Chapter Text
Klavier was a thousand apologies, ones he wished he could carve into skin with bloody thorns at this point, tell the world he was sorry. But he never did, he never told anyone anything that openly, because being Klavier Gavin meant nothing could be out of place. He hadn’t yet counted the flowers he coughed up every time he saw Phoenix Wright. Or, really, the instances when he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom before anyone mentioned Wright.
The efforts were never enough, and he’d identified the flower as a type of rue. If not bloody thorns, the apologies did blister along his hands and arms with the stems and petals that fell from his lips. Being Hanahaki, it had no logic; his throat and mouth never blistered with them. If Klavier thought hard enough about it, maybe it meant that the world wanted him to apologize first.
And of course it would be rue, as if the injustice of the world saw the irony in providing him with symbolic imagery to drown him further in guilt. He couldn’t help but agree: he rued the day he’d ever listened to Kristoph, and all the days that followed in which he never asked about it, and how many people would have been saved. Too bad chronic versions of Hanahaki didn’t actually kill you, unlike the popular conceptions. He sighed, and shoved a folder to the side.
Though he had ended up in fairly dire straits over the forget-me-nots version and Kristoph: I just wanted him to be my brother. To not forget me. To not have done what he did. The day Kristoph had been convicted the first time, he’d nearly choked on the bundled deluge of forget-me-not’s, turning bluer than the flowers. That had been handled discreetly, in a hospital in Germany.
Funny how all he wanted to do now was forget Kristoph, and couldn’t. Wonder what flowers I’ll get for his execution date. Daryan had been dark, dusky cranesbill. Flowers for every fucking occasion, whether he wanted them or not.
“Prosecutor Gavin?”
Klavier’s head shot up at his boss’s voice. “Herr Edgeworth!” The Chief Prosecutor carried a case file under one arm.
“I knocked, my apologies for startling you. I thought you might have been listening to music.”
“No problem,” said Klavier, slipping on his genial grin. “What can I do for you?”
“The Aster Gardens case is unassigned on our end, given it happened mere hours ago. The police have arrested a suspect - I know you tend to enjoy working opposite Mr. Justice?”
“Ja, I do,” affirmed Klavier. “It was on the news earlier - murdered groundskeeper, temp garden worker is the accused?”
“That’s the one,” said the Chief Prosecutor. “I have serious reservations on pinning this on the convenient suspect, however.” He handed Klavier the case file.
“Ja, all this evidence is circumstantial, just from glancing at it. I can definitely work with Herr Forehead to find the truth!” Klavier snapped his fingers.
“Thank you, Prosecutor Gavin. I’m told Mr. Justice is headed to the crime scene - he is taking Ms. Sye’s case. Detective Skye is already there.”
“Danke, Herr Edgeworth,” said Klavier, reading the case file as he stood up.
“Prosecutor Gavin, one more thing,” said his boss, and Klavier looked up slightly from the file. “Can you give this to Wright?”
Klavier’s hands stopped working, and he dropped the file and papers as his chest constricted. He knelt down behind the desk and began coughing as he grabbed the papers back together. “Sorry - it’s very dusty beneath my desk, ja?” he supplied when he stood back up.
“If you’re feeling under the weather, Prosecutor Gavin, I don't want to stretch you too far - I’ll take these myself. Detective Skye and Mr. Justice await you.”
“... Sorry. Auf wiedesehen, Herr Edgeworth!” Klavier debated over whether his boss had actually bought that excuse; probably not, but what could the Chief Prosecutor do about it? It wasn’t like the flowers had been visible.
Back in his office, Miles Edgeworth frowned, hand over his cell phone. He’d had suspicions over the young prosecutor’s health for a while. Even if it wasn’t as severe as Miles thought it was, the visceral reaction to Wright’s name certainly suggested that Prosecutor Gavin was not coping very well.
He flicked to Phoenix Wright’s number, and hit dial. “Wright Anything Agency!”
“Wright, you’re on your personal cell phone, and I know you have caller ID.”
“Hello to you too, Miles!”
In the background, Miles heard Trucy practicing something to do with her magic show, and smiled a bit before getting down to business. “I need to talk to you about Prosecutor Gavin. Do you think you could go somewhere private?”
“Sure, let me just go to my room, one sec..." Shuffling and scraping noises ensued. "...Right, back. You want to talk to me about Klavier Gavin? Why?”
“While I cannot, as his boss, in good conscience describe what’s going on in detail, I would like to know if you and Prosecutor Gavin are getting along well enough?” Miles rested his elbow on the desk, staring at the polished reflection.
“I mean, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t know if we’re getting along because he won’t come near me. Which means there's not anything to get along with.”
Miles frowned. “Can you say more?”
He heard Wright take a long breath. “Apollo’s mentioned he makes up excuses to not meet at the Agency for cases… and somehow manages to disappear from talking to Apollo or Trucy whenever he even thinks I’m about to show up. So, he probably thinks I hate him and blames himself for ruining my life? I mean - I can’t say I’m thrilled that he never asked questions of his brother, but he was seventeen - and Kristoph took advantage of his trust… It can be hard because of the physical resemblance, but I don’t - hate him.”
"This is all helpful. Thank you, Wright. I sense the… matter with Prosecutor Gavin both heavily involves you and that case, and also goes far beyond it. Perhaps you could speak to Mr. Justice - get him to reach out to Prosecutor Gavin?”
“Maybe,” said Wright, with an audible sigh. “Apollo’s not the most fantastic at feelings, either…”
“Well, Prosecutor Gavin’s not liable to talk to either of us, and Apollo is a walking lie detector, if memory serves me correctly.”
“It serves you correctly. Do you want my magatama, maybe?”
“Hmm.” Miles gave it some thought. “No... I do not think it would be appropriate for me to do so.”
“Fair enough. I wonder if Trucy’s noticed anything; you can’t get anything past her, and I know she likes Prosecutor Gavin well enough.”
“Perhaps..." mused Miles. "He might talk more to her, too... do you suppose that's a possibility?"
"I was thinking more asking if she's noticed anything - wouldn’t want to involve her too much. Prosecutor Gavin has got to be upset by his brother’s actions, and Kristoph killed Zak Gramarye, so…”
Distantly, Miles heard Trucy yelling something. “That’s true. I’m sorry for keeping you, Wright. You may want to go check to make sure the office is intact.” He chuckled
“Yeah, I hope she hasn’t disappeared the desks again… and no worries, Miles, love you, talk to you again soon!”
“Yes, the same to you. Until next time, Wright,” said Miles, letting fondness enter his voice before he hung up. He rubbed at the lines indenting into his face from his glasses.
Miles was cleaning up the prosecutor’s offices. He needed his trustworthy prosecutors well enough to carry on the work. And he cared about Prosecutor Gavin as a human being, too: betrayal was a terrible thing. Miles knew that so intricately and devastatingly, and so did Wright, of course.
The young prosecutor had trusted the wrong person - his brother, someone he should have been able to trust - and still tried to make it right, while earnestly caring about others and the truth. Kristoph Gavin and others had fractured so many lives, leaving shadows that remained both personal and in the field of law. The Dark Age of the law still lingered, and would continue to do so for a while yet.