Chapter Text
November 13th, 2028
About twenty feet from the entrance to the palace gardens, there's an open space that Apollo's feet know well. It's about seven of his steps long and maybe two wide. On a good, clear day, he walks it for minutes at a time, as many as he can spare. On a bad day, he doesn't walk it so much as drag his feet through it for a minute or two before giving up, kicking the dirt into little clumps as he goes – physical representations of his frustration that some unknown person will smooth out later.
It is the only place in the city that offers anything close to consistent cellular service. If he's lucky, he gets to make a call every two weeks or so. He wouldn't dare try for more than that, given how high his bill gets for making calls from an out-of-range location. He can't even use the landlines, because though the remaining loyalist groups are scattered and small, they know how to hit where it hurts. Civilians and government officials both are constantly working to restore communications, but the main lines go down with alarming frequency. The weather doesn't help, wind and cloud cover working against any temporary solutions they manage to put up. It's been three weeks since he's been able to get in touch with anyone.
Today, though, is a good day. He can tell right away because his phone dials Trucy's number with no hesitation and connects him to a ringer that chimes clearly, no hint of scratchiness or distortion. He doesn't even have anything that important to say, but Trucy's good at filling silence, and they usually have at least some shenanigans to report.
It's funny, the things he misses that he hadn't thought he'd miss. Phoenix's penchant for finding wild cases had been the bane of Apollo's existence half a year ago, but after two months at the forefront of a revolution followed by three months of poring over backlogged cold cases, retrials, and the fine print of the local law, he sometimes thinks it might be nice to defend an orca or question a robot.
"Polly!" Trucy exclaims, cutting off his train of thought.
"Hey, Truce," he exhales. It's so nice just to hear their voice. It would be nicer if he could take an actual walk while talking to them, but he's learned the hard way that their call will drop if he steps out of his little rectangle of space. "How's it going?"
"Great! I got the venue all booked for the spring show. It's gonna be the best one yet… um, if we can sell all the tickets. But I'll worry about that later! First I have to finalize the story. I think I'm really close. I know how it ends! So that's something. And there's this great trick I can do with a window frame and a few strategic spotlights; I think I can…"
Apollo stops paying attention, just letting their excitement wash over him. He's glad they're back at it after the Retinz disaster, but the whole thing still doesn't hold much appeal for Apollo. He's never been able to visualize their magic tricks no matter how well they describe them, and so many of the ones he's seen (or participated in) have made him feel anywhere from vaguely uneasy to extremely uncomfortable. Still, he'll support them however he can, even if it means riding out a ramble of a planning session. Goodness knows they've listened to enough of his case analyses over the years.
"... And since Klavier's been giving Daddy driving lessons, I've gotten to hang out with him a little bit more. So cool!"
Startled, Apollo pulls his phone away from his ear and blinks at it. "Uh, Trucy, I think you might be breaking up a little."
"What? Weird, you sound fine to me!"
He frowns. "No, you sound fine now. It got weird for a second, though. It sounded like you said Prosecutor Gavin is teaching Mr. Wright how to drive."
Trucy laughs. "Yeah, that's what I said! Daddy tried to get Edgeworth to teach him, but it, uh, didn't go so well." Judging by their tone, it was the kind of not so well that involved hefty damage.
"Ah, so Prosecutor Gavin got assigned to deal with him instead," Apollo says, understanding.
"Hmm, no, I don't think so! He just offered all on his own! He's a nice guy, you know."
"I know," Apollo agrees, if a little reluctantly. He has never quite gotten over having to accept that Klavier Gavin, rock star prosecutor and brother to one of the sternest people Apollo's ever met, is just a genuinely kind person.
Talk about things he didn't know he would miss.
Nahyuta is a scathing prosecutor and a thorough, honest partner in studying the written law, but facing off against them in court lacks the spark of excitement and certainty he'd felt when working across from Prosecutor Gavin. Apollo even sometimes misses the way Prosecutor Gavin glimmers, shiny chains to sparkling nail polish to brilliant smile.
But that's all a part of what he left behind, and he'll make his peace with it eventually.
"That's… Truce, I can't even imagine that, actually. Like, it's one thing to imagine him working with a new driver, but Mr. Wright is kind of… not an easy student." Apollo would know, having taught him how to use multiple online learning platforms and a handful of other technology tips. "And besides that, I, uh, I don't think I've ever actually seen them speak to each other outside of court?"
Trucy giggles. "Sounds about right! Poor Daddy. Always the least favorite student." They don't comment on the other part, which is understandable. Their shared history is all still too much, too tightly knotted to unravel easily.
"Oh, are you learning too?"
"To drive? No way! But Klavier's really good at promoting events. I've been picking his brain a little about how to get the word out more effectively. He, um. He asks about you," they add. "He'll be glad to hear we finally got in touch."
"Oh," Apollo says simply, surprised. That's just Prosecutor Gavin's politeness at work, he figures. He probably asks after Apollo because he knows Trucy cares about him.
That has to be the reason, because otherwise, all the interest Prosecutor Gavin had shown him might have been real, and Apollo is not prepared to examine that.
"Huh. Well, tell him I'm fine, I guess," he decides, shrugging. He'll never get anything done if he lets himself stress over a Gavin's motives. "Anyway, how's the driving going? Is Mr. Wright getting the hang of it?"
"Well, he wrecked Klavier's car less badly than he did with Edgeworth's!"
Apollo trips on his next step. "He did what?"
— — — — — —
November 2nd, 2028
It's a typical Tuesday morning in April: the flowers are blooming (there's a pollen warning in effect), the birds are singing (the traffic is so loud it covers the birdsong), and Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth is positively livid.
Actually.
Klavier frowns. Edgeworth doesn't usually get angry. As far as he knows, none of the team's cases are going particularly sour at the moment. They were just in a meeting yesterday. He would have heard.
"Good morning, Chief," he says jovially, unwilling to walk on eggshells.
"It is not," Edgeworth grits out, "a good morning."
Ah. So whatever it is, he wants to talk about it. Otherwise, he would simply have returned the greeting and walked stiffly to his office. Klavier has seen this with own eyes and knows it to be true. He knows, likewise, that a forthright complaint is Edgeworth's version of an invitation to ask more questions.
Quickly as he can, he weighs the pros and cons of getting involved.
Pros: He'll be in on the drama early. Edgeworth will remember that he took the time to ask. He will get a brief reprieve from the wheedling phone calls he needs to make to various reluctant witnesses.
Cons: Edgeworth's venting sessions are occasionally long, boring, and filled with pedantic complaints about a particular defense attorney, circumspectly referred to as "that man." Klavier may be drafted into action of some kind. He may even, in fact, be expected to take himself down to that man 's office to deliver a message, at which point he will be faced with the clear and undeniable proof that Apollo Justice no longer works there. He is not interested in experiencing this.
He is, however, a bit of an incorrigible suck-up. Thus, despite his analysis, he finds himself asking, "What could have happened on such a lovely morning, Herr Edgeworth?"
"I want you to imagine," Edgeworth says, leading Klavier into his office and starting to bustle around, fussing with his tea, "a man foolish enough to let a complete novice get behind the wheel of his car. His very nice, freshly serviced car."
Klavier winces. He has a feeling he is looking at that exact man. "Ah… I sense that there's a Wright involved in this story," he muses, quietly gleeful when the name makes Edgeworth's eyebrow twitch.
"Of course there is," Edgeworth spits, but then he sighs and sinks into his chair. "It's my own fault. I should have done this years ago instead of waiting for the need to become critical."
In Klavier's experience, Trucy masters new skills quickly, from complicated new magic to passable German pronunciation. He has no doubt that they can learn to drive, too, if Edgeworth's patience will only hold out a little longer.
They also, he realizes, might be willing to talk with him about Apollo. Trucy is the one who knows him best, who will know for sure whether Klavier still has (or ever had) a chance with the grumpy little attorney. He could have asked sooner, of course, but it's been strange to spend time with them without the unifying force of Apollo's presence. It only gets worse when Phoenix Wright is added to the mix, ready with jabs like, “Hey, if you write a new album, you can call it ‘Fraternal Forgeries' or something like that.”
He has visited exactly once since June. He knows when he's unwelcome.
This, though, is the perfect opportunity. After a few weeks of making small talk while stuck in a car for extended periods of time, Trucy will learn to drive, and Klavier will learn everything there is to know about Apollo Justice.
"You know, Herr Edgeworth," Klavier says, speaking slowly and hoping he sounds like a man having a spontaneous thought rather than a man who is actively scheming. "I do keep a car for driving in foul weather. It's in perfectly usable condition. I would be willing –"
Edgeworth cuts him off by holding up his phone. The screen displays an image of Edgeworth's shiny, magnificent red sports car. Klavier takes a moment to appreciate it before allowing himself to notice that the driver's side taillight is smashed. There is also a massive scratch running along the side of the car from the taillight all the way to the driver's side door.
Klavier cringes, recoiling physically. He can't help himself. He swallows and gives himself another chance at analyzing the situation.
Pros: He has the opportunity to help Trucy, a dear friend, gain an important life skill. He will have some way to occupy his time during a few dreadfully lonely weekends. He will get to experience the joy of watching someone get better and more confident at something. He will get to sneak in a few questions about Apollo.
Cons: His car is unlikely to survive the next few weeks. He may have to endure a few encounters with Phoenix Wright. Trucy will almost certainly figure him out and call him on his bullshit.
He sighs. No contest. "Tell your, ah, friend to meet me at the agency at ten o'clock this Saturday, and we will find an abandoned parking lot."
"This was an abandoned parking lot," Edgeworth says mournfully. Then he just… looks at Klavier oddly for a long moment. "If you're certain," he says, "I'll pass on the message."
Klavier nods, grinning brightly. "Perhaps if it goes well, we'll work up to motorcycles."
Edgeworth turns faintly green. "Let's get past this weekend first."
— — —
On Saturday morning at 10 AM, Phoenix Wright climbs into his passenger seat.
"Er. Good morning," Klavier says, clearing his throat and readjusting his grip on the steering wheel.
"Morning," Wright says, and though his tone is mild, he's very pointedly not looking in Klavier's direction. That's for the best; his gaze sometimes puts Klavier in mind of a dressing room vanity: harsh light poised to show him every one of his flaws in uncomfortably perfect detail. "Are we going somewhere, Prosecutor Gavin, or just sitting outside my office?"
"Going – I'm sorry, what?" He snaps to attention, turning his head with a speed that almost gives him whiplash.
"Edgeworth said something about an abandoned parking lot?" Wright raises an eyebrow at him, looking so much like he had a couple of years ago that Klavier can practically see his worn-out knitted hat.
Everything clicks into place so slowly that Klavier could swear he hears the ka-thunk of heavy gears turning. "Ah, of course." He pastes on his plainest smile and turns back toward the windshield. "I was simply trying to decide which way to go."
"Uh-huh," Wright says, hands in the pocket of his shockingly blue hoodie. "So you're saying you weren't expecting someone else?"
"Well," Klavier says, throwing the car into drive and signaling that he's going to reenter the flow of traffic. It's easier to speak when his hands are busy. "I'll admit that I'm surprised to learn that you are my pupil for the day."
"You thought you were gonna spend the day with my kid."
"An incorrect assumption, I now realize." He does a quick recalculation; they might actually need a bigger parking lot than the one he'd planned to use.
"Uh-huh," Wright says again, every bit the ragged disbarred attorney.
"I was working from limited information," he informs his passenger. It's extremely uncomfortable to be headed toward a vague destination with Wright beside him, plucking at a spot on the center console that's starting to crack. "That does not mean I'm unwilling to help. If you're willing to accept it from me, that is."
"I'm in your car," Wright responds, as if it answers the actual question. Maybe it does.
"So you are, and so we'll see what damage you can do to it, ja?" He regrets the joke immediately when his peripheral vision shows him that Wright is frowning.
"Is that what this is about?" he asks.
"What what is about?" Klavier asks, genuinely confused. "Herr Chief mentioned that you – well, that someone he knows – had a sudden need to learn to drive. He heavily implied that he no longer wanted a hand in the process, and so… I offered."
"Thinking I would be Trucy," he pieces together.
"... Thinking you would be Trucy," Klavier concedes. So much for not daring.
"He did show you his car, right?"
"He did. I don't have a great deal of attachment to this one. Besides, mistakes are part of the process." It's rich, saying that to the man who suffered so much due to Klavier's own mistake, but it's also true. "You'll improve. It will take time, but you'll get a feel for the physical boundaries of the car."
"So back to you thinking I'd be Trucy," he deflects, looking out the passenger side window. "What's that about?"
"Ah… nothing in particular. They've been a good friend to me, even at times when I didn't deserve their regard."
"Yeah, they're like that," Wright says, going quiet. When he speaks again, he says, "They really look up to you, you know. Performer to performer, I guess. They still have merch from your band, too. What was it, the Gavineers?"
"Close enough," Klavier murmurs, smiling to himself. It warms his heart to know he still holds some appeal to someone.
"So here's the thing," Wright says. "I don't believe you."
The warmth vanishes. Edgeworth has warned him that it's never worth trying to keep information from a Wright: "they have more tricks between them for getting to the truth than can be taught to lesser men." Klavier had, at the time, written it off as typical Edgeworth dramatics. Now, with the piercing weight of Wright's narrowed eyes turned on him, he's not so sure.
"The only times you and Trucy have hung out, it's been because they got wrapped up in some case. Guess I'm just wondering what you were planning to drag them into this time."
With a shuddering inhale and equally unsteady sigh, he merges onto the freeway. Dully, it strikes him as odd and a bit unfair that Wright would begin to care about such things now – Trucy had performed in bars as a literal child, participated in solving crimes as an adolescent, and sneaked into a war-torn nation just months ago, and Wright is worried about Klavier's influence now that Trucy's nearly an adult?
Outwardly, he simply says, "I did want to help. Everyone should learn to drive even if they don't plan to, in case an emergency arises. But also… I hoped to ask them about Apollo."
The tension leaves the car immediately, as if something had physically snapped and released it. He gets lightheaded for a moment, blinking rapidly to stay focused on the road.
"Should not have done that to someone actively driving, noted," Wright mutters to himself, removing his hands from his pocket and scrubbing them through his hair instead. "Apollo?" he asks, directing it to Klavier this time.
"Short, loud, all dressed in red? Used to work for you?" Klavier prompts, stifling a curse as someone cuts him off.
"I know who he is. What is there to ask about?"
He'd been prepared to have a version of this conversation with Trucy. He is not ready to have it with their father, but he also recognizes that he might not have much of a choice.
Well. It's always worth it to try to ease his way out of things he doesn't want to do. "Would it be acceptable for me to say that I'm not entirely sure what I planned to ask?"
Wright hums as if he's trying to decide. "For now, I guess," he says lazily, and then he leans his seat back and props his feet on Klavier's dash.
Klavier would prefer he not do that, but he would also prefer not to start another conversation.
A very quiet five minutes follows, and Klavier finally pulls into the massive parking lot of an abandoned mall. There are two or three cars scattered around it, but it's the best he's going to get.
"Here is our illustrious venue. I'll let you get settled, ja ?"
"Sounds good," Wright says, getting out of the car and stretching.
Klavier debates just leaving the car running, but in the end, he shuts off the engine and pulls the keys.
When he exits the car, he sees Wright walking around the back of it, apparently checking the tires. He does the same with the front. Good; Edgeworth at least taught him to check a vehicle's condition.
When they meet up near the front of the hood, Klavier hands over his heart-shaped keyring. It feels strange, but he'd wanted the tangible transfer of placing the keys in Wright ' s hand – a decision, not just an unfortunate necessity of Wright being behind the wheel. It ' s probably all in his head, but it feels like the distinction matters.
Maybe he's correct, because Wright seems to understand the significance, giving a small sound of surprise as Klavier presses the keys into his hand. "Thanks."
When he pulls his hand back, Klavier realizes that, despite having known him for a decade now, he can't remember so much as brushing past Wright in a crowded courthouse hallway.
Granted, he'd been gone for many of those years, but also… he'd once been very afraid of this man. He'd been primed to expect retaliation, his concerns fueled by Kristoph's constant drip-feed of information about the misery Wright lived in those seven years. "Do you think it ' s a coincidence he's playing the piano , Klavier? He's a devious man. Everything is a threat. Everything has meaning." Now, he can't say he's entirely comfortable, but he does at least feel safe.
Maybe Apollo had felt the same: annoyed, uneasy, but safe. He knows the beginning of Apollo's tenure with Phoenix Wright hadn't been simple. He knows this probably won't be simple either. Paradigm shifts rarely are.
They settle into their new seats, and Wright starts the car, tentatively watching the dash blink awake. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "OK. So this looks familiar. Thought you'd have more bells and whistles."
"I'm a simple man," Klavier says, "when it gets down to it."
"So I hear," Wright says, putting his foot on the brake and shifting the car into drive. "Apollo, huh?"
"Pardon?"
"Short, loud, all dressed in red. Used to work for me," Wright parrots. His tone is even and his face is straight, but his eyes glitter with something Klavier recognizes as humor. Apollo told jokes the same way, when he bothered to tell them.
It hits Klavier somewhere deep to be teased by someone who has every right to hate him forever. Forgiveness is not a concept he's encountered often, between Kristoph and the crowd of fans ready to string Klavier up for every little perceived misstep.
"Ah," Klavier says, aiming for lightness despite the fact that his heart feels like it's beating in his throat. "Him." He confirms nothing, but it's probably written on his face: Apollo's departure had been one more in a sequence of losing the people closest to him. His only consolation is that Apollo isn't yet entirely beyond his reach.
Wright snorts and taps the gas pedal, making both of them jerk as the car lurches forward. "Right. Press, don't tap," he says, apparently to himself. His second attempt is smoother, taking them out of their parking spot and into the aisle between two grids of faded yellow lines. "And then – push-pull?" he adds, sounding unsure of what he's saying or why he's saying it.
"Ja, with the steering wheel," Klavier confirms, "instead of jerking it–" Too late. His shoulder bumps hard against the door as the car swerves sharply.
"Oh," Wright says. "I think I get it. So anyway, funny thing about Apollo."
The car creeps ever so slowly forward in a (mostly) straight line. Klavier gradually decreases the force with which he is hanging onto his seatbelt.
"Have you ever been grocery shopping with him?" Wright asks.
"Er… no, I can't say that I have," Klavier answers, mystified. "Unless you count standing and staring at vending machines at the same time."
Wright snorts. "Yeah, it's probably about the same experience. He gets weird in a grocery store. Zones out hard." He makes a turn into an empty row, only cutting through half a parking space to make it happen. "He has to have a precise list, down to the brand. If the things he wants are out of stock, it takes him a while to recover from it and he sometimes just leaves. But other times he just kind of wanders around and grabs random things, like – oh, shit, that car's moving. What do I do? I'm just gonna sit here. Let's just sit here."
Klavier says nothing; part of him fears that making any noise might draw the moving car closer to them like a predator spotting easy prey. Luckily, its driver seems uninterested in them.
"OK, so, anyway," Wright continues, easing the car back into forward motion with surprising smoothness. "I sent him out one time for bread and peanut butter, and it must have been one of the grab-anything days, because he got back to the office and was unpacking bags like he had no idea what was in them. He got peanut butter, but he also got butter-butter, and he didn't get bread, but he did get chip clips even though we didn't have any bags of anything to keep shut. Buttered chip clips kept showing up on his desk for the next two days. Truce and I thought it was funny, but he felt really bad."
It sounds a little mean-spirited to Klavier, but he knows Trucy isn't malicious in the slightest. He's sure the same is true of Wright, actually. It had probably been meant warmly, just like when The Gavinners had welcomed Cato on board by hiding all his drumsticks.
"Bet you just get all your groceries delivered, huh?" Wright asks, breaking Klavier's train of thought.
"Ach , am I that obvious? Truthfully, I don't think I'd fare any better than our dear Herr Forehead if I tried to do my own shopping." There's a little flutter in his chest at the idea that he and Apollo have something so mundane in common.
"He used to hate it so much when you called him that," Wright says, and then swerves sharply, cursing. "Oh, that was just a plastic bag. I guess I probably didn't need to worry that much about it."
Klavier can't tell if his heart is pounding because of what Wright has just implied or because of the way they just narrowly avoided running up onto a curb. "Braking is generally the best response to an unknown," he points out weakly. "Swerving is just a good way to hit something different. Ah… about what you said…"
"I don't think he hates it anymore," Wright confirms, shrugging.
"Oh," Klavier says, swallowing hard. "Do you think –"
"That one's a real cat! Braking! Braking!" Wright announces, screeching to a stop thirty feet away from the cat, who is not even making an attempt to cross the lane they're in. "Sorry. What was that?"
"... Never mind. Let's just take a moment to regroup, shall we?"
— — —
It takes a few more false starts, but soon enough, Wright is cruising consistently forward in a straight line between parking zones. He has, to Klavier's alternating distress and amusement, been either speaking or thinking aloud during most of the process.
"You know, this really isn't so bad," he mutters for about the fourteenth time. He's beginning to sound like he almost believes it.
"You're doing well," Klavier assures him. "How about trying that turn and coming back down the other row?"
"Yeah, OK, sure," Wright babbles, psyching himself up. He makes a passable right turn onto the abandoned lane that runs along the empty storefronts, but before he can turn again to go down the next row, he comes to a complete stop and heaves out a shaky exhale. "Hey, that was – that was pretty good?"
"It was," Klavier confirms, beaming at him. It's mostly genuine; the jolt hadn't been too harsh, thanks to Wright's refusal to go faster than ten miles per hour.
"I still think I never want to do it," Wright says, far too chipper. He's nervous about something. It's harder to identify the cause when they're not in court.
"Herr Wright, may I ask – what led you to start learning?" He's wanted to ask that all day. Why now, at 35? It's never too late to learn a skill, but…
"Maya Fey," he replies, face darkening.
"Ah… the name is familiar. A witness at one of your trials?" That doesn't sound quite right, but he can't think of another explanation.
Wright snorts. "Yeah, you could say that. Witness, victim, defendant, legal counsel… Maya's done it all." He kicks the car into gear again, turning much more smoothly than before. "She's my best friend," he clarifies.
Klavier hums, thoughtful. He can't imagine anyone being closer to Phoenix Wright than Miles Edgeworth is.
"She's kind of like my little sister. Biggest pain in my ass. Completely insufferable and will never stop bringing it up if she gets her license first."
"So it's a challenge?" Klavier sits up straighter. He can appreciate that. Personally, he prefers collaboration where possible, but the thrill of winning is something he understands well.
"Yeah, but don't get too excited – we're already doomed. Her teacher is perfect. " Wright manages to roll his eyes without spinning the steering wheel in the same direction, which Klavier finds to be an impressive improvement.
"Perfect, you say?" he asks nervously. "Wait, this Maya Fey," he starts, pieces coming together now that he's thought long enough, "she wouldn't be Frau von Karma's –"
Wright cuts him off by laughing. "Oh, that's her, all right."
"Mr. Wright." Klavier drops every affectation, growing serious. "We are going to practice every single day."
"Uh… a little rivalry there?"
"Franziska von Karma is an excellent prosecutor. She is an adept investigator and interrogator. She is a precise baker and an able singer. She can play any instrument she gets her hands on. She is also, as you point out, a perfect driver. However," he continues, "her teaching methods are… ach, even here, I dare not say ‘flawed' for fear of her whip! Regardless, this may be the only arena in which I may finally have the last word."
"Huh," Wright says. "Didn't realize you were friends."
Surprised by the observation, Klavier laughs, sharp and short. It's true; with Franziska, friendship is nothing but ongoing competition. "We've reached the point where it is possible to lose a conversation even if there is no argument."
"Oh, she really does like you."
"I believe she does. She was a good mentor, back in Germany, and I'm pleased to be able to call her a colleague again. I would be even more pleased to win something against her."
"Oh, so I'm your project now, am I?" Wright asks, but he sounds more amused than offended.
"If the prospect appeals to you. I will have you driving circles around Maya Fey." Not literally. He isn't sure he'll ever trust Wright's turning angles enough to let him intentionally near a living obstacle.
"Well," Wright says, "sounds like we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Better call me Nick."
"Nick," Klavier tries. It's not as strange as he'd expected. "I believe this is the start of a beautiful –"
The car halts with a crackling thud as Nick runs it headlong into the concrete base of a streetlight. "Uh. Sorry. You were saying?"
Klavier can't do anything but laugh, and the genuine smile he gets back from Nick lifts a very old weight from his shoulders.