Archive of Our Own ^beta

He says, “I need to get out of here.”

And Apollo says, “Okay. Give me a week.”

And a week’s all it takes.

It wasn’t any one thing in particular- but maybe that was it in and of itself, a combination of nothings, a sequence of days and days careening into a freefall, weeks and weeks of nothing in particular leading up to one big jump- and then- just the rush of wind. An exhale. Silence. 

Metaphorically speaking, of course. In reality, he’s still stuck to the ground. Or, he’s stuck to a boring red car heading modest fifty miles per hour on the ground that he would be stuck to, if he was not inside the car.

If he keeps thinking thoughts like these, it will block out everything else. If he stopped to dwell on it he would feel terribly selfish for doing all of this, and especially with Apollo. But he doesn’t want to think about it because if he starts, he’ll never stop. 

So instead, he stays in this moment - wind on his face, tangling his hair, the hum of tires against the road. His heart is beating too fast. He still feels like he might throw up. He lets the beat of the wind on his face shove all of these feelings away. Right now there is nothing but wind on his face. He can’t see anything. All he can hear is the wind. He sticks his head out and is vaguely reminded of Vongole.

If he was perfectly honest, and he isn’t, not by a long shot, he could have attributed it to a lot of selfish things. It would have been easy to, excuses were easy to find. He could have said the stress of the years finally caught up to him, the job is too much, after Daryan, Kristoph, Constance Courte, the media, the thoughts, past cases, future cases - it’s all too much. And it would have been true, but it’s so much easier to pretend it isn’t. 

And he was doing fine, really, until he suddenly wasn’t. And here they are now, still safely at the speed limit, not quite going over yet.

Apollo drives and drives. His car is red because of course, everything about him is. At one point he turned on music- and then turned it off when he noticed how Klavier’s hands started to shake. He drives until they run out of road signs to read and cars to count. He drives until they run out of daylight and trees and energy. 

He stops at a motel. He offers Klavier the keys. They haven’t spoken a word in six hours. It turns out, drive six hours north from southern California and you are still, in fact, in California. And not even the northern tip, just closer to San Francisco. But California’s the perfect place for a hipster-inspired road trip, so here they are.

Driving up and up until- until what?

Apollo watches him.  If they went in to get a room, they would get separate beds and Klavier would pay for it, because they’ve discussed this long before they actually hit the road. Instead, Klavier takes the keys because his mind is too loud for moldy hotel rooms. He adjusts the seat while Apollo bunches up a hoodie and a blanket in the back seat. He turns away from the stars, and no one says a word. 

It’s the hour of the morning where the world is quiet and still - a picturesque scene from a TV put on mute. There is no sun, no sound. They continue to drive. Klavier focuses on the car underneath him. He stares at the road until his eyes hurt.

He drives until someone slowly turns the volume up on the TV and the world starts feeling a little less like a rerun of The Twilight Zone and a little more like a place for people to live in. The static clears, the fog seeps out, the stars recede into a dusty morning sky. The clouds are spread thin, an apricot hue, a lazy watercolor as they hum down the road.

Klavier doesn’t have the stamina that Apollo does. They pull into the empty lot of a closed grocery store and sit on the hood to absorb the warmth of the car as it winds down. They don’t know what town they’re in exactly, but they’ll need to get gas here. The morning air leaves dew and fogs up the windows. Apollo turns on his phone, Klavier tries to unclench his jaw. A dog barks in the distance. 

They sit like this, watching the sun find it's way to them until the grocery store opens and Klavier slides off the hood and fishes his wallet out from inside the glove compartment. He finds a jacket to pull on and ties his hair into a bun. When ducks out of the car, he finds Apollo tracing figures onto the hood, phone pressed to his face.

 “-some new case or something. So I’ll call back. And-oh,” Apollo takes the phone away from his ear for a moment and beckons to Klavier. “Say hi,” he instructs him.

“Guten Morgen,” Klavier says into the phone, and then motions with his wallet when Apollo takes it back. Apollo nods and holds up a finger. Wait one moment.

“We’re going to find breakfast and then keep heading out. I’ll keep you guys updated. Thanks again for letting me do this.”

Klavier walks quicker and wishes he was farther away, so he didn’t have to hear that last part. His chest constricts and something awful aches in his throat. But he takes deep breathes and tries to remember how to smile- not that he needs to, but just in case. His lips twitch. It doesn’t come easily for him anymore.

 He fights the urge to check his own phone. He knows no one’s called him. He swallows his stupid, petty jealousy as Apollo jogs to catch up and they enter the pristine white walls of the grocery store together.

 An hour later finds them on the road. Klavier is spread out the best he can on the backseat, his head buzzing from lack of sleep, his limbs propped up and bent because he isn’t the right length to spread out or curl up properly like Apollo does. He’s an awkward in-between, all bent knees and hunched shoulders, crooked backs, an arm dangling off the seat.

He checks his phone. Sebastian Debeste sent him an email an hour ago with some new sheet music he’s been working. It makes something inside him twist. He turns off his phone. He has a headache stirring behind his eyes. The morning light strengthens and he closes his eyes to it.

When he opens them again, they’re pulled over to some roadside restaurant, full of grease and cheap coffee and everything one could want for a long car ride. Apollo offers him a sandwich, and with it, the keys.

Klavier finds that he is hungry. He takes a careful bite. “They’re okay with you taking so much time off?” he asks, staring into the dashboard.

Apollo shrugs. Klavier can see it in his peripheral view, and even if he couldn’t, it’s something Apollo would have done. “Yeah,” he says simply, “They were probably glad. I’ve got to find souvenirs for everyone, though.”

He would have laughed, if he had the energy. He lets out a breath of air that more or less passes as one. He takes a bite of his sandwich and ignores the way it turns in his stomach, ignores the way the lettuce feels hard and tasteless, how the bread sticks to the roof of his dry mouth.

“What about you?” Apollo asks, looking ahead.

Klavier breathes in through his nose and tries to work the corners of his mouth into something resembling a smile. He’s got to, because that’s what they would expect. Except there’s no one here right now except for the two of them, and maybe it’s that way on purpose, maybe they picked each other on purpose. 

There’s a knot turning tighter and tighter inside his chest. It drains his energy and his smile, and it reminds him that that’s why he had to go, because he couldn’t handle faking it for a moment longer.

“I have a lot of vacation days saved up,” he says instead, because he doesn’t know how to turn these feelings into words just yet.

Driving and more driving. It’s pretty boring. They make small talk, but for the most part they don’t. They finally reach the edge of California and dip into Washington. Then they turn towards the east. This is a very big country, after all, and maybe they’ll find what they’re looking for before they hit the other coast. 

They splurge- perhaps it’s because they passed up their first opportunity at a motel in favor of having sore necks in the morning, but at any rate, they find a slightly better hotel and, because Klavier’s paying, they get two beds in one room. Because they’re sensible, and hey, he’s got more money than he knows what to do with thanks to his old band tours, his law career, inheritance he gathered from family members here and there.

 He hears Apollo talking to Athena through the walls when he showers. He wishes he had left his own phone at home, if only so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty when it shines back at him, empty.

He’s glad that the phone call is over when he exits the shower, because Athena and her intuitive ears would have him marching himself back to southern California on foot to explain himself properly, and she would know it all just by the sound of him breathing into the receiver, or something like that.

The blankets are soft and cool, at least. He could fall asleep like this, a hair tied into a damp white hotel towel, alone on a plush twin sized bed. He doesn’t. He stares at the wall and wonders about how it feels to work at an agency full of human lie detectors.

His phone buzzes to tell him it’s fully charged. It feels good, if nothing else, to know that he can trust Apollo to keep the details vague without worrying his co-workers.

 When Apollo takes his turn in the shower, Klavier gets a phone call of his own. It’s from Simon Blackquill. He howls with laughter until he cries with it. It’s more or less hysteria. Simon Blackquill, of all people, and only because Athena put him up to it.

Still, he manages to pick up before the final ring and sound more or less composed. Simon tells him about the birds they might see in the northern part of the state. He tells him with great detail about the different types of hawks that drift over from Oregon.

 If they’re ever in the area with some downtime, he says, it’s not a bad idea stop for a moment to go bird watching.

 They’re in Oregon somewhere. He knows that because he saw the sign pass them about a half hour ago. Also, because he saw a Western Meadowlark peeking out of some dry brush at the last intersection. 

Apollo drives slowly, without maps or guides or rules, he loops through neighborhood streets and dips on and off of highways and generally keeps them on the road in one piece.

Klavier finds that he didn’t really know how many trees Oregon had until he’s surrounded by all them at once. He can’t decide if he likes  the way they stretch tall to the sky and blanket everything or if he’d rather trade them all for buildings instead.

 Whatever is smoldering in his chest doesn’t let up even after they pass a bear statue warning them about forest fires. He can almost feel the smoke pouring out of his eyes when he blinks. Apollo’s doing more than his fair share of driving. He points them in some direction and they go and go until the trees finally thin out and they roll through another town.

“My poor tires,” Apollo laments, clicking off his seat belt at the nearest gas station. Excuses and apologies bubble over and fill Klavier’s mouth at this statement, phrases bouncing and colliding inside his head until he can’t think anything else other than I’m sorry, this is stupid, what are we even doing here? Let’s go back, I’m sorry, I made you come out here all this way, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  

Instead, Klavier wordlessly hands Apollo his credit card. Apollo walks into the gas station and gets trapped in conversation with a teenage girl. She’s holding up two candy bars- probably asking for his opinion. He looks flustered, he takes a third one from the rack. The girl calls her friend over for an expert opinion. The two of them consult among themselves as Apollo glances over to the cashier guiltily.

Klavier laughs quietly at the scene before he can think about it. Perhaps it’s something about Apollo that draws teenage girls to him.  Either way, his companion looks rather confused at the attention, but when he catches Klavier smiling softly at him, he smiles right back at him through the smudged window pane.

And when Apollo comes back in and hands him his credit card and a chocolate bar, he doesn’t apologize or say anything like We should turn around .

 Instead, he says something to tease Apollo about his tendency to collect high school girls as he feels the wrapper crinkle in his hand. Apollo tells him about the girls in the gas station in full detail as he peers around Klavier in search of an opening in traffic. His arms wind around in a turn as he explains how they were convinced that this was The Best Chocolate Bar Ever, and now they’re the judge of that.

 Klavier’s phone vibrates to remind him that it’s not too late to save 20% off his next trip to Home Depot. He curses every email reminder he ever signed up for and forgot about until now, just another reminder that the world is still turning even as he loses his footing.

It’s late and they’re still in Oregon. They haven’t seen another car in what seems like hours, it feels like they’re the only two people awake in the world. Which is dumb, but there’s a reason these cliches exist. 

Klavier is clenching and unclenching his left hand and tries not to feel like he is completely encased in ice. There’s a song playing in the background, Apollo is driving slow through the mountains. They had passed a hotel two hours ago, but they had both assumed that they would be through the mountains in no time, they’d find another place to sleep somewhere, it’s too early to stop.

Instead, they’re still driving, and they haven’t seen another building in miles. He had seen a red-headed woodpecker among the trees somewhere before the sun had set, so it isn’t a total loss. But that was a while ago.

The moon is a cat’s claw above the trees. The weather’s quite nice, actually, but Klavier is feeling a frost that reaches inside his ribcage, catches his throat in an icy grip. He doesn’t know if it’s the effects of sitting for so long, or just being in the car, or anything specifically.

He feels slow and sluggish, like he is gradually being dragged underneath the earth’s crust. The chill drains all emotion from his brain, it fades his backgrounds to grey, it leaves him foggy and restless.

 He flexes his hand. The moon stares back at him, it gives him frostbite, it sinks in deep to his bones. He takes a frigid, controlled breath. His frozen lungs hardly move. His head is encased in ice.

 The first few chords of a certain song pierces through the haze and drive an ice pick right through his eye socket in one swift motion. The ice fractures and crumbles as the breath is driven out of him, like he’s plunging into a sub degree lake with no warning, and he doesn’t know what happens first, Apollo moving to turn the radio off in one quick motion or his own frantic pitch forward.

 It doesn’t matter that the car is now echoing in the silence, he can still hear it through his own harsh breathing. It’s the futile distraction before ripping off a band aid, the trepidation before knowingly getting a limb sawed off. It’s not quick, it’s not easy, it rattles him and bruises him and he thought he was over this, damn it, he thought he was done.

 It doesn’t matter that Apollo only let the first few cords escape. It doesn’t matter that he is saved from the cruelty of having to hear his own naive voice sing back mockingly at him. He can still fill in the blanks of the song he still knows by heart, warbling through the radio from a time before he had known that any of this was going to happen. It doesn’t matter that the radios are still allowed to play his songs even though the Gavinners have long since been disbanded. It doesn’t matter. He wants to be rid of this.

He doesn’t cry, or scream, or make any noise at all. He simply tries to control his breathing as Apollo purses his lips and tightens his grip on the steering wheel, and they pass through the black, untouchable night.

 An hour later and they finally find a motel in this vast nothingness. The night is so pitch black that they could almost get lost in the parking lot. If they were awake enough to think, the lawyer sides of them might have something to say about the validity of this motel in the middle of the woods somewhere.

As it stands, they aren’t, so as long as they can sleep there, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that there’s only one room open and there’s only one small bed to share, at this point, anything is better than that cramped red car. 

Klavier lays on the bed and faces the wall. He thinks that they should find a laundromat in the next town they find. He thinks of all the things they’ll need in the next town they find. How was Oregon allowed to be so big and full of trees, the places they need so few and far in between?

 The bed dips as Apollo crawls under the covers. The bed is so small that it’s impossible not to be touching, but maybe they’re too tired to care. Klavier turns to look at him, twisting around and trying not to fall off the edge but also give Apollo as much space as possible. Klavier’s feet are cold where they stick out from this tiny bed. No wonder the room wasn’t taken.

“I’m sorry,” Apollo says, looking tired and drawn and miserable. It takes Klavier a moment to figure out that he’s referring to the song in the car.

 “Don’t be,” he says groggily. What he wants to say is, I’m sorry too, I don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve this, I wish we were both in better places.

 Instead he says, “It’s not your fault.”

 “You shouldn’t have to go through this,” Apollo insists, and Klavier can feel his gaze on him even though his eyes are closed.

 He shrugs with his eyes closed. Neither should you is what he would say if he had the upper brain functions necessary to have this conversation. He doesn’t, because this lumpy, hard, motel mattress is suddenly the best thing that ever happened to him. Apollo’s hand finds his underneath the blanket. Klavier presses his face into the pillow and lets out a breath and tries his best not to cry. If Apollo notices, he doesn’t mention it.

He lets go of Klavier’s hand and Klavier falls asleep too quickly to find out if he misses the sensation or not.

Apollo wakes up with a face full of long, curly blonde hair. It smells like oranges and it’s stuck in his mouth. Or at least, that’s what Klavier imagines happened when he woke up an hour ago, since Klavier has a habit of sprawling out when he sleeps and he knows it.

When Klavier wakes up alone, it’s far past the time that they had agreed to let each other sleep to. But maybe he needed it, he thinks, as he stretches and lets his hair spill out over his shoulders and roll down his back. A haircut, he thinks, that’s another thing he needs.

He flops back into bed and watches the sunlight pour through the shades. Cold, golden mornings, that’s where they are right now. Perhaps he would like to come see Oregon again one day, when he’s in the proper mood to appreciate it. He lets the morning light wash over him and peers at Apollo through his eyelashes when he reenters the room.

“Like what you see?” he says, because he knows the sun likes to light up his skin in funny ways just like he knows that he always feels more human in the morning.

Apollo gives a cheeky smile and instead shoves a white Styrofoam coffee cup in his face. He takes it and sits up. The bed creaks as Apollo sits.

“The receptionist said it should take us two hours to get to the nearest town, and we can pretty much stay on this one highway for the rest of Oregon,” Apollo says through a mouthful of a croissant.

Klavier hums and reaches up to take the second croissant on the paper plate. He takes a moment to wonder where Apollo got it as he feels the warm flaky dough in his mouth. It tastes better than anything he’s had in months.

The wallpaper is faded and bleached by sunlight, the morning is bright and cool, and Apollo’s relief is billowing off him in waves as he describes how he’ll keep them on the road for the next few hours, unless Klavier wants to go first.

The trees cast mournful shadows on the car, and Klavier is glad to be moving, glad that his head feels more clear even if this knot in his chest is still throbbing painfully. He taps his finger against the wheel. The car stutters a bit as they pass over a pothole just a little too quickly.

“I always wanted to do something like this,” Apollo says, sounding far away. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined it, though.” There’s something thoughtful pressing on the edge of his words. 

“How did you imagine it?” Klavier says, watching the road, because he can sense when Apollo wants to talk just like how Apollo can sense it in him.

“Well, Clay was with me, for one,” Apollo’s voice is suddenly thick with grief as it always is when he talks about his friend. Klavier too feels an acute pang at the loss. “I don’t know how it would have worked, exactly, we never really got around to planning it.”

Klavier hums as he glances over and changes lanes. Welcome to Idaho, the sign reads. 

“I hope I can meet your standards,” Klavier says, “Get ready to look at some really exciting cornfields for the next few hours.”

Instead of cornfields, they find the World Center for Birds of Prey. They spend a half hour there, and they take a selfie in front of the sign out front to send to Simon before they leave.

Apollo glances at him when he slides back into the booth. “Trucy says hi,” he says, and then adds after a heartbeat: “Vongole also says hi.”

Apollo smiles into the phone, “Yeah, I told him. We’re just stopping for lunch, it isn’t that exciting.” 

Klavier picks up the menu. He tries not to think too much about the Wright Anything Agency, tries not to feel a hint of jealousy at their bonds.

“Yes. Yes. Of course, Trucy. Are they in court now? Wish them luck for me, okay?”

When Klavier thinks about his own work piling up on his desk, the urgency just isn’t there. Whatever had driven him so ruthlessly has left him spiraling into a free fall. Work suddenly doesn’t matter, because nothing really matters. He left it all behind. He’s confident that the people he’s left behind are upholding justice and the pursuit of truth just as rigorously as they were when he left. They'll be fine without him.  

“Alright. I’ll call again soon. Good luck at the Wonder Bar tonight.”

Right now he has everything he needs, he thinks, tap water with a lemon in it and Apollo Justice, studying the menu just as thoroughly as he studied for the Bar Exam, probably.  His thighs are sticking to the booth, he chews on the straw as he watches Apollo’s big attentive eyes, the furrow of his brow, drawn in full attention to the soup of the day. 

“Do you miss them?” he asks suddenly. He can hear cars passing on the highway beside them, plates knocking together in the kitchen somewhere, the low murmur of a lot people talking at once. 

Apollo looks up with his big steady eyes, “Sometimes,” he says, “But I know they understand.”

Klavier absentmindedly flicks water onto the shiny counter between them. The diner they’re at is full of elderly people here for the early bird special, along with a few truck drivers.  And themselves. 

“It must be nice,” he says, watching a family of four spill out of a minivan in the parking lot. A younger sibling shoves the older one. The mother turns around to scold them. He hears childish laughter through the glass. 

Klavier’s phone vibrates, but he doesn’t move to check it right away. When he does, it tell him about an update on a petition he signed so long ago that he forgot about it. Or maybe someone he knows signed it and filled in his email so that he’d get stuck with the junk mail instead. 

The first time he had woken up to “I’M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I’M FINE”, he had been too startled to think, and when his tired brain finally churns into motion and he wakes up enough to remember to blink, that’s when the absurdity of it all hits him.

He’s laughing, he can’t help it, “Is that our alarm clock?” he asks in between laughter, “That’s certainly one way to wake me up, ja?” 

The ridiculousness of the situation doesn’t leave him all day, or at least until he wakes up the next morning, when it dawns on him that he’d better get used to waking up in this fashion. Apollo had blushed like he’s used to hearing complaints, from his neighbors and coworkers, probably.

“It’s called the Chords of Steel,” he explains, looking bashful the same way he does when Klavier picks apart his theories in court.

“It’s called ruining your voice,” Klavier mumbles through a pile of bundled up t-shirts because they had forgotten to pack a pillow.

 Apollo croons like a rooster to wake them up every morning. Just like everything else, Klavier gets used to it.

He gets caught up in a conversation with a chatty lady at a tourist stop. He sees Apollo waiting by the car, but this lady doesn’t stop in her conversation, she doesn’t stop to breathe so Klavier can coat on his accent and smoothly interject to tell her Yes, thank you, my English is not very good, ja? I must be going. 

She has a southern accent and she’s very friendly. She’s holding two shiny pamphlets in her hand and she has a fanny pack and a lot to say about his “foreign accent” as she tries to pin down where he’s from. He casts Apollo a helpless look as he wanders over to see what’s taking Klavier so long.

 “- And a road trip, how sweet, is it just the two of you?” she says, looking between them. If Apollo had not joined the conversation, he would have used this venue to escape, but since they’re both here now, he might as well drag this out for as long as he can so Apollo can suffer just as he has been for the past twenty minutes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Apollo says humbly.

“My niece Rebecca always wanted to go on one of those long car trips, but I told her, I said-”

They’ve got to go soon or they’ll be stuck in car exhaust and traffic for the next hour, and there’s nothing romantic about that, he wants to tell her. He curses everything that lead up to this moment, cheap roadside food and this lady who means well but smells like a gallon of sunscreen.

“-Such charming young men. But what about the people you left back home?”

Klavier blinks when he realizes her ramblings were directed at him. His brain slowly blinks back to life as he tries to remember anything that she just said.

“What about them?” he casts out carefully, slowly. He can feel Apollo looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He shoots back a helpless look.

“Won’t they miss you?” the lady says, and she’s just as intuitive as she is talkative, it seems.

“Ja, I guess,” he mumbles, and then catches himself. He sends a blinding smile her way and hopes that it covers for any impoliteness. “I’m sorry, but we really must get going. It was nice to meet you.” 

He can feel Apollo’s eyes on the back of his head as they finally make their way back to the car. 

“You don’t think anyone misses you?” Apollo says seriously as a forgotten brown paper bag crunches under the seat.

He stays silent as he merges into traffic. “I don’t know,” he finally says, “I wasn’t really paying attention to that conversation.”

It feels like Apollo wants to say more, but he lets it go as his phone chimes. “It’s Athena,” he says, tapping on the screen, “She took a selfie with Vongole, and she says “great morning run!" 

Apollo takes a selfie and Klavier throws up a peace sign automatically, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Huh,” Apollo says, sending the picture to Athena, “I didn’t think that dog had it in him to run for anything.”

Klavier’s phone buzzes. He doesn’t know why he checks it, but he does. “Fifteen new Gluten Free recipes you absolutely must try!” it advertises cheerfully.

Klavier wants to throw it out the window. He wants to see is crash on the road at sixty miles per hour. He’s not even gluten free. He doesn’t remember signing up for these emails. And besides that, he hardly cooks as it is. He wants to break his phone himself, actually. He wants to personally shatter the screen and pull the blackened insides out.

A cheery pop song wafts out of a passing car’s open window. The bushes by the road start to blur. The mountains don’t move an inch, yet they follow him everywhere. 

“Why are you screaming,” he groans into the car seat, pressing his palm into his eyes and rubbing in circles. “Why do you scream every morning?”

“I’M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I’M FINE,” Apollo answers.

“I’m Klavier Gavin and please give me five minutes,” he whines, but he has a smile on his face, because he can’t help it. When he catches Apollo’s gaze, he sees that both their eyes are shining.

 “Ja, maybe you have a point,” he cedes, throwing an arm over his eyes.

 They cross over into Utah next. The mountains stretch tall in the background, and no matter how many turns they take, they cannot escape their oppressive loom.

“You didn’t bring you guitar,” Apollo says, as if it had just occurred to him. The way he says it means that he probably hadn’t thought about it until now.

Klavier shrugs “It just seemed natural to leave it behind,” he says truthfully, probably more honest about it than he should be.

Three months ago, maybe four, had found them on Klavier’s couch with a bottle of wine between them. It’s not enough to get them drunk, and he probably has something better in the kitchen somewhere, if he cared to look. But he doesn’t, so this will have to do.

No, actually. They were drinking the shitty wine on purpose- that’s right. They were drinking it specifically because it had belonged to Kristoph. Perhaps they should have been more careful, but maybe they were hoping it was laced with something and would kill them after all.

It didn’t. It was even pretty cheap for Kristoph’s fancy taste. Not that it matters, since it wasn’t being swirled around in a big glass or paired with aged cheese, it’s just being passed between the two of them in big gulps. They don’t even stop to appreciate it. As far as Klavier is concerned, it tastes like alcohol, and that’s good enough for him.

“We could do Lord of the Rings again,” Apollo says, “That’s always a classic.”

Klavier says something along the lines of “Ja, sicher” or something like that. He’s more focused on getting tipsy than Apollo is. In the end, it doesn’t take that much alcohol to get them to really say what’s on their minds.

History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.

“You ever wish you could disappear?” Apollo says quietly. It probably has something to do with the movie they're watching. Either way, Klavier wastes no time. 

He nods sagely, passing the bottle over when Apollo reaches. “Except you can’t, no matter what,” Klavier says, from a place of sympathy rather than condescension. Apollo tilts the bottle back.

“It’s stupid,” Apollo says, looking down, “I just want to take a break from all this. I just wish-” he breaks off with a sigh. 

“Ja, I get it,” Klavier says, looking at the ceiling, “I often wonder what it would be like to just pack up everything and go. Just pick a direction and start driving.”

Apollo is quiet for a while. They watch the movie with glazed eyes.

A Wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.

“We could do it, though. One of these days.”

Klavier looks into Apollo’s muddy brown eyes. “We could,” he says. “We could. ”

They lapsed back into silence.

“Just don’t go without me, ja?” he says, mulling the idea over and over in his head like a lump of malleable clay. “It would only take a day or two to get everything settled.”

“A week,” Apollo amends quickly, tracing the rim of the bottle with his finger while Merry and Pippin dig through fireworks on screen. “I can’t just disappear on the Agency like that. They worry about me enough already.” 

Klavier hums, “A week, then, to pack and give advanced notices. We’ll do this right so no one tries to track us down.”

Apollo lets out a puff of air that passes as a laugh, “We won’t even need a map, really. We should have watched Gone Girl instead.” He laughs quietly to himself as the firework dragon soars on screen. 

He glances at Klavier, “What about your job though? The Agency is fine as long as I call regularly. They’ll get it.” he swallows roughly. “They’ll worry about me, but they’ll get it.” 

Klavier smiles dryly, “Don’t worry about it, Herr Forehead. Herr Edgeworth will practically trip over himself to give me some time off. He believes in soul searching, and things like that.” 

Apollo laughs sharply at that. He takes another long drink from the bottle. “Do you want the rest?” he says, offering the bottle to Klavier. 

Klavier takes it. Bilbo Baggins disappears from his birthday party and leaves the rest of the Hobbits worried and wondering. 

“So one of us just has to say the word, then” he says after some time, watching Gandalf tower over Bilbo when he tries to leave with the ring.

“Yeah.”

I've thought up and ending for my book..."And he lived happily ever after to the end of his days."

About three months later, he calls Apollo after and says the right words. He remembers how he had thought he was doing alright. Another day, he had told himself, don’t make any rushed decisions. Tomorrow will be kinder. Another day into another week into another month, and then two.

 But the iron filling his head doesn’t stop, and the bags under his eyes get darker, and he starts to wonder if anything he ever did in his life was worthwhile. The knot in his chest curls tighter and tighter until he can hardly breathe. He cultivates a thought, a poisonous thing that seeps into his pores. It isn’t done with him, even when he wakes. So he calls Apollo and asks him to go.

A week after that, they hit the road.

 “Oh my God, is that Klavier Gavin?”

And Oh my God, it is, in fact. He didn’t think he’d be recognized here, but then again, why wouldn’t he? He’s still pretty popular among young girls, even if it has been a while since he’s been active in his music.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” the girl says, looking starstruck. She blinks at him. Her friend is gripping onto her arm with a similarly awed expression.

“Can we have your autograph?” The friend asks, and her eyes are big and green. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“Ja, of course,” he says, smiling easily. He finds that it’s not that hard to remember how to smile the right way, what to say and when. It comes back to him like muscle memory.

He makes small talk with them as he signs their notebooks with a big lavish K, a sharp, blocky G. Typical style of the Gavinners. The girls manage to hold back their squeals until after he walks away, but he still hears them. It’s been a while, he thinks, since he’s had to remember that he was once famous.

Apollo watches him cautiously. “I almost forgot you used to be famous,” he remarks as they try to find Apollo’s small red car in the parking lot.

Klavier laughs, “I think I almost forgot, myself.” But still, his eyes look brighter than they had in awhile, even if the memories that follow are anything but.

The backseat is slowly morphing into a sea of hollow styrofoam take-out coffee cups. They’re getting lazy, Klavier thinks, as he pulls his seat belt on. But he’s gotten used to the world moving around him again. He finds that he fits into this new facade, tired young adult, much better than he ever did Rockstar Prosecutor. 

Ema, of all people, calls them as he’s driving.  It’s not a secret that she dislikes him, and he wonders if she knew of her bad timing when she dialed the phone.

“Hey, you two.” she says. He can hear her eating through the phone. They’re on a video chat, that’s why, he finds out when he glances over. He’s glad that he’s the one driving, so she doesn’t have to pretend that it’s him she wants to talk to.

“Hi Ema,” Apollo says. Klavier keeps his eyes on the road as he offers his own greeting.

“How are you guys?” She says, “Having fun? See anything science related?” 

“I don’t think so,” Apollo says as he thinks, tapping a finger against his forehead, “There’s a planetarium in Salt Lake City, but I think that’s as close as we’ll get.” He looks out the window and takes a breath when he stops to think about what he said.

“And yourself, Fraulein?” Klavier jumps in, “Still terrorizing the city with your forensics kits?”

“You know it, fop,” she says immediately, though more subdued than she had been when they first took the call. “I’m studying to retake the test, so soon I won’t have to sneak my kits onto crime scenes anymore.”

“Really?” he says with exaggerated surprise. “You? Studying?”

“Yeah, well, there’s not much to do when you’re not there to tease.” She shoots back. “For real though, you two have fun. The next time you see me, I’ll be an official member of the Forensics Team." 

“We’re working on it,” Klavier promises.

“Good. And didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take phone calls when you’re driving? I swear-” 

“Good luck, Ema,” Apollo says as he moves to cut her off and end the call.

When they enter Salt Lake City, Klavier casually asks, “Are we going to the Planetarium?”

Apollo looks down, which means yes.

And so, they acquire two adult tickets for all day entry. Apollo explains the exhibits to him in a hushed voice, so they don’t have to stick with the tour guide. He tells him about stars and space travel and he tells him about astronaut training through his tears and he doesn’t stop even when he’s shaking too hard to continue.

Klavier takes his hand and leads him to a bench. The ceiling is dark and covered in stars, with an occasional Planet marking the rooms (Every twelve year old alive has probably made a joke about the Uranus Room at one point).

Right now, however, they’re in the Jupiter Room.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, rubbing small circles into the back of Apollo’s hand. Apollo grips his hand so hard he might break it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “The stars out here are something to see, without all the light pollution of the city.”

“We’ll have to go stargazing,” Klavier murmurs. Apollo leans on his shoulder heavily. No one pays any attention to them as they pass through the atmospheres.

“I miss him,” Apollo says. His breath hitches. “I miss him so much, it hurts. I thought it was going to get better.”

Klavier doesn’t know what to say. He’s always been bad at things like this.

“He would have loved it here,” Apollo presses his face into Klavier’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he hiccups, “I’m going to ruin your jacket.”

Klavier smiles at that. “I have another in the car” he assures him.

They get ice cream from a parlor that's supposedly world famous and they leave Salt Lake City behind them. Being there feels too much like home, so they let it disappear, they let it keep it's planets and it’s grey sidewalks and tall buildings.

They drive until the lights can’t touch them anymore, until their only canvas is the one stretched above them. The hood is warm underneath them and the night is cool and Apollo holds his hands and tells him about the constellations he can remember even though Klavier can’t follow his directions. No matter how many times he tries, he doesn’t see a spoon or a bear, he sees an endless mass of lights the moment he strays from Polaris. He lets Apollo talk him through it anyway, jumbled mythology and half-truths under an arch in the Milky Way.

Whatever it is that’s been building in his chest for these past weeks starts to wane, chipping off and floating into space to join the cluster of stars and galaxies before them.

Maybe that’s why, when the break finally comes, it feels so unexpected. They drift upward to Wyoming and drive along the outskirts of Yellowstone. They’ll check it out more in the morning, they promise, but for now they just want to find a place to sleep.

It’s been good for too long. He should have known better. But maybe they’ve both been driving for too long and the car seats have long since stopped being comfortable. Either way, it’s a wonder Apollo’s car lasted for as long as it did. It certainly wasn’t new when he bought it, and now, and now-

“It’s just the tire or something,” Apollo explains, crouching down. “Honestly, it's impressive it stayed functional for as long as it did.”

“I don’t know,” Klavier argues, “The tires look fine to me, I’d be more worried about that noise the engine made.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s nothing,” Apollo says with forced patience, standing up and brushing the dirt off his knees, “This old thing made noises like that since I bought it.”

“And when was the last time you got it checked out? Jesus, Apollo.”

Apollo takes a deep breath, “Look, it doesn’t matter.” he says firmly. Klavier can see his bracelet glinting in the dying light.

“So what do we do?” he asks, watching the way the light plays on Apollo’s gold jewelry.

“Well,” Apollo taps his forehead, “We still have a lot of light left, I could try to hitchhike back to town and find a mechanic.”

“Absolutely not,” Klavier protests, “There’s no time.”

“We have plenty of time, Klavier, it’s like, eight thirty. Just wait in the car.”

“What? No! Don’t walk away from me.”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, we’re fine,” Apollo snaps. They’ve both definitely too tired to be having this conversation. Klavier can feel the exhaustion around his eyes.

“It’s not fine! You can’t just walk off into the woods as the sun sets and tell me to just sit here quietly!”

“We passed a house like an hour ago, all I have to do is follow the road, we have more than enough time, and if you’re so worried then you can just come with me!”

“Great, fantastisch , so we can both wander into some creepy house in the middle of nowhere as the sun sets. Great plan Apollo, I’ve never seen any movies that started just like this .”

Apollo throws up his hands in frustration and lets out an aggravated noise, “Will you stop being so melodramatic? Nothing’s going to happen. So don’t come if you don’t want to.”

“It’s you I don’t want going off alone! There are bears and wolves out here, but please just wander off on your own. Please, be my guest.”

“Well, yeah! You don’t have to do anything but sit here quietly and do nothing, which shouldn’t be too hard because you’re great at that!” 

“Wow, okay, I didn’t know we were on some kind of time limit. Did you have a certain place in mind to ditch me or is this good enough?”

Apollo glares at him, and Klavier glowers right back. But neither of them move. So yeah, maybe they’ve been in the car too long and in each others company for even longer, and maybe both of them need a break and some decent sleep. Exhaustion wears on their edges and sore muscles and lack of sleep weighs on both their minds.

“We’re wasting so much time just arguing,” Apollo mutters, stomping back to the car. “Fine. We’ll wait out here for the night.”

Apollo climbs onto the hood and stews there, silently. Klavier lets out a breath and leans against the car and tries his best to release this anger from inside his lungs. The silence is stifling between them. Klavier swats a mosquito and hits the passenger side door accidentally.

 Apollo twists around, “What?” he spits, “Are you trying to say something?”

“I was hitting a bug,” Klavier hisses back, “Maybe if you’d relax for two seconds you’d calm down enough to realize that I’m not trying to patronize you. I just want you to be safe.”

“I could have been there and back by now, you never know.”

“Oh, entschuldigung, are we back to arguing? Can’t you just admit that it does make some sort of sense to just camp out here overnight?”

 “I’m not made of glass, Klavier, a short five mile hike won’t do anything.”

“Ja, genau, “a short five mile hike,” because nothing bad ever happens in the woods at night.”  

 Apollo lets out another guttural, frustrated noise and turns away, fuming. Klavier plucks at the tall grass and twists the blades violently in his hands, turning them green. The tension between them simmers and boils, they both feel like they’ve been on this road forever, like it never ends, and they’ll never reach wherever they’re trying to go.

Apollo slides off the hood and starts pacing. He walks like he can shake his anger and irritation out through his feet. There’s no service at this altitude, and Klavier won’t let him wander off to find some.

“We could have been gone by now,” he points out, “We could have called a tow truck and been moving towards the next town, but no, we’re stuck here because my leash doesn’t reach far enough.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Klavier says, rolling his eyes, “It’s not like we haven’t spent a night in the car before, what’s one more night?”

“One more night,” Apollo bites out, “One more night of not enough space and all this clutter from fast food and the smell of a gas station bathrooms, just one more night of a crooked necks and back pains and driving and moving, one more night- I can’t do it, I can’t spend another night in this car.”

“Well you didn’t have to come all this way if this was too hard for you,” Klavier says numbly, looking at the gravel on the road, stained gray by the setting sun.

“Bullshit,” Apollo snorts, “Of course I did. I didn’t have a choice.”

“No really, you didn’t have to do any of this, I wouldn't have held anything against you,” he says, stronger this time.

This time Apollo’s anger is channeled inward, his nostrils flare as he rounds to face Klavier. “Yeah, okay,” he says, stepping closer. His hand flies to his wrist as he stares Klavier down. “And what would you have done if I hadn’t dropped everything to do this with you?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he turns away, “I would have figured something out.”

Apollo advances “Are you hearing yourself right now? Because I don’t think you are. Believe me, it wasn't hidden as well as you thought it was.”

“What are you talking about?” His grips his elbows and tries to draw himself up. You look like Kristoph, a voice in the back of his head whispers. He ignores it, pushes it back, smothers it. His heart beats wildly in his chest.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Apollo hounds him, clutching his bracelet. His fingernails dig crescent moons into his wrist. The sky darkens behind him. “Say it. Tell me what you would have done." 

“I-I don’t know,” Klavier says, backing into the car. Apollo stares at him intently, a livid flame illuminating his eyes.

“Listen,” he says, suddenly deadly calm, but his hands still tremble with emotion, “I’ll tell you. I’m here because I was afraid you were going to do something stupid if you stayed another moment back home.”

Klavier can feel his heart stop beating.

“I’m here because yeah, I would gladly drag my shitty car cross country if it meant keeping you alive, thank you very much. I’m not prepared to just sit by and lose another friend.”

Klavier presses his back to the red car, Apollo in front of him, and everything around him is red. He feels guilty and horrified and vaguely violated as Apollo glares at him just like he glares at witnesses who lie on the stand, and no, Klavier isn't like that, he has nothing to hide.

He swallows dryly. “No,” he croaks, “You’re wrong. It’s not like that. That’s not it. I-no.”

Apollo stares at him like he isn’t human. “Yeah?” he says intently, “Say it then. Tell me what you would have done if you physically couldn't leave with me. Tell me.”

If his brain were an old phonograph, the track would be stuck on this one word. “No,” he says, feeling hollow. “No, I don’t have to tell you anything. Please.”

Apollo seems to remember himself a little at that. He backs off slightly and changes tactics. “We were all watching” he says gently, “We all saw that look on your face and it scared us Klavier, we all care about you too much.”

His voice shifts on the word scared, and Klavier doesn’t feel human. His head is buzzing too loudly to think about anything else. His mind hinges on that word, scared, and then again on we all care about you.

No one was supposed to know. He was trying to keep it together for them, and now he feels too lightheaded and vulnerable to really think about what this means. No one was supposed to know.  His heart pounds in his throat. He can’t go back now. He feels cornered and nauseous and he hates the way Apollo is looking at him, with his eyes bugged out like that.

“Don’t make me say it,” he pleads, feeling like he might throw up.

Klavier calls his mind back to how he felt that day, a week before they left. It isnt that hard. Its close to what he's been feeling every day. The pressure bears down on him. The knot in his chest spikes and tries to kick itself free, claw out from between his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he says tiredly, yet with more emotion than he’s felt in weeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.” The knot in his chest throbs painfully, but maybe it’s not a knot, maybe that’s just his heart.

“Klavier…”

“I don’t know,” he says, holding his head, “It’s just so much, I didn’t know what else to do .”

He feels Apollo lower him to the ground. Something shakes loose in his chest and wedges in his lungs painfully. “I’m sorry,” he says again. The knot in his chest draws his shoulders in tight, “I don't know what I would have done. You were my last resort.”

He sucks in a harsh breath. He feels the warmth of Apollo’s arm across his shoulders as they start to shake. Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop. It feels like his teeth might rattle out of his head.  

Klavier sits against the car and burst into tears. Once he starts, he can’t stop. He can’t see anything. The only thing tethering him to earth is the comforting weight of Apollo’s arm on his trembling shoulders.

“I don't know,” he sobs, ”Okay? I don't know.”

Apollo says something, but Klavier can’t hear it through the way his bones are rattling and grinding together inside him. He wants to howl and wail until his throat is raw and he finally feels something other than this suffocating knot, but he can’t make any noise at all, it seems.

He feels sluggish and wrong and pathetic and he cries and cries until he runs out of tears and is stuck making ugly, heaving breathes. He presses his hands into his eyes and wishes it all would stop. Apollo rubs his back and looks at the moon.

 Klavier leans into his warmth, feeling drained and exhausted and dehydrated all at once. He closes his warm eyes briefly and listens to Apollo’s steady breathing. He can hear the inhales and exhales and for some reason that makes him cry even more. Apollo doesn’t deserve all this. He’s going through his own hardships. He has more important things to worry about.

He knows his face is probably blotchy and covered in snot but he can’t stop himself from pressing into Apollo’s shoulder. All the tears he denied himself two years ago suddenly seem to find him again, here, in the dark in the middle of nowhere.

Finally he sucks in a breath that doesn't send him into another round of tears and he breathes and breathes. He matches the rise and fall of Apollo’s chest with his own and he doesn’t really remember when he threw his arm around Apollo and pulled him into a hug but oh well, that’s a thing that’s happening now. Klavier’s lips are all chapped and his nose is running but for once he doesn’t feel like something inside him will break if he breathes too deep.

His eyes are warm. He could fall asleep here. He uncurls himself and feels stiff and tired. He glances at Apollo, who’s looking at the moon. There’s no going back now that he knows the truth. Klavier is too tired to feel afraid.

Apollo glances at him when Klavier peels himself away from his side. Much like his own, Apollo’s eyes are red and puffy. They look like twin messes.

“God, Klavier,” Apollo whispers, and maybe it’s his tone or his face, or the fact that they’re both sitting in the mud in the middle of the country somewhere, but something about the scene makes him laugh a soft, halting, hiccup of a laugh. He feels like shit. Apollo smiles tiredly.

“I’m so sorry,” Apollo says, looking miserable. “It’s not all you. I needed this trip too. I’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you like that.”

Klavier stares at the grass dyed silver in the moonlight. The rising moon casts a certain type of light that makes this all feel surreal and distant. This doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. Wake up, he tells himself.

“Klavier,” Apollo’s voice wobbles when Klavier doesn’t respond, “It was so wrong of me to push you like that. I shouldn’t have forced you, I am so sorry, I-”

“Apollo,” he interrupts, looking at the arch of stars above them. Apollo looks at him. He finds that he doesn’t really know what to say now that he has Apollo’s attention. He looks at the stars through half lidded eyes.

“I never used to get angry like that before,” Apollo says quietly. “That’s not me.”

“I know,” Klavier says. His voice sounds rough, like he’s been swallowing gravel. “It’s okay, Apollo. You’re allowed to grieve.”

“So are you.”

The words drive a stake through his heart. He flinches, despite everything. He smiles weakly. “I almost forget that she’s gone, sometimes,” he says, as if speaking any louder would ruin the magic.

A breeze shifts through the trees. Somewhere, the mountains are watching them.

“Were you two close?”

Constance Courte. Kristoph. Daryan.  Just thinking of the names name is enough to make him want to clamp down on whatever is making his head hurt this way.

“Ja,” he says shakily. “It's just. Daryan and my brother, they got what they deserve. I understand that. But Constance Courte didn't do anything wrong, and she didn't deserve to just die like that. It just doesn't make sense." 

He blinks a few times, feeling a headache settle in behind his eyelids. "She was always there when I needed her. She was there before I knew I needed her. She helped me through so much. And now she’s... gone, and I never got to tell her how much she helped me. ”

“I’m sure she knows,” Apollo says, staring ahead. “But that doesn’t really mean anything, does it?”

Klavier sighs. He feels ancient. “I felt so trapped back home. I felt like everyone was expecting me to be a certain way. But I don’t know.” His head rolls to the side as he picks at the grass.

"I know," Apollo’s voice is deep and tired, "I feel it too, sometimes."

Apollo takes a deep breath. “I forgot I wasn’t in court.” he says, “I treated you like an uncooperative witness when I should have treated you like a friend. I shouldn’t have forced you to tell me anything.”

“It’s alright, Apollo,” Klavier feels the exhaustion deep in his bones. Right now, he isn’t really sure if it is alright, but he’s willing to try. “Maybe I needed someone to make me say it out loud. I know you were acting out of worry. I just didn’t want to confront it.”

Apollo acts like he didn't hear him. “I needed this trip too, Klavier. It was a way out for me just like it was for you,” Apollo reminds him. “I was the one who brought it up in the first place.”

Something shifts inside him that almost sends him back into feeling miserable, but before he can dwell on it, headlights flood their view. They both jump to their feet. The car swings to a halt, headlights making the grass glow.

A man rolls down the window. “Are you two okay?” he calls.

Some time later finds them profusely grateful as their car sputters and purrs back to life after a few tries with the jumper cables. Apollo drives slowly down the mountain roads. Their phones are dead, but they might have found service here if they were charged.

The night is quiet. He can hear an owl in the distance. Apollo looks at him like he wants to apologize again. Klavier take his hand and interlopes their fingers.

“Thank you for coming all this way with me,” he says as the car bounces over a bump in the road. He can see lights in the distance. Apollo squeezes his hand as they break through the trees, like it’s an apology, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Of course,” Apollo says, eyes flooded with warmth, “I would do anything for you.” 

The motel they find at 2:49 in the morning isn’t that bad, as far as morning motel finds go. There’s even two beds open, not that it means anything. By the time they finally collapsed onto the bed, it’s three in the morning. Klavier is too exhausted to think. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this drained in his life.

But he can feel the lamp light pressing at the edge of his eyelids. He peeks them open and finds Apollo sitting on the bed, saying something. It’s the Chords of Steel, Klavier realizes, recognizing the mantra. A quieter version, probably out of respect for their neighbors, who are either sleeping or doing… other activities in the middle of the night.

“I’m Apollo Justice and I’m fine.”

“I’m Klavier Gavin and I’m…” he pauses to yawn. Words flash through his head. Good. Okay. Surviving. Alive. But none of them feel right.

“I’m fine,” he says firmly, and he believes it, and for once it may be true.

When he thinks about home, his chest doesn’t constrict, his hands don’t shake, he doesn’t feel a rush of dread and fear. But he still doesn’t want to go back just yet. Right now, all he feels is tired, but not quite content. He just feels fine. He finds that the word fits perfectly.

If he kept his eyes open longer, he would see Apollo’s small, proud smile. He doesn’t, so that’s how he falls asleep, holding the word fine inside him, letting it fill the gaps. 

They sleep into the afternoon, they wake up and don’t even want to look at the car. Instead, they relocate to a slightly nicer hotel where they don’t have to worry about bed bugs (probably) or being kidnapped. It’s nice.

Klavier parks the car while Apollo sets up at least three days for them in this quaint town. They can add more, he tells Klavier, but this is a good place to start, because they need the downtime, and because they’re starting to realize that they’re going to have the drive back to look forward to when this is all over. But they still enjoy being out on the road too much to put any thought into it.

“Here’s the plan,” Apollo says briskly, “I’m going to drop all this stuff off in our room and then I’m going to that smoothie place across the street and then maybe we’ll rent a movie tonight and sleep in beds like normal people. What about you?”

Klavier hasn’t really thought past the elevator trip. “I’ll figure it out when I get there,” he says instead, shrugging. His hair is starting to get greasy, so that’s where he’ll start. 

Apollo enters the room with two smoothies. “Strawberry-Banana,” he announces, offering it to Klavier, “Seemed safe enough.”

He holds the smoothie with two hands, “Vielen Dank, Herr Forehead,” he says, suddenly remembering the nickname. It sounds safe. It sounds familiar.

“Mr. Wright called when I was waiting in line.” Apollo chews on his straw. “He says that Mr. Edgeworth’s sister is flying in from Germany for the summer, so there will be three Germans in the prosecutor’s office.”

“Three Germans,” Klavier considers as he sips his smoothie. It’s entirely too sweet and he finds that he loves it anyway, “Now it’s a party, ja?”

Apollo smiles as he sits on the chair next to him, “We still need to find souvenirs for a few people,” he tells him, “I did promise Trucy I’d pick up something for her.”

It’s cloudy in Pinedale today. The breeze is warm and promising. Maybe they’ll get a storm. Either way, he’s glad that they’re anchored in this town for the moment instead of on the road.

“He told me to take as much time as I needed,” Apollo says, suddenly, looking as overcast as the sky above them. “I told him that I’d keep in touch. But I didn’t say anything to Mr. Wright about coming home yet.”

Klavier looks at Apollo and sees his pale face, the shadows and worn edges.

“We don’t have to go back just yet,” Apollo says, “But whenever you’re ready to, just know that they’ll be so glad to see you again. They won’t hold anything against you. A lot of people care about you and hope you’re alright.”

Klavier closes his eyes. He hates when Apollo says that, but he knows that a part of him needs to hear it. If he had been told that just a few days ago, he wouldn’t have believed it at all. Now he’s starting to. He remembers how convinced he had felt that his co-workers disliked him, that they were suspicious, that he was alienated because of it.

But no, there wasn’t anything there aside from what he told himself. He can see it in his head, and it’s still a shock to be reminded that there are people that actually care about him. He finds himself repeating it in his head, so he doesn’t forget.

“And you know,” Apollo says as it starts to drizzle outside, “Even if we go home and you decide you still don’t like it there, you don’t have to live there. You could get a job anywhere, and Mr. Edgeworth would write you any recommendation letter you might need, you know? It’s not too late and you’re not tied down anywhere you don’t choose to be.”

Klavier tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat, the way his smoothie turns bitter in his mouth. He breathes in slowly.

“And,” Apollo says, “No matter where you decide to go, we’ll keep in touch, okay? Klavier, no matter where you go, it’s going to be okay.”

He breathes out shakily. There’s nothing he can do to stop the tears this time. But the knot in his chest is gone, the anxiety and stress and the terrifying uncertainty loosens until it dissolved into nothing. It just feels like relief. Tears roll down his face and he finds that he’s cried more here in the state of Wyoming than any other time in his life.

He smiles, and it doesn’t feel strained or forced. It feels liberating. It feels genuine. The two don’t cancel each other out.

“Thank you, Apollo,” he says, and something passes unspoken between the two of them. Apollo leans back in his chair and watches the rain hit the window. For now, that’s all they have to do. 

 Pinedale is a cute, somewhat obscure town, but that doesn’t mean it’s unpleasant to spend a few days in a town that’s small and unsuspecting. They do manage to find a few overpriced trinkets to take home for everyone, so that’s a bonus.

Their third day in Pinedale, Klavier spends brushing his hair thoroughly and playing cards and thinking about music again, in a way that doesn’t also make him feel sick. They watch romcoms and sit with their legs touching as the rain batters the window, and Klavier starts to stitch himself back together, slowly. He starts to feel a little more whole with each inhale.

When Klavier wakes up early on the fourth day, he looks at the speckle of clouds, the splash of burnt orange on the horizon from where the sun rose. He looks at Apollo, drooling on the pillow, and realizes that he doesn’t feel like he’s being crushed by anything anymore.

When Apollo wakes up, he’s greeted with a bagel and a styrofoam cup, because he more than knows how Apollo likes his coffee by now.

“They were out of croissants,” Klavier says, taking a bite and being careful not to spill crumbs. He tries to ignore the way Apollo watches him.

Apollo stretches and takes a half. “Thanks,” he says, holding his eyes closed as if to latch onto a few extra moments of sleep.

Apollo has crumbs on the corner of his mouth, he needs to wash his face, and his hair is drooping from where it’s undeniably tucked behind one ear. Klavier has spent so much time with Apollo that he almost can’t believe he hasn’t taken the time to really look at him before and remember exactly what it was he liked about him so much in the first place. Or maybe he did, and he just forgot, being so wrapped up in himself and his feelings and the desire to just get away and not sit still.

But looking at Apollo now, he’s suddenly reminded of all the little things that had drawn them together in the first place. It all feels real and new again, and for once he feels like he’s allowed to enjoy it.  

Either way, maybe it’s just the way the light hits him, or maybe it’s just Klavier finally bouncing back, but he thinks about how he wants to close the gap between them and kiss Apollo even though they both have a mouthful of gross food and Apollo has morning breath and hasn’t brushed his teeth yet.

He doesn’t. In the next moment, he leans back as Apollo’s eyes flicker open and he opens his dumb mouth without thinking and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Let’s go back.”

Apollo looks at him carefully. “Okay,” he says. 

They leave early, pointed to the south as Pinedale passes forgotten behind them, only alive in blurry Wild West movies and their own memories. When he turns on the radio, he isn’t overtaken by anticipation and fear. They leave Wyoming and he doesn’t have any old Gavinner's songs in his head, only clarity for the first time in months.

“Start the season with an extra 10% off”, his phone tells him. Above that, an email from his boss. It’s lengthy, yet precise, just like how Edgeworth is in life, and Klavier can see him in his mind’s eye, stationed at his desk, preparing to compose the perfect email to Klavier, who is currently hurtling through the middle of-something.

Most of it is business, updates on the happenings in the courts and the city. He doesn’t care much, but that’s how he and Herr Edgeworth function. Work first, awkward discussion of common emotional issues second. The most important part comes at the bottom of the email.

“Above all, I hope that you find your time away from the office to be refreshing and insightful. I had also taken some time off of work, early in my career, and found that the distance is quite helpful in recovery and in preparing to move forward. I hope you find what you are looking for, and return to us reinvigorated and renewed. Auf Wiedersehen.”

It’s stupid, but he spent such a long time being afraid that Herr Edgeworth blamed him for his part in Wright’s disbarment, that this email is just another gentle reinforcer that there’s no bad blood between them. And he drinks it it, it offers him more support now than it would have had he received it earlier. He finally feels like he can actually breathe without shattering into a million pieces.

The words bounce around in his head. Recovery, he had written. And that’s what it is, he thinks, though a part of him still doesn’t want to acknowledge that he has anything to recover from. Recovery. It feels wholesome and positive and right, for once.

And the last part- Auf Wiedersehen. Until we see again. Seeing Herr Edgeworth and the Agency again doesn’t fill him with the same senseless dread that it had once.

 He smiles brightly at Apollo when he catches him looking at him, which makes Apollo look embarrassed, but he mirrors his expression and smiles back at Klavier anyway.  

They work their way diagonally back through Utah, stopping occasionally, taking more breaks than before. They try on old towns like new shoes, shoving them back on the rack and moving on after a short walk to test their toes in the leather. Through it all, Apollo holds his hand and Klavier thinks about moving away, despite everything he’s feeling.

He knows that Apollo’s right, and the people he’s left at home- the ones that matter, will welcome him back gladly. He knows this, and still a small part of him wonders what it would be like to start over, if he had the strength to do it even if he really wanted to.

“This was Clay’s favorite song,” Apollo says one day, as they’re drifting through Utah. Klavier turns the volume up and they absorb every word, every chord. The music washes over them, and when it ends, Apollo is smiling like he knows a secret.

“We went to one of their concerts for his fifteenth birthday,” he explains fondly, “Clay lost his voice on the car ride back, and I told him it was because he wasn’t keeping up on his Chords of Steel exercises. Ha,” he says, with the faint smile that comes with nostalgia.

Klavier smiles, he thinks about Daryan’s sore throat right before their first big gig- one that wasn’t just the local talent show or a summer night on the library’s front lawn, but one with a real stage and a bunch of other small, undiscovered bands making music for a few loud hours.

He thinks about how, a few years ago, he would have assumed that he’d be traveling with Daryan, because being with Daryan used to be as easy as breathing. He thinks about how Apollo would have just as easily believed that he would be with Clay, traveling like they’d always discussed, because there was never any alternative to that plan, never the option of not being with Clay. 

And now, the two of them, who found each other despite of everything that had happened to them- or perhaps because of it. Two odd ends together on a road that stretches infinitely onward.

The returning trip through Utah is kinder to them than it had been the first time, at least. They pass by, collecting things to show the Agency, taking a few more photos than they had the first time, when they had been desperate to get away and put as much distance between themselves and home as possible.

They stop to eat lunch in the park, watching a Golden Retriever play fetch a few yards away. Klavier texts Athena, asking how Vongole is, and she batters him with questions on what state they’re in and what kind of food they ate, and the like. Apollo points out that once she starts, it’ll take a while to get her to wind down.

Still, they’re glad to be moving, glad to have a goal in mind.

When Apollo points out that they’ve crossed back into California, they both seem to perk, their excitement is palpable, if not slightly tinged with sadness. Still, Klavier drives confidently, glad to be so close to home once more. He hasn’t quite made up his mind yet, but he feels like it would be okay, if just for now, to stay close to Apollo and the people that know and support him.

They run into traffic- that should have been enough to let them know they were really home, so by the time they find a familiar neighborhood it’s already so late- too late, really.

They take a roundabout way - there’s the Agency, after all this time. Windows dark but still standing, even without them there to see it. And then, People Park.

“Hey,” Klavier says, as they slowly round the corner, “This is where we first met, Herr Forehea-”

He’s cut off by a pair of lips pressing into his own. And he squawks a little before breaking away, laughing.

“Hey,” he laughs, glad that his driving reflexes are still sharp enough to catch the brake gently at the sudden interruption. “Remember what happened the last time someone was driving recklessly around these parts?”

“Yes,” Apollo says, “Please keep my mirrors attached to my car.”

Apollo watches him intently, still leaned over, so Klavier meets him halfway, and kisses him fully, properly, he thinks, because he sure wasn’t expecting it the first time. And kissing Apollo feels safe, it feels familiar, like relearning something he used to know by heart. He rests their foreheads together -there’s something Apollo’s big forehead is good for- and listens to them breath in sync in for a moment. 

Their noses brush when Apollo leans in to gently kiss him again. Klavier braces his hand on the seat and only has a mild heart attack when his foot slips off the break and the car lurches forward. He sits back quickly, blushing in a way that he hasn’t since high school, and he feels just like how he did the first time he went on a date.

“Maybe put the car in park first?” Apollo suggests meekly, “We’ll never get there at this rate.”

“Ja,” he laughs quietly, “We’ll do this properly. Let’s go home.” 

And he’s home, home, finally, back to his apartment which is full of stale air and dog hair and too many guitars. But it’s home, and it’s his. He lets Apollo in and glances at the clock, 3:02 am. It’s been awhile since he’s been in his own home, and even longer since he’s been here with Apollo.

Who’s currently yawning in a slow, dramatic fashion. “Sorry,” he says, covering his mouth. “I can’t wait to go back to riding my bicycle everywhere.”

Klavier smiles. “When do you have to actually go back to work?”

Apollo wanders into his living room. “I was thinking of just showing up at the agency in the morning like “Hey guys, it’s me.”

“But it’s already morning.”

“So let’s just go now, then,” Apollo says, sinking into the couch. “Isn’t this where I sat when we first started brainstorming this crazy thing?”

“Yeah,” Klavier says, curling up on his end. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

If he’s committed to being awake, then he might as well make tea or something, he could use something warm to hold in his hands. With that in mind, he leans over and rests his head on Apollo’s shoulder- which is actually very boney and not at all comfortable. He takes Apollo’s hand.

“Well, okay,” Apollo says, dumbfounded, looking at their entwined hands, and Klavier’s laughs softly because this is a very special stage of tired for the two of them.

“I’m going to miss seeing you every day,” he says, and means it.

“So come see me every day,” Apollo says, like it was obvious. “Unless you were still thinking of moving.”

“No,” Klavier taps his thumb against Apollo’s hand. “I’ll stay here and come visit you. You’re not that far away.”

Apollo can’t seem to think of anything to say to that, so he leans over to kiss Klavier’s cheek. He falls forward and kisses his ear instead.

“Go to bed,” Klavier says with amusement, pulling him off the couch. “I have a fold out mattress in here. Or come share mine.”

Apollo’s eyes are closed. “I’ve never been so tired,” he mumbles, as if that was an answer by itself. Klavier tugs him into his bedroom.

“I take it you’re not going to shower,” he says as Apollo plants his face onto the mattress, “or take your shoes off, I see.”

For once Apollo falls asleep before him, and he seems to be dead to the world the moment his head hit the pillow. He does move to crawl under the covers once Klavier works his shoes off him, however.

“You owe me for this,” he whispers as he tugs some of the blanket from Apollo’s grip. Apollo mumbles something that sounds like “so do you,” and turns away from him. After a while, to Klavier’s delight, he starts to snore.

Klavier lays awake, feeling his hair spread out under him. So maybe he lays closer to Apollo’s warmth in his cold bed than he has to. So maybe he indulges in this without feeling guilty. He’s due for a haircut, he thinks, as he feels the beginning of sleep ebb at his mind. He’s due for a lot of things.

But he falls asleep in his bed with Apollo making ugly noises beside him, thinking about how he somehow gathered more than he started with without noticing. 

He wakes up at eleven. Which is a sensible time, for a teenager, maybe. He pulls his hair into a ponytail and wanders sleepily into his kitchen. His kitchen, he thinks, finally. It’s illuminated by a soft yellow glow as he starts to boil water for tea. He’s sick of coffee, for now.

He sips his tea and reads the news on his phone and manages to actually feel like he’s Klavier Gavin and He’s Fine. He has to see when he can get back to the Prosecutor's office, he thinks, as he hears the door opening slowly.

Athena looks suspicious in the doorway until she catches sight of him sitting in his own kitchen. “Oh,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “It’s you! I thought it was a burglar or something.”

Klavier smiles and puts down his mug. “Then they’ve picked the right place,” he notes.

“Wait- what are you doing back? When did you get here?” He’s then enveloped in a hug, a blur of orange and yellow that holds him too tightly for him to actually answer any of her hundreds of questions.

He hugs her back. “Guten Morgen, schatzi,” he says warmly.

She pulls back and she’s a flurry of smiles and questions and demands, “Quick, we’ve got to call everyone we know -SIMON, LOOK WHO’S HERE- when did you get back? You should have called me the minute you got in!”

He laughs, “We got in sometime around three in the morning,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter, you should have called anyway. I was awake! And I want to hear everything. And then we’ve got to go to the Agency so you can tell them everything, and Mr. Edgeworth’s sister is in-”

“Maybe give him a moment to catch his breath, Athena-dono” Simon says from where he appeared in the doorway.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says to Klavier, and looks, for the most part, like he means it.

“Oh, you know, Vongole missed you so much, and you can totally tell,” Athena says, scrolling quickly through her phone. “I was just stopping by to air the place out a bit, make sure everything was still here, and I found you!”

Apollo wanders barefoot into the kitchen. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair is a mussed mess and his feet stick on the tiles. “Oh,” he says, “We have company.”

He says hello to Simon, who nods at him, and that’s as far as he gets before Athena tackles him in a hug.

“You’re here, ” she says, squeezing tightly. “I’ve missed you two so much, I can’t wait to hear everything you guys have been up to!”

“Hi, Athena,” Apollo says, and the smile is in his voice, “How have you been?” As if they weren’t just talking on the phone a few days ago.

“It’s been so long,” she says, looking as if she’s going to burst, “Trucy and I have been doing all the real work, and you know Mr. Wright, but it’s so good to have you back! I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

“Can I at least have breakfast first?” He asks, stretching his back. He wanders over to where Klavier is sitting and plants a kiss into his hair. “Good morning” he says, “Are we dating now? I think I might have dreamt that”

“It was real,” Klavier assures him with a smile, watching Athena as she watches the two of them, cellphone pressed to her ear.

“Trucy! Guess who’s here!” Athena blurts into the receiver. Simon wanders over to tell them that he very much appreciated the picture from the Bird Center, even if he couldn’t figure out how to reply with his old, outdated phone model.

“Well bring Mr. Edgeworth too, then, he can be late to work for one day.”

“Athena-dono” Simon cautions.

Apollo holds his hand under the table as Klavier tries to find the words to express this lightness he’s feeling now that the knot in his chest is finally loosening. He presses a kiss into the corner of Apollo’s smiling mouth. Somehow, it means everything he wants it to mean, and more.