Work Text:
Klavier was always going to excel. Or – was he? Maybe he needed the extra push, the prompting from Kristoph, the chiding to keep him on his toes.
He remembers a woman from when he was very small, during one of his first trips to the courthouse – no, it was another defense attorney's office. Kris had been an intern, for a very short period of time, and he'd brought Klavier with him because –
"I told you you'd end up getting sick if you ate that. I don't have time to sit at home with you. You will behave yourself here, do you understand?"
Do you understand?
Even now, they're words he hates to hear. From Kristoph, the phrase had always been the consequence in itself; the loss of his favor for even a moment a strong enough punishment. Or, at least, Klavier can't recall him ever following it up with anything more severe.
But he remembers going to Grossberg's office with him once, no older than eight, sick to his stomach from sneaking back into the Halloween candy Kris hadn't wanted him to have in the first place.
He'd behaved himself, resting on an out-of-the-way couch, at least all morning while he still felt sick. Lunch made him restless, anxious energy driving him to wander. Behave yourself meant be quiet, and Klavier had never understood how he could be quiet when there was so much music inside him just waiting to burst forth.
He'd tried to be quiet, tried his absolute best, but apparently he hadn't succeeded. She had heard him, the lady with the long hair and the weird necklace.
"Hey, bud. Glad you're feeling better. What are you humming?"
"I'm not!" he'd insisted, afraid she'd tell Kris that he wasn't behaving, that he was making too much noise, and he'd have to wait outside for the rest of the day like the dog they used to have when they lived with Mama a long time ago.
"Are you sure?" she'd asked, tilting her head and cocking her hip. "It sounded to me like you were humming to the plants. They say a little music helps them grow, you know."
He'd made a face, the one that always made his teacher say, "You'll get stuck like that one day, Konrad."
"That's wrong," he'd told her, nose in the air, buoyed up by pride in his brother. "You have to give them fertilizer. Not music. That's why these are all so small. My brother's plants are all really big! You should ask him how to make yours better."
She'd tilted her head in the other direction, a little smile on her face. "I guess that's one way to do it. Personally, I like to let things grow on their own. Sometimes they need a little help, but I leave them be for the most part."
"Some of us don't have the luxury of the hands-off approach," Kristoph had said, striding into the room and pulling him away from the plants. "It's time to go, Konrad. Tonight, you will write Mr. Grossberg a note thanking him for allowing you to stay. You may write one for Ms. Fey as well for her… perspective."
He hadn't written her a note, in the end, because Kris didn't really seem to like her or her perspective very much. He'd kept talking about how she'd just run off and left her little sister and how she was an example of what happens when people lose their sense of personal responsibility and how Klavier ought to be grateful he hadn’t done the same. He'd been so pleased to see that there was no note for her that he'd given Klavier a few more pieces of the candy he'd supposedly thrown away.
— — — —
The Gavinners were always going to top the charts – maybe. Or maybe they'd needed the extra push, needed the version of Klavier who worked his friends until they were only bandmates.
It was fun, in the beginning. Skipping class to practice and give impromptu shows, then taking leave of their mundane responsibilities to tour the state in Tommy’s dad’s old van, and then touring the country in a state-of-the-art bus: it was more than most of them had ever dreamed of, but from the very start, Klavier had been determined to make it happen.
But things growing wild have a way of strangling each other over time. They fight for the light, and one by one, they fade away until a clear winner remains.
It was Cato who acknowledged it first, months before the Guilty as Charged tour began. “You’re gonna need a new drummer after this one, Klav. I can’t anymore.”
And then Tommy had gone and gotten married, so the position he’d envied so fiercely all those years didn’t even hold any appeal. “Maybe if you’d listened a few years ago about how much I hated the keys, things would be different.”
And Vox, locked out of vocals due to a contract written entirely in fifteen-year-old Klavier’s favor, just looked on, a little bit of malice in their eyes as it all started to fall apart.
And then Daryan – well, the less said about him, the better.
So maybe Guilty as Charged was always going to be The Gavinners’ last stop, but the part that hurt the most was that no one, not a single one of his old friends, spared a word of thanks for giving them the chance in the first place.
Being the last one standing hadn’t felt at all like winning. It had felt like he’d been the one depleted of resources instead, left to wither while the others thrived.
— — — —
Klavier was always going to win his first case. There's no question about that… until there is. Until he's unsure who, exactly, Kristoph had been trying to trap. Was it about Klavier winning, or was it about Wright losing? If Kris had stayed on as Zak Gramarye's lawyer after all, would he still have had the page created? Would he have sacrificed his own record to give Klavier a boost to his career? Or would he have made sure it ended up in Klavier's case only to point it out as fabricated in the heat of the trial?
The only man who can answer those questions is tucked away where the sun can't find him, his career and his connections snapped off like branches in a storm of his own creation. Klavier wishes he knew what ignited the anger that burned him out and left him hollow, but there's little he can do except leave behind the deadwood and turn his attention to what sprouts from the wreckage.
— — — —
Klavier's never wanted anything as badly as he wants Apollo Justice. He's prepared to take any measures to make it happen. He knows how to make someone love him.
So it throws his entire worldview into a tailspin when Apollo, who initially looked at him with such intensity, seems immune to his charms.
And then, later: "Klav," he murmurs, a weird, thoughtful look on his face. "Look, you're really sweet, and I – I like you. I do. But I need… time. To figure out what that really means for me."
Time is one of those concepts Klavier's always struggled to accept. Why wait to understand something when he can study an extra two hours a night? Why wait for success when he can push the band through another practice set even though they're all a little sick? Why wait for someone to like him when he can shower them with gifts and praise?
Why wait for something to grow when he can influence it?
The thought and the memory take his breath away, bring back the stomachache of years past. He can almost hear her voice, the quiet humor like she saw a joke he didn't get, and –
And maybe he gets it now, here with Apollo's sad brown eyes looking up at him, waiting, still intense but now different.
He remembers the plants in Grossberg's lobby, small and slow but so green, and the ones in Kristoph's spaces, tall and sprawling but, on closer inspection, raw and brown with chemical burns around the roots.
Like Klavier himself, thrust into success but stunted in ways he didn't notice until years later. Like his relationship with his brother, tended so carefully and with so much control that he had to fight to find his own shape. Like The Gavinners, a blooming success under the spotlight but nothing but bramble backstage. Like his career, poisoned from the very beginning.
He won't let that happen with Apollo. He can't. Even if it means waiting.
"All right, Forehead," he says softly, straining against everything he knows to make the concession. "Take your time. You know where you can find me, ja?"
He flips the visor shut on his helmet, gives Apollo a little wave, and takes himself for a long, scenic drive.
And he waits.
He doesn’t stop being kind or offering help or teasing, but he doesn’t ask for anything more, and it becomes surprisingly easy to accept as the days tick by.
— — — —
Apollo Justice was always going to fall in love with him – at least, that's what he tells himself now. It must be true, because it's the first good thing in his life that didn't take an extra push. He hopes it will also be the first that doesn't shrivel under his care.
Three months after he decided to let time take its course, with Apollo's sleep-heavy body slumped against his shoulder, Klavier leans awkwardly over the table beside the couch and writes a long-overdue thank you note in the pages of the notebook he keeps there.
Ms. Fey,
It was a pleasure to meet you when visiting Mr. Grossberg's office. I didn't understand at the time how much of a pleasure, nor how privileged I was to meet you. I am sorry that I did not comport myself better. I am grateful that you didn’t expect me to.
It has taken me some time to realize that, though our meeting was brief, you saw something about me that I didn't know about myself. Damage at the roots, created by haste and pressure, hidden under the parts that looked to be flourishing. How did you know, I wonder? No, it doesn't matter – some people are simply able to see the hidden things.
He pauses, looking down at Apollo’s bare wrist. It had been one of Apollo’s conditions: no courtroom tactics on date nights. It’s been halfway successful so far; the two of them are, for better or worse, entirely unable to resist the pull of a good debate. He settles his own hand around the paler band of skin where the bracelet usually rests, marveling – not for the first time – at the trust Apollo is placing in him. He squeezes it briefly and then returns to his writing.
Thank you for what you tried to tell me. I'm ashamed to say that it took me more than a decade to comprehend it and that I lost a great deal along the way. Surely it is someone else’s place to tell you about all that’s happened since your passing, but I hope you won’t mind if I spoil a bit of it. The little plant you had, the one I scoffed at? It stands tall and proud now in the office that used to be yours. Everyone who cares for it has taken your philosophy to heart: nourish it, but let it grow at its own pace.
You could have had no way of knowing that your words back then would bring me something so precious, I’m certain, but – thank you, just the same.
Warmest regards,
Klavier Gavin
P.S. Don’t think I didn’t hear you laughing with Mr. Grossberg about Konrad being a tough name for a child. Perhaps I took that to heart as well, ja? ;)
"More lyrics?" Apollo asks groggily.
"Nein," he answers, but he stops to think. "Well, perhaps. With a bit of time and care, there just might be a song in it. Have a good nap?"
"Mm. I'd get better sleep in bed."
"I’m sure. With your girlfriend all curled up beside you, hm? Let’s get you home.”
“Oh, uh, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?”
Klavier’s breath catches. Letting Apollo lead keeps bringing him better and better surprises. “Of course. My home is yours, Apollo.” He stands up and helps Apollo to his feet, looking him over and thinking once more how fortunate he is. “Besides, there’s someone who’d like to see you again, I think.”
“Uh, Vongole saw me when I got here,” Apollo points out, turning to frown at her where she’s curled up for the night.
Chuckling, Klavier guides him over to the window. “Not Vongole. This little one here.” He nods toward the potted plant in the window. It’s the first one he’s ever tried to keep growing, selected from a stall with Apollo’s somewhat dubious help.
“Oh! From the farmer’s market a couple weeks back, right? It looks a lot better. I wasn’t sure it was gonna make it.”
“I wasn’t either,” he admits, “but it’s stronger than I thought.”
Apollo leans into him and wraps both arms around his waist, like he knows they’re not just talking about a plant and – well. Of course he does. He’s one of those people who can always see the hidden things, after all. “It really does look better. Have you been giving it anything special?” he asks.
“Nein,” Klavier whispers, letting his lips come to rest against the top of Apollo’s head. “Just been letting it grow.”