Chapter Text
“Hello, you have reached—Apollo Justice—At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished your message, hang up, or press one for more options.”
A beep. Klavier flinched, already feeling a bit faint. “A-Ach, hello, Herr Forehead! I, ah, couldn’t help but notice the news this morning, and, well, I thought—Just call me back when you’re available, ja?”
He hung up, ignoring the twisting of his gut as he plopped himself onto his leather couch. That was fine. This was fine. It wasn’t like Apollo always answered his calls. Maybe he left his phone on his desk, that’d happened before. Or maybe he was out of battery. Ja, that was it. Apollo’s phone was probably just out of battery.
Or hey, maybe Apollo’s phone was broken. It wasn’t so unbelievable that something could’ve happened. After all, it was easy to break a phone, and—
“We have a breaking news report. There has been one confirmed casualty in today’s shocking courtroom bombing. While the victim has not been identified—”
Klavier slammed his hand on the remote. The television went dark.
“His phone is broken,” he announced to his empty apartment. Vongole lifted her head toward him, ears perking up as he quickly began to pace again.
He had taken the week to work on some music. Herr Edgeworth had graciously given him some time off to do so. A small EP, if that, or maybe a single. Something that had been bouncing around his head since Professor Courte’s untimely death, something to dedicate to the woman who had encouraged both of his dreams. It had seemed a fitting tribute, and there hadn’t been any pressing cases other than the one assigned to Blackquill.
The space station case.
That was being prosecuted today.
Against Apollo Justice.
In the courthouse.
Where Klavier wasn’t.
He ran his fingers through his bangs, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking. This was fine. Things were fine. Isn’t that what Apollo always said? I’m fine, I’m fine, and Apollo was fine, he was always fine. Even when he couldn’t answer his phone, he was fine.
The phone on the table vibrated violently. Klavier jumped, scrambling for it. “Hallo?!”
“…Hello! I’m calling about the extended warranty on your car—”
Beep
Klavier almost threw the phone, stopping himself and setting it forcefully on the table. A sharp inhale. A shaky exhale. He grabbed his guitar off the couch, sitting back down.
He began plucking chords, trying to remember the lyrics he’d been writing only an hour ago. You who gave me direction, who gave me music, something something the courts, he played a wrong note and almost screamed in frustration.
The phone vibrated again. Klavier glanced at the name, before freezing. Apollo Justice. He scrambled again, terror and relief coursing through his veins. “Apo–Herr Forehead!” He coughed, leaning back in his seat as if attempting to look natural. “It’s great to hear from you. Are you alright?”
There was a pause. Then a voice, “E-Err, hi, Mr. Gavin.”
Not Apollo. Not Apollo not Apollo not Apollo, “F-Fraulein Wright,” he stammered, a cold sweat on his neck. “Erm, is everything alright?”
He could hear Trucy shift a bit on the other line, a cacophony of voices in the background. “Yeah. Um. Apollo is in the hospital.”
Time froze. The world filled with static. Trucy continued to speak, barely audible over the buzzing filling Klavier’s ears and his mind and his chest and—
“Fraulein, which hospital are you at?”
“Huh?” Trucy paused what she’d been saying. “Oh, um. We’re at Hotti Clinic right now. Athena says they might move him out of the ER soon, and—”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Wh—”
Klavier hung up. Through the buzzing in his ears, he stood to his feet, taking a deep breath. What was he doing? What exactly was he hoping to accomplish here?
Another breath, ignoring the way his throat seemed to clench. “Nein. I’m not losing you,” he whispered, grabbing his keys and disappearing out the door.