Work Text:
Somehow, Klavier made it through the day. There had suddenly been too many questions—Kristoph’s remains, his belongings, his final wishes—and at some point, Wright had gently nudged him aside and taken over.
Eventually, after an awkward dinner filled with more silence than conversation, he’d taken himself back up to the guestroom he’d been occupying. Kristoph’s sweater was still spread out on the bed, and Klavier had to take several deep breaths to keep himself from falling apart again. He’d been breaking down far too much lately. If Kristoph could see him…. (But he couldn’t, he never would, he was never going to see his brother again.)
Klavier changed into a pair of comfortable lounge pants and an old T-shirt, then on impulse pulled on Kristoph’s sweater. He left it unbuttoned, so that the old Gavinners logo on the T-shirt was visible, and tried to imagine it still smelled like his brother.
(It didn’t. He’d borrowed it nearly three years ago and kept forgetting to give it back. It smelled like his own apartment.)
How pathetic was this? His brother was a criminal. A murderer. He should be celebrating his death instead of mourning it...yet there was just an aching chasm where his heart should have been. He’d never see Kristoph again...and never was a very long time.
Klavier climbed onto the bed and sat against the wall to stare out the window at the night sky. They were still within city limits, so there was little enough to see in the way of stars. The moon was a pale sliver against the darkness, and he watched it while his mind refused to let his body sleep.
Grief was singularly exhausting. It had barely been twenty-four hours since his life had changed, yet he felt like he’d aged a decade. He was hollowed out and drained, and could do littl more than stare at the moon and wait for it to slowly disappear.
His muscles suddenly burned with the need to move. To do something. He didn’t want to play his guitar in the middle of the night and risk waking the others, so he quietly crept to his door and out into the hall.
Edgeworth’s home was silent around him, and he kept his steps quiet as he walked through the darkened hall and down the staircase beyond. To his surprise, there was a light on in the kitchen, and his curiosity got the better of him as he moved closer.
“Ah, Gavin.” Edgeworth was leaning against the counter, the kettle at his elbow beginning to steam. “To be honest, I suspected you might be awake.”
“Did I wake you?” he asked. He was sure he’d been quiet, but he was too exhausted to think straight. Klavier wouldn’t be surprised if he’d actually been speaking his thoughts out instead of keeping them inside his head.
“Of course not. I’ve merely traveled too much in my life, and there are times when my body doesn’t quite know what time it is. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Klavier accepted the mug and cupped his hands around it. For some reason, he was surprised to learn that Edgeworth used teabags. Maybe he’d been expecting loose leaves and gold-trimmed infusers.
“Sugar? No, wait, you probably prefer honey and lemon.”
Klavier blinked. “How did you know?”
“You’re a singer,” Edgeworth replied, reaching into one of his cabinets to produce a bottle of honey. “You’d want something that soothes the throat and protects against infection. I have a few slices of lemon already cut, but I can cut you a wedge if you’d prefer.”
“No, no, a slice is fine. Danke.”
Edgeworth produced paper-thin slices from his refrigerator, and Klavier carefully added two to his mug of tea. He stared down into it, letting the steam wash over his face. It seemed to loosen some of the tightness in his chest, and he closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance.
“Thank you,” he finally said, looking back up at Edgeworth. “Not just for the tea...for opening your home to me.”
“Phoenix said he wouldn’t come unless you did,” Edgeworth commented. “Of course, he was right in the end. My focus was on his and Trucy’s safety at the time, and I’m afraid I wasn’t taking yours into consideration. I’m sorry for that.”
Klavier shook his head. It wasn’t like he and the high prosecutor were the best of friends—hell, Edgeworth was basically his boss, since the chief prosecutor wasn’t around much these days. “I can understand why you’d be reluctant to invite me.”
“Gavin.” Edgeworth’s voice was sharp, and Klavier nearly flinched away from his gaze. “I was inconsiderate. Not reluctant. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need.”
There were tears in his eyes again, and he ducked his head to hide them. “I’m not sure I deserve your kindness,” he whispered. After all, he’d gotten the other man’s...what? Boyfriend? Partner? Whatever Wright was to Edgeworth, Klavier had had a hand in destroying his life.
Edgeworth hummed in consideration. “I never understood it either,” he said softly. “He was so determined to save me, and I refused to see it until I was at my lowest.”
Klavier slowly looked up, surprised to find a gentle smile on Edgeworth’s face.
“You can’t sleep, can you?”
He shook his head.
Edgeworth took his mug out of his hands, but before Klavier could protest he merely removed the teabag and set it aside before handing the mug back to him. “Come with me.”
A hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, guided Klavier out of the kitchen and down a darkened hallway. “This is a nice sweater,” Edgeworth commented.
“It was Kristoph’s.”
Edgeworth didn’t reply, but the hand on Klavier’s back shifted to his shoulder. He finally ushered Klavier into a dark room before switching on the lights.
It was a library. Deep, cozy armchairs were set near a fireplace, and all four walls held towering bookcases filled to capacity.
“Take a seat,” Edgeworth said, “and I’ll bring you something to read.”
“Herr Edgeworth?”
“Trust me. I know exactly what you need.”
Klavier settled into one of the armchairs and pulled his feet up, tucking his knees in close. He took a sip of his tea, relaxing a little as it soothed his scratchy throat.
“Here we are—you should appreciate this.” Edgeworth passed him a hardcover volume of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. “It belonged to my mentor, Manfred von Karma. He actually read a few stories to me once when I was ill, if you can believe that. Though Phoenix says the man didn’t have a caring bone in his body and meant to give me nightmares.”
Klavier smiled at the wry tone in Edgeworth’s voice. “We had a copy of this, too,” he said softly. “It wasn’t this nice. Kristoph, he...I wonder if he still had it.”
“We can find out,” Edgeworth said. “Unless it was an item of great value, it probably wasn’t mentioned in his will. I’m sure your family would be more than happy to let you have it, if you want it.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, but he merely took a sip of his tea and watched Edgeworth light the fireplace. A rosy warmth spread over him, and Klavier felt his body relaxing despite the troubles in his mind.
Edgeworth settled into the other armchair, setting his own cup of tea on the table beside him. “Would you like me to read to you?” he offered, holding out a hand for the book.
Klavier almost laughed. “I’m not a child, Herr Edgeworth.”
“I didn’t ask how old you were.”
He hesitated, then slowly passed the book back over to Edgeworth.
“Do you have a favorite?” Edgeworth asked, waiting for Klavier to shake his head. “Then we can start from the beginning.”
As Edgeworth began reading through “The Frog King”, Klavier let his head rest against the back of the chair. If he closed his eyes and focused on the words, he could feel the noise in his head finally receding. He barely noticed when someone slipped his mostly-empty mug out of his hands, or when someone spread a blanket over him, as he finally slipped into a dreamless sleep.