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Chapter Text

I

“Allow me to explain.” Ahlbi pushed himself up on his tip-toes, and Apollo tried not to notice how they were practically eye-to-eye. “You have so many clients coming through your office these days. Some have lived in Khura’in all their lives and don’t or barely remember when defense attorneys practiced here. Others are tourists from outside of Khura’in who are looking to see the historic sole defense attorney office in our country’s legal revolution.”

“Who told people this place was historic?” Apollo asked, his eyes searching the only recently spider-free room. Maybe the old coffee table and scratched desk—somewhere under the splash of tourist brochures Apollo had walked in to find this morning—looked historic, but that had more to do with lack of upkeep than national significance.

Ahlbi blinked rapidly, his green eyes practically sparkling with delight.

Apollo sighed. “So, you’re already cornering tourists in the bazaar, and now you want to inundate them with more travel advertising at the sites you send them to?”

“It’s not ‘cornering.’” A soft bark from within the depths of Ahlbi’s enormous shoulder bag seemed to endorse his statement. The faint squeeze around Apollo’s wrist said otherwise. He rubbed his arm just below the golden bracelet he always wore. “It’s…mutual endorsement for one another’s professional endeavors.”

“It’s what, now?”

“Allow me to explain.” Ahlbi straightened his posture and grinned. The empty space where a baby tooth had been missing when Apollo first reopened the Sahdmadhi Law Office now had a grown-up tooth breaking through. “I’ve been studying some of your law books, especially to work on my English! An extensive vocabulary will impress tourists for sure.”

“For sure,” Apollo echoed

“So…it’s all right, isn’t it?” Ahlbi leaned forward again, his eyes unfairly huge and doe-like. “If I put out a few brochures here? Just on the table. You have so many custo—clients that people must need to sit and wait to speak with you. People like having things to read.”

“Ahlbi, people don’t come to a law office as a tourist attraction. They come when they need legal counsel.” Apollo studiously avoided eye contact, staring just over Ahlbi’s head instead, where a picture of Dhurke with Ahlbi-aged Nahyuta and Apollo hung framed on the opposite wall. “And people who need legal counsel don’t need brochures. This isn’t a travel agency.”

“But it is an office,” Ahlbi said, “and an office and an agency are pretty similar things, wouldn’t you say?”

Beside the picture from Apollo’s childhood hung another taken only a year ago in a courtroom lobby after a hard-earned acquittal: Apollo at the edge of the frame, Trucy and Athena cheesing for the camera beside him, Phoenix Wright leaning over the three of them from behind and squishing them all into a bear hug of sorts.

“I suppose they are,” he said, knowing it was a mistake the moment the admission was out of his mouth.

II

It was July. Freaking July, and Ema was wearing a jacket. Not even a light jacket, not even a cute little shrug, but a fall jacket, the waist-length kind with a little extra lining and not-just-for-show pockets. Which her gloved hands were currently crammed into.

Beside her, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi looked almost scandalously underdressed in his white mandarin-collared shirt and slim slacks tucked into his boots. The outfit screamed attending a polo match for charity, not attending a crime scene for investigating.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Ema managed through her chattering teeth. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi glanced over, blinked in slow motion the way he always did when she said something that she knew didn’t compute for him. After his usual pause, his expression softened into a smile.

“I grew up in the mountains,” he said gently. “Ones even higher than this. I’m afraid I don’t feel the cold the way you do. Is it much warmer in America?”

“Much warmer! It should be beach weather right now! Fireworks and hot dogs and frying eggs on the sidewalk.”

Alarm flashed across Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s face. “You cook on the ground in America? I walked the streets of Los Angeles. This doesn’t seem sanitary.”

“N-No, we don’t…you don’t eat the egg, you just fry it.”

“But why?”

“Because you can. Because it’s so hot out.” Ema gestured and Prosecutor Sahdmadhi blinked again. “Because it is scientifically possible to fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

“Of course,” he acquiesced, and Ema wasn’t sure if she were more pleased or annoyed that he accepted science as a reasonable answer without her actually explaining the in-depth workings of it. His attention turned downward then, and Ema’s followed it to the body on the ground, a sheet covering it. “Will the cold interfere with your ability to estimate a time of death?”

Ema clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in disbelief. “Interfere? Cold, interfere with my investigation? Witness the power of science, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.” She adjusted her sunglasses for emphasis, and he turned away, but not before she caught a hint of a laugh around the corners of his mouth.

III

“Gavin.”

Klavier looked up from his triage of monitors, a split second of blurred vision before the two Chief Prosecutors before him merged into one. “Ah, Chef. What can I do for you?”

Herr Edgeworth crossed one ankle over the other and leaned back against the door frame, the closest to casual he could muster. Folded over one arm was his raincoat, and in his hands was his briefcase. Klavier frowned, brought a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Blinked blearily, looked up again. No, his blurred vision hadn’t deceived him. The Chief Prosecutor was clearly on his way out.

“Trial today?” Klavier guessed, shoulders relaxing.

“At six p.m. on a Friday? Can you imagine? The traffic would be barbaric.” A wry smile quirked at Herr Edgeworth’s lips. Klavier scrambled in place where he sat on the floor and bit back a cry of pain at the cramps that spiked through his legs as he jerkily unfolded them from the lotus position. Just how long had he been sitting like this? It was only twenty minutes or so, right?

The Chief Prosecutor didn’t say a word as Klavier struggled to his hands and knees and lurched to his feet.

“What time were you in this morning, Gavin? I didn’t see you come in.”

“You, ah, must’ve been hard at work,” Klavier hedged.

“Gavin.” Herr Edgeworth shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other and pointed out of Klavier’s open office door and down the hallway, his hand just visible from beneath the raincoat. “See that corner office there? The one with all the windows that let in natural sunlight, and the fully glass walls and door that let its occupant see everything in the office?” His hand disappeared beneath his raincoat again, that same faint amusement in his expression. “That is the Chief Prosecutor’s office. For what it’s worth, I have been in the office since seven. Though I did take an hour for lunch.”

Klavier rubbed his eyes again. “Ach, I’ve just been putting in a few extra hours, Chef. Lots of work for everyone with half the staff.”

Guilt leaked into Herr Edgeworth’s expression at that. “Yes. You’re correct. I stand by my decision to purge our office of corrupt employees, but I recognize the burden it puts on the rest of you, if only temporarily.”

“I don’t mind,” Klavier said quickly, his quip having backfired. “Really, Herr Edgeworth, I like my work. Lay it on me, as many cases as you’d like. That’s what I’m here for.”

The Chief Prosecutor’s smile returned, more wan than ever. “Go home, Gavin. Eat something, sleep. Please.”

At the word sleep, Klavier’s eyelids slurred downward of their own accord. He blinked once, twice, hard, and forced his eyes and smile both to widen. “Dinner and bed at six p.m. on a Friday? Can you imagine?”

Herr Edgeworth exhaled shortly through his nose, politely bid Klavier a good night, and left. The last few holdouts throughout the office departed shortly after him, free to go once the Chef clocked out for the night. Klavier turned back to his monitors, the news running, muted, in one window, e-mail in another, documents, documents, sticky notes and to-do memos peppered throughout.

Three militant raps on his doorframe startled Klavier out of his next bout of paperwork. He looked up into a shadow.

“Gavin-dono, you’re still here?”

“Ah, Herr Samurai.” Simon Blackquill’s stern face faded into focus. Klavier squinted a bit to see him. “I didn’t realize you were still here, too.”

“What are you working on?”

“Uhm…” Klavier glanced back at his screens. “What am I not working on, my twisted friend?”

“Dodging my question, are you, scalawag? Is it because you’re so sleep-deprived you can’t remember a document you were reading thirty seconds ago?” Herr Samurai tapped one index finger to his temple, a feather at his lips tilting up with his smirk. “Or are you feeling defeated knowing that you are not the last man standing in the Prosecutor’s Office this evening? Not that you look strong enough to stand right now.” He laughed at his own…joke? Klavier shook his head.

“All right, Herr Samurai, I get the picture. I’ll pack up my work, you pack up your analysis.”

“Good choice.” Herr Samurai didn’t move from the doorframe and stared until Klavier saved his files and powered down. “You work more diligently than ever lately, Gavin-dono. At what cost, I wonder?”

“What did I say about your analysis?” Klavier chuckled, easing into his suit jacket and clicking his briefcase shut.

“Maybe you should take a vacation,” Herr Samurai added. He stepped aside when Klavier made it to the door and kept step with him all the way to the elevator.

“A vacation?” Klavier laughed, but not before the image of a glitzy hotel room came to mind…a balcony overlooking the beach…a glass of wine…a king-sized bed with an extra soft mattress, sheets warm from the laundry, and all the pillows he could ever want…

The elevator dinged, the doors opening to the garage where only Klavier’s car remained.

“Where is your…?” Klavier asked.

“The office is but a brisk walk for me, Gavin-dono.”

“You can’t drive.”

“I can. In fact,” Herr Samurai said, holding out his hand. “Keys…Exhausted Workaholic-dono.”

Klavier handed them over.

The ride was quiet save for the monotone directions from the GPS. Herr Samurai drove like a ninety-year old, which suited the sleepy fog in Klavier’s mind just find. Klavier asked twice if it were more than a brisk walk home for Herr Samurai from his apartment in downtown L.A. Herr Samurai must have made another one of his…jokes…based on his banging on the steering wheel with laughter, but Klavier missed the punchline.

Herr Samurai dutifully parked Klavier’s car in his apartment’s garage and returned the keys, folded in a piece of paper.

“This arrived in the Prosecutor’s Office’s general mail this morning,” he said when Klavier gave him a questioning look. “Farewell, Gavin-dono.”

It wasn’t until he’d made it to the elevator up to his apartment that Klavier unfolded the paper. At first, alarm coursed through him—it looked like some sort of ransom note—but his dizzy mind soon recognized it as a flyer, what looked like a child’s advertisement.

Dear Legal Professionals and Enthusiasts of the Los Angeles Prosecutor’s Office,

NOW OPEN, COME SEE!! The HISTORIC Justice Law Offices of the Kingdom of Khura’in. Part of the REVOLUTION TOUR PACKAGE, or a site to see on its own!

Come visit the Kingdom of Khura’in and discover the past, present, and future of our legal system!

Now open for guided tours. Ask for Ahlbi.

Chapter Text

I

“I can’t believe you grew up here,” Ema said, shaking her head. “I mean...it’s beautiful, but it’s so weird coming here from the States.”

“So you discovered that they don’t stock Snackoos in the shops?” Apollo asked dryly, a smile playing at his lips. Ema scowled at him from across the banged-up desk. She didn’t visit Apollo’s law office all that frequently, but he was the only person in the country who understood her culture shock. Thank goodness she liked Apollo.

“Did you discover that you’re not a travel agency?” she volleyed back, tilting her head in the direction of a coffee table littered with brochures. Apollo sighed, color rising to his face.

“That’s...a story for another day.”

Apollo was the one thing Ema couldn’t decide if she liked better or worse in Khura’in. Vegetables were fresher, snacks were scarcer. Crime rates were lower, but so was the cell reception. Prosecutors under thirty were infinitely better in Khura’in. Ema coughed, and Apollo’s eyes lifted to her face. He looked so much older now, and wiser, and she kind of hated it. Those first months of investigating crime scenes together had been such a blast from the past, making Ema wonder what it would have been like to pursue an internship with Mr. Wright. Fingerprinting with Apollo and Trucy was like doing science experiments with younger siblings. Here in Khurai’in, though, Apollo was a grown-up.

Ema had to admit, it was sad to see his face so serious.

“Well, what about you, Apollo?” she asked, injecting her voice with teasing energy. “You’ve got to be running low on product.”

Apollo crumpled back into his grumpy self, and Ema bit her cheek to hold back a triumphant grin. “I’m down to the last of my gel,” he admitted, a hand drifting to his hair. “It’s not like I buy high-end stuff, but the cost of shipping is outrageous; I can’t bring myself to spend that kind of money when I’m not making it back fast enough.”

“That’s the trade-off of pro-bono work,” Ema teased, though she couldn’t mask her affection. It didn’t surprise her one bit that Apollo was taking less pay for more work as he started his international legal career.

He sighed in agreement. “I can’t bring myself to ask Trucy and Mr. Wright to send it, either. It’s just a stupid expense.”

“There’s somebody else you could ask,” Ema pointed out cheekily. She was on a roll now; bringing up Klavier Gavin would get Apollo feisty in a snap.

For a second, confusion clouded his expression, and then, all at once, realization dawned. In place of the sputtering and eye-rolling Ema hoped for, Apollo’s eyes shifted to his desk, a funny expression on his face.

“Nah, I wouldn’t...bother him,” Apollo said.

The hair on Ema’s arms stood on end. “What’s that serious look for?” she demanded. Apollo flinched, and Ema swallowed down an apology, then wondered why she didn’t just offer it.

After a few seconds, Apollo propped his chin up in his hand, his elbow on his desk. His eyes drifted out the window. “I haven’t really talked to him since I moved here,” he said at last.

“What does ‘really talked to him’ mean?”

“I, um, haven’t talked to him.” He glanced back at her guiltily before returning to the window. “Have you?”

Ema paused. “...Not really,” she hedged. They exchanged a look, Apollo’s smile without humor. “Okay, fine, we bailed on the glimmerous fop, but phones go two ways, and he’s got enough money to call international.”

Apollo hesitated.

“Please tell me he hasn’t been calling and you aren’t picking up,” Ema said. 

Apollo blinked in surprise. “No, that’s not it.” He didn’t elaborate, lips pressing together in a thin line. Ema meant to sigh but ended up huffing irritably. 

“Okay, fine, let’s not talk about him,” she grumbled. Apollo tapped his index finger against his cheek, his palm shifting to cover some of his face.

“Is it bad that I kind of miss him?” he asked.

“...I kind of miss him, too,” Ema groused, crossing her arms. Apollo barked out a laugh.

“Nahyuta is a great attorney, don’t get me wrong. And he isn’t giving me any trouble!” Ema smiled even as she flinched back from Apollo’s increased volume. He settled down just as quickly. “I do kind of miss facing off against Prosecutor Gavin, though.”

“I think the fop would cry if he heard you call him that,” Ema said. In a deeper voice, she repeated, “ Prosecutor Gavin .” 

“Well, that’s his name!”

“And Prosecutor Sahdmadhi makes him look like an amateur, so maybe you are having a little trouble,” Ema added. Apollo shook his head and gave her a look that was so knowing and so laser-focused that it brought a scowl to her face. “Take your courtroom-twitchy-analysis somewhere else, Apollo! I know that look.”

Embarrassed, he looked away. “You, um. Think a lot of Nahyuta.”

Ema didn’t like where this conversation was going. Sometimes she forgot that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi and Apollo were brothers. Sort of. “Seems like you think a lot of Prosecutor Gavin .”

Apollo squirmed under the accusation. Ema wasn’t sure what to do with that reaction.

II

The thing was, Apollo was a little relieved that Prosecutor Gavin hadn’t called. What would they even talk about? Gavin was the one person in the world for whom all polite conversation was off-limits. How’s the family? Still in prison. How’s work? Are you leaving the office before midnight, you workaholic? Crap, Gavin was probably working over-overtime without Apollo to text him to go home. Write any music lately? One, the question was as insensitive as asking about family, even a year after that concert with Lamiroir. Two, Apollo didn’t want to be serenaded with any works-in-progress.

At all.

Definitely not.

Anyway, without small talk, they were left with big talk, like I know it’s been three months since we spoke, and also I moved halfway around the world without telling you, but the last time we saw each other, were you going to kiss me, or was that my imagination?

Apollo didn’t want the answer to that question, either. No matter what that answer was. Didn’t want it at all, definitely not. He wasn’t the least bit curious what Gavin would say. And he was even less curious about what he wanted Gavin to say.

III

Klavier hadn’t expected Herr Forehead to let him get so close that night. He’d treated Klavier like the plague when they crossed paths at Themis, and he certainly hadn’t made any effort to reach out socially. Herr Forehead was all business, all the time. Mr. Professional, in desperate need of lightening up.

Then the explosion happened.

News about Clay Terran and the Phantom came to him from second- and third-hand sources, clippings from the news and murmurings around the office. It wasn’t until the trial that he realized who this person was to Herr Forehead, and what losing him would do. Seeing his courtroom rival on the stand, arms crossed, head tilted back, a frozen smile on his lips as he reminded Herr Wright that evidence is everything in court …

He’d bolted from his seat in the back of the balcony and barely made it to the bathroom, sick and shaking and hating every flicker of Kristoph’s cruelty that loomed over Herr Forehead in that moment. That wasn’t Apollo Justice on the stand. It couldn’t be. Klavier’s brother couldn’t possibly still be casting his shadow so far. Herr Forehead was loud, easily flustered, passionately just, and never cold.

In the aftermath of the trial, Klavier went out of his way to bump into Herr Forehead, whether over crime scenes or during off-hours, with a little help from the frauleins at his agency. His efforts were met with exasperation at first, but not angry exasperation. Tiredness. Klavier didn’t bother as much with his rock-star charms, dialing down the teasing he so enjoyed so that Herr Forehead could let his guard down for once. Maybe Herr Forehead recognized it, too, that he needed a friend now, more than ever. He gave in.

Within weeks, Klavier knew it wasn't friendship he was feeling. He’d only know Herr Forehead as a courtroom rival, someone fun to tease, but still smart and hardworking. An equal. Seeing the softer, sadder side of him after losing Clay Terran, Klavier found himself consumed with the need to make Herr Forehead happy and dreading their inevitable parting ways when his friend went home to an empty apartment.

“I have to find a new place to live,” Herr Forehead admitted to him at last. “I can’t pay the rent by myself without...without a roommate.” That little tremor in his voice was the worst sound in the world.

“Come stay with me,” Klavier said. “My home is your home, whenever and for however long you need it.” By that point, they were past Herr Forehead's barbed insults and quick responses. Or perhaps Herr Forehead was still too sad to fight. He’d leaned into Klavier with watery brown eyes.

“Thank you” was all he said, and Klavier leaned towards him, too, close enough to touch, close enough to hold.

He’s grieving , his mind screamed at him, and you’re taking advantage. Everything that happened to you happened to him, too, and now he’s lost his best friend in the most traumatic way possible.

With a long, slow exhale, Klavier leaned back away from him. Herr Forehead blinked up at him, a flicker of hurt in his expression before he wiped it into neutrality. Or, as neutral as Herr Forehead could be; there was still a little fire there.

That flicker kept Klavier awake all night. Hurt at being rejected? Haunted him all week. Am I not taking advantage? Am I not the only one feeling this change? Until at last, he decided to pay the agency a visit, only to find that Herr Forehead was gone.

Not just gone from the agency. Not just gone from Los Angeles. Gone from the country. Halfway around the world. As far away from Klavier as he could get without coming back. Message received.

Now, Klavier sat in his kitchen, turning the flyer over and over in his hands. Why had Herr Forehead sent him this? No, not Herr Forehead...someone else must have sent it. It couldn’t be a prank, could it? 

Maybe it’s a sign that it’s time to finish what you started. His mind was a horrible thing, unable to decide if it wanted to take things from him or hook him on false hope. And yet. A sign. Of all the questions swirling in his mind, that one was the loudest.

Chapter Text

I

Herr Samurai was becoming a staple of Klavier’s days in the Prosecutor’s Office. Though they’d always had a good rapport, lately it was shaping into something stronger. Workplace courtesy evolved into out-of-work conversation (on rainy days, Klavier drove the long way to work, which happened to go by Herr Samurai’s apartment building), and eventually into exchanged stories of prosecuting against the Wright Anything Agency. Herr Samurai would slap his knee and laugh while Klavier filled up his water bottle at the bubbler, and every so often, he’d even catch sight of the Chief Prosecutor smirking at them from his office.

“Never a dull case with that agency at the defense’s bench,” Herr Samurai said.

“Agreed,” Klavier said.

“Indeed,” the Chief’s polished accent floated in from behind them.

Klavier laughed easily and turned to Herr Samurai, expecting one of his trademark smirks. Instead, he found caution hiding in Herr Samurai’s eyes.

“Gavin-dono, what did you think of the flyer that arrived here a few weeks ago?” 

In a single question, the comfort of colleagues’ chatting over the bubbler dissipated. The Chef was usually quiet, but Klavier could feel the disturbance in his silence, his waiting for an answer. He looked over his shoulder, unable to help himself, and found the Chief Prosecutor staring back at him unapologetically, not even bothering to hide his interest. When he turned back to Herr Samurai, Klavier found his expression careful, as if he weren’t sure if he’d overstepped.

Swallowing down embarrassment, Klavier said, “I’d expect nothing less from Herr Wright’s Khura’inese branch.”

Herr Samurai huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head.

“It is unfortunate that it is your sparring partner who has relocated.” Ah, so choosing a light response encouraged a darker push. Klavier bit back a frown at Herr Samurai’s unspoken question.

“My sparring partner is anyone who stands at the bench across from me.” 

“True,” Herr Samurai conceded, “but if I were to refer to my sparring partner, you would know her identity without question.” 

Klavier almost wanted to turn the tables, to ask, Oh, is that your relationship to the fraulein? It was unclear if Athena Cykes were Herr Samurai’s kid sister, mentee, rival, or whatever else. The common denominator was that no one should ever, ever mess with her, a lesson Nahyuta Sahdmadhi perhaps learned the hard way.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, who stood at the bench across from Apollo Justice in Khura’in.

“And mine,” the Chief Prosecutor admitted with a tired sigh.

“Everyone in Los Angeles is aware, Chef ,” Klavier said cheekily. The Chief Prosecutor frowned at him over the rim of his glasses and muttered into his paperwork, signing papers with vitriol. Herr Samurai’s laugh was low—not quite his knee-slapping chortle, but more than a whistle through his nose—and Klavier exchanged a smile with him. Two bratty kids giving their old man a hard time.

“You should visit your courtroom rival in his distant land,” Herr Samurai said. Klavier flinched. So they weren’t past this part of the conversation yet, then.

“You have plenty of vacation days left,” the Chief Prosecutor said, his eyes again lifting over his frames.

“I have plenty of cases to focus on here in the office,” Klavier returned, keeping his voice cheery even though he knew it was a low blow to the Chief Prosecutor. He won himself a flinch that felt like a loss.

“I am interviewing candidates in the next few weeks to fill those offices,” the Chief Prosecutor said slowly.

“You’ll need employees to train them,” Klavier reminded him, and he earned a second flinch that sunk his spirits even lower. Many of the corrupt employees the Chief Prosecutor purged from his office were older staff. It was almost surreal to Klavier that, at twenty-seven years old, he was senior personnel. 

“You dodge like a bandit, don’t you, Gavin-dono?” Herr Samurai crouched, a hand at his hip as if he might draw a weapon. The Chief Prosecutor had laid down the law on swords in the office on his first day. “Why so reluctant to see Justice-dono? There’s no room for cowards in the Prosecutor’s Office.”

Simon Blackquill had put himself on death row without committing any crime to protect an innocent life. Klavier would name every other person in the office a coward before suggesting Herr Samurai for the title. The accusation hit. Apollo Justice’s name finally coming up, finally existing, near tangibly, in the Prosecutor’s Office, hit harder.

“I should get back to work,” Klavier said, retreating into his office and thankful it was soundproof.

II

It was with a heavy heart that Apollo discarded his last empty bottle of hair gel. There was no way to recreate his signature look with pins or elastics, much as he tried. At long last, he pinned the loose pieces off of his face and trudged down into his office from the apartment upstairs.

“You should leave your man-bangs out,” Ema told him when she saw him. “I didn’t know your hair was cute, Apollo.”

“It gets in my eyes when I work, and I don’t trust Datz to cut it.” He’d learned that lesson as a child. Dhurke’s bellowing laugh echoed in his memory. "Also, please never use the term 'man-bangs' again."

Well, if he were going to live in Khura’in for the foreseeable future, he should probably find a place to get his hair cut.

III

“Is this weather more to your liking?” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi asked with one of his faint smiles. Ema huffed. Sure enough, Khura’in had gotten warmer. In fact, it was downright…

“Humid,” she groused, wiping the back of her arm across her forehead and hating the stickiness of her bangs against skin. “Can’t it just be nice here?”

Unsureness crossed his face. “...You don’t think it’s nice here?”

Crap. “It’s not that,” Ema said, frowning. “I didn’t mean to insult your home, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”

His expression was impossible to read. “But?”

She heaved a sigh. “Ah, it’s just homesickness, I guess. I’ve been missing California lately.” She leaned back in her desk chair as much as she could, which wasn’t much. Ema appreciated Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s setting up space for her at the Prosecutor’s Office, but everything in Khura’in was so old and uncomfortable.

When he didn’t respond right away, Ema looked up. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was attentive to her, and though she didn’t catch a different look on his face, Ema was positive that he’d trained his expression into neutrality when he realized her attention was on him.

“Oh! It won’t affect my work here, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi, you don’t have to worry about that.” She flexed the muscles in one arm for emphasis and flashed him a grin. “I’m your forensic science girl! You know that.” 

She’d meant it as she said it, but awkwardness crawled all over her once the words were out of her mouth. It wasn’t exactly professional to tell a prosecutor that she was his girl.

“Uh, I mean…”

“No need to explain yourself, Detective Skye,” he said easily, his faint smile thankfully returning. “I think I understand. You should feel free to take vacation time to return to California, if you need it. I’m sure your family misses you.”

“Aw, Lana and I talk all the time…” The more she rambled, the worse Ema felt. “I’m. I’m just whining, Prosecutor, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it. I like working here.”

For a split second, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s expression warmed, and then he looked away, back towards his office, where the furniture was even older and less comfortable than Ema’s. No special treatment for princes in Khura’in, apparently.

“And if you wanted to return to California permanently,” he said. “I, of course, would understand.”

His voice was so quiet, it reminded Ema of a summer outing with her sister when they were just kids. Lana took her hiking in the mountains, and they found a lake. Ema had only known the ocean before that day. She’d never seen water so still and serene. 

When her mind drifted back to the present, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi had disappeared into his office and shut the door behind him.

Chapter Text

I

Apollo was used to crowds coming into his office. That was part of the whole legal revolution package in Khura’in. A lot of people needed counsel right now. What he wasn’t used to was crowds of tourists coming into his office, with Ahlbi in the lead.

“...And here is the historic Justice Law Office,” Ahlbi said, spinning to walk backwards through the door while a series of very pale, middle-aged folks followed, cameras at the ready.

Apollo squawked on reflex, slamming shut the ledger of evidence he’d been poring over. “No pictures!”

Ahlbi paused in his speech to give Apollo a withering look. “Photos are part of the tour, you know. It’s not very sporting of you to refuse.”

“This is a law office ,” Apollo noticed a few tourists reeling backwards and was glad he’d kept up his Chords of Steel regimen here in Khura’in. It added presence where his perfectly average height was lacking. “We handle confidential and sensitive materials here. Absolutely no pictures, film, or recordings of any kind!”

Grumbling, the tourists acquiesced. Ahlbi sighed.

“Well, I suppose,” he mumbled. Then, back to his bright voice, he added, “This is Apollo Justice himself, the Prince Regent’s foster brother and co-revolutionary.”

“No pictures!” Apollo barked, coloring. He’d have to have give Ahlbi a talking-to over introducing him to tourists—or anyone, really—as Nahyuta's brother.

Apparently, though they itched for their cameras, the tourists didn’t really find much of anything to hold their attention in the law office. They milled around with blank expressions for a few minutes, then turned to Ahlbi expectantly.

“This concludes our Revolution Tour,” Ahlbi said, gesturing to the back closet where Dhurke’s file cabinets stood. Apollo had been meaning to go through those files… “For those of you looking to bring a bit of Khura’inese revolution home with you, the gift shop is right this way.”

“The what ?”

Apollo forcibly put himself between Ahlbi’s tourists and the back closet, where indeed he could see that Ahlbi had staged very poorly-constructed trinkets, what looked like iron-on tee shirts and framed finger paintings. Ahlbi’s eyes twinkled pleadingly at him, but Apollo stood tall. When the squirming, grumbling tourists became too much for him, Apollo sucked in a deep breath through his nose and huffed out a glare.

“Everyone out of my office!”

That did the trick.

“Wow, AJ!” A voice floated in from behind him, and Apollo snapped his attention over his shoulder to where Datz strolled in from the now-concealed secret entrance. “A chip off the old block, aren’t you?”

Apollo’s voice caught in his throat. Dhurke’s famous glare, with all the intensity of a dragon. He wondered if he’d really seemed so strong, or if Datz were trying to soothe him to get out of being scolded for…

“Use the front door!”

Datz howled with laughter and sprawled out on his couch. Apollo massaged his temples. He’d only shut his eyes for a moment when Ahlbi was at his side, huffing.

“That was very unprofessional of you!” Ahlbi said, and though the words were an adult’s, the whine was a child’s. Apollo opened his eyes blearily to see Ahlbi’s reddening cheeks and watery eyes. Oh. “You embarrassed me in front of my customers.”

“I had no choice,” Apollo said firmly. He put his hands to his hips for emphasis. “Ahlbi, you know better than to bring tourists in here with cameras, especially during business hours. And what’s this about setting up a gift shop?”

“Well, you said it was okay to put out fliers…” Ahlbi mumbled, looking away. Shah’do barked invisibly from his bag.

“I did say that, because you asked permission. Which was professional of you. But today you thought it would be easier to ask forgiveness than permission, which you can’t do. If you behave this way, you won’t be able to leave your fliers out here.”

“I’m sorry.” Ahlbi’s voice was small. Apollo plopped a hand on top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“That’s more like it,” he said. Ahlbi looked up at him through his fingers and blinked, his eyes bigger and more childlike than ever. Tiredness swept through Apollo.

“Nice work, Private,” another voice piped in from the door. 

Apollo spun around. “Sarge!”

Sure enough, there was Armie Buff. It had been months since the trial for her father’s death, but she was standing on her own two feet. Her legs looked stronger, her complexion warmer, than the last time Apollo had seen her, and relief like he’d never known hit him to see her looking every bit the thirteen-year-old she was.

She puffed up at the title and offered Apollo a salute. Over on the couch, Datz flashed Apollo a shaky smile. Oh, right. He’d been a suspect in Archie Buff’s trial.

“Ah, were you hoping to go to the gift shop, miss?” Ahlbi asked brightly. With an abashed glance at Apollo, he added, “Um. It’s closed today, though. And probably for a while.”

“Definitely,” Apollo corrected, but he smiled to show the kid he was cutting him some slack.

“Not here to shop, Private Ur’gaid,” Armie said. She must have been part of Ahlbi’s tour, Apollo realized. Then, more distressingly, he realized that he and Ahlbi were the same rank. “Nice to see that you’re not slacking off in presentation, Private Justice,” Armie said, nodding with approval. She looked around the office. “Ready for a white glove test?”

“Uh, I’m really not.”

Armie’s cool gaze shot through him like an arrow. “Hmm...possible demerits, Private.”

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked quickly, hating that both Ahlbi and Datz were looking at him, Ahlbi with a ten-year-old’s vindication, Datz like he was about to wet himself laughing.

“I’m part of a dig on the Borginian border,” Armie said, tossing her silvery-blonde hair over her shoulder importantly. “We’re going to find something amazing, I just know it. Something Daddy would’ve loved.”

Apollo dipped his head respectfully but didn’t miss the shine in Armie’s eyes. “That’s awesome, Sarge. Nice work.” Crossing his arms, Apollo tilted his head, eyes roving the woodwork that he could tell would not pass Armie’s white glove test. “How much longer do you have permission to be on the dig?”

“What’re you talking about, Private? This is the arrangement now. Since Daddy...well, I’m part of his archeological team. I’ll keep digging until I find something amazing!”

“That’s the spirit!” Datz said from the couch. 

“Most commendable,” Ahlbi added, sounding twice Datz’s age.

Apollo frowned. That...definitely wasn’t how it worked. He remembered whispers of the discussion about family or foster care for Armie after that trial, but of course it was confidential information that he wasn’t privy to. She’d been given special permission to join a university archeological project, but that wasn’t the same as guardianship. Hm. It wasn’t his business—or, in fact, strictly legal—to poke his nose into it, but Apollo might see if Ema had any ideas on what happened.

“Well, then!” Armie crossed her arms, mirroring Apollo’s stance. “Given our ranks, Private Justice, I think you’ll agree that the rules you’ve laid out for the civilians don’t apply. I’d like a tour.”

Ahlbi whirled to Apollo with stars in his eyes, and Apollo sighed.

“Have at it,” he said. When Armie lifted her chin in disapproval, he added, “Of course, Sergeant.”

Over on the couch, pillows did not muffle Datz’s giggles.

II

“All right, Herr Samurai, I’ll bite,” Klavier said, looking up over yet another cardboard box. “Why did you volunteer to help me with this?”

As August eased into September and the cool air whispered ever closer, Klavier got down to his semi-annual house cleaning. He’d mentioned over the bubbler on Friday that he’d be going through his apartment to put together donations and that he expected it to be a hefty pile.

“I just don’t seem to need things like I used to,” he’d admitted. Both Simon Blackquill and the Chief Prosecutor nodded in older understanding that made Klavier feel kind of grown-up.

“You said it would be a large donation,” Herr Blackquill said, inspecting the guitar-shaped table lamp in his hands with an unreadable expression. Without asking, he put it into a ‘donate’ box. “I assumed you would need power on your side today.”

“Are you calling me weak?” Klavier joked.

“I’m not calling you strong.” Blackquill barked out a laugh and slapped his knee.

Snorting, Klavier shook his head. “I’ll have you know that I work out faithfully five times a week.” Mostly cardio and swimming, but what samurai didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“This is a large apartment for one person,” Blackquill said. His eyes roved Klavier’s high ceilings and plush furniture.

“It is,” Klavier agreed with a sigh. “It didn’t feel it back when I was touring. The band was always here, writing music, recording down the hall.” Soundproofing a room for his music was something Klavier would never regret. He loved having a space in his home where he could create, even if it were the dead of night. “And Apollo was going to move in before…”

Blackquill had gone stiller than a statue, enough so that Klavier noticed, even though Herr Samurai was hardly the fidgeting type.

“Justice-dono was...going to move in?” he repeated. Klavier detected an undercurrent of surprise.

“He couldn’t afford his rent without a roommate,” Klavier murmured. The memory of a man neither of them knew as anything but a murder victim hung heavily over the room. Klavier didn’t even need to say Clay Terran’s name. “I offered, he accepted, and...well.” He’d moved halfway across the world to a tiny, mountainous country that Klavier had flown over a handful of times on his way back and forth to Borginia while begging Lamiroir to write a song with him.

“I didn’t realize,” Blackquill said softly. Blackquill was not a soft man. Klavier met his gaze head-on. “You’ve taken Justice-dono’s leaving the hardest,” Blackquill continued, as if answering a question. Startling, Klavier opened his mouth but, with nothing to say, soon closed it again. “Athena and Wright-dono’s daughter miss him the way little sisters miss a big brother off to the college dormitories. They’re sad that he’s far away, but also willing to take the space he’s left behind.” 

True enough, in his rare visits to the Wright Anything Agency, Klavier had noticed how the desk that once radiated Apollo’s flustered, blustering workplace energy was now buried in martial arts training gear and magicians’ secrets. He smiled at the memory of it.

“Wright-dono himself seems fine,” Blackquill continued easily, and that observation was more of a pang. 

It was true. Phoenix Wright certainly didn’t dislike his junior employee, but the way he favored Athena was glaringly obvious. Klavier could see it in their easy rapport and the way he beamed at her, similarly to how he beamed at Trucy’s magic and Pearl Fey’s stern finger-wagging. He knew Apollo was aware of the favoritism, too, but never said anything. He didn’t expect Herr Samurai to notice, given his own fondness for the fraulein, and he didn’t seem to.

“But you, Gavin-dono.” 

Blackquill didn’t continue right away, and Klavier didn’t know what to make of the pause other than its being dramatic felt very on brand for Herr Samurai. 

At last, in a quiet voice, Blackquill finished, “Since Apollo Justice left, you have seemed truly lost.”

Klavier wasn’t one who was easily caught off-guard or tongue-tied, but today was an exception. “...Lost, you say?” he managed at last.

“I think I may have a better idea as to why now.” Blackquill’s eyes scanned the apartment again, and this simple action magnified the size of the space around Klavier. That gaping, yawning emptiness that was supposed to be Apollo’s home, whenever and for however long he needed it.

“...It’s an adjustment,” Klavier admitted. “Imagine if Fraulein Cykes moved halfway around the world. What would you do?”

“Follow her,” Simon Blackquill answered, without a breath of hesitation. Then, in a voice almost sweetly unsure, he added, “...If she willed it.”

“Oh.” The devotion almost made Klavier feel stupid, so he tried to focus on the fact that this answer made Blackquill’s relationship to Athena Cykes...in fact less clear. “Well. There you go, I suppose.”

“What will you do, Gavin-dono?” Blackquill asked. “You stand, a warrior at a crossroads. To one way, a long and difficult path. To another, a path deceptively easy but, in truth, just as treacherous. Which will lead you to where you want to be?”

“This isn’t my first time with crossroads,” Klavier said, hating how insightful Herr Samurai’s riddles always were. “The last one was an easy decision. It just took seven years of growing up to get there.”

Blackquill’s eyes bored into him. “Do not wait seven years to make this choice, Gavin-dono.”

“No, I…” There wasn’t a person on earth who could make Klavier lose his composure the way Simon Blackquill did. For someone who’d spent a good portion of his life behind bars, he somehow had all the knowledge of a wizened old man who’d lived every day to its fullest, and always in the company of strange characters. “I won’t.”

“Easier said than done.” 

Blackquill smirked, as if he knew he’d just read Klavier’s mind.

Chapter Text

I

Apollo was officially ready for a break. Three back-to-back trials, and Nahyuta looked cool as a cucumber while Apollo felt like more of a melted popsicle. If he hadn’t run out of product, this would be the point where even his hair drooped; as it was, the shaggy, chin-length mess that he had pinned out of his face still stuck to his sweaty temples. He’d sort of forgotten how summer felt like spring and fall felt like summer in Khura’in, but then again, Apollo had grown up in the mountains, where even hot days weren’t so muggy.

He really missed air conditioning.

Right about now, he was ready to slog himself home to the agen— law office , take a bath, turn on his fan, and collapse into bed. When he reached his street, of course, he could see a gaggle of tourists pouring out of the front door. Thank goodness he’d locked up all his sensitive documents.

“Out,” he said as soon as he squirmed his way through the door and the throngs of people crowding it. Ahlbi looked a little put-out, but he acquiesced and led his tourist group back outside. Armie and Datz were sitting on opposite ends of Apollo’s shabby couch, both cross-legged and bright-eyed.

“AJ!” Datz called when he spotted him. Armie, sitting at the end of the couch with her back facing Apollo, turned to salute him. Apollo had just used the last of his energy to get the tourists out of his office, but he couldn’t bear to have Armie scold him in front of the troops again. As Ahlbi hopped back into the office and shut the door behind him, Apollo straightened his back and saluted her properly. “Hey, we’ve got an idea for you. Tell ‘im, Sarge.”

The fact that everyone in the office embraced Armie’s self-selected ranking was kind of charming, but mostly made Apollo feel like he’d never left Los Angeles.

“Since you’re branching out of your primary law office to include tourism,” Armie said, unfolding her legs and standing into a stretch, “we thought you might be open to an additional business venture, Private. Not only for your financial health, but physical as well.”

Apollo, as close to ‘as planned’ as he could get, collapsed into the armchair across from the sofa, limbs sprawling. He caught Armie’s disapproving expression and chose to ignore it. He was twenty-five years old, he could slump in his own house if he wanted to.

“‘We’?” he repeated tiredly. Datz shrugged with a toothy grin, and Apollo sighed heavily.

“What if we ran a boot camp?” Armie’s light eyes sparkled, and she clenched her fists in front of her in a way that reminded Apollo of Trucy. His chest constricted. “Private Are’bal has the military training, and I have the knowledge to run successful camps, ranging from novice to intensive.”

“I have some knowledge,” Datz added with a wry smile Apollo recognized from his childhood. “And, hey, haven’t my contributions to this plan promoted me from Private?”

Armie looked thoughtful. Before the wheels could turn any more, Apollo said, “I keep up this office by myself. You practically live here and eat my food but don’t pay for anything.”

With a look of sheer contempt, Armie said, “You could be dishonorably discharged, Private Are’bal.”

Datz spread his arms and groaned. “Aww, come on, AJ, don’t be cruel. I tried providing for myself.”

“You tried hanging lizards to dry from my ceiling. ”

Armie actually shrieked, leading three pairs of eyes to fall on her. Flushing, she straightened her posture. “Keep that smirk to yourself, Private Justice,” she huffed. Apollo shrugged tiredly, the smile still drooping on his face. After everything she’d been through, it was nice to see Sarge acting like a thirteen-year-old girl.

“So?” Datz said, spreading his arms in Apollo’s direction. When Apollo blinked, he continued, “The boot camp?”

“Uhhh...gh…” Apollo managed, dragging a hand down his face. “How expensive is it?”

Datz and Armie lit up, but before either could answer, a gentle tap came at the door. Ahlbi ran to answer it, and squeaked out an “Oh!” when he opened the door.

“Y-Your majesty,” he managed. Apollo jerked up from his slumping, but the quiet chuckle that answered wasn’t Queen Amara’s.

“There’s no need for that title. I’m only acting as a regent until my sister comes of age.”

“Yuty!” Datz howled from the couch. When Nahyuta came into view from behind the open door, his expression indicated that he would be less charitable with that title.

A flash of recognition crossed Armie’s face, and she sank back into her seat. Apollo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Nahyuta, haven’t you seen enough of me today?” he asked. Nahyuta chuckled.

“I wanted to discuss something with you.”

“I don’t have any brain power left to discuss things today.”

“It’s not a legal matter.” Discomfort crossed Nahyuta’s expression. “I...would ask your advice on a personal matter.”

“Why is the prince-prosecutor making a personal call here?” Armie whispered to Datz.

“AJ’s his kid brother,” Datz answered, unhelpfully and at regular volume.

“What! Private, you’re a prince?”

Nahyuta barely stifled his laugh. “Why is your law office full of children, Apollo?”

“I’m here too,” Datz said. Nahyuta raised a petty eyebrow that had Datz reeling back with mock offense, Apollo snorting. “Are you implying that moi is a child?”

“Okay, let’s see here. In order.” Apollo nodded to Armie. “I’m not a prince. Nahyuta’s father was my foster father when I was a kid, so we were raised together until...oh, I was about your age when I came to the States.” 

Apollo hadn’t ever mentioned his childhood in foster care to Armie, though she knew his father died when he was young. At the words foster father , her expression shifted to something troubled, but Apollo sensed he shouldn’t linger on it.

To Nahyuta he said, “Ahlbi and Armie are visiting.”

“Allow me to explain, your regency,” Ahlbi added. Apollo was pretty sure ‘your regency’ was wrong but didn’t say anything. “I’m assisting Mr. Justice in expanding his business opportunities with a tourism branch of the law office.”

“Um!” Armie added with pre-teen offense. “We are also assisting Private Justice in expanding his business opportunities! We were just outlining our proposal for a military training program.”

Nahyuta smiled vacantly at Apollo, who shook his head in exasperation back. After a beat of silence, Apollo said, “And, Datz, yes, vous are a child. And ‘moi’ is an object, not a subject.”

“ Moi will not be objectified, AJ.”

Turning to Nahyuta, Apollo groaned his way to his feet. “Let’s walk and talk.”

The law office was already on the outskirts of town, and it took little time to find their way to a mountain path. Pink and gold hues hinted behind the clouds as the sun was just starting to set. Although they walked in silence, it wasn’t awkward. Even when they were kids, Nahyuta had always been quiet, but in a thoughtful way. In spite of his tiredness, Apollo had to admit that walking together relaxed him.

When they were a ways away from the town and already in the lower mountains, Apollo ventured, “What is it you wanted my advice on?”

“Ah.” Nahyuta’s lips twitched only for a second, but Apollo recognized his embarrassment, even after all these years. “Detective Skye.”

That...was not the reply Apollo expected. “Ema? What about her?”

Nahyuta kept walking, Apollo kept pace.

“She’s very good at her job,” Nahyuta said, which didn’t sound like an answer to Apollo’s question. “Quite efficient, and very skilled in aiding the Kingdom of Khura’in as we purge our legal system of—”

“Of putrid sinners, blah-blah-blah,” Apollo interrupted. That at least got him a sharp look from his brother. “So...what’s the problem?” 

“Well,” Nahyuta said, and Apollo could hear how the one word was a full sentence. It took a certain personality to say something like ‘Well!’ and pull it off. Nahyuta had that personality. After a pause where Nahyuta seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say next—something Apollo wished he’d seen more of in court today—he said, “Detective Skye has seemed unhappy lately.”

“That’s just her personality,” Apollo said. Again, Nahyuta sent him a disapproving look. It didn’t exactly clarify anything in Apollo’s mind, but he knew Nahyuta well enough that the glance stuck in his mind.

“Detective Skye is exceedingly professional and always happy when she has a crime scene to investigate.” 

Apollo didn’t even know where to start with that one.

“What I mean to say is that she seems unhappy living in Khura’in.” Nahyuta hesitated. “It’s very different from the United States, of course, and I’m not sure that living here agrees with her. The villages, the traditional values, the weather…” His light eyes drifted far away. “She has expressed content with her work here, but I fear she’s saying it only out of courtesy to me. I think Detective Skye wishes to return to California.”

Apollo furrowed his brow. He was missing something. “I mean, she hasn’t said anything to me about it. Going back to California, I mean. The culture shock, yeah, we’ve commiserated.”

Nahyuta’s eyebrows shot up. “Commiserated?”

“I miss my hair, Nahyuta.” Apollo raked a hand through it for emphasis and dislodged a bobby pin, sending tufts into his face. “I can’t get it to do what I want without product anymore.”

Nahyuta stared at him for a second, then chuckled, his equivalent of bursting into laughter. “I see.”

“If you want Ema to feel more at home here, maybe bring a little California to Khura’in,” Apollo suggested. When Nahyuta leaned forward, he added, “Like...I don’t know. Import Snackoos, or something.”

“Snackoos?” Nahyuta blinked. One second, his eyes were wide with bafflement, and the next, understanding settled in. “Oh. Detective Skye’s favored snacks. Of course.” Thoughtfully, he said, “I wonder if we might import Jalapeno Jack cheese as well.”

Apollo had never known Ema to enjoy Jalapeno Jack cheese, but the thought was so specific and came to Nahyuta so immediately that he said, “I think that would be great.”

II

Tugging his Dodgers cap further down over his eyes, Klavier really hoped that no one in the grocery store recognized him. He just wanted to grab lightbulbs, toothpaste, and clementines, and it was exactly the kind of bachelor shopping list he didn’t want to get caught purchasing. Maybe he should have thrown in some gourmet cheese and croissants, or something resembling a full meal, so that if he did get caught, it looked like he was legitimately shopping. Ah, well. Too late now.

It was almost cruelly ironic when he advanced in the self-checkout and found himself face-to-face with a magazine rack, his own picture right there. Ach, and what an awful picture it was. Magazine-Klavier had bags under his eyes and less-than-perfect hair. Klavier Gavin: What Happened? the caption read. Concerts cancelled, big brother behind bars...Is Klavier Gavin OK?

Klavier blinked. What an unsavory publication. Sure, he’d had his bad press in the past, but this seemed needlessly cruel. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Klavier slipped the magazine into his basket. He made sure to stuff it into the bottom of his reusable grocery bag.

At home, with lightbulbs and toothpaste and a hungry stomach, Klavier opened up the magazine. Buying it was safer than standing in line reading and risking getting caught checking out his own sob story. The two-page article hashed over the drama of his life three years earlier, but the pictures were all recent. He looked suitably haggard in all of them and was almost certain that Herr Samurai was cropped out of one, just from the look of a boot in the corner by the caption.

Kristoph, Daryan, Constance Court. Yes, the losses haunted him. Yet, though the magazine alleged concern over Klavier’s recent mental health, Constance’s death had been nearly two years ago. The magazine speculated that Klavier’s long distance from the public eye shielded a drawn-out period of grieving.

Apollo’s name didn’t come up once. Why would it, Klavier supposed; the media had never paid his rival any mind. Even in their big cases, it was the prosecutors who took the headlines: rock star, convicted murderer, princely monk. They were an outlandish trio when put together like that.

Pictures could be manipulated, but these weren’t. Klavier saw himself in the unflattering shots. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the whole magazine into his recycling bin and headed for the bathroom. Along the way, he tossed his Dodgers cap aside and let the ponytail he’d hidden beneath it unravel. He went straight to his mirror, rooted through the drawers of his vanity until he found a pair of scissors, and stared up at his own reflection. Bags under his eyes, right this minute.

He tilted his head to the side, grabbed his ponytail, and slid the scissors neatly into the pocket, snipping right above the elastic.

“Why do you do that to your hair?” Apollo asked once over Chinese take-out. When Klavier didn’t respond, he elaborated, “The drill. It’s awful.”

“The what? And am I correct that you, my horned friend, are insulting my hair?”

Klavier looked down at the ponytail clenched triumphantly in his fist, then up at his reflection. Oh. He should have gone to a proper stylist. No matter, there was time to fix it before he went to work.

Is Klavier Gavin OK? Getting there. And the second he booked his plane ticket, he’d be even better.

Chapter Text

I

Ema heaved a sigh. She’d been so immersed in forensic work for Prosecutor Sahdmadhi lately that she’d been able to set aside thoughts about the other duties that befell her work. Weeks of confidential calls with archeology professors in Khura’in and Borginia, and family attorneys back in the States. Paperwork. 

“I need emotional support,” she announced in the door to Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s office. He looked up quickly, the only indication that he was alarmed, his posture and expression as zen as ever.

“Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Ema waved her hand in front of her face dismissively, as if swatting away a fly. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi nodded, set down his pen, and sat back in his chair. “You know the Buff case?”

Understanding lit his face. “Ah, yes.” 

“That’s my job today.”

Closing his eyes, he held a hand up in front of himself, that OK symbol that meant something different in his practice. “Though the path ahead may be difficult, you have the strength of character and compassion to succeed in all that you do, Detective. Should you feel that you need it, my support and faith in your abilities are always with you.”

Ema matched his deep inhale through the nose and slow exhale through the mouth. Back in L.A., she’d tried getting on the yoga bandwagon too many times to count, in college, in the classes on the first floor gym of her old apartment building. It was never any good. Ema wanted to do full moves instead of baby beginner versions, but she didn’t have the flexibility, and you had to just sit there in whatever position for way too long. Sore and sleepy was a bad combo. Even yoga before bed just irritated her instead of soothing her into rest. 

Nowadays, it was hard to get through a day without at least a few meditative breaths in Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s office, warm and spicy with incense. His praise for her work was an added bonus, kind words in a low voice that tingled under her skin.

Tingled with professional accomplishment, of course.

“Thanks, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi,” she sighed. With a wave, she said, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

At least she knew where to find the kid.

The noise coming from Apollo’s law office-slash-circus preceded sight of the building itself by at least a block. Ema bit her cheek to stop her smile at the sound of kids bickering and furniture crashing. When she finally reached the office, Apollo was sitting at his desk with his head down in buried arms, his hair splayed out and covering his face from view, while Datz Ar’ebal chased Ahlbi Ur’gaid and Armie Buff around the seating area with what looked like a lizard on a stick.

“Do I want to know?” she asked. Apollo’s head raised, his hair parting around his face like a curtain. It was completely unfair how silky it looked now that he was growing it out and didn’t have access to product.

“Hi, Ema,” he said. Exhaustion dripped in every crevice of his voice, and the tone matched Ema’s pre-Prosecutor Sahdmadhi mood enough to bring her back down to it. “What’s up?”

“...” Ema sighed, a sound that came from her bones. “Actually, I’m here to pick up Armie.”

“Sarge?” Apollo asked blankly, eyes shifting to her. Armie had gone very still. Datz was still holding—good grief, was it roasted? Was he going to eat it? —his lizard stick, but his grin was fading fast. Ahlbi blinked beside him.

“Explain yourself, Corporal Skye,” Armie said, head held high. The men all made the same offended noise, and Ema smiled fleetingly to know that she outranked them.

“Why don’t we head back?” Ema asked carefully. She didn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone, but the kid’s expression said it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Curfew isn’t for a while yet, Corporal.”

Feeling worse by the second, Ema steeled herself. “Head back to the consulate. Your visa is expiring, Armie,” she said. “The terms of your stay in Khura’in end this week. We have to do the paperwork for getting you home.”

Armie straightened her shoulders. “You’re mistaken, Corporal. I’m a member of an archeological dig here.”

“That was temporary, Armie. The university agreed to keep you on for a short period out of respect to your father, but it’s not a permanent position. The dig is getting more serious, and there are more opportunities for injury. Besides, you'll be taking your entrance exams to matriculate into the school system in January, so you won’t be able to work on the project much longer anyway.” Ema kept her eyes on Armie’s, even as the others’ postures shifted in her peripheral vision. Red splotches surfaced on Armie’s face. “Why don’t we go?”

“Negative, Private,” Armie barked. Ema winced at the demotion. “You’ve got your facts out of order.”

“Armie…” Ema tried to inject a parental warning into her voice, conjuring Lana the way she'd get after Ema when she used her chemistry playset at the kitchen table and made a mess. 

“That’s Sergeant to you!” 

“Sarge!” Apollo said, and Ema—and, to her tremendous relief, everyone else—jumped at the command in his voice. When her reflexes forced her attention to him, he stood in front of his desk, looking feet taller than his usual frame, expression locked into seriousness. “You need to treat Detective Skye with respect. She’s an honest, hardworking adult. No excuses.”

Armie frowned for a moment before flinching down from Apollo’s stern look. “Apologies, Private,” she said to Ema. 

The demotion stayed, but Ema ignored it and took a slow breath, imagining the spicy scent of incense instead of the oatmeal-ish aroma she’d come to associate with Apollo and his office full of children. God, she hoped that wasn’t what cooked lizard smelled like.

“Apology accepted,” Ema said, “but we still have to go, Armie.”

“Well, hey…” Datz managed, rubbing his chin. He took a thoughtful bite of lizard and Ema’s stomach rolled. “What—what about an extension, or something? The kid doesn’t take up that much space.” It was a weak and pitiful argument, but Ema didn’t miss the look of gratitude Armie flashed him. 

“Afraid not, Mr. Are’bal. In matters of childcare, the law’s not very flexible. It was enough of a struggle getting permission for her to join the dig temporarily.” Ema shook her head. “The terms of this arrangement were clear. Armie has to return to the States and be placed with a family.”

Ema reminded herself of her training, of her early days in L.A., before Prosecutor Sahdmadhi and his yoga breathing. Cornered subjects lashed out, and Armie’s darting eyes said cornered. Expressing guilt or apology for doing her job, even if she felt it, was a sign of weakness. Ema had to stand her ground and be the authority figure.

“We have to leave now,” Ema said.

“Why can’t I be placed here?” Armie countered, taking a step back. She wasn’t behind Datz, exactly, but Ema still saw her making a shield of him. “I have colleagues in Khura’in. The troops are here.”

“Khura’in is still rebuilding its whole political system, Armie,” Ema said, as gently as she could. “It’s a small country. Most families aren’t really positioned to take in children. You’d have to go to a—” An orphanage. “A children’s home,” Ema corrected. She hoped no one noticed her slip, which was a dumb hope, since Apollo noticed freaking everything. “And that’s if you have citizenship.”

“I could get citizenship.” Another step back. Datz glanced over his shoulder at her, and the splotches on Armie’s face grew.

“You're a minor, Armie. You'd need a legal guardian who was a Khura'inese citizen,” Ema reminded her, “and, as of Saturday, you won't have one.” Ema swallowed. Strength of character and compassion. “This isn’t the place to discuss it. We should leave.” 

She took one step forward, and Armie ran to the back of the office, shrieking. 

“I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!”

Ema clenched her fist around the strap of her bag. She...wasn’t very good with children, especially when they acted out. Armie was usually such a little adult. A weird little adult, but, whatever, Ema was from L.A. 

“Armie,” Apollo said again, and like magic, Armie quieted. Tears clung to her splotchy cheeks. Sternness melting into kindness, Apollo nodded to the couch. “Hey, everything is fine! We’ll talk this out and see what our next steps are.” Ema shot him a look that she knew he ignored on purpose. “Why don’t you sit here with Datz?” The emphasis on his name and pointed look Apollo gave him clearly said, Keep an eye on her. Datz leaped onto the couch, bouncing on a cushion, and turned up the wattage on his smile.

Armie hesitated, then acquiesced, tiptoeing over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the cushion opposite Datz. Smile returning, Apollo said, “Nice work, Sarge. You know what I think would help? A cup of tea. How about that?”

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi drank tea all day long, spooning together his own blends of herbs and spices, even brewing special mixes when Ema had headaches from field work and back pain from the stupid desk chair. He was the picture of elegance sipping tea without so much as a slurp and smiling over the lip of his cup when Ema, inevitably, slurped. She’d never seen Apollo drink tea, but when she tried to imagine it, all she could picture was his spilling the contents of a Steel Samurai mug all over himself.

Armie nodded, and Apollo turned to Ema. “Detective Skye, you know a lot about tea.” It figures that someone who was basically a living lie-detector could lie so smoothly. Though, Ema had to admit, she’d learned a lot from Prosecutor Sahdmadhi. “You’ll help me in the kitchen, right?”

“Uh, sure.”

Oh. Ema knew that look. Apollo had the exact determined expression he wore in court when he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

II

It was rare to see Herr Samurai surprised, but he certainly was when Klavier walked into the office that morning. It was a weird sensation, having short hair fluffing just above his chin. It hadn’t been this short in ten years. Thank goodness he'd gone to a professional for assistance after the initial chop.

“Gavin-dono,” Herr Samurai managed. He blinked once, twice, then eased into his usual smirk. “You’ve traded in your high-maintenance locks for a man’s haircut.”

“Excuse me? I can’t help but notice that enormous ponytail of yours, Herr Samurai!”

The Chief Prosecutor coughed loudly in his office, and when Klavier glanced over, Herr Edgeworth spun his chair around to face the windows. Not that Klavier couldn’t see his shoulders shaking, though his expression was hidden from view.

“What inspired the change?” Blackquill asked. 

“I saw myself in the mirror.” When Herr Samurai’s expression tightened—only a fraction, just a hint—Klavier backpedaled. “A magazine. Tabloid. Very bad for my self-esteem.”

Blackquill’s smile was indulgent. “Vanity is the enemy of truth, Gavin-dono.”

“I think ‘lying’ is the term you’re looking for, my falconer friend.”

“Do you gentlemen not have enough to do today?” Herr Edgeworth asked wryly, finally turned around again in his seat.

“Plenty, Chef ,” Klavier said. He took his paperwork out of the laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “I do have vacation request forms for you, however.”

“Vacation?” Blackquill echoed, stunned again.

“Vacation?” Herr Edgeworth repeated. His fingertips ghosted along the edge of his glasses frames as if he feared they’d fall off.

“Yes, though I’ll admit to a little arrogance on your signature, Chef. I’ve already booked my trip.”

“Did you?” Blackquill asked with a slow smile. He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t. Klavier wasn’t sure how he felt about his friend’s knowing expression, but he didn’t question Herr Samurai’s ability to read minds.

“Good, Gavin,” Herr Edgeworth said, uncapping his pen and holding up a hand. “Get in here so I can sign it.”

III

Khura’in got so quiet at night. It was amazing how the hustle and bustle of the marketplace and the square, so close to the office, set with the sun. When he’d first settled in, Apollo spent almost every night watching the sky fade into twilight, the stars overhead visible long before their counterparts in Los Angeles, where city lights beat starlight like paper covered rock.

Tonight, he’d meant to clean out Dhurke’s old files from the back of the office, but he’d forgotten that he’d put Dhurke’s old trial robes there, too. After a long time staring at them, hanging on the back of the door, Apollo gently shifted the fabric off its hanger. 

A few shifted boxes and he found an old mirror, not-quite-full length. He propped it up in the corner and held it in place with a few heavy boxes. It was smudged but not cracked. Apollo blinked at his reflection. His hair was past his chin now. He didn’t even think hair grew that quickly. Then again, he supposed that it had already been pretty shaggy to accommodate his preferred look. He missed hair gel.

Draping Dhurke’s robes over his shoulders and winding the sleeves around his elbows, Apollo examined his reflection. Dhurke had worn these robes to so many trials. Bold attire makes the man, he used to joke. Or, at least, he thought it was a joke. Nahyuta and Apollo spent many breakfasts staring blankly across the table while Dhurke belly-laughed at himself.

Apollo’s fingers tightened in the material. He wanted to pull it up to his face, breathe in, see if any of Dhurke’s warm, spiced, safe scent were left.

“AJ?”

Apollo startled and spun around just as Datz arrived in the door frame. Datz paused, eyes catching on the trial robes immediately, and his expression eased fondly. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame.

“Ah, those old things.” His eyes scanned Apollo’s face. “You know, AJ, with the new ‘do and that dragon’s roar a’yours, you’re really shaping up to be a chip off the old block.”

A reply caught in Apollo’s throat. Even if he could, he didn’t know what he’d say. Instead, he nodded.

Datz’s grin softened. “You’re gonna be a good dad, too.”

“Uh—” 

He really did choke on his reply that time. Apollo turned away quickly and folded up the robes. It took a few moments to compose himself, though he didn’t hear Datz move behind him. It was almost comforting, to stand quietly with someone who’d known and loved Dhurke, too. That’s how it felt sometimes when he was with Nahyuta—outside of court, at least.

“Thank you,” he said at last.

“Better get crackin’ on your cleanin’,” Datz added cheerfully. “White glove test tomorrow.”

“Shut up, Datz.”

Chapter Text

Klavier had never minded flying. The Gavinners were always jet-setting around the world for gigs, and in his early twenties, he’d reveled in visiting every continent. For the first time ever, including times of turbulence, Klavier was nervous. Herr Samurai had seen him off that morning in the wee hours, a time that a younger Klavier might not have gone to bed yet but had today’s Klavier yawning. He’d checked one bag and brought a carry-on and a neck pillow, but he couldn’t sleep if he tried. In a few short hours, he’d be in Khura’in.

Perhaps he’d made the decision the minute he read that advertisement. It was crinkled up in the corner of his suitcase now. Well. Wouldn’t Apollo be surprised to see him. Klavier swallowed. Hopefully not in a bad way. Apollo hadn’t once contacted him since moving across the world. Neither had the fraulein detective, but that was to be expected. 

First class didn’t exist for planes on their way to Khura’in, and neither did direct flights, unless one chartered a private jet, and Klavier was well past that part of his life. He was more than content to slip in his ear buds and listen to music on his way to Japan, to Borginia, and finally to Khur’ain. Nobody noticed him anyway; most people traveling this way weren’t interested in the kind of music he'd created years before, and with his newly-cropped hair, he apparently blended in that much better at LAX. Either that or people’s attention spans really were as short as Apollo had always complained, and ‘Klavier Gavin’ was a shadow of the past.

He'd forgotten how easy it was to sleep on planes.

The food was food, the trip was long yet somehow over in a blink, and then Klavier was in Khur’ain. It reminded him a bit of neighboring Borginia but was smaller and more spread out. Khur’ain didn’t even have a hotel; Klavier had booked himself space in a hostel frequented by religious pilgrims. He went there first, enjoying the carriage ride from the ‘airport’—the field where he’d landed in a puddle-jumper—and then the walk from the edge of the bazaar to the hostel. A few people glanced at him curiously, but mostly they left him be, and Klavier knew he hadn’t been recognized as anything but a tourist.

The woman running the hostel was warm and had a roaring laugh that reminded Klavier of Plum Kitaki. He’d have to swing by the bakery when he returned to the States. Once he was checked in and had set aside his suitcase, he asked his hostess where he might find the law office.

“You’re not in trouble, are you?” she asked, expression wary. Ah, yes, Klavier remembered Herr Edgeworth’s report that Khur’ain, as a nation, didn’t put a lot of stock in defense attorneys. It wouldn’t be long before Apollo changed their minds; his stubbornness alone would make it happen.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m actually a prosecutor.”

This delighted his hostess. She gave him directions across the bazaar and reminded him to be back by seven o’clock if he wanted to join them for dinner. Klavier thanked her and headed right out.

The sun was sinking already, not yet disappearing behind the mountains, but casting long shadows down the dirt roads. Klavier followed his hostess’ directions from shop to restaurant to long, spindly road. She was spot-on; he didn’t get lost once.

Apollo’s office was marked clearly, in some ways. There was a sign up in the window announcing it as Justice Law Office, which sounded as wicked as an album title. Underneath was a paper sign, taped to the inside of the window and written in what looked like magic marker, that read Justice Anything Agency, with the subtitle Historic Tours and Fitness Boot Camp.

Klavier grinned. Some things never changed. Even in charge of his own office, Apollo couldn’t have the professional practice he strived for.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Klavier stepped from the window to the front door, raised his hand and curled his trembling fingers into a surer fist, and knocked three times.

On the ceiling if you want me, his mind supplied. Klavier didn’t even have time to hum a bar before the door opened.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s open…”

Ah. Apollo’s voice, youthful and rasping as if he were in dire need of a soothing cup of marshmallow tea. Hurried, busy, easily flustered. The last twists self-doubt unspun in Klavier’s chest.

The person standing in front of him was not the bright red, horned visage Klavier had imagined, though. Apollo’s already-tan skin had darkened from the sun, his eyes a brighter brown than ever, and he wore the same kind of kurta Klavier had seen in the bazaar. It must have been traditional garb here, though Apollo’s was, of course, red, and embroidered beautifully with gold that matched his ever-present bracelet.

“Oh.” Apollo shook his head as if shaking away a daydream, then blinked twice. “Hiya.”

Klavier couldn’t help it; he was a little transfixed at the sight of Apollo’s silky brown hair grazing his chin. “Your hair is long,” he blurted out, right in the same moment that Apollo said, “Your hair is short.”

They held each other’s gaze for a second. When the corner of Apollo’s mouth twitched, Klavier allowed himself a laugh, tossing his head back. Apollo’s raspy chuckle joined him.

“It’s good to see you,” Klavier said warmly, pushing his sunglasses up and into his hair, a makeshift headband.

Apollo crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder into the door frame. Everything about him was fluid and relaxed here. Klavier nearly jolted at the realization, his eyes memorizing Apollo’s loose clothes and easy posture. The hair soft enough to run fingers through.

“What are you doing here?” The question wasn’t cruel or unwelcoming, though it proved Apollo hadn’t quite softened all his edges. Klavier knew his smile had turned wry when Apollo flushed and, squirming, added, “Not that it isn’t…good to see you, too…”

“I received news of your triumphant opening.” Klavier reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the folded-up advertisement. Apollo took it, unfolded it, and furrowed his brow, lips moving along with the words written there. “I take it this didn’t come from you?” Klavier teased. He recognized this expression all too well, one that usually accompanied Apollo scrunching up his nose and pressing a finger to his forehead, pointing it out for all to notice.

“Ahlbi,” Apollo said with a sigh, in lieu of an answer. Klavier blinked.

“You’ll be what?” he finally asked.

“Oh. No, I…” Apollo shook his head, rolling his eyes affectionately. “There have been a lot of updates, I guess.” He pivoted back into his office and looked at Klavier over his shoulder. Wearing his hair down made him look older, but those huge brown eyes were the same ones Klavier hadn’t been able to get out of his mind back in Los Angeles. “…Want to come in?”

“Yes,” Klavier answered immediately.

*

“Children!” Prosecutor Gavin laughed, not unkindly, and accepted a cup of tea from Apollo. He poured himself a cup and set the kettle back on the hot plate, now turned off.

“Child, one,” Apollo corrected. “I’ll be Armie’s legal guardian. It’s kind of weird, since I’m only…what, twice her age?”

“Scandalous.”

Apollo sat across from him at the dingy little coffee table and huffed out a laugh. Everything looked dingy now that Gavin was here, glowing and glimmering as always. The short hair made him look so much younger.

“Ahlbi has set up camp here for his travel agency. He has a family…or…” Apollo frowned. He couldn’t recall Ahlbi saying anything specific about his parents. He did talk about the monks he’d trained under. Maybe he didn’t have parents. “Well, anyway. I suppose I am responsible for children, multiple. Not to mention Datz.”

Gavin knew more than Apollo expected, details of Khura’in that he’d gleaned from Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth and the Wrights. He’d also shared an office with Nahyuta temporarily while he was in the States.

“I didn’t realize at the time that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was your brother,” Gavin said. Guilt panged in Apollo’s chest. After Clay…after Clay, he felt like he told Gavin a lot of things. Opened up to him in a way he really hadn’t with anyone since he’d left Khura’in. Maybe he hadn’t shared as much as he’d thought. I have a sibling was kind of a big detail to omit. “It must be exciting to compete with one another in the courtroom, ja?”

“Oh, you’re not still peppering in all the faux German, are you?” Apollo rubbed at his wrist. Gavin—who laughed instead of taking offense—didn’t hide things from him. The more time they spent together, the more Apollo realized how many tics and twitches most people around him had, just because Gavin didn’t. He answered easily and honestly, and Apollo could spend all of their time together without tuning out the insistent squeeze of his bracelet on his wrist.

Right now, though, there was a hint of feeling there. Mr. Gavin. Gavin had never faced off against his brother, prosecutor to defense attorney, the way Apollo had against Nahyuta. Swallowing, Apollo figured it was probably better that way.

“He was very polite,” Gavin said. He sipped his tea. “Diligent worker, very studious, like he had to be an expert to earn his place at the prosecutor’s bench.” Apollo nodded. That was Nahyuta. “Also, quite fond of Fraulein Detective.” Gavin’s light eyes twinkled over the lip of his teacup. “He brought her here with him. My.”

Apollo’s ears pricked up. “‘My’?” he echoed. “What do you mean?”

Gavin’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t they…? Ach. I assumed. My apologies.”

Weren’t they…what? Apollo blinked. Once. Twice. Then sat up straight. “Oh!”

Gavin leaned back. “There’s the volume I’ve missed in California,” he said. Apollo smacked his arm lightly with the spoon from his sugar bowl. “Do you have something to tell me, Herr Forehead?”

“Nahyuta was asking my advice recently. About Ema.” Apollo crossed his arms against the edge of his table and waved the sugar bowl spoon lightly in the air. “He was concerned about her not being happy in Khura’in. I didn’t read that much into it, but…” It made so much more sense now. How Nahyuta had hesitated—Nahyuta, who never hesitated—and how vulnerable he’d seemed in that moment on their walk. How highly he spoke about Ema, in every respect, and how his eyes steeled when even a whisper of criticism moved in her direction. “He’s always been so serious and goal-oriented. I don’t even remember him having a passing crush when we were kids.”

“Did you?” Gavin’s voice was almost too light. When Apollo hummed for clarification, he said, “Have a crush on someone as a kid.”

“Oh. Um.” Apollo thought about it. “No.”

Gavin smiled down into his teacup.

In a heartbeat, Apollo was back on Prosecutor Gavin’s couch, all those months ago, with Gavin’s kind eyes dropping to Apollo’s lips, the rings on his fingers clinking gently as he ran a light touch down the curve of Apollo’s jawline. You were going to kiss me, he thought. Realized. Knew. Had known all along. You were going to kiss me.

“Khura’in agrees with you,” Gavin said, looking up. “You’re so relaxed here. I can tell you’re at home.”

“Really?” Apollo definitely had his days of missing the States. The technology, the food, just being in a city. And especially the people. “How are Trucy, Athena, and Mr. Wright?”

“All well. Trucy has a new magic show. Her act has gotten quite spectacular. I have a recording in my bag for you. Herr Wright said your internet connection wasn’t very stable here.”

“It’s on Nahyuta’s to-do list.”

“Fraulein Cykes is also doing well. She’s in the prosecutor’s office once or twice a week working on her psychology skills with Herr Samurai.”

“Good grief.” Apollo gulped his tea, unable to help a tiny slurp. “Sounds like nothing’s changed.”

“It’s changed,” Gavin said. His eye contact never wavered. “Don’t think your absence isn’t felt. Herr Forehead.”

Apollo’s bracelet squeezed, but even if it hadn’t, Apollo would have picked up on that pause. Herr Forehead. As breezy as Gavin’s voice had been, as smoothly as he’d spoken, that nickname had been a last-minute swap. He’d been about to call Apollo by name, Apollo was sure of it. You were going to kiss me.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked awkwardly. Klavier’s smile stayed kind.

“Oh, yes. You’re missed every day.”

Apollo’s chest tightened again. “I’m…sorry I didn’t call.”

“I could have called, too.”

He was being polite. “You weren’t sure if I’d answer.” Klavier looked down, and Apollo realized how accusatory that had come out. “I—I’d answer,” he finished lamely.

Klavier reached across the too-small table and pushed a loose tendril of hair behind Apollo’s ear. It was an effort not to shiver. Apollo had seen that stupid movie in a hundred stupid movies, but in his quiet, tiny, dingy office, alone with Klavier Gavin, the intimacy of it was too much.

“Herr Wright will be pleased to know that you’ve opened up another Anything Agency,” Klavier said, leaning back in his seat. “Or, rather, Trucy will. We both know who really runs that operation.”

Apollo snickered. It was true. Mr. Wright was alarmingly hopeless with business matters. In fact, without Apollo there—“Someone’s going to have to check in on them during tax season.”

“I’m reasonably sure the Chef does that.”

Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth. Of course. “That sounds right.”

Apollo let his eyes fall on the picture of the Wright Anything Agency employees that hung on his wall. Klavier followed his attention and looked over his shoulder at it. A moment later, he stood and went over to the wall to get a better look. Apollo finished his tea and set it on a coaster, already hearing Armie’s threats for a white glove test in the back of his mind.

“Is this your father?”

Apollo got up and moved to Klavier’s side, expecting him to be pointing to the picture of Apollo and Nahyuta as children with Dhurke. Instead, Klavier’s attention was on a picture further up the wall, a torn scrap of former evidence: a man with Apollo’s eyes and shoulders, seated with a guitar balanced easily in his arms.

“Yeah,” Apollo said softly. “His name was Jove. I guess…I think you would’ve gotten along.” Even though it felt kind of stupid to say so—Apollo had only been a baby when his father died, he didn’t know a thing about him—it also felt right. The easygoing, handsome guitarist performing in some little club would have gotten along just fine with Klavier. Maybe they even would have collaborated, the way Klavier had with Lamiroir.

Klavier studied the picture. “You look so much like him.”

“Thanks.” At the sideways glance Klavier gave him, Apollo sputtered, “Well, he was good-looking, right? Um, not that I’m, uh, being conceited or anything, but…right?” Klavier grinned. “Oh, shut up.”

“Is that any way to speak to a patron touring your historic law office?”

“Keep it up and I’ll volunteer you to do a quote for Ahlbi’s next advertisement. Wait. Actually, no.” It would probably be wildly successful and have droves of Gavinners fangirls screaming through his office. No, thank you.

Voices sounded outside, getting closer to the agency—two young, one adult. When the door swung open, Apollo wasn’t surprised to see Armie, Ahlbi, and Datz come in.

“And where have you three been all day?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Allow me to explain—” Ahlbi’s attention caught on the man standing next to Apollo. “Oh. Hello. Who are you?” A little bark sounded from his bag.

“We were picking up supplies for our boot camp, and—” Datz squinted. “Hey, you’re kind of a good-looking guy, aren’t you?”

“Datz…” Apollo managed to get out before a piercing scream split the room.

Everyone spun around to Armie, shrieking and bouncing from one foot to the other, clutching her hands to her chest and staring at Klavier.

“I think…” Apollo hunched his shoulders. “…she recognizes you.”

Chapter Text

Word of a tall, tan, blond prosecutor glimmering his way through the bazaar spread quickly. Ema had heard the news a dozen times from a dozen people just going out for lunch and returning to Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s office. She may or may not have huffed on her way in, and she closed the door with a perfectly normal amount of force.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was in the door to his office immediately. “Detective Skye?”

“Oh! Hi.” Ema fought down a flush. “Sorry, I…closed the door kind of hard, huh?”

Light eyes searched her face. “A little,” he admitted gently. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I guess, just some annoying news. Looks like Prosecutor Gavin’s in town.”

His eyebrows raised. “Prosecutor…Klavier Gavin? From Los Angeles?”

Oh, right, they would know each other from when Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was working in the States. It was hard to imagine someone as polished and professional as Prosecutor Sahdmadhi fraternizing with the glimmerous fop. “That’s the one.”

“You don’t like him? He always struck me as a pleasant fellow, if…casual in the office.”

Ema snorted and dumped her bag on the floor next to her desk. “Yeah, well…that’s true. He’s not a bad guy or bad at his job, but he’s just so…sparkly? And he’s—” She gestured, trying to find a more professional term than glimmerous fop, then stopped. Here she was complaining about Gavin’s professionalism, and she was whining to her boss, the epitome of unprofessional. Ema took her seat and sighed.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s expression was solemn, though, trained on her in a way that was hard to read, harder than usual. There was a funny flicker in his eyes. “You’ve worked with Prosecutor Gavin quite a bit, correct?”

“Yeah, back when I first started out as a detective.” She sighed. “He’s just too casual for me, that’s all. Prosecutors should be serious.”

“Serious?” he parroted back to her, arching one eyebrow. “How so?”

“Not snapping their fingers and playing air guitar during witness testimony, for starters,” Ema groused.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi blinked, and his expression eased back into its usual peaceful one. “I see,” he said.

Ema ran a hand through her hair, dragging it back from her face. It really was much too humid for up in the mountains. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. It was only a matter of time before he followed Apollo here.”

“Really?” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi stepped closer to her desk. Ema blinked. He wasn’t usually one for idle gossip—one of many “putrid” habits he discouraged—but, then again, Ema was dishing on his brother.

“Yeah,” she said. “Gavin’s…” A lovesick idiot, pining after Apollo—which, in addition to being ironic and hilarious, was a nuisance because Ema could barely deal with Gavin in a good mood, let alone moping and writing tragic love songs on the job. She caught Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s eye, though, the way he was leaning closer to her desk instead of maintaining perfect posture. Once again, she was opening her mouth and inserting her foot, complaining about Gavin, when the truth was—“He’s very fond of Apollo.”

“Do you think Apollo will be happy that Prosecutor Gavin has followed him here?”

Ema shook her head affectionately. “He’ll deny it up and down, but definitely.”

She was not prepared for the smile that warmed Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s face. In that moment, he really looked young, so different from the austere prosecutor who dominated the courtroom. A strand or two of flyaway hair stuck out from his silvery braid. Little lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes.  

“Good,” he said, with gentle feeling, and Ema’s chest squeezed. She wondered if Lana would make such a sweet expression hearing that a handsome prosecutor had come to sweep Ema off her feet.

Not that Ema was in that position.

“And what about you, Detective?” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi asked. He glanced at the paperwork on her desk, that big brother smile still playing at his lips. “Are you happy to have followed me here?”

“Huh?” Ema sat up straight. “Well—that—” What was he even asking her? Those knowing questions, that bright smile—Prosecutor Sahdmadhi had to understand why Gavin came, why Apollo would be happy to see him. And asking, then, if she felt the same way about Khura’in as Klavier Gavin… “It—it’s totally different, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi. We have a professional relationship. I mean, I’m happy to have the job and all, but…” Her face burned. She hadn’t followed him here, not like. Not like that.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s expression was completely neutral in the face of her sputtering mess. “Of course,” he said, the brotherly glow gone from his face. “As long as you’re happy with your work.”

He made one of his monk gestures, the kind that usually put Ema’s nerves and frustrations at ease. As he turned back to his office, though, all of her anxiety dialed up into an unpleasant cloud of feeling. What was that, even? They’d been having a nice conversation, and she’d made it weird. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi must have thought so, too. He was always so generous when she said or did foolish things, pretending to look the other way, not to notice. But just then, he’d been stiffer than usual. She’d embarrassed him, going on like that as if he’d insinuated they were a couple. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was a smart guy, that wasn’t even what he meant, and she blew it.

Ema’s gut twisted. She blew it.

*

Apollo wasn’t sure if he was very surprised or not at all surprised that Klavier fit into the agency right away. Armie hung on his every word when he told stories of his touring days and begged him to sing (which, honestly, required little prompting—some things never changed). Ahlbi bounced around him seeking attention just as much, wanting to learn more about public relations and successful business. Datz kept winking at Apollo, not even trying to be subtle or waiting for other people to turn their backs. Apollo just knew that Klavier had caught those knowing looks. Ugh.

Klavier was staying in a hostel on the other side of the bazaar, and he had a short list of sites he wanted to see while in Khura’in. “I know that you’re working,” he said to Apollo. “I can entertain myself during your office hours.”

“Did you come here expecting me to entertain you?” Apollo asked, the dry question out of his mouth before he could stop it. Klavier took it in the same carefree stride he did everything else and laughed.

“You do bring a smile to my face,” he said.

So, during the day, he was out and about, visiting temples and natural wonders, shopping in the bazaar, and tagging along on all of Ahlbi’s tours. Klavier was very good at keeping the kids busy, at least, so his vacation was also like a vacation for Apollo. Ahlbi, Armie, and even Datz all followed him around, begging for stories or otherwise clamoring for his attention, and Apollo could fill out paperwork in peace.

After an especially long day in court, Apollo was surprised to come into the lobby and find the whole group of them waiting for him.

“We watched your trials!” Ahlbi announced. 

Apollo felt like drooping more than ever. “Oh, did you?” Nerves that he hadn’t felt since his first appearances in court trembled up his spine. Klavier was showy and garish, but he was also smart and skilled in the courtroom. Nahyuta had made Apollo chase his tail a few times in court today. Not exactly the impression he wanted to leave.

“I’m jealous,” Klavier said, Armie latched onto him in a piggy back. “When will we face off again in court, you and I?”

“When we’re practicing law in the same country,” Apollo groused. His bracelet squeezed immediately, and he knew a headache was coming when his eyes traveled from Datz’s picking at his knife to Ahlbi’s shifting the strap of his bag, to Armie pointing her toes up and down, to Klavier’s tipping his chin up in an attempt to toss back a lock of hair in his eyes without the use of his hands. Closing his eyes, Apollo breathed deeply. When. He’d said when , and since Klavier obviously wasn’t moving to Khura’in, that meant when Apollo moved back to the States. Which he would, eventually. He’d planned to, from the start. And…

“Oh. You’re all visiting?” Nahyuta’s soft voice floated in over Apollo’s shoulder, and he turned to see his brother-of-sorts crossing his arms at the door. “Hello, everyone. And, ah. Prosecutor Gavin.”

“Prosecutor Sahdmadhi,” he greeted back with a smile. Nahyuta’s eyes flickered with something Apollo was certain was amusement, and his bracelet throbbed at his wrist again. Would he ever know peace?

“I’d heard you came to visit Apollo,” Nahyuta said, and Apollo felt his face flood immediately. All that monk business was a lie; Nahyuta’s smile was nothing short of devilish . Why—

“Ema,” he muttered, realizing. Apollo was going to have a chat with her later. His bracelet pulsed as his gaze caught on Nahyuta’s face and the way his eyes shifted away unsurely.

“Yes, his presence is greatly missed in Los Angeles,” Klavier said easily. “I had some vacation time, and all this fresh air is just what herr doktor ordered.”

“I see.” That flash of insecurity disappeared. In its place, danger glittered in every molecule of Nahyuta’s serene smile. He made one of his okay gestures that meant something deeper than that but which Apollo had never delved much into, largely uninterested in the more religious practices of Khura’in. “I hope your time here is cleansing and purges the toxins of Los Angeles from your soul.”

Klavier threw his head back and laughed, but not unkindly, and when he’d composed himself, his smiling eyes landed on Apollo. “I hope so, too.”

Apollo closed his eyes again, his bracelet unable to take a break as both Nahyuta’s and Datz’s knowing eyes fell on him. “Who’s ready to head home?” he asked tiredly. 

His two actual kids and one Datz-sized kid chorused with moans of agreement and inquiries as to what Apollo would make them for dinner. 

“Nothing that was alive,” Armie said hurriedly. Apollo was pretty sure she’d been a chicken-nuggets-and-fries kid, but ever since she laid eyes on Datz’s ‘lizard surprise,’ she’d steered clear of meat. Luckily, he had a pretty good handle on vegetarian cooking. 

“I’ll...see what we have in the fridge,” Apollo said.

“We could go to a restaurant,” Klavier offered. “My treat. You’ve had a long day.”

“...Maybe takeout,” Apollo said at last. Since that one time when Klavier had called him ‘Herr Forehead,’ the nickname hadn’t made another appearance. In fact, Klavier hadn’t directly addressed Apollo as anything, as if he weren’t sure what name should go there. Another reminder of the last time they’d seen each other in Los Angeles, when Klavier had leaned in close only to pull away. Thought about kissing Apollo only to change his mind a second later. The sting of rejection was as sharp now, just thinking about it, as it had been when it was actually happening.

Nahyuta bid them good night and drifted away, not looking at all like he’d spent a grueling eight hours in court. The rest of their group headed for the agency, Apollo envying that Armie didn’t have to walk. Not that he wanted Klavier to carry him, either, and Apollo knew with mortifying certainty that he would.

“You’re really quite the entrepreneur,” Klavier was telling Ahlbi. “I can’t imagine running a business at your age.”

Ahlbi puffed up his chest. “I’m just getting started,” he said. A bark of agreement sounded from his bag. “Actually, Mr. Gavin, I was wondering…”

“Ahlbi,” Apollo said sharply. Sure enough, when he glanced over his shoulder, Ahlbi wore an expression that was a little wounded but mostly resigned.

Klavier blinked. “What is it?”

“He wants to ask you to promote his business in some way. Which isn’t polite, especially for someone you’ve just met.”

“You didn’t even let me ask…” Ahlbi mumbled, kicking at pebbles as they made their way down the street. Apollo sighed.

“The music industry is one of networking,” Klavier said, a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps we’ll revisit endorsements once you’ve lost all your baby teeth, Herr Tour Guide.” Ahlbi beamed.

When they reached a little restaurant with takeout options, Armie and Ahlbi clamored ahead to look at the menu. Apollo found himself more aware than ever of Klavier’s presence beside him. 

“You’re a strict parent,” Klavier teased.

“You’d be too lenient,” Apollo countered, wishing even as the retort tumbled out of his mouth that firing back wasn’t always his first instinct.

“He’s just like his old man,” Datz said, slapping Apollo on the back. “I see more of the boss in you every day, AJ.”

“They have lizards!” Ahlbi announced, Armie shrieking beside him. Datz laughed and jogged over to the menu to point the pictures out to the kids.

“Like your father,” Klavier said. Apollo slipped his hands into his pockets. “Not the musician, I take it.”

“No, not him.” Apollo paused. “You...would have liked Dhurke, too.”

“I think I would have,” Klavier agreed.

*

Once Ahlbi and Datz left and Armie went up to the former guest room, now her own, Klavier and Apollo had time to sit together. Apollo put on a pot of tea and insisted that Klavier tell him again how everyone at the agency was doing.

“You don’t hear from them much?” Klavier asked, as lightly as he could.

“International calls are expensive,” Apollo said, “and you know about the internet already. I don’t,” he held up a hand when Klavier’s lips barely parted. “...need any money.”

“Not even with a daughter and the rest of your family to provide for?” Apollo’s dry look wasn’t entirely without humor, which Klavier took as a good sign. He set his mug down and rested his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of family, how did your older brother never come up in conversation?”

“It’s not professional to talk about your home life on the job,” Apollo said, “especially when the job is a crime scene.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, but you know everything about my personal life.”

“Not everything,” Apollo corrected hastily. 

Klavier smiled. “Not everything,” he conceded. “What do you want to know? I’m an open book, for you.”

Apollo flushed a quite charming shade of red at that, pushing his hair back behind his ears with both hands. He didn’t seem used to it yet, and Klavier remembered the strange sensation of having hair brushing his chin or covering his ears where it hadn’t before. Once he’d finished with his flustered movement, Apollo’s bright eyes locked on Klavier’s.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” he asked.

Klavier jolted. “Wh-what?”

Face still red, eyes still bright, voice still cracking like he was in desperate need of a lozenge, Apollo said, “In Los Angeles. The last time I saw you, you...were going to kiss me. Why didn’t you?”

Klavier had seen Apollo take down many a witness and a few criminals as well with that blazing stare, but having it fixated on him was another experience entirely. It was mesmerizing, if he were being honest. And he knew from experience that there was no point in denying it.

“I was going to,” he agreed gently. Apollo’s expression contorted, like he hadn’t expected Klavier to confirm his accusation, but Klavier didn’t think the flinch was necessarily bad. Just more of that trademark leaping-before-looking Herr Forehead style. “The timing felt wrong.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You had just lost Clay,” Klavier said, his voice lowering as much as he could manage without whispering. All of the angles and fire drained out of Apollo; his expression was suddenly hard to read, and everything about him looked younger and rounder. “I thought that I was taking advantage.”

“You weren’t,” Apollo said, defensiveness creeping into his tone. His hair curled around his chin, which Klavier hadn’t noticed before. Unruly and soft, all the things Khura’in brought out in him. Pausing, he added, “You should have told me that.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you, or pressure you into thinking you had to prove that you weren’t acting out of grief.” Klavier hesitated. “It’s not that I didn’t want to kiss you, Apollo.” Apollo’s head jerked up at the sound of his name. “I did. Very much so. And I thought maybe after we’d spent more time together, or more time had passed after everything you went through.” He took one last sip of tea and set it back down on the table, folding his hands in his lap. “I suppose I waited too long.”

“The last year has been…” Apollo gestured emptily, and Klavier nodded. “I didn’t expect to come back here.”

“And now you’re back here with some permanence,” Klavier said. A weight settled in on his chest as he said it aloud. “The Justice Anything Agency...it’s great that you’ve taken over Dhurke Sahdmadhi’s practice, but it does give you an address that is decidedly not Los Angeles.”

“Just for now,” Apollo said. Klavier looked up. “Khura’in still has...a long way to go to fix its legal system. But I’ve got a lot of faith in Nahyuta. He’ll watch over the place until Rayfa comes of age, and then he’ll take more of an advisory role. Actually, by then, he’ll probably take over this office.” Apollo glanced around, his eyes tracing the doorways and the windows. “He’s more entitled to it than I am.”

“Dhurke Sahdmadhi was your father, too.”

Apollo studied Klavier for a moment. Weighing how to respond, Klavier thought. “Dhurke was only my father for so long. He sent me to the United States and didn’t contact me again until…” He hesitated. “Until it was too late.”

Another tragedy in Apollo’s short life. Klavier hated how young he was and how much he’d lost already.

“I’ve lived in California for most of my life,” Apollo continued. “It’s still what I think of when I think of ‘home,’ even if my childhood was here.”

“So, you’ll stay and work here for…” Klavier’s chest constricted. “A few years, then. Help your brother remix the legal system. Then…?” Come back. He didn’t want to say it out loud, to add pressure to the wish once it existed between them.

“I don’t know,” Apollo admitted, his eyes finding Klavier’s again. “I guess...I’m responsible for more than just me now.”

“Ah, yes, Fraulein Sarge.”

Apollo snorted and leaned back on the couch. “Well, that’s a new one. Have you called her that yet to her face? I’d like to see it.”

“Not yet, but maybe someday.”

They sat in comfortable quiet, Apollo drinking his tea, Klavier letting himself go boneless in the cozy office. When Apollo set down his mug, it was with a much louder clink than when Klavier had put his own down.

“Our timing is pretty bad, huh?” he mumbled.

“It’s only bad if we let it be,” Klavier said, earning himself an arched eyebrow. Huh. He didn’t know Apollo could do that. “Apollo, I do want this. If you do.”

“We live on different continents!”

“For now.”

“But what if…” Apollo huffed. “I really don’t know what the future holds. When I’m getting back to Los Angeles. If ever.”

“We can figure it out as we go.”

“You’re just…” Klavier swallowed, watching as Apollo struggled to find the words he wanted. At last, he said, “I don’t want you to have to wait around.”

“Long-distance relationships are a thing, you know.”

“Yeah, but waiting to actually be in the same place at the same time, and actually having a life together!”

“And a daughter.”

Apollo blanched as if that detail hadn’t even occurred to him. “This is…” He hung his head. “More than just timing.”

“It’s fine,” Klavier said. He slid a little closer on the couch and, when Apollo didn’t tense or lean away, he let himself reach out and brush back those rogue strands curling around Apollo’s chin, as soft and wonderful to run his fingers through as he’d imagined. “It’s a lot. That’s okay. If you’re in, I’m in.” 

He let his fingers ghost over the curve of Apollo’s ear and trace down his jawline with a feather-light touch. Apollo leaned into it, some of the stress seeping out of his shoulders.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he murmured, lashes fluttering as he let Klavier brush his knuckles against his cheek.

“This is step one.” Klavier slid closer, his knee grazing Apollo’s. “If we’re in, we go to the next step to figure out together. If we’re not in, then there aren’t any more steps.”

Apollo’s eyes were so big and bright. Klavier really had never met anyone who had such a direct stare. Golden skin that couldn’t hide a blush, even under all those kisses from the sun. His hands wandered on their own, threading through silky brown hair, cupping his cheek, resting under his chin to tip it up. Apollo let him.

“So I’m in,” Klavier said, lips barely moving, close enough to kiss.

“I’m in, too,” Apollo said, letting him close the gap between them.

Chapter Text

All those years of touring the world with the Gavviners were pleasant memories for Klavier. Case after case of taking down bad guys with evidence and testimony—also good. The past week of exploring Khura’in with the members of the Justice Anything Agency? Amazing. But none of those happinesses even came close to five-thirty this morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, the smell of coffee brewing, and Klavier’s chin resting on Apollo’s shoulder, arms looped around his waist, as he scrambled eggs.

“Clinging isn’t conducive to cooking,” Apollo said, all the bite in his voice undermined by his luminescent blush. Klavier hummed noncommittally and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Amazing how one kiss could stitch up the wounds of all those miles apart and all those what-ifs. Klavier had barely been able to sleep, every nerve electrified with the memory of Apollo’s chapped lips and dark lashes and the impossibility of just how soft and sweet his voice could be. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t even an inconvenience if it meant waking up to a morning like this, hopelessly domestic and wrapped around Apollo.

Sleep, or lack thereof, fogged Klavier’s brain a little too much, though. He’d forgotten the reason he’d had to sleep on the couch instead of in a guest bed. Fraulein Sarge’s shriek behind them had Klavier and Apollo both jumping, Apollo’s eggs scrambling in midair. He managed to catch them all in the frying pan, which impressed Klavier to no end.

“Corporal Gavin!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “E-Explain your current grip on the Major Sergeant!”

Apollo sighed. “Why is it that I had to start at ‘Private,’ but Klavier gets to be ‘Corporal’ out of the gate?”

“You worked your way up to Major Sergeant? I’m impressed,” Klavier said, stomach flipping pleasantly at the sound of his name in Apollo’s raspy voice.

“It’s a recent promotion,” Apollo said, smiling down at his eggs before squawking and stirring them hurriedly with his spatula. At the frantic movement, Klavier reluctantly let go of him and stepped back so Apollo could divvy up breakfast for the three of them. Armie was no longer covering her mouth, and in fact had her hands on her hips, glaring at Klavier expectantly.

“Corporal?” she pressed. 

Klavier glanced at Apollo, wondering if it were appropriate for him to take this one. Armie had come up in conversation last night, of course, but they hadn’t put together a solid plan of action about how to approach their relationship with her. Apollo picked up on Klavier’s unspoken question, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to Armie. 

“Sarge,” he began, though the confidence dribbled out of his voice shyly with every syllable that followed. “We…have something to…um. Tell you.”

Apparently, that was all that needed to be said, though, because Armie’s shriek this time was one of delight. She clapped her hands and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “I knew it!”

The immediate acceptance from Apollo’s daughter sent an unprecedented wave of relief washing over Klavier. She peppered them with questions over breakfast, things like how many times they’d kissed (“Sarge!” Apollo barked, flushing. “Fourteen,” Klavier said.) and when they were getting married ( “Sarge!” Apollo twisted himself up in knots. Klavier kept his answer to himself, but based on the way Apollo rubbed his wrist just below his bracelet and glowered at him, as soon as possible was probably written all over his face.).

“Who knows about you two?” she asked, leaning over the table.

“No one!” Apollo managed in a strangled voice.

“You’re the first,” Klavier corrected smoothly.

This information delighted Armie most of all.

Naturally, it didn’t take long for word to get out. Armie told Herrs Ur’gaid and Are’bal practically before they were through the door, and by that afternoon, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi and Fraulein Detective were in the office.

Ema Skye had the wickedest smile Klavier had ever seen plastered across her face. When Sahdmadhi coolly requested to speak to Apollo alone and they disappeared in the back office, she whirled around to face Klavier.

“ Finally,” she said, bursting into laughter a second later. “Have you told anyone back home yet? Oh, I wish I could see all the money exchanging hands between the Prosecutors Office and Mr. Wright’s place.”

“Money exchanging hands?” Before she had a chance to explain, the pieces clicked into place in Klavier’s mind. “Fraulein Detective, were our colleagues perhaps betting on us?”

“For sure,” she said, cheery as she was unapologetic. “Even Mr. Edgeworth was in on it. He lost money, though. His guess was pretty long-term.”

Meaning the Chief Prosecutor thought Klavier would pine himself into oblivion, presumably. Klavier’s displeasure with this information must have showed, because Ema howled.

“Did anyone bet that we might get together sooner?” Klavier was proud of himself for keeping the whine out of his voice.

She had to think about it, which was mortifying in and of itself. “Yeah, one guy from the Prosecutors Office. I don’t really know him. He showed up when I was abroad studying for the promotion to Forensics. You know, the former convict.”

Herr Samurai. Klavier’s only true friend.

“How did you hear about it?” Klavier asked, belatedly.

“Datz came running in to tell us. ‘Yuty, Yuty, guess what?’ he said.” Ema’s smirk softened, the corners of her eyes crinkling with affection. “Prosecutor Sahdmadhi is happy, I think. That somebody’s crazy enough to travel halfway around the world out of devotion to his little brother.” It was a halfhearted dig, and entirely true, so Klavier just smiled. “But brace yourself for a shovel talk.”

Klavier’s smile froze in place. “A shov—?”

Apollo and Sahdmadhi emerged from the back office then. Klavier turned to find Apollo’s face in its recent semi-permanent state of redness, his expression adorably shy, and the only thing keeping Klavier from sweeping him into his arms was his brother behind him. Although everything about his expression and posture indicated the same quiet, composed monk Klavier knew, Sahdmadhi’s green eyes were something like sharply-cut emeralds boring into him over Apollo’s shoulder.

“Prosecutor Gavin,” he said in that airy, melodious voice of his. “A word?”

Repressing a shiver, Klavier obediently followed Sahdmadhi outside. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see Ema’s vicious glee returned and Apollo’s lips pursed with indignation. The door swung closed behind the two prosecutors.

“When you first arrived,” Sahdmadhi said, walking down the road away from the marketplace. Klavier walked alongside him. “...it was brought to my attention that your coming here was inevitable.”

“Ach. Fraulein Detective, no doubt.”

“Mm,” Sahdmadhi agreed, the lines in his face smoothing. Klavier blinked. “This morning’s news was not entirely a surprise, therefore. I know that…Apollo and I have been estranged for a long time…”

“That wasn’t really your fault, though,” Klavier said. 

Sahdmadhi cast him a grateful look, then seemed to catch himself and straightened his shoulders. “But Apollo’s wellbeing is still of the utmost importance to me. His happiness, as well.”

“There, we are in agreement, my friend.”

“We don’t really know each other well enough to call each other ‘friend.’” Sahdmadhi’s voice wasn’t cruel, more matter-of-fact. Then, with a faint inclination of his head, he added, “But I would like us to be.”

“Then we are,” Klavier said, pleased.

Sahdmadhi chuckled. “You really are quite easygoing, aren’t you, Prosecutor Gavin?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“But you have an impressive track record in court. I looked up your performance over the past few years, and it seems your only failures to convict came at Apollo’s hands.” Sahdmadhi shook his head. “Granted, you and I share that blight on our records.”

“I believe you’ve also lost trials to Herr Wright and Fraulein Cykes,” Klavier teased, earning himself a sharp look.

“Choose your words carefully, Prosecutor Gavin.” Sahdmadhi’s voice was laced with icicles. “As Apollo’s family, my approval is precious to you.”

Klavier gulped. “Oh. Is that a tradition in Khura’in?” He’d done some reading up on the country during his flights, but of course nothing like marriage rituals had come up.

Sahdmadhi’s smile was wry. “Not officially.”

Startled at the joke, Klavier let out a reedy laugh. “I see.”

“But it appears that Detective Skye’s information is trustworthy as always. Your face went as white as a sheet at the implication that I could prevent your relationship from progressing. You really are taken with Apollo, aren’t you?” The mirth dancing in Sahdmadhi’s eyes was unmistakable now.

“Are you teasing me?” Klavier asked. Sahdmadhi threw his head back, braid flicking elegantly down his back, and sent a sweet laugh spiraling up to the sky.

“Allow an older brother his mischief, Klavier,” Sahdmadhi said, all malice wiped from his aura. “Apollo is quite taken with you as well. All I need is to confirm that the love is mutual to approve, and that much is obvious.”

Klavier swallowed, hard. The love is mutual, he’d said. The love is mutual, the love is mutual, the love is mutual.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi laughed again. They’d looped around the block and were nearing the crossroads leading either to the marketplace or back to Apollo’s office.

“Here I was bracing for a shovel talk…” Klavier said. Ema’s information was less trustworthy when she delivered it to him, apparently.

“Shovel talk?” Nahyuta inclined his head towards Klavier. “What is a shovel talk?”

“It’s a threat that close friends and family might make to a new lover.” Klavier didn’t usually shy away from the word lover, but he regretted it the second it was out of his mouth. Nahyuta didn’t seem bothered by it, though. “As in, ‘if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you,’ you know?”

Nahyuta’s eyes glittered. “I understand. Consider the shovel talk invoked between us.”

Why was everything so terrifying when Nahyuta Sahdmadhi said it in a conversational tone?

“Well, now, do I have to invoke it as well?” Klavier asked lightly. “I’m only a proxy for Lana Skye, but I think she’d be fine with my reminding you to take care with the good detective.”

Nahyuta stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at Klavier. Huh. Klavier had never actually seen a jaw drop, and his cool companion was the last person he’d expect to demonstrate. “Wh…what?”

“...” Klavier fidgeted with the short strands of hair the wind was fluffing against his jawline. “I’m sorry, did I misread the situation?”

“Explain what you believe you are misreading.” Nahyuta had shifted into prosecutor mode, all business, but there was an almost frantic light in his eyes.

“Well, you and Fraulein Detective seem to have a connection. Closer than most working relationships I’ve seen between prosecutors and detectives.” Klavier held his hands up in front of himself. “And I know she’s never thought much of me. I’ve never seen her as happy as she is here with you.”

Nahyuta’s eyes scanned his whole face as if looking for lies, a movement that reminded Klavier wholly of Apollo. Then he brought one hand to his mouth, tracing his thumbnail over his bottom lip as if staving off the urge to bite it. “...Well, I believe my process agrees more with Detective Skye’s personal philosophy, is all. She is not interested in me as anything but a coworker.”

The admission stunned Klavier. If Ema and her soft eyes and gentle delivery of Nahyuta’s name wasn’t interested, then Klavier would set his entire guitar collection on fire. But on top of that, for Nahyuta to say so in such explicit terms—had he asked her and been rejected? Not to mention that he clearly said she wasn’t interested, not that he wasn’t.

While Klavier’s brain was exploding, Nahyuta started walking again, headed for Apollo’s office. “Well, anyway,” Nahyuta said, back to his usual serene voice, “Apollo is very happy, and as long as he stays that way, you and I shall be friends.”

Klavier jogged to catch up to him. Whatever romantic woes or mixed signals were troubling Nahyuta, he wouldn’t push or pry. The right thing to do right now was to follow his lead and keep it light. “Now that’s what I call a shovel talk, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”

The compliment brought a real smile to Nahyuta’s face, which was all Klavier could ask for.

*

“What exactly is Nahyuta thinking?” Apollo asked the second the prosecutors were out the door. 

Ema laughed and put a hand to her sunglasses, balanced on top of her head. “You can’t think of any reason why he might want to meet the glimmerous rock star who traveled halfway around the world to get with his little brother?”

Apollo sputtered and strode over to his desk to shuffle already-neat piles of papers. It must’ve been a holdover from his days at Mr. Wright’s, which always looked like a disaster area. Ema wondered what the office looked like now that its tidiest employee was abroad.

“Th-that’s not…! And Klavier isn’t…I mean, he didn’t…I mean…” Apollo gathered papers into his hands and clacked them against his desk so that they looked just as orderly as they had when he picked them up.

“What did Prosecutor Sahdmadhi want to talk to you about in the back room?” Ema asked, not missing the fact that Prosecutor Gavin was apparently Klavier now.

“He wanted to confirm if what Datz said was true, or if he was messing with him.” Apollo blew a little air out of the side of his mouth, sending a lock of silky hair billowing up. “Which…I guess is a valid question.”

“Yeah, Datz is kind of a fifty-fifty of reliable information, huh?”

Apollo snorted. “And, um. He wanted to know if I were. Ah. Happy.” He looked away shyly, and as much as Ema wanted to gag at witnessing this particular reaction to the romantic intentions of Klavier Gavin, Apollo’s expression was too soft to snark at.

“And?” she pressed. “Are you?”

Apollo smiled down at his papers. “...Yeah.”

He really had changed here in Khura’in. Thinking back years now to that first case where they’d met, the two of them and Trucy fingerprinting a stolen noodle cart, Ema didn’t know what to do with the fact that Apollo Justice was in love, ran his own law practice, and had a kid. He’d had that barely-out-of-high-school baby face back in the day, and now it was like he’d speedrun adulting. 

What did it feel like, she wondered. Being content. Pursued. How would it feel to have the person you wanted come running after you like this? Of course, Gavin would go all-out with this grand gesture of flying all the way from L.A. to confess, which was romantic, sure, but also garish and over-the-top. Probably something he got out of a rom-com or, more likely, a song on the radio. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi would never do something so—

Ema froze. Why had she thought that just now? What kind of comparison was she drawing? Prosecutor Sahdmadhi had nothing to do with the glimmerous fop’s romantic overtures. And besides, he had no one to make romantic overtures for, that she knew of. Her heart squeezed. 

“Ema?” Apollo was peering at her with those too-attentive eyes of his. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, parroting his favorite word back at him. Apollo’s eyes flashed, his hand going to his wrist. “Just had a weird thought.”

“A weird thought?” he repeated, sounding much too grown-up.

Ema crossed her arms and flashed him a smug look. Time to fake it ‘til she made it. “You and Gavin. Is he staying in your room now instead of the hostel?”

She definitely hadn’t convinced him. Whatever tic she had going on that was tipping him off to her brain’s unexplainable actions must’ve still been happening, because his eyes stayed lasered onto her. A second later, though, she got to see her words hit in real time. Apollo’s face flooded and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Wh- what?” he bellowed. It was at this moment that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi and Gavin entered through the front door of the office. Apollo whirled to them. Pointing at Gavin and bringing his voice up to that deafening volume he enjoyed so much, Apollo insisted, “He slept on the couch!”

Ema pressed her lips together as hard as she could to keep from laughing at the awkward silence that fell over the office. Maybe Apollo hadn’t changed that much. His extended arm trembled ever so slightly, and she spotted him worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. It was still pretty funny, but she had to admit, she felt a little bad for the guy.

That is, until Prosecutor Sahdmadhi closed his eyes and gave another one of his okay signs. “Of course. Where else would he sleep?”

The question could have been genuine, but Ema was quite sure that underneath that monk exterior, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was being devilish. The idea of it, combined with Apollo’s trademark bug-eyed look, nearly had a laugh spilling from her lips. 

It was Gavin who stopped her. Gavin, who was always so shameless and flirtatious, never one to shy away from a double entendre, blushed at Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s question.

Come on, Gavin, Ema thought, the rest of the cogs in her mind stuttering at the sight of him speechless. Make a joke. Laugh. Tease ‘Herr Forehead.’ But he didn’t. He only swallowed and looked away, his eyes darting to Apollo carefully, like he wanted to look but didn’t want to get caught.

Damn. Ema wouldn’t have picked on them so much if she’d known it was this real between them. Even she had her standards, after all.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi smoothed over the second awkward silence with his usual graciousness, and he and Ema bid the flustered couple good afternoon. Ema could only imagine what would go on behind closed doors after they left—and, quite frankly, she didn’t want to imagine it at all.

The market was in full swing by this time of afternoon, but this path was also the quickest back to the office, even taking into account the traffic. Ema sighed and slipped her sunglasses down, the sun blazing overhead. People in the marketplace did double-takes at the sight of their prince out in public, and as many vendors offered him free merchandise as shoppers offered to pay for his groceries. He gently refused and apologized for not being able to stay and shop, promising to return to the market another time, which Ema knew he would honor. It was hard to hold back a smile, seeing Prosecutor Sahdmadhi speaking quietly with his people, citizens who adored him and appreciated his work to better their country.

At one point, the throng of shoppers grew so dense that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi offered her his arm. It was so foreign an action that Ema stared blankly at the crook of his elbow, weirdly elegant under his formal dress, until he gave her a tiny smile.

“To prevent our separation,” he said. 

Ema bit down a squeak and looped her arm awkwardly through his, feeling warmth radiating through his sleeve as her bare forearm brushed against it. There was a steadiness in Prosecutor Sahdmadhi that Ema didn’t think she’d ever experienced in another person, even Mr. Edgeworth. His arm linked with hers wasn’t just gentlemanliness. It was tethering, like an anchor keeping her held fast to the earth.

A year ago, Ema would have scoffed at the idea of needing an anchor. She’d just scored her dream job, a not-shitty apartment in the Valley that she could afford without roommates, and a new brand of shampoo that actually kept the frizz at bay like it promised without making her hair all oily. 2027 Ema was thriving.  

Then this guy showed up. Ema gave him a sideways glance. Nahyuta Sahdmadhi was a puzzle wrapped up in a riddle, elegant even in profile.

“So,” she said lightly. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi turned his attention to her, and she almost stopped walking at the sheer glow on his face. “Oh. You look really happy. Good conversation with Gavin?”

“Yes.” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s eyes twinkled. “As always, your detective work is spot-on.”

“Oh?” Ema prompted. When Prosecutor Sahdmadhi only inclined his head in response, she shook her arm linked through his. “Well? Spill!”

“Now, now, Detective Skye.” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi lifted his free hand, putting a finger to his lips. His eyes crinkled in the corners, and Ema swallowed hard at the devious glee she spied there. He was teasing her.

“W-well!” she sputtered. He chuckled.

“The most important thing,” he said, laying his free hand on top of hers resting in the crook of his elbow, “is that Apollo is happy, and Klavier knows that if he does anything to change that, our friendship will be in jeopardy.” 

Ema laughed, feeling less self-conscious than usual about the fact that he laugh was loud and toothy, unlike Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s smooth delivery. She let herself go full witch’s cackle, in fact. “That. Is. Fantastic.” 

“Is it?” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi traced some kind of symbol onto the back of Ema’s hand with his index finger. Probably one of his monk thingies.

“Yes! I wish I could’ve seen his face when you told him that. Definitely on board with this side of you, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”

“Good to know,” he said. His hand was dry, smooth, and cool, his finger tracing loops and spirals like calligraphy against her skin.

Chapter Text

It was embarrassing to admit it now, but the first time they’d faced off against one another in court, Klavier hadn’t thought Apollo was really going to go anywhere in his career. The boy who’d bested his brother…a fluke. Luck. Simply at the right place at the right time, with Herr Wright’s years of research and bitterness behind him. 

He’d been so unsure then. Apollo’s voice cracked at every objection, and his pointer finger trembled in the air when he parried a witness’ testimony with some outlandish evidence that would prove to unravel the entire case as it seemed. Case by case, investigation by investigation, Apollo’s comfort with the courtroom increased. His confidence built. To watch him from the gallery now, here in Khura’in, Klavier could safely say his defense was a thing of beauty. A gift. Especially to the clients he rescued from unjust circumstances.

With the days of his vacation whittling down, Klavier decided to save the sightseeing for another time. He was much more interested in spending the precious time they had on the same continent with Apollo, which meant watching hours of grueling trials. Nahyuta led a few cases, usually the most gruesome ones, with Ema at his side, and then the many other prosecutors would rotate in for their trials. Poor Apollo, alone at the defense bench in a country full of prosecutors. And the poor Chef back home, who didn’t have enough prosecutors to divvy up trials so easily.

Datz and the kids joined Klavier for some trials, but then they were off for their own fun or business endeavors. Once he was alone in the gallery, Klavier allowed himself slow, lingering looks, memorizing Apollo’s broad shoulders and the fierce blaze of his dark eyes. 

He knew for a fact that Apollo could sense him admiring from the flush that crept up the back of his neck, and Klavier made sure to keep his attention mostly respectful. That was much harder to do when they returned home to Apollo’s little agency only to find that Datz still had Armie and Ahlbi out of the house.

“W-Would you cut it out?” Apollo asked, undermined by his own raspy voice as Klavier’s lips ghosted up the curve of his neck to his ear, Klavier’s fingers tracing down his sides to rest on his hips. Apollo squirmed. “Ticklish.”

“Sorry,” Klavier said, not sorry at all. “You were something else in court today, you know.”

“Why are acquittals such a…thing for you?” Apollo muttered. Klavier knew he was carefully side-stepping the phrase turn-on. “Is that why you became a prosecutor in the first place, you creep?”

Klavier huffed a laugh against the shell of his ear at the harmless fluster in Apollo’s voice. “It’s not acquittals that do it for me, you know. It’s the attorney getting the acquittal.”

The string of sputtered noises he got in response couldn’t charitably be called words, but Klavier basked in them like they were the lyrics of love songs. A genre of music which, it so happened, Klavier was composing in his head pretty much every day.

“We just…don’t have much more time,” Klavier murmured. Apollo stilled under his hands.

“...Yeah.” The disappointment that Apollo couldn’t hide if he wanted to, that ever-present honesty, warmed and broke Klavier’s heart all at once.

“Maybe I can take a few more days,” he said, drawing back from Apollo reluctantly. “It’s not like I don’t have plenty of vacation stored up.”

Brown eyes locked on his, staring accusations into him. “Workaholic.”

Luckily, one thing that was just as true now as it was in Apollo’s earliest trials was how easy it was to distract him, to goad him. Klavier cupped his face in his hands and leaned closer to press a kiss to his lips. He could feel Apollo’s frown against his mouth, but all it took was tilting his head to just the right angle and grazing his teeth ever so gently against Apollo’s bottom lip, and Klavier could feel the annoyance seeping out of him. 

Those confident hands slid up to his hair, fingers threading through newly-shortened locks, the gold of Apollo’s bracelet cool against the back of Klavier’s neck. Klavier couldn’t keep himself from humming with contentment. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Followed obediently, willingly, when Apollo tugged him towards the stairs in the back of the office that led up to the apartment on the second floor. 

Apollo’s bed was made, because of course it was, with plain sheets the color of sand and a handmade quilt that was soft and lived-in under Klavier’s hands, the way only a well-loved blanket could be. The curtains were drawn but thin, letting in just a strip of sunlight that lit up the curve of Apollo’s smile. The parting of his lips. The shape of Klavier’s name in his hoarse, tired, beautiful voice.

I love you, Klavier wanted to say, and it felt like the right time, the right moment, to whisper that truth into Apollo’s ear. Except that it wasn’t. He had to settle for Apollo, Apollo, Apollo. Which was just as stupidly loud and obvious.

Oh, he was helpless, hopeless.

“...Maybe you can take a few more days,” Apollo conceded at last. And even though Klavier knew he really couldn’t, that the Prosecutors Office back in L.A. was too swamped and understaffed, he’d do anything for the breathlessness in Apollo’s voice just then.

It was the middle of the day in Khura’in, which meant early morning in L.A. The Chief Prosecutor picked up on the second ring.

“Gavin,” he said with barely-contained frazzlement. Klavier winced. “What are you doing calling me from your vacation?”

“Just checking in,” Klavier said, glad that all that vocal training could hide his disappointment. He made the mistake of glancing over at Apollo next to him, mouth set in resignation even as the light dimmed in his dark brown eyes. Fooling him was another issue entirely. “How are you holding up?”

“We’re holding,” Herr Edgeworth said. Klavier heard a faint sigh and could just picture him turning the phone away to try and prevent Klavier from hearing it. “Listen, Gavin. You come home the day after tomorrow, right? Do you think you could review some documents on the flight? I wouldn’t ask, normally, but we…”

“Are swamped,” Klavier finished his sentence easily. He reached over to brush a silky strand of hair out of Apollo’s eyes, and Apollo pressed a kiss to his open palm. “Ja, of course, Herr Edgeworth. Send anything you need me to look at.”

“Thank you.” He sounded so tired. Klavier knew how bad it must have been for Herr Edgeworth to ask him to be trial-ready when he landed. “How is your vacation? I trust you are enjoying your time to relax.”

“I am,” Klavier said. “I’m so glad I came.” Apollo’s expression softened, and he shifted closer to Klavier. Warmth radiated from him, because of course it did.

“Good, I’m glad.” There was something in Herr Edgeworth’s voice that wasn’t quite teasing but wasn’t quite neutral, either, and Klavier was quite sure that he knew without the words being spoken aloud that Klavier’s love life had finally taken the turn he wanted. “I’m sorry, Gavin, I’m due in court, but I’ll see you soon. Have a good rest of your trip, and safe travels home.”

“Thank you, Chef, and good luck in court.”

“I’ll need it. Lord only knows what Wright has in store for me today.”

Klavier barely had time to hang up before Apollo was snickering into the crook of his neck. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Mmm.”

The sun was getting lower in the sky. Datz would almost certainly have the kids back soon. They should probably get themselves put back together, go back downstairs and sit a close but respectful distance apart. Avoid Datz’s knowing eye and poorly-hid smirk. But somehow Klavier couldn’t untangle himself from Apollo. Two more minutes, he told himself. One more. One more.

“It’s going to be weird here without you,” Apollo said at last. His finger traced a figure eight along Klavier’s forearm. “Figures that you arrive and disrupt everything and just fit right in like you’ve always been here.”

Klavier exhaled a little laugh through his nose. “It’s weird in L.A. without you,” he pointed out. “But I think it’ll be less weird knowing that we’re on the same page now, if not in the same country.”

“Yeah,” Apollo said. His finger hesitated a moment before resuming its tracing along Klavier’s arm. “...”

The silence stretched between them a few moments more—Klavier knew they had to get up, really, he did—until Klavier placed his hand on top of Apollo’s, slowing his nervous movement to lace their fingers.

Apollo sighed. “Fine,” he said, voice small. “It’s going to be…off without you.” He pursed his lips. “Incomplete.”

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Klavier said. Apollo looked away. “But, hey…we’re still in, right?”

“Yeah,” Apollo said, not a waver of doubt in his voice, even though it was heavy with an emotion Klavier hadn’t heard there in a long time. The last time he’d heard it was that night they’d almost kissed, all those months ago in L.A. When he’d been hurting from losing Clay. “We’re still in.”

I love you. He should say it. Klavier knew he should say it, that it was the moment to say it and put it out into the universe. To let Apollo know just how all-in he was. To confirm, out loud and in no uncertain terms, what it meant to him to be lying next to Apollo right now. What it had all meant to him.

But he was leaving the day after tomorrow. Saying it now was somewhere between cruel and pathetic. I love you was easy to throw around when one was days away from having half a world between them.

“Okay,” Klavier said. “So, what’s the next step?”

Chapter Text

Ema wanted so badly to be able to huff and puff how typical it was that Gavin couldn’t leave the country without a whole production. She and Prosecutor Sahdmadhi had joined Apollo’s office full of children and a few local friends Gavin had apparently made while in Khura’in at the airport to see him off. 

She’d held in her fuming on the ride over because she didn’t want Prosecutor Sahdmadhi thinking she had a beef with the guy he’d just given his blessing to date his little brother. Of course, it couldn’t even be called a beef anymore, because now that Ema had her dream job in forensics and got to work with exactly the kind of prosecutor she’d imagined every day, she could admit that Gavin wasn’t…entirely…awful…all of the time. And anyway, Ema was pretty sure she couldn’t hide anything from Prosecutor Sahdmadhi if she tried.

At his sidelong look, gentle humor playing in his eyes, she’d almost cracked and complained. She’d almost made one of her tried-and-true comments about the glimmerous fop and his typical foppishness. 

It was Apollo who stopped her.

Not that he realized he was doing it, of course. For how aware he was of everybody else, Apollo was oblivious to his own tics and tells. His big, brown eyes had gone full kicked-puppy, never leaving Gavin’s face as he bid farewell to each person individually. Which, of course, Gavin did with earnest and genuine kindness. 

“Take care,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi said warmly when he shook Gavin’s hand. His eyes flickered to Apollo, who didn’t notice, too busy catching himself mid-sigh at Gavin’s side.

“You as well, my friend,” Gavin said, giving Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s hand an extra little squeeze. “And you, Fraulein Detective.”

“Say hi to Mr. Edgeworth for me,” Ema replied. “Tell him that I…hope he’s okay.”

Ema thought that was pretty subtle, but then the fop’s eyes twinkled. “Ja, of course. Your kind regards will mean a lot to him, I imagine.” She shot him a glare that only reached full power for a second, because the way his eyes flickered to Apollo left no room for debate that Gavin was not looking forward to leaving Khura’in.

He was always touching Apollo, too, even if it wasn’t as obvious as hand-holding or draping an arm over his shoulder. Gavin stood close enough that their shoulders brushed, or his side grazed against Apollo’s, or his hand found the small of Apollo’s back. Which was so disgustingly smitten that even Ema felt her chest clench as his plane pulled up to take on passengers.

“I’ll see you off,” Apollo said roughly.

“Ja, sounds good.” Gavin gave the rest of them one last good-natured wave, and then he and Apollo headed outside to where the little puddle-jumper to Borginia was waiting on the runway. Ema knew from experience what a miserable ride it was, even though it was only an hour, and the takeoffs and landings in Khura’in’s bare-bones airport left much to be desired. The runway itself petered out into dirt right around the point where the plane fully left the ground. Apollo must have been a wreck letting Gavin board it. He’d probably be in Prosecutor Sahmadhi's office tomorrow dropping hints about moving airport renovations up the list of priorities.

Ahlbi and Armie tried to follow them, and Datz caught both of them by the scruffs, his hands hooking in the backs of their shirt collars expertly. “Leave ‘em be,” he said. The kids whined a little, but Ema thought she saw recognition in Armie’s eyes.

There really wasn’t any privacy for poor Apollo. Gavin’s whole entourage could see the two of them talking at the base of the stairs leading up into the plane. Apollo had his back to them but his hands were on his hips, so Ema could just imagine him hiding his hurt behind stiff, stoic professionalism. Have a safe flight, Prosecutor Gavin, and an awkward handshake, or something. 

Gavin, who was facing them but was focused wholly on Apollo, had up a mask Ema knew all too well. She'd seen that polished grace every time they'd worked on a case together and Gavin realized that they'd arrested the wrong culprit. Usually before the defense figured it out, even. 

See, Ema thought. Growth. Now she was admitting that Gavin could be good at his job. And honest. When he wasn't busy blinding the world with his glimmerous accessories.

“This is awful,” she mumbled. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi didn’t so much as glance at her, but she knew that he’d heard her in the slight stiffening of his posture. The new friends Gavin had made dispersed, having no reason to stay now that he was out the door, and Datz steered the kids back towards the entrance of the airport. Ema knew that she should follow suit and give Apollo and Gavin thirty seconds of privacy, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. “Long-distance relationships are the worst. And they haven’t even had that much time together…”

“True,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi said. Ema studied his profile, the sad bow of his eyebrows. “Being half a world away from your beloved…when Apollo has been through so much already.”

“Prosecutor Gavin’s been through a lot, too, actually,” Ema said. “Ugh, is it really so hard for them to be happy?"

Outside, Gavin leaned down to peck a fast kiss to Apollo’s forehead, and Ema swore she could hear the responding squawk of protest across the distance and through the window. A snort escaped her nose before she could stop it. When Gavin drew back, he was grinning, and Ema could see Apollo sputtering at him. Ah. So he’d wanted to break that tension, get Apollo crabbing at him instead of staring after him with that awful pinch in his brow.

Fop.

When Gavin dipped down again to brush an actual kiss to Apollo’s lips, Ema turned away. She’d spied long enough.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi followed her as she took a few steps away from the window, though he stayed at a distance, the midpoint between Ema and Apollo. She could sense him thinking, one of those elegant pauses of his before he dropped some sort of abstract, hypermature saying on her. Keep calm and let it go, or something.

“What is it?” she asked, immediately wishing that her voice had chosen to come out either as fragile or grumpy and not some weird, old-man-raspy split difference of the two. Not that she wanted Prosecutor Sahdmadhi to think she was fragile. Or grumpy. Well. He knew that one, but she hadn’t really turned her ire on him yet, and the inevitability of the yet bothered her more than she cared to admit.

“You’re a kind person, Detective,” he said.

She barked out another porcelain figure/chain smoker laugh and gave him a sideways look. “Care to elaborate?”

“You care about your friends and are deeply empathetic to their plight.” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi inclined his head, his green eyes gentle. “I don’t know Prosecutor Gavin as well as I intend to, but he seems like a fine man. And…I’m glad that Apollo has such a good friend to care for him. He’ll have trouble with this separation.”

The sureness in his voice squeezed in Ema’s chest. “Yeah,” she agreed. “He will. He’ll need family close by.”

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s eyebrows lifted only slightly, but his expression warmed. “If you think so, then I won’t be far from him. If…that’s what he wants.”

It must be weird to have years and distance and spirit channeling between siblings. Ema couldn’t imagine not wanting Lana at her side if the day ever came when Ema’s heart was broken. 

“Of course he wants that,” she said, barrelling ahead even though she’d seen Apollo balk at being the center of attention, especially in times of vulnerability. “Speaking from experience, there is no problem that your big sibling’s hugs can’t fix.”

Ema wondered why it was that she simply could not get her act together when it came to Prosecutor Sahdmadhi. Every time she spoke, it was unprofessional at best and embarrassing at worst. Usually both. Why was she like this?

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s smile slipped into something more neutral and closed off. Again. Ema couldn’t believe she was doing this again. Her and her big mouth. “I’m the eldest brother, so I can’t entirely relate, and so I defer to your expertise, Detective.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, that polite, strained thing she’d seen at work day in and out at the office. “I hope that the distance between you and your sister doesn’t weigh too heavily on your heart these days, and that you know that you are always welcome to return home when you need.”

It was at that moment that Apollo came back in through the door, face splotchy even as he forced his expression into seriousness. Gavin’s plane was rolling down the dirt road/runway. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was at his brother’s side in a blink, and it should have comforted Ema to see some of the tension dissolve from Apollo’s rigid shoulders. But her mind was too tangled up in Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s polite, professional, gracefully delivered dismissal. You are always welcome to return home.

She knew it was only a matter of time before her stumbles piled up too much even for Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s patience. She was unprofessional and embarrassing. All she ever did was overstep and say the wrong thing. So here they were, at the inevitable conclusion of this tour of Khura’in. 

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi wanted her to leave.

*

The plane ride to Khura’in had felt so long, and then Klavier’s tour was over in a heartbeat. A beat that had been stuck in his head for a long time, begging to be written down and performed. Notes. Words. Apollo.

On his way to Borginia, Klavier didn’t even bother opening the case files Herr Edgeworth had sent along; the ride was much too small and bumpy, and Klavier wasn’t in the mood to feel dizzy from trying to read off a screen. Already he had enough twisting going on in his stomach as the plane carried him further and further from Khura’in. 

The layover from the larger airport wasn’t long enough to justify calling Apollo, so Klavier had to hold himself over with texting that he’d landed safely in Borginia and would be en route to LA soon enough. Apollo texted back immediately, and Klavier couldn’t help his smile, knowing how much Apollo hated to text during work hours. At last, Klavier was the exception he wanted to be.

We’re boarding, he was sorry to text at last. I’ll text you as soon as we land.

You better, Apollo replied right away.

Boarding the flight to Los Angeles was much more familiar territory. Maybe it was the bigger plane, the higher number of passengers, or the knowledge that when next he stepped onto solid ground it would be in his hometown, but Klavier’s mindset shifted into work mode for this leg of the journey. He read through all of Herr Edgeworth’s documentation on an admittedly complex murder trial, set to be in court at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Klavier took copious notes and cross-checked the court record with testimony logs. He’d have to put in a few hours this afternoon to meet with the lead detective and as many witnesses as he could wrangle before trial.

Apollo’s defense had been such a blaze of glory the whole time Klavier had watched from the Khurainese gallery. Maybe that was what had fired Klavier up so much. He’d be up against some other attorney—maybe even Herr Wright or Fraulein Cykes—and that would take some of the joy out of prosecuting, but Klavier could still do a good job for Herr Edgeworth. It had been truly gracious of him to approve Klavier’s impromptu vacation right at the time the Prosecutors’ Office needed its senior staff most.

Klavier was not surprised that he was taking over this trial from another prosecutor who had done the legwork thus far. He was also fairly unsurprised that it was Herr Blackquill who’d been leading this case. They met at the detention center where detectives were questioning the defendant.

“You’ll have no quandaries with this one,” Blackquill said, a smirk appearing in the midst of shadow and steel. “There are some moving parts, but the guilt is undeniable.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” Klavier said cheerily, “thanks to the stellar notes I read on the flight.”

“Your taking over the trial is appreciated. Even though it’s a certain case for us, I do anticipate it going into a second day in court.” Blackquill huffed. “At least the Wright Agency isn’t involved.” 

Klavier shared his relief. “I wondered. It seemed too, dare I say, normal a trial for Herr Edgeworth to want me in court so soon.”

“I’m afraid that’s more for my benefit than yours. I do have a trial against Herr Wright this week. It will be good to have one less case to worry about.” Before Klavier could respond, a glint appeared in Blackquill’s eye. “Speaking of which, I must be off to another crime scene, but don’t think that our conversation ends here, Gavin-dono. I expect a full report of your international quest.”

“Ach, I’m still jet-lagged and you want the tea.” Klavier raked a hand through his hair.

Blackquill nodded. “Yes. We shall have tea.” And then he was off, with a totally unnecessary flourish of his longcoat, which Klavier actually found pretty cool.

“You didn’t even ask if I had a good trip,” he teased. 

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Blackquill’s lips twisted up. “You called Edgeworth-dono in the hopes that you could extend your time away from the office, though you nobly abandoned your efforts upon realizing you were needed here. You had a good trip, and I am sorry, though grateful, that you are here now.”

Well. There wasn’t much arguing with that.

*

The time difference between Los Angeles and Khura’in wasn’t strictly terrible, but it was inconvenient for two full-time attorneys. Klavier was in court as much as Apollo, it seemed, maybe even more, just because there were more trials in LA. In the weeks following Klavier’s return to the States, Apollo had gotten used to the text version of phone tag, the hours-long gaps between his good mornings and Klavier’s good nights. They were only able to get in a call once or twice a week, both of them fighting off yawns.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Klavier kept saying, and Apollo had to keep telling him that it was okay to have a job and responsibilities. “I could work remotely, at least do some paperwork for the other prosecutors, free up some time for them.”

“Not on Khurainese internet, you couldn’t.” Apollo couldn’t help smiling listening to Klavier’s logic. “Klavier, it’s really okay. You don’t want to leave Mr. Edgeworth and all of them when they need you. I get it. I respect that. We’ll figure out the next step as it comes, right?”

That at least earned him a laugh. “You’re better at remembering my good advice than I am.”

Honestly, though, the worst part was the hovering. Apollo swore that he never had a moment of peace anymore. Armie was always around, of course, and he wasn’t complaining about her. It was actually kind of nice having his…well, it felt weird to call her his daughter or anything, but to have Armie following him around like a duckling. But Ahlbi and Datz were always on his couch looking at him with huge, sympathetic eyes. Apparently all sub-businesses of the Justice Anything Agency were on hold, but Apollo would’ve rather had the tourists and boot camp hopefuls traipsing through his office, versus being stared at like the only creature in the pity zoo.

Nahyuta kept dropping in on him, too. Claiming he was in the neighborhood (yeah, okay), bringing his homemade tea blends (which were…well, delicious), and having plenty of time to sit and chat (not like he had a country to run or anything). 

"I want to be with you, Apollo," he said at last, smiling serenely over the lip of a faded Steel Samurai mug, the aroma of lavender and rosehip in the air. "Here."

Apollo had been accused of being a crybaby many times in his adult life. By Mr. Wright when he'd thought Trucy was kidnapped by gangsters (he and Mr. Hat weren't acquainted yet). By Athena when he'd had a little…trouble with heights (Widget did apologize but "couldn't resist, sorry!"). By Datz when he prepared dinner for his extended Khurainese family (it was the onions!). But he really couldn’t help welling up sitting on the law office’s couch with Nahyuta and having just enough space between them on the cushion for the old man to sit.

Ema often came with Nahyuta, too, and Apollo had love-hate feelings about it. On the one hand, Ema was his one true friend, because he knew she felt bad for him, too, but she always made the effort to steer the conversation towards normal, everyday things. Even got him gossiping and laughing here and there. But something was off between her and Nahyuta, because whenever they arrived together, Apollo’s bracelet went totally haywire. Once he had to ask them to leave because he felt a migraine coming on.

Finally, a month after Klavier left, Apollo got Ema by herself.

“What’s the problem?” he asked. “What’s going on with you and Nahyuta?”

Surprise only flashed in her eyes for a second before Ema looked away and huffed out an annoyed sigh that took Apollo back to People Park and a noodle cart crime scene. “Damn. Okay. Well, I’ve kind of wanted to tell you something, but it didn’t seem like a good time.”

Honestly, Apollo was just happy that she was being straightforward and crotchety, instead of tiptoeing around the fact that he was missing his boyfriend (a term he still wasn’t used to using, especially given that said boyfriend was halfway around the world). “Yeah?”

Another sigh, and then Ema was pulling a snack-size bag of chocolate Snackoos out of her bag. Apollo had to stifle a laugh. So Nahyuta had taken him up on his advice after all. Even so, the American snacks had arrived faster than Apollo would have expected based on usual shipping times.

“I don’t think it’s working out,” Ema said at last. “My being here, that is. I…cause problems for Prosecutor Sahdmadhi.”

“You what?” That was the first Apollo had ever heard of that. In fact, Nahyuta only ever had positive things to say about Ema’s work. Then the guilty glance Ema gave him clicked into place in Apollo’s mind. “...You’re leaving.”

“When he said…well, I’d planned to leave sooner, but it seemed like a crappy thing to do right after the glimmerous fop left.” Ema squirmed. “And we’ve had a bunch of cases anyway, so it’s been busy. But, yeah, I’m leaving. Next month.”

Apollo’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t really put much thought into how long Ema would be around, embarrassingly enough. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to stay forever or anything, but he also hadn’t expected to be the last one of their group back home so soon.

“Nahyuta didn’t say anything to me” was the dumb thing that came out of his mouth first. Not I’ll miss you or Good luck or anything that a human friend might have said.

“I haven’t told him yet.” Ema stuffed a handful of chocolate Snackoos into her mouth and snacked. At least she finished them before speaking again. “I know I should, so he can make arrangements with other detectives on his cases, but that’ll make the time between now and my flight that much more awkward.”

“He’ll be sorry to see you go, I think,” Apollo said. Ema flashed him a look that was hard to read, not because of its neutrality, but because so many volatile emotions seemed to be grappling for dominance. “He’s…” 

Okay, well. Apollo didn’t have much to go on here, just Klavier’s teasing observations about Nahyuta and Ema’s dynamic that…honestly cleared up quite a few question marks. But there was no good way that suggesting such a thing aloud ended. Either the information was wrong and Apollo ruined their relationship, or he took away a moment that wasn’t his and ruined their relationship. 

“He’s happy that you’re here,” he finished lamely.

Ema clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth dismissively. “He’ll be relieved when I go home. Everything I say or do around him is wrong, even if he’s too polite to say so.”

“Nahyuta?” Apollo had never known Nahyuta to steer away from calling someone out on their flaws to their face. If he hadn’t complained to Ema’s face, he didn’t have complaints.

“It’s bumming me out,” Ema said. “Prosecutor Sahdmadhi is…distant. Polite, professional. But cold. And you’re just so sad all the time.” 

“I’m—” Well. Apollo didn’t really have a response to that.

She sighed and started fidgeting with a lock of hair tumbling over her shoulder. Apollo’s bracelet squeezed, a familiar ache coursing behind his eyes. “No, I should get back to LA. See my sister. Meet up with Mr. Wright at some batshit-bananas crime scene that I’ve arrested the wrong person for. Deal with your other half’s moping.”

“I think you should talk to Nahyuta,” Apollo said quickly, closing his eyes for a few seconds longer than a blink. Momentary relief. “Sooner rather than later.” 

If Ema was fidgeting this badly, she didn’t really want to leave. And if Nahyuta hadn’t said anything negative about her to either of them, he didn’t want her to leave either. And if Klavier’s instinct was correct, then her leaving would devastate him. The ache of not having Klavier here now sucked, but at least every text and call could soothe the sting until Klavier came back, and besides that, the feelings between them were named and acknowledged and known. Apollo didn’t want to think what the ache would feel like with feelings left unsaid and no return date in sight. He couldn’t let Nahyuta feel that.

“Maybe,” Ema mumbled. “It’s the right thing to do, I guess.” At least she let go of her hair, so Apollo’s wrist and eyes didn’t have to strain. “When did you get so good at being a grown-up, Apollo?”

“I…really don’t think I’m there yet,” Apollo said. All that got him was a wry smile.

Chapter Text

Ema took a deep breath and raised her hand. She'd already raised and lowered her hand twice. Third time was the charm, right?

When did knocking on her boss's door become so scary? His office was supposed to be the soothing aroma of incense, the taste of delicious teas, and the heartening sight of Prosecutor Sahdmadhi's eyes crinkling with his smile, his low voice praising Ema's detective work. She swallowed. This felt about as good as failing her forensic exam. At least she got to retake the test, prove that she could reel in her nerves and crush it. No do-overs here.

She knocked before her courage waned again.

"Come in," Prosecutor Sahdmadhi said, the pleasantness of his voice deepening the pit in Ema's stomach. She opened the door in slow motion. Looking up from his paperwork, Prosecutor Sahdmadhi's neutral expression warmed into a soft smile. "Ah, Detective Skye."

"Hiya," she said, just barely catching her voice from cracking. Hiya? Where had that come from? Ema had never said hiya in her life. The only person she'd ever heard—oh, good grief, Apollo was not the person she wanted to be channeling right now. Couldn't she borrow a little of Mr. Edgeworth's coolness instead?

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi's expression dropped so fast it stayed the next words on Ema's lips. He was on his feet and around the desk, standing right in front of her, in a blink. His eyes, always the green of serenity, had hardened into venom, his graceful posture angling protectively towards her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"U-uh…" Ema managed, heart suddenly pounding. She'd never seen him like this before. Well, no, that wasn't true. During that monster case, with his mother and sister's safety at stake…Ema swallowed. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi couldn't possibly feel that strongly about her, the foot-in-mouth detective who kept arresting the wrong suspects and putting him in awkward positions because she didn't know when to stop talking. "I…"

"Are you hurt?" He reached for her and hesitated, his voice softening but with an undeniably alarmed undertone. "Ema, please tell me."

Ema. He'd never called her that before.

"You've never called me that before." For fuck's sake, did she really have to say the wrong thing now? Seriously?

Embarrassment flashed across Prosecutor Sahdmadhi's face, and he leaned back. "My…apologies. Detective Skye." With renewed energy, he said, "But you seem upset, and I—"

"Ema is okay," she said. Stupidly, as was her brand whenever she was around this man. His mouth snapped shut, widened eyes searching her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you, I…" I won't ever cause trouble for you again. The promise was on the tip of her tongue, only Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was looking at her in a way that was impossible to read, and she couldn't look away. 

"But something is wrong," he said quietly. She nodded. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She shook her head. "Come, sit. Tell me."

He led her to the chairs in front of his desk and sat beside her, her hand cradled in both of his. Comforting, she realized. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi didn't rush her. He let Ema take her deep breaths and struggle to remember the speech she'd prepared.

"Prosecutor Sahdmadhi," she began.

"Nahyuta is fine," he said.

Ema startled. "What?"

"If it's acceptable to you that I call you Ema…" Scientifically, or at least statistically, speaking, Ema's name was a common one, but Prosecutor Sahdmadhi made it sound like a prayer. Ema nodded, maybe a little too fast. The faintest color rose to his beautiful cheekbones. "...then I would like you to call me Nahyuta in return."

"Oh. Okay. Nahyuta, then."

There was something insanely intimate about it. Ema had dated before. She'd certainly gone further than first-name basis with people before. But the syllables of Nahyuta's name, new on her tongue, tasted so sweet that her voice couldn't help but soften to carry the sounds. She felt his hands shift around hers, one thumb stroking the curve of her palm, and the breath nearly went out of her. He felt it, too. Ema knew it, instinctively. The…the work-inappropriateness of longing when she said his name.

"Nahyuta," she tried again, but saying his name carried such  yearning. He leaned closer. "I…I cause a lot of trouble for you."

"Trouble? What trouble?"

"I'm always saying the wrong thing to you. Being too casual, even though I'm the one who's always saying how much I value professionalism. I make you uncomfortable, and I'm so sorry, I never mean to." Although he opened his mouth, no doubt to protest kindly, Ema barrelled ahead. "You brought me here to help you, because you believed in my skills, but I fail you a lot. Every time Apollo wins a trial, I'm glad that we got the right suspect, but embarrassed and disappointed in myself for not catching them for you in the first place." She shook her head and looked down at their hands. Nahyuta hadn't let go of her once while she spoke, nor had his touch grown less gentle. "I don't want you to regret your choice of partner, so—"

"Regret?" Nahyuta asked incredulously. Ema jumped. "Not at all. Never. Ema, if I've ever given you any indication that I regret asking you to come here with me, then it's I who owe you an apology. Your detective work is outstanding, and Apollo's loss record is the one you should be focused on. You've apprehended so many criminals in our pursuit of improving Khura'in's judicial system." 

Ema blinked hard to keep her vision from blurring with emotion at his fervor.

"You don't make me uncomfortable. You don't say the wrong thing. You don't fail me." One of Nahyuta's hands left hers to retrieve the other, bringing both of her hands into his. Ema looked up in time for the truly heart-stopping sight of Nahyuta lifting her hands to his lips and brushing a kiss to her knuckles. "Ema." And there it was again, her voice a devastating prayer. Nahyuta's green eyes were on her. "I'd be quite lost without you."

He'll be sorry to see you go, I think, Apollo had said, all cagey and not forthcoming. Eye contact weak, eyebrows tangled up in unsureness. …He's happy that you're here.

"Nahyuta, I love you," Ema said. Blunt and blurting out the first thought that barely hit her brain. On-brand as always. At his choked-out gasp, the words that had just come out of Ema's mouth registered. "Ah! I…"

Love? Where had that come from?

"You love me?" Nahyuta asked, his hold on her hands tightening.

"Well—I…L-Let's look at the data," she sputtered. "Being with you is…I'm always happy. I look forward to work, not just because I get to do forensic science, but because you're here. Because my scientific work will help you." As she talked, Ema gained momentum. "You listen when I need to vent and make me feel calm. Safe. You give the most amazing advice. I trust you completely. You're smart and kind, but when you're in court, you're so cool and confident. Just like a prosecutor should be!"

"I'm not too glimmerous?" Nahyuta was teasing her, but his voice was just a little breathless. The way he leaned into her, it was as if he literally hung on her every word.

"That's your brother's taste, not mine." Ema sounded just as pathetic trying to tease back. Love. She was in love with Nahyuta. Everything made sense now. He smiled at her, and it was like those butterflies he attracted everywhere he went had all fluttered their way into her heart. "Nahyuta, I came in here to quit. To apologize for being such a burden to you and go back to LA." At the alarm in his eyes, she hurriedly continued, "I couldn't even get the words out. Leaving you is just…"

"Unthinkable," Nahyuta finished, moving at last. He guided her hands to his shoulders and deposited them there, his own hands reaching for her, brushing hair from her cheeks and cupping her face as if she were something precious. "Ema, love…"

It wasn't an incredulous use of the word. It was a name. A pet name. For her. Ema, love…

He was moving closer in such an elegant, graceful way, as always, and, also as always, Ema didn't have a ladylike bone in her body. Her hands jumped from the middle school slow dance position on his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers burying into his silky hair and yanking him closer to ruin the gentle first kiss he probably had in mind.

Kissing Nahyuta was a dream. If she'd caught him off guard, he didn't show it, melting right back into her. His lips were soft, his mouth warm and steady. Nahyuta kissed the way he owned the courtroom: cool, confident, and so attuned to Ema that it made her knees weak. Literally weak! Note to self: research scientific merit of knee weakness when kissing handsome prince.

Holy shit, he was a prince. That was probably a thing Ema should think about more carefully. At a later time, when Nahyuta wasn't tilting his head just so and holding her close and and and…

"Nahyuta," she murmured against his lips when at last they parted. This time, it was her turn to say his name like a prayer.

"Ema. Forgive me, I should have said so sooner," he murmured back. She shivered at the feeling of his lips brushing hers, the insane tenderness of it all. "I love you, too. I want you to stay, please."

"Stay…?" Oh, right, she'd mentioned her plan to quit in her rambling. "Of course I'll stay. As long as you want me."

"I'll always want you," Nahyuta said. Thank goodness his arms were around her, solid and safe, or Ema's weak knees might have gone right out from under her and sent her sliding right out of her chair.

*

Klavier didn't register the sound of the phone ringing until he'd already picked it up on autopilot. "Good morning."

"Prosecutor Gavin." Ach, Fraulein Office Manager, the first line of defense when it came to transferring calls. "You have a collect call from Khura'in. Should I put you through?"

Dropping his pen and shoving aside the paperwork in front of him, Klavier sat up straight. "Khura'in? Of course, yes, please." His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Apollo? Why was he calling the Prosecutors Office instead of Klavier's cell? Or had something happened to him and this was the only way they knew how to reach him? It had been almost a week since they were last able to connect for a phone call, but they'd texted faithfully. Klavier had wished him a good morning only hours before, and he'd replied. It was afternoon in Khura'in. Why wasn't he in court—?

The call clicked with the accepted transfer. "Hello?" Klavier asked.

"Private Gavin!" Fraulein Sarge's voice boomed from the phone with enough force that Klavier winced. "This does not look good for your future in the ranks!"

"Private?" he echoed. "A demotion…?"

There was some rustling on the other end of the call, and then a new voice in his ear.

"Allow me to explain! You said that you were going to visit us this month, and, well, it's the end of the month, and—hey!"

Herr Tour Guide's whine cut off sharply, followed by more rustling and the distant sound of Herr Datz's guffawing.

"You were due back by now, private!" Fraulein Sarge's voice took on an unprecedented spark of rage. "If you think you're going AWOL on the Major Sergeant, you've got another thing coming! A dishonorable discharge would be a mercy compared to your punishment!"

"A mercy from the Holy Mother!" They must have figured out speaker phone. Klavier could hear barking, too.

As much as he was biting back a laugh at how protective Apollo's kids were over him, Klavier's heart ached at their words. "Armie," he said, knowing he didn't have a firm dad voice like Apollo's. Yet. Maybe. He tried to sound grown-up and fatherly, like the way the chef interacted with Herr Wright's daughter at his many attendances of her magic shows. "I will never, ever go AWOL on the Major Sergeant. I can promise you that."

"Then why haven't you reported to home base?" Armie asked, half angry, half whining.

"Don't you want to see us?" Ahlbi asked, his voice small in the way only a child's could be.

"Of course I do!" Klavier said, jumping up from his desk. He paced as far as he could on his office phone, the cord only allowing so wide a radius. "I miss you all so much, Ahlbi. But I have a responsibility to my job here. The Chief Prosecutor needs my help. Our office is outnumbered by cases at the moment."

"Like Private Sahdmadhi," Armie said, at the same time that Ahlbi said, "Like his Regency."

Klavier smiled. "Does Apollo know you're making this call?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, and their silence confirmed what he already knew.

"The Major Sergeant is in court right now, upholding justice and honor," Armie said. With a sniff, she added, "He keeps his promises."

"So do I," Klavier said. Two months without holding Apollo in his arms or doting on the kids was agony, but to abandon Herr Edgeworth, his amazing boss, and friends like Herr Samurai, in their time of need wasn't something Klavier could do. Herr Payne, maybe. But even then, Winston Payne had survived Herr Edgeworth's purge of corrupt employees, so he couldn't be all bad. "I know my work is taking longer than we'd hoped, but don't think for a minute that it's because I don't love you all. As soon as I can get away, I'll be there with you."

"They know that, Klavvy," Datz said with a laugh. "They just needed to hear it direct from you, you feel?"

"Of course."

"You'll check in with home base soon, though, right?" Armie asked quickly. "And report back at the earliest opportunity!"

"Um! The Major Sergeant said his phone has video calls on it." Klavier allowed himself a moment to bask in how adorable it was that Ahlbi had adopted Armie's parental title. Apollo really was carrying out Herr Wright's legacy over there at his anything agency.

"I'll call and travel as soon as I can," Klavier said. "We'll try out that video call together. Maybe this week, if our schedules align. How does that sound?"

"Copy that, Corporal!" Armie barked. It was almost embarrassing how relieved Klavier felt to regain his rank. Then, in a softer voice, she added, "You promise you'll come back, right? The Major Sergeant misses you."

"I miss him, too," Klavier said, I love him burning unspoken on his lips, in his heart. "I promise."

Chapter Text

It felt almost cliche to say it, but having Herr Edgeworth ask him to come in and close the door behind him felt like being sent to the principal’s office. Klavier sat across from the chief prosecutor’s desk and willed himself not to fidget.

Herr Edgeworth had his elbows on his desk, his hands folded in front of his mouth, index fingers alternating tapping against his knuckles like a metronome. Klavier smiled when their eyes met, but he could see his boss collecting his thoughts before speaking. That was…troubling.

“I have a question for you, Gavin,” Herr Edgeworth said at last. 

“Yes, chef?” At least the nickname brought a fleeting smile to the chief prosecutor’s face. Klavier relaxed at the sight of a faint upward quirk of his lips.

“Have we ever talked about Wright’s last trial before his…leave of absence? You and I?”

Klavier’s stomach turned to ice. “Ah…no, I…don’t believe we have.”

“No.” Herr Edgeworth sighed and glanced away, eyes roaming his bookshelves without actually seeing the case records. Klavier couldn’t tell if the question had been rhetorical; Herr Edgeworth didn’t sound surprised. “We should’ve, a long time ago. Let’s talk about it now.”

“...” Klavier nodded slowly. Herr Edgeworth wanted to talk about his involvement in Herr Wright’s disbarment? 

Herr Edgeworth lowered his hands to the armrests on his chair. "You know that Wright and I have a…history." 

Under lighter circumstances, Klavier might have said, Oh, is that what kids are calling it these days, but it was hard to be cheeky around the black hole in his chest. Herr Edgeworth was letting him go. Klavier had survived the Prosecutors Office purge when Edgeworth rose to the chief position, but he'd been losing his touch, his heart not in the courtroom but in Khura'in. Just what the chief didn't need, already understaffed.

"And perhaps it's arrogant of me to think this, let alone say it," Herr Edgeworth continued, "but I wonder if that history and my silence on that case have hung over your head these past many years." Not knowing how to respond, Klavier did little more than tilt his head, but Herr Edgeworth sighed anyway. "Gavin, I am very late in saying this, but you didn't do anything wrong."

Klavier's chest seized from anticipation alone. Then he froze, Edgeworth's words turning over in his head. "...What?"

"You handled that trial just as you should have," Edgeworth said evenly. "I know it…and so does Wright."

"Herr Wright?" Klavier repeated faintly.

"Wright was the one who presented illegal evidence, not you. You followed the law. Your steps were correct."

"I was responsible for an innocent lawyer getting disbarred," Klavier said. His words tumbled over one another in a rush. "The dark age of the law began with my mistakes, my naivete. I put my faith in…in the wrong person. And it backfired to hurt the whole legal system." He'd never said all of this out loud before, though the words swirled around in his mind every night and had for nearly a decade. 

"Kristoph Gavin was the catalyst for the dark age of the law," Edgeworth said. Klavier jolted at the sound of his brother's name. "Not you, Klavier."

Klavier hadn't realized that his head had drooped, but it snapped up now at the kindness in the chief prosecutor's voice. Herr Edgeworth's expression was sympathetic, and not off-puttingly so.

"Besides…corruption had been brewing in the Prosecutors Office long before Wright's leave of absence." How funny, or perhaps sweet, that Herr Edgeworth could be so direct and commanding in all other aspects of his work, yet when it came to Phoenix Wright, he couldn't get out the word disbarment. "Believe me, no one knows that better than I. We're still not there yet, but every day is an opportunity to improve our legal system and weed out as much as we can of its darker side."

"You're being too generous." If Klavier were smarter, he'd quit while he was ahead. It didn't sound like Herr Edgeworth intended to fire him at all. "I am at fault. I should be held accountable."

"You're not at fault for the prosecution of that trial, Wright's situation, or your brother's actions." Edgeworth's eyes glinted like steel. "I'm sorry that you still feel that you are. I should have spoken with you immediately and not let you carry this guilt for so long."

"Ach, well…it's not like I gave you much chance to talk to me." Phoenix Wright's disbarment had kept him up for so many nights, something about it just off, just not quite right. If only Klavier had leaned into that whisper of doubt instead of his foolish, headstrong, youthful pride. He'd fled for music and traveling abroad as soon as possible, rather than stand up for truth.

"I've had plenty of chances since you returned to the courtroom." There was a finality in both Edgeworth's voice and expression that stayed Klavier's tongue from protesting further. A wry smile crossed the chief prosecutor's lips. "You're gracious to try and let me off the hook, but I'm your superior, and I won't have it."

"...I see." The words barely came out in a whisper. Klavier coughed and cleared his throat, uselessly. "I…thank you, Herr Edgeworth."

"You're a good prosecutor, you know," Edgeworth said. "You're smart, you keep cool under pressure, and you get the job done, even when it's hard. I'm pleased to have you here, Gavin."

Klavier swallowed hard against the emotion that welled up at Herr Edgeworth's praise, something he doled out sparingly and only after significant effort. And yet, the black hole in his chest, which had shrunk over the course of their conversation, found renewed energy.

"But?" he prompted, saying aloud the word he felt lingering in Edgeworth's silence.

"But," Edgeworth agreed, "my inaction has already caused you years of pain. I don't intend to continue treating you this way when you've only been an asset and amiable colleague to me."

Klavier opened his mouth to protest. Herr Edgeworth couldn't think he'd want to quit over a postponed conversation? Especially with how forgiving and reassuring this talk had been. The chief wasn't done, though.

"It has been brought to my attention that you'd hoped to stay longer in Khura'in," he said, "and that your sense of responsibility brought you back to Los Angeles."

"I—" Klavier gaped. He hadn't said a word. How would Herr Edgeworth figure out that… "Simon."

"Simon." The corners of Edgeworth's eyes crinkled in a split second of fondness. "Gavin. I also wish that I could rewrite my beginning as a prosecutor. That I had realized sooner where to place my trust. Learn from my mistakes. Don't let excuses put a barrier between you and the people you want in your life. You'll never look back fondly on those years without."

The black hole was very confused. Should it swallow Klavier alive, or should it swallow itself?

"Chef…" Klavier managed, "I'm not sure that I understand."

"You are aware, I believe, of the special relationship between our offices and the legal offices of Khura'in? Nahyuta Sahdmadhi managed a number of cases for me last year as a means of studying our judicial system for an overhaul of the Khurainese model."

"Yes…?" A thought was forming in the back of Klavier's mind, but he didn't dare name it until he was sure where Herr Edgeworth was going with this.

Edgeworth took off his glasses and whipped out an embroidered cloth to clean the already sparkling lenses. He looked down at his work, not able to hide a smile perhaps too wide and too knowing for the task. "The relationship really needs to be reciprocal. As Khura'in continues to update its legal practice, I'd like to see how they're removing corruption. We might be able to glean some practice from it." He inspected his perfectly clean glasses, scoffed, and went back to work with his fancy cloth. Was that…the Steel Samurai insignia embroidered there? "I'd like to have a liaison who still reports to me here in Los Angeles but would be willing to work abroad in Khura'in as well. It requires regular trips over there, which I imagine won't appeal to many in this office, but such a relationship between our legal systems is a priority to me." At last, the chief looked up, no doubt spotting the light of recognition and gratitude that Klavier knew beamed from his every atom. "What do you think?"

*

Herr Samurai was muttering at the coffeemaker in the alcove outside of the chief prosecutor's office when Klavier exited.

"You told on me to the chef?" he asked. Blackquill glanced over his shoulder, a razorblade smile on his face. "Really."

"I'll miss having you around all the time, but at least when I do see you, you'll be happier." No denial, no regret. Herr Samurai's unapologetic work as an agent of chaos would always be refreshing. "All this moping…if your plan was to move from rock to blues, I've got bad news for you. It's not your genre."

Klavier let him have his barking laugh, though he intervened when Herr Samurai went to slap his hand on something in his glee and landed a solid hit on the coffeemaker. Which, Klavier realized as he dragged him away from it, may not have been accidental.

"So then, Gavin-dono?" Blackquill asked, composed at last. "What will you do?"

"When asked what he would do if his family were halfway around the world, a wise man once said that if they would have him, he would follow." Klavier smiled. "He had the right idea."

"Hmm." Blackquill crossed his arms, a heavy motion, but returned Klavier's smile. It was only slightly terrifying, his eyes warm under the shadow of his inky hair. "It's always a good idea to follow the advise of wise and handsome men."

Klavier laughed at the update of adjectives. He would miss seeing Simon Blackquill every day, but that would make their time together that much more precious in the future.

"I can't believe you told on me to dad," he said again, teasing, glowing. His friend had orchestrated his return home to Apollo. How could Klavier be upset?

"I beg your pardon?" Herr Edgeworth's affronted voice floated out of his office. Klavier and Blackquill hurried down the hallway stifling laughter.

Chapter Text

Apollo wasn't surprised that Ema was onto him. He was more surprised that she was backing him up.

"I get it," she said from her desk, where she was unapologetically eavesdropping on his conversation with Nahyuta. "I'd love to be able to video chat Lana, but the internet out here is not it."

Not it was an understatement. After weeks of wrangling schedules, the kids, Datz, and Apollo had all gathered around his phone to video chat Klavier, and he'd barely gotten through saying hello to everyone when the screen froze and the sound started glitching. They'd resorted to a call on speakerphone, which, without the visual cues of someone getting ready to speak, mostly involved Armie and Ahlbi excitedly talking over one another vying for Klavier's attention. At the end of the call, which also had its spotty moments, Apollo took Klavier off speaker and hid in the back room for a few minutes alone.

"Too bad. The video call was a good idea," Apollo had sighed.

"Yeah, I thought so." There was a knowing smile in Klavier's voice that made Apollo want to elbow him in the side.

"We should've tried it before I got the kids' hopes up."

"Mmm, yes." Klavier's voice dropped into a teasing purr. "You wanted to video call me privately…for the kids. Naturally."

Apollo had squawked and stuttered his way through the end of the call, Klavier's laugh musical in his ear and entirely too far away. "I miss you," Apollo said when they said goodbye.

"I miss you so much," Klavier murmured back, and it was a salve and a punishment rolled into one.

So Apollo had wandered over to Nahyuta's office the next morning. Completely casual, and, sure, maybe he has a little question about progress on internet access, but not one so demanding that it could be called an ulterior motive.

Ema's smirk told Apollo how much she bought that.

"I will have to look into it," Nahyuta said, feigning professionalism as if the request weren't coming from the woman he'd apparently been pining after for months, whom he now knew reciprocated. And his brother. "While I was abroad, I learned about establishments known as 'internet cafes.' Might something like this be amenable?" Relief washed over Apollo. Getting high-speed internet set up in a country whose general technology was not advanced wasn't exactly an overnight task. With willpower like Nahyuta's, though, it wasn't impossible, either.

"I'm sorry, Nahyuta," he said sheepishly. "I know you've got about a million more important things to take care of first."

"And think of how much easier they'll be with better internet," Nahyuta replied. His eyes went right to Ema, who laughed.

They'd gotten so soft. It was funny how two of the sharpest people Apollo knew individually had melted into one another with such ease. Ema smiled more than he'd ever seen, and she'd started leaning into letting the Khurainese humidity curl her hair up into waves instead of constantly trying to finger-comb it down. Nahyuta was always watching her for her opinion and approval, and every time she smiled—which, again, was so much— he did, too. They way they orbited one another and stayed close to one another as if they couldn't bear to be apart for even a second made Apollo feel…

Well. Wildly jealous, actually. He was happy for both of them, of course, but it was hard to see Nahyuta's and Ema's hands intertwined over paperwork and not feel the thousands of miles between Klavier and himself. They were both so buried in work that phone calls were harder to arrange, and now the kids wanted to be included, which was fine but not exactly romantic.

Not even a week after he'd first left Khura'in, Klavier, voice low and sweet over the phone, told Apollo, "I can't stop thinking about you. The minute I come home to you, I want you in my arms, want to kiss your lips, want to…" 

Apollo thought about that conversation a normal amount. Especially the come home to you part. Well. Okay, fine, maybe he didn't think about that part significantly more than the rest of the conversation, but.

Come home to you.

It sounded like…it was so close to…and Klavier's voice when he said it…

It took every bit of willpower Apollo had not to end their phone calls with an echo of Come home, because it was cruel to say that when he knew Klavier would be here if he could be. And it was dangerous to say that when it could only possibly lead to I love you. 

Which Apollo did. Had, maybe, for longer than he'd care to admit. But there had been moments—Klavier doting on Armie and Ahlbi. Klavier unbothered by the humble Khurainese way of life. Klavier telling him what an amazing defense he put up while wearing a genuine smile, hiding nothing, never saying anything he didn’t mean. Klavier's fingers threading with his as his lips mapped a path from Apollo's collarbone to his ear, and all the while whispering his name over and over in a way that sounded like…that was so close to…

There had been moments where it became impossible to deny how badly he wanted to be in Klavier's orbit. When Klavier first suggested that they take the long-distance relationship step by step, Apollo had been skeptical, but he’d also wanted it so badly. And now that it was happening, he realized he’d been right to be skeptical. He wanted to be able to talk to Klavier whenever, not only when they could figure out their time difference and mutually overloaded work schedules. To get his advice. Even hear his teasing. He wanted to be able to covertly watch Klavier distracting (doting on) Armie and Ahlbi while Apollo got through his paperwork. He wanted to be in the same place, but he’d settle for the same continent. For once, just once in his life, Apollo would really like for someone he cared about to stay.

Apollo shook himself. No, that wasn’t fair. Klavier would stay. He wanted to stay. It was the universe, fate, bad luck, bad timing…

At least there was plenty of work to keep him busy. Apollo threw himself headlong into trials. He exchanged e-mails and the rare phone call with Trucy—and, by extension, Mr. Wright and Athena—and organized an office/agency schedule with Armie, Datz, and Ahlbi for law, tours, and boot camp sessions. Ema helped him navigate the rest of the paperwork to get Armie the same dual citizenship he had and get her into school. And then there were his calls with Klavier.

When one day the telephone rang at precisely five o’clock, Apollo almost didn’t pick it up. A part of him really wanted to say the work day was over, oh, well. But…well. Five o’clock was technically still the work day.

“Justice Law Offices,” he answered. Then, resigned, dutifully, he added, “Historic Tours of Khura’in. Dragon Boot Camp. How may I help you?”

“Good lord, you really are an international anything agency. No wonder Trucy is so pleased.”

Apollo sat up straighter. “Mr. Edgeworth?”

“How are you, Mr. Justice?”

“Uh—fine! I’m fine!” Whoops. Got a little louder than anticipated there. Apollo coughed and cleared his throat. “H-How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Mr. Edgeworth was always so polished. Apollo could totally see why Ema admired him so much. “Mr. Justice, I’m sending something your way.”

“Sending…?”

“Yes. You recall how our office is working closely with Khurainese jurisdiction for the mutual improvement of our legal systems.” Mr. Edgeworth’s voice truly split the difference between professional and warm. Amazing. When Apollo made a noise of assent, he continued. “Well, I remain dedicated to the task.”

“That’s great, sir.” With the initial wave of confusion dissolved, Apollo now had room for…more confusion. “Um, but shouldn’t you be sending whatever it is to Nahyuta?”

“Hmm. I suppose Prosecutor Sahdmadhi will be involved eventually. But, no. What I’m sending, I want you to have, Mr. Justice. Please stay in your office a little later tonight so you’ll be available to receive. About six o’clock, if flights remain on time.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Apollo winced. “Just so you know, courier services are…a work in progress here still.”

Mr. Edgeworth’s laugh was little more than an exhale, barely audible over the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken care of everything. Thank you, Mr. Justice.”

Hanging up, Apollo frowned. He hadn’t really been in touch with Mr. Edgeworth, aside from the times Apollo had called the agency and he was there. What on earth would Mr. Edgeworth have sent to him, and not Nahyuta, to maintain the relationship between their judicial systems? He guessed he’d find out at six o’clock. If flights remain on time.

Six o’clock would be good timing for dinner, actually. Ahlbi was testing out a mountain walking tour today (“A historic mountain walking tour,” Ahlbi had said; “An historic mountain walking tour,” Apollo had corrected, which Ahlbi had taken as an approving echo versus a grammatical correction). Armie and Datz were leading a warmup jog the long way around the marketplace. Apollo could cook in peace for a change.

He took his usual ten minutes to tidy up his office and put away some of the kids’ things that were always lying around the client sitting area. Then Apollo headed upstairs to the apartment to take stock of his ingredients. With a pot of rice on the stove, he prepped vegetables for curry and let his mind wander back to whatever it was Mr. Edgeworth was sending him.

Klavier hadn’t said anything about it, and neither had Mr. Wright. Was it something top-secret? No, it couldn’t be. Mr. Edgeworth hadn’t said anything about the need for discretion. It was almost like he was trying to surprise Apollo, but the idea was so un-Mr. Edgeworth that Apollo dismissed it immediately.

Just before six o’clock, Apollo was keeping curry warm on the stove, since the kids and Datz would be back any minute. He headed back down to the office, wondering which would arrive first: Mr. Edgeworth’s mystery mailing or his hungry family.

Apollo sighed, his eyes tracing the pictures on his office wall. There he was as a kid, he and Nahyuta on either side of Dhurke. There he was just a few short months ago with Trucy, Mr. Wright, and Athena. The lone picture he had of Jove Justice, expression cool, guitar in hand. The mini-poster of Lamiroir he’d bought at Klavier’s concert. 

Apollo had added a few pictures of Armie that he’d taken since agreeing to foster her, and, at the wistful look he’d caught on Ahlbi’s face upon seeing them, a few of Ahlbi and both kids together, too. Datz took one of the three of them, Apollo in between the kids. He’d examined his work on the phone screen for a long time before looking up at Apollo with the faintest glassy sheen in his eyes, the slightest wobble in his smile.

“You look like your old man,” was all Datz said, his eyes finding that picture where children Apollo and Nahyuta had Dhurke sandwiched between them.

There was one of Ema and Nahyuta that Datz had “accidentally” snapped, too. Ema was laughing at something—probably Apollo, now that he thought about it—and Nahyuta was looking at her with the softest smile. Initially, Datz had put it up on the wall as a joke, and Apollo would have taken it down if Nahyuta hadn’t complimented what a nice picture it was.

He had a few pictures on his phone of Klavier that he wanted so badly to put up. Klavier by himself, with Apollo, with the kids. Ema had taken a few of them all together at the airport before Klavier left. When he looked at them, Apollo always thought, Mine. My boyfriend. My family. But with Ahlbi bringing tours through here regularly, it felt too much like bragging.

Klavier would probably love being shown off, Apollo thought wryly as he tidied his desk again for good measure.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, which meant the courier had beaten his family home. Apollo pushed his hair behind his ears and opened the door.

Klavier stood on the other side of the door.

“Wh—” Apollo blinked. Once, twice. He thought about closing the door and reopening it. But, no, that was definitely Klavier Gavin standing in front of him. Short, blond hair soft around his smile. Eyes crinkled in the corners. Chains and jewelry catching late-afternoon sunlight. Guitar case slung over his back.

“You’ll have to forgive the chef,” Klavier said. Apollo’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. “His job isn’t much fun. I couldn’t deny him a chance to let loose when he said he wanted to surprise you.”

“Klavier.” Apollo lurched forward, one hand outstretched, but caught himself as Klavier unhooked his thumbs from his belt loops and opened his arms. Throwing himself into Klavier’s arms on his front doorstep where anyone could see them was a little too romance novel for Apollo’s taste. His outstretched arm switched tactics midair and grabbed Klavier by the front of his too-unbuttoned shirt to yank him inside. Klavier stumbled after him, barely over the threshold when Apollo pulled him down to kiss him.

“Apollo, my suitcases…” Klavier managed when they broke apart reluctantly. Apollo barely heard him.

“You’re home,” he murmured back. Klavier’s eyes, open and bluer than the ocean, flickered with longing. He leaned down again to recapture Apollo’s lips.

“I keep my promises.”

They dragged in Klavier’s two suitcases, Apollo grousing halfheartedly about the weight. “All your hair product?”

“And what if I happened to have somebody’s favorite gel stockpiled in there?” Klavier teased.

Apollo perked up. “Do you?”

“Maybe. Although…” Klavier ran a hand through Apollo’s hair, letting his ringed fingers brush along his jawline. “I like this look on you, too. Even if I do miss my beloved forehead.”

Apollo gave him a playful shove and had Klavier’s laugh in his ear the way it was supposed to be, no phone line involved, Klavier solid and real under the palm of his hand.

“The kids’ll be so excited to see you,” Apollo said. “They should be home soon.”

“I believe they may be with Fraulein Detective at the moment,” Klavier said. Apollo’s face burned. So Ema was in on the ruse, too? Figured. Mr. Edgeworth could always count on her as his international backup. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“That would be dinner,” Apollo said with a sigh, “since nobody told me that I wasn’t responsible for the kids tonight…”

Apollo locked up the office and helped Klavier carry his luggage upstairs, and then they brought two bowls of curry down to the couch. Klavier explained a bit more of Mr. Edgeworth’s plan to have him working in both countries.

“Truth be told, I think the chef feels sorry for me.” Klavier reached down to take Apollo’s hand. Apollo let him. “I’ve been told I mope at the office.”

“That’s embarrassing,” Apollo said without thinking. Klavier threw his head back to laugh as he backtracked.

“It is,” he conceded, “but it’s true. And the good detective and Nahyuta both assured me that you’ve been in a similar state the past few months. I know you warned me, but I still felt unprepared for how much of a couple they are. It’s been a long time since I was a third wheel…”

Those traitors. They’d apparently picked Klavier up at the airport and preemptively destroyed any attempt Apollo might have made to downplay the difficulties of long distance. Even though Klavier already knew it was hard on him, Apollo could have feigned some toughness.

“So, you’ll be around more often, then,” Apollo said. Nonchalantly, if he did say so himself.

Klavier’s eyes warmed. “Yes. And for good stretches of time as well. Herr Samurai assured me the Prosecutors’ Office is well taken care of back in LA whenever I’m working abroad. Oh! And!” His face lit up with his smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?” Apollo watched as Klavier jumped up and ran up to their room where his bags were. A minute or two later, Klavier returned with a CD in his hand. “Please don’t tell me you released an album while you’ve been gone.”

“Not yet.” Which meant Apollo probably had some mortifying and not at all heartwarming collection of love songs to look forward to. Klavier sat beside him and handed over the CD, which Apollo still took with trepidation. He looked down at the cover and froze.

The title One Night in Borginia was artfully printed over plain background, a photograph of a handsome man in a red suit below it, and at the bottom, the artist’s name: Jangly Justice.

“This is…” Apollo managed, throat suddenly tight.

“Incredibly difficult to track down,” Klavier said, leaning closer to look over his shoulder. “It was his only EP, and an extremely limited print run. I had to call in about every favor I could in the industry.”

The tears came on too quickly for Apollo to snark at Klavier’s ever-present tendency to insert his second profession in any conversation. He sniffled as alarm spread across Klavier’s face. Being an emotional crier was the worst. Good, bad, incredibly thoughtful and generous—Apollo really wished this wasn’t how strong feelings came out of him. He shook his head and tried to smile to let Klavier know he wasn’t upset.

“Thank you,” he was finally able to hiccup. “I didn’t even know this existed, I…” His father’s voice. A man he’d never known, who’d spent the last moments of his life trying to save Apollo’s, someone talented and kind and brave—Klavier had retrieved a piece of Jove Justice, just for him. “What does h-he sound like?”

“I haven’t listened to it,” Klavier said gently, pushing Apollo’s hair back off his forehead and gently kissing where tear streaks were already staining his cheeks. “I thought you’d like to hear him first.”

Thank goodness Apollo was too sentimental to get rid of all of Dhurke’s things. He still had a CD player in the back room, which he all but raced to retrieve and plug in, nearly tangling himself in the cord. His hands shook so badly that Klavier had to put the CD in.

The recording was kind of rough: a live show, Apollo realized. He could hear the crowd’s cheers, and then a deep, rich laugh— his father’s laugh —a few testing guitar chords. Then it quieted, and proper guitar playing lilted out. The song was slow, kind of romantic, but Apollo could tell how hard it was to play from the awe that crossed Klavier’s face. Apollo had seen Klavier in concert and knew what a great musician he was. If he looked that impressed, then Jove Justice must’ve been an incredibly skilled guitarist.

He was also a skilled vocalist, as it turned out. Apollo couldn’t do much more than close his eyes and breathe as his father’s voice washed over him for the first time that he could remember. His voice was low and rough, kind of like Apollo’s, but it was perfect along with that acoustic guitar. He sang about a beautiful woman and how magical it was to meet her. The next track was about travel on the open road, something Apollo had never much fantasized about but suddenly longed for at the wanderlust in his father’s voice. Another song about a morning mountain mist that captured the kind of contentedness with life that Apollo was cautiously optimistic he was on the cusp of now, like maybe his father was then. Another love song then, that felt like a bookend. If Jove had opened his set with meeting the woman of his dreams, he seemed to be closing with their wedding.

What if that was my mother? Apollo thought, heart squeezing. If only Klavier’s music industry connections could bring her voice to him, too.

The CD flipped over to the fifth track, and Klavier said, “Huh.”

“What?” Apollo croaked out, still more emotional than he could put into words.

“There are only four tracks on the back of the CD,” Klavier said. His eyes lit up. “A secret bonus track? Ach, I love those!”

“There’s no sound,” Apollo said, biting down a smile as Klavier geeked out over his father’s album. “Maybe it’s an error?”

“Sometimes bonus tracks have a little silence built in to add to the suspense,” Klavier said. “Let’s see.”

They sat together, Apollo curled into Klavier’s side and content in the weight of Klavier’s arm draped over his shoulders, the CD player sitting silently in front of them. Even if it turned out to be an error in recording and there was no bonus track, Apollo would be disappointed. He couldn’t be. Not when Klavier had done this kindness for him.

He tipped his head back to look up at Klavier, whose eyes were already on him. “This is the best present anyone’s ever given me,” Apollo said. He leaned up to press a gentle kiss to Klavier’s lips.

The sound of the crowd in some hole-in-the-wall Borginian club faded back in: applause, murmurings. Then there was a cough, and some cheers.

“I’ve got one last song for you tonight, Borginia,” Jove said. Apollo pulled away from Klavier in shock to stare at the CD player. His father’s voice—not just his singing voice, but his real speaking voice. He sounded like Apollo, but more laid back. Friendlier. Maybe that’s what Apollo would have sounded like if Jove had raised him. “This is my last show for a while. Hey, now, don’t boo! You should be cheering for me.” Jove laughed. “I’m going to be a father soon!”

All the breath went out of Apollo as the crowd roared its congratulations. I’m going to be a father soon. Those songs had to be about his mother. This album or EP or whatever, his father’s only recording, was made when he knew Apollo was coming.

“I’ve got a little extra for you, a cover of a favorite of mine. I’ve always loved to sing this song, and now I’ve got a reason. So this last one is for my son. I can’t wait to meet you, little man.”

Klavier’s kiss was soft against his temple. Apollo knew he was shaking, but he swallowed down as much of his emotion as he could, not wanting to miss the sound of his father dedicating a song to him. There was so much love in his voice, and Apollo hadn’t even been born yet. 

“I can hardly wait to see you come of age,” Jove sang, “but I guess we’ll both just have to be patient.” 

Loss washed over Apollo. He’d come of age without his father. Jove hadn’t been able to see it. But he’d wanted to. He’d promised in song that he couldn’t wait to see his son’s wonderful life unfold. If he could have been there, he would’ve. He loved Apollo’s mother and Apollo and was excited for their life.

The song ended to uproarious applause and the sound of Jove Justice shouting out his thanks to Borginia for having him. Apollo and Klavier didn’t move from the couch as the sound faded out and the CD player clicked with the end of the last track. They stayed seated a little longer. Apollo knew that Klavier was waiting for him to speak first.

“I mean it, Klavier,” he said, voice hoarse. “This is really the best gift anyone’s ever given me. I can’t…I don’t…”

“Your father was the real deal,” Klavier said, his praise brimming with feeling. “Those chords, those lyrics—there’s hardly any artists out there now who have that kind of skill. His music…” He closed his eyes. “It made me feel the way I did when I first performed with Lamiroir.”

“Yes,” Apollo agreed. 

“What an extraordinary EP. Ach, he’s really raised the bar for me, hasn’t he?” Klavier’s eyes were bright. “I just want to grab my guitar and start composing now.”

Apollo snorted. “You’re ridiculous.” But he only half-meant it. He didn’t think he could ever mean an insult towards Klavier again, which was fairly dangerous.

“I’ll write a song that captures how I feel about you just like ‘Woman of Illusion,’” Klavier said, holding up the CD case for emphasis. “It’ll be my finest work since ‘The Guitar’s Serenade,’ even though Lamiroir isn’t here to lend me her genius.”

Apollo couldn’t help himself. He leaned into Klavier and wrapped his arms around Klavier’s middle, kissing him the way he’d wanted to for months of paperwork and phone calls. Klavier responded right away, and Apollo knew he’d been missed just as much. They’d both moped, apparently.

“I love you,” he said when they drew apart.

“I love you, too,” Klavier said. No hesitation. Not a peep out of Apollo’s bracelet, which remained comfortable on his wrist as his eyes roved his boyfriend. “I’ve wanted to say that for so long.”

“Me, too,” Apollo admitted. Flushing at the tender look Klavier gave him, he added, “Well! You’ll have…plenty of time to say it now, I guess, if you’re going to be here for a while. The kids will be happy.”

“The kids,” Klavier repeated agreeably. Apollo shot him a look.

“I just told you I love you, obviously I’m happy you’re here, too!”

“I’ve missed your volume,” Klavier said. “It’s much too quiet in Los Angeles.”

“It’s never quiet here,” Apollo said.

Klavier smiled. “That’s how I know I’m home.”