankfully, it was at that moment that Edgeworth halted in front of office 1202, setting Klavier free from their torment. "It was good to meet you," he said. "I hope next time we encounter each other, it's under slightly better circumstances."
Klavier nodded. "Tschüss!"
Edgeworth lifted his hand in a slightly wooden wave before closing the door behind him, leaving Klavier alone in the hallway. Suddenly, he was immensely glad of the proximity of his office.
Once inside, they collapsed into the chair at the window, letting out a long, heavy breath. It felt like every muscle in their body was shaking; maybe from the pent up frustration, or the sheer exhaustion of the two successive encounters, or maybe- maybe it was joy.
Either way, he was probably five minutes from crashing completely, a less than ideal situation for close to the start of the working day.
Klavier looked over to the wall, guitars clustered along its length. Only a few rooms down the hallway, Miles Edgeworth was probably reflecting on the same encounter. How did he feel about all of this? About Klavier?
They were too tired to even hazard a guess, but they didn't mind as much as they expected to. After all, the morning had proved two things in particular: not everyone in this office was his enemy, and some might even be allies.
It was a good feeling. Even if the encounter left so much to be desired, Klavier could cling to that and have just a little hope.