Chapter Text
Klavier
"Workin' nine to five, what a way to make a livin'! Barely, gett-ing by! It’s all takin’ and no givin’! They just, use your mind-!”
With a groan and a fumbling hand, Dolly Parton finally shut up. But the body in the bed she sang to did not stir.
Dull, burning eyes stared into the dark corners of the room. Deep, dark bags weighed heavy on Klavier Gavin’s once spotless face, and the full ache behind his eyes was blossoming into a deep throb. A perfect Petri dish of evidence for Apollo and Trucy to comment on the next time they barged into his office.
He rubbed his face. Bad start to think about that within the first 5 minutes of waking up, not that he had ever fallen asleep, but still.
Klavier had done everything short of a hypnotherapist to try and stay asleep. One article recommended lavender under the pillow; the satchel of dried flowers was quickly thrown away, the smell made him ill and the damn petals spilled onto his sheets.
Another article mentioned a calming tea, like chamomile. It was no surprise that one did nothing, though Klavier didn’t blame the tea for that. In all honesty, he didn’t truly know how to drink it. He hated how bitter it was, but adding milk and sugar was evidently frowned upon. The box was still sitting in the cupboard, collecting dust alongside an unopened box of Earl Grey he had gotten in case his brother stopped by.
This infuriating period of trial and error has lasted nearly a month. The schedule for now was to come home, lay awake until 4am, pass out, and then wake up an hour later. Sometimes he passed out in his office, sometimes he caught himself nodding off in the visitation room lobby. But he was never fully asleep, never fully hitting REM. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t like he enjoyed being in his dreams either.
“Workin, nine to five! What a way to make a livin’! Barely, gett-ing by! It’s all-!”
Klavier fumbled the snooze button again. 5 minutes had passed. He really ought to get up.
…
“Workin, nine to five-!” Snooze.
Why should he get up, though? It’s not like people would miss him at work. They were all just waiting for him to leave or fuck up in some way. Everyone was waiting for something from him. A statement, a breakdown, a Twitter notes app apology. Anything beyond what he was currently doing, which was nothing. Work, mostly.
He blocked the other members of the Gavinners week one. He fired his manager on week two. (Or maybe they dropped him after his fifty-seventh ignored call? Who knows). Week four, the PIC finally allowed him to return to work and that’s all he’s been doing since then. Case, after case, after case, after case, after case-
“Workin’, nine to-!”
Klavier finally decided to get up. Somehow he was both freezing cold and caked in sweat as he got up. God, he felt disgusting. He probably didn’t look much better. Standing up made the room spin, his head barely registering its new upright position. Luckily his morning routine had become clockwork, and he could practically sleepwalk through it at this point.
At some point while sloshing himself in face wash, his mind began to race; he used to be such a morning person. He had schedules and routines, he used to work out in the morning before court. Skipping the first alarm was a treat, not delaying the inevitable.
Putting the toner patches under his eyes was a joke. Does he even use this brand anymore? Do they even do anything? Or was he just trying to waste an old sponsor box? He didn’t even recognize the labels anymore, they all did the same thing in the end. He used to be so specific with his brands, hell, he used to have different creams safely tucked into the tiny fridge beside his bathroom sink. It’s been empty for god knows how long now.
With a few dabs of concealer and the right highlighter, the bags under his eyes disappeared. The acne attempting to rise to the surface was smothered over. His frizzy, dried out hair was beaten into submission with a flat iron, then curled into a perfect coil.
Somehow, despite an hour’s worth of work and hundreds of dollars in products, he still looked like shit. Unfortunately, it had to do. He needed to leave before he made it worse.
And it can always get worse, he reminded himself as he headed into the elevator.
“Hold the door-!”
The voice snapped him to reality. His hand moved to hold the door of the elevator before he could register the request. He blinked, taking a look around. Warm, dark oak walls replace the cold marble of his house. Plaques of prosecutors long gone adorned the walls, replacing the various worthless awards that were scattered on his own. Somehow, he was in the Prosecutor's Office lobby.
How did that happen? He was just at-
Sebastian ran up behind him, stepping into the elevator with him and jostling him from the thought.
“Gosh, sorry!” He babbled. “I tried to get your attention earlier, but then-”
He did? Scheisse, when? Klavier thought with a panic. He quickly dismissed it and smiled at Sebastian as he pressed the button for their floor. “Ach, my apologies, mein herr. I must’ve not heard you.”
“It’s alright, no worries. Edgeworth is always talking about how I need to raise my voice, so-“
Klavier nodded without really listening, watching the floor numbers rise and feeling the hum of the elevator around him. He doesn’t remember anything about the drive over, or clocking in. That’s been happening a lot recently. It would be more concerning if it seemed like his absence was missed at all, but as always the world kept turning.
How arrogant he was, expecting the world to literally revolve around him. What a selfish thing to think.
“-I assume I’ll see you both at the meeting, then? Eleven, right?” Sebastian replied, straightening out the papers on his desk and looking directly at him.
He blinked. Shit, he was in Sebastian’s office now. He did it again. His mind scrambled to find what just happened, what he just replied to. Any trace of the conversation that they had was already forgotten. His head only throbbed in the silence.
“Ja, of course.” He replied coolly, gripping his messenger bag handle. “I should be free by then.”
He wasn’t. What was he saying? Don’t I have something-?
“‘Should be free?’ Prosecutor Gavin, you planned this meeting. I should hope you are more than just a little free.”
Klavier turned, startled by the new voice. Across from Sebastian stood Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, sipping tea from Sebastian’s mug. He had clearly been standing there for a while, and Klavier doubted that the scowl had left his face even once.
Klavier tucked his hair behind his ear and laughed, trying to recover. “Ja. That’s the joke, Herr Edgeworth.”
Edgeworth didn’t look impressed, but that wasn’t new. It never was when it came to his boss. Klavier could have remembered every word he had ever said in this building and it wouldn’t please the man.
Well, what did you expect? A hug and a kiss? You ruined his husband’s life. You’re lucky you aren’t behind bars. A voice hissed in his head, as if he needed reminding.
Lucky. That was a funny way of putting it. As if any part of his life had been lucky in the past few months. It was lucky that Vera Misham had survived. It was lucky that it was a jury trial as opposed to the judge trial. In some cosmic way, it had to be luck that made his brother, best friend, and career disappear within the span of 6 months.
Are you really comparing yourself to Vera? Her father is dead. She almost died. You’re the reason for both.
“Mr. Gavin.”
The floor had changed. He wasn’t in Sebastian’s office anymore. He was in the hallway, walking to the meeting room. His hands were empty, he didn’t bring any of his notes or anything with him. He stopped, but the world kept moving past him. Like standing in a river while the water rushes around you.
“Mr. Gavin?”
Hey, moron, someone is talking to you. Say something.
His body finally obeyed the command and spun around to face a hazy mess of burgundy and ruffles. “Ja, Herr Edgeworth?”
Edgeworth stared at him, eyeing him inquisitively.“...Did you not hear me?”
Klavier laughed, perfectly rehearsed. He folded his arms around his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Ach, sorry, Herr Edgeworth. My mind is elsewhere, I think.”
Edgeworth raised a concerned eyebrow. “Care to draw me a map?”
Klavier blinked. “…What?”
The man only stared at him. “You said your mind was elsewhere. So I asked you to draw me a map.”
“Oh.”
“That’s the joke, Gavin.” The chief prosecutor replied dryly.
“Right.“ Klavier sighed, messing with the fringe of his hair.
A beat of silence passed. Klavier was half tempted to fake a phone call just to avoid this situation entirely. Edgeworth seemed preoccupied with fixing something on his sleeve, all while pretending not to eye Klavier suspiciously.
It was Klavier who broke first. “Um, did you need something, Herr Edgeworth?” Or should we keep pretending to look at our shoes?
“I wanted to ask if you were ready to begin, but by the looks of it…” He trailed off, eyeing Klavier.
Right. The presentation. He’d been preparing notes for some ideas of evidence collection updating. Revisiting old cases with improper cataloging. Everything should be up to code, especially with how easy it is to slip between the cracks.
“Klav…”
And maybe a better system for anonymous tipping and maybe background checks on family members too. Medical histories and physiological evaluations on brothers and best friends and-
“…ier?”
It’s loud. Too loud. Too much static in his head and the tightness in his chest that he hasn’t been able to shake all day clenching into a fist around his heart. His knees felt weak, his body was wrong. He was wrong.
Gott, not now. He silently begged himself. He can’t fall apart, not right now. He distantly realized he had pushed himself off the wall.
“I think I’ve left something in my office. I’ll be back in just a second.” He managed to stammer out before making his way back towards the elevator. That was the only good thing about Edgeworth- there was a built in escape pod on every floor.
What is wrong with you? His mind hissed. Why would you even think that?
The pain had begun to bloom in his chest. His eyes burned as a sob attempted to tear out of his throat. But he couldn’t cry, he couldn’t. Not here, not right now.
He threw the door shut to his office. Locked it tight and then fumbled for the remote to one of his speakers. His trembling hands eventually jammed down the play button, and loud music began blasting from the speakers.
It finally tore out of him as he crumpled to the floor. First, it was an ugly whimper. One last attempt for him to control the horrid thing happening to him. He took a deep gasping breath as he silently screamed into the air, his throat too tight to let out anything but a broken wheeze. Then it spilled out. That horrible, awful noise he didn’t even know he was capable of until Kristoph ruined his life.
Wails mixed into broken sobs that tore painfully from his throat and into the soundproof paneling of his office. His hands clamped to his ears and hair, pushing and squeezing, as if with enough pressure, he could push the anguish out of himself like a zit. His entire body shook with his crying. His lungs and ribs ached with the pressure as he wrestled to get himself back under control, to stop spiraling.
He was never a pretty crier. Maybe for the cameras he could fake a tear or two, but genuine tears were always nasty. He hated it when people made him cry for that reason. It was such an ugly thing for him to do. Despite their issues, Daryan had never seen Klavier truly cry, not until that night. That night he got that stupid call from the detention center that his brother was arrested for murder. Daryan, the bastard, held Klavier the entire night as he screamed into his chest. He whispered into his hair about how sorry he was and that they’d be able to fix it. That he was here to stay, and he wouldn’t leave Klavier alone.
He hated Daryan. He hated Kristoph. He hated himself for being stupid enough to miss them.
What was once a single preserved moment was now a daily occurrence. It was getting to a point where he truly couldn’t stop the episodes at all. They used to only occur if he thought about his brother, but now they would seemingly happen if the wind blew too hard. The sound of a water cooler would send him into a panic. He’s had to excuse himself from investigations and lock himself in his car just to try and quell it.
In the office, all he could do was blast something over top of them so hopefully no one could hear him losing his shit all over his carpet. Wail until it passed and he had the strength to stand again. Then get back to work like nothing happened. Repeat as needed.
Eventually, finally, the current embarrassing cycle ended. He could breathe again, at least long enough to sit up. Klavier swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath as he wiped his eyes and shoved himself off the floor. His steps were uneven and wobbly like a newborn deer, but they pushed him towards his desk all the same.
His eyes lingered on the bottom shelf before he shook his head and ripped open the first.
The top drawer was taken up by emergency “fix-your-face” supplies; A compact mirror and a bit of powder foundations. Just something to hide the redness and to fix any tear tracts his mascara left behind. Luckily, this time doesn’t require a huge fix. He wore waterproof mascara and anti-smudge eyeliner today.
After a few cursory glances and a dab or two of powder, he shoved the drawer closed and walked towards the door, taking another deep breath as he laid his head against the door.
“Get your shit together.” He hissed at himself, clenching his fists until they turned white. “Get your shit together.”
Eventually, he shoved the door open. His mask was back on, a perfect smile pressed into his face as he began his meeting. This was the easy part. It wasn’t hard to give reports or statistics like this. Klavier Gavin didn’t need to exist to give this report, or to convict a criminal, and the thought alone was freeing to him.
He didn’t even really recognize that the presentation was over until people were packing their things and heading back into their offices. Belatedly, he realized he was doing the same.
Sebastian approached him, all smiles and support. He liked Sebastian. Sebastian was kind and put together. He had overcome years of corruption and worked hard to earn respect for his position. It was a complete waste of his efforts for him to be in charge of HR for the time being. Klavier thought about bringing that up to Edgeworth once, but immediately thought better of it.
“Great work, Klavier. I definitely liked the ideas you had about cataloging!” He chirped before rubbing his neck bashfully. “Though, uh, you may have to help me through the details when the time comes. It looks pretty meticulous.”
Klavier flashed a rehearsed smile. “Well, it ought to be, shouldn’t it? The more precise we are, the faster we’ll notice if something is off.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Gavin.” A voice interrupted, making the two of them look up. Edgeworth stood there with his folder of notes. A red pen had scribbled through most of the proposal. “However, this new system you’ve proposed is incredibly… thorough.”
Klavier felt his jaw set. “Ja. As I just said. It ought to be.”
Sebastian looked between them both, obviously nervous at the energy in the room. “Thorough can be good!” He offered, but Edgeworth’s face remained unchanged.
“‘Thorough’ can also be slow and ineffective, especially if that thoroughness involves redundancies.”
The response bubbled up before Klavier could stamp it down. “As I explained, those redundancies are built in to act as a contingency plan. A backup to make sure all evidence is seen and approved by the proper channels.”
“Or it could make the system bloated and only create more space for issues to hide under.” Edgeworth countered.
Klavier just laughed. He didn’t mean to. It was a trick he did in interviews when asked a question he couldn’t answer. Just laugh and divert.
Edgeworth raised an eyebrow and looked at him, really looked this time. Klavier didn’t meet his gaze, choosing instead to focus on shutting off his laptop. The air was tense, as it usually was whenever Klavier and Edgeworth spoke.
Sebastian bit his lip before stepping away from them. “Well, I’m heading back to my desk. Uh, let me know if you need anything!”
It’s unclear if he was talking to Klavier or Edgeworth. He was out the door before either could ask. Klavier stared down, silently organizing his things and trying not to breathe too loudly. Edgeworth, meanwhile, continued to stare at him.
“Gavin, erm…” Edgeworth started hesitantly. “Are you… well?”
‘No. Obviously fucking not,’ is what Klavier didn’t say. He instead, cocked a smile at the unexpected question.
“Uh, ja? Why wouldn’t I be?” He laughed instead. “Was my presentation that bad?”
Edgeworth shifted his weight. “It was adequate. I meant… you looked ill. Earlier. In the hallway?”
“I had forgotten my laptop.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”
Clearly, it was the wrong thing to say because Edgeworth’s permanent forehead crease only deepened. “I thought you had forgotten your files.”
Shit.
“I had forgotten them both, it seems.” Klavier shrugged.
Edgeworth continued, because of course he did. “Regardless, when you came back, you didn’t have any files in your hand. Or your laptop. They were already in the room.”
“So I found out. Silly me, I suppose.”
“But why wouldn’t you check here first? You were just in the room when we spoke.”
An unexpected anger began to bubble inside of him. Maybe it was his exhaustion, maybe it was his shortening patience, but something made the mask crack a bit.
“Christ, what is this, an interrogation? Does this even matter?” Klavier covered the reply with a polite laugh, but it didn’t cover the bite behind it.
Edgeworth frowned. “I was merely asking a simple question, Gavin.”
“Ja, and I’m merely giving you a simple answer. I thought I had forgotten something, then I realized I left the files and laptop in the conference room and not my office. That’s it.” He responded, hoping the lie would suffice.
It startled Klavier how easy it was to lie now. He didn’t know why this conversation had suddenly become so agitating. Had Edgeworth heard his latest episode? The thought made him want to vomit. He couldn’t imagine anyone seeing him in such a horrible state.
Unfortunately, his boss wasn’t done. Edgeworth folded his arms, his finger tapping along his bicep. “And I suppose it required your continued use of that speaker?”
“Well, sir, I needed to find things, Ja? And music is my muse. It helps me focus.” Klavier replied curtly, an edge of annoyance seeping into his words. He flashed a pretty, Gavinners-interview-ready smile.
“Funny, it seems to have the opposite effect to everyone else in this office.” Edgeworth muttered. Klavier wasn’t sure if he meant to mutter it out loud, but regardless, the comment made his eye twitch.
He leaned against the table, placing his hands on the wood and giving a perfect fake laugh. “So you’ve said. I’ll keep it in mind, ja? May I exit this cross-examination now? Or did you want to talk about something important?”
Edgeworth’s mildly annoyed glance turned into one of genuine anger. “I don’t appreciate this tone, Gavin. I believe I just spoke with you about this issue yesterday, correct?”
Klavier felt his head throb. He shouldn’t have pushed this stupid thing and just agreed. Yes sir, sorry sir, won’t happen again sir.
“Besides,” he continued, “being underprepared made you nearly 11 minutes late to the meeting you called. I consider that quite important, Gavin.”
Klavier felt like he was back in high school again, stuck in Dr. Means’ office listening to another list of bullshit reasons why he was going to remain second best in the class.
“As I said, it was a mistake. My apologies. Are we done?” Klavier’s tone was wearing thin. He was so exhausted. He wanted to go back to work. Work was easy. Dealing with Edgeworth was not.
Edgeworth scoffed. “I’m talking to you about how I’m concerned with your performance today, and you;re continuing to argue with me. If you’re truly prepared to lead something as important as a new evidence transferral system, I’d expect a little more caution given everything-“
There it was. The real reason behind this interrogation. Edgeworth clamped his mouth shut and looked away. Klavier’s nails scraped against the wood of the conference table.
“Given what?” He muttered. “Say it.”
“Since you and your brother falsely disbarred a man, a good man, for forging evidence.” Edgeworth finally hissed, stepping closer.
Klavier would give his boss one thing, he certainly didn’t beat around the bush. The words were a slap in the face, but one Klavier was numb to. He did falsely disbar Phoenix Wright. He was an idiot who trusted his brother. None of these words were new to him, and the guilt certainly wasn’t either.
“I’ve made this system to completely prevent that from happening again.” Klavier whispered, forcing the words out. “Ema triple checks my evidence list with me now. I-I update everything in the system the minute I have it and have others sign off on it.”
There was a crack in his voice. He could feel the pit welling in his stomach and the static buzzing in his ears.
Edgeworth’s face didn’t change. “Is that supposed to make up for what you did to him?” He snarled.
“Then what else do you want?” Klavier asked, though it felt more like he was begging. “W-what else can I do? How long is this fucking penance? Tell me!”
“Penance?” Edgeworth repeated, the most outraged Klavier had ever seen him. “Try seven years, then we can discuss penance, Gavin.”
Edgeworth picked up his file and stormed out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled the walls. Klavier was finally alone, static in his ears and heat building on his face as he stared down at the floor.
This time wasn’t the start of an episode, he knew what those felt like. Those were violent, storming in and making his way whole body seize in terror and grief. This was gentle and frigid, the same horrid feeling that cloaked him every night like a blanket.
He packed his things slowly, cursing himself for the way his face felt hot. Was he crying? Gott above, how embarrassing. He was a fucking moron. Weeks of work poured into this thing that was supposed to fix the cracks his brother slipped through, and now because he lost his composure, it would never leave Edgeworth's desk in anything but a trash bin.
He felt so stupid. 'How long is my penance?' What an insane thing to say. His own audacity shocked him. What the fuck was he doing? Why did he say any of that? What was wrong with him?
He stepped into his office. He sat at his desk and stared at the wall, unmoving. His body didn't feel like his own. It acted without thought and breathed only through instinct. He wiped his face and found only hot tears dripping down.
Get a hold of yourself. This is pathetic. How are you making yourself a victim again? Get to work.
The onslaught of self-loathing was endless. He never thought his own thoughts could be so loud. For years he never heard himself at all, and now it was the only thing he ever seemed to hear. His hands shook as he picked up a pen and stared down at the crushed remnants of his proposal. The words blurred together and his eyes burned behind his skull. Eventually, he slid his arm across the desk and shoved it all into the waste basket beside his desk.
This is so dramatic. Even for you. Take some fucking responsibility, you stupid piece of shit.
He eyes drifted to the bottom of his filing cabinet. He thought about the heavy case resting inside.
Why was he even here? Why even waste time making this proposal? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t erase what he did. It certainly wouldn’t erase what Kristoph or Daryan did either. Edgeworth seemed to agree. Everyone seemed to agree.
It took a great deal of struggle to tear his eyes away from the cabinet. He looked at the clock. 3 hours had passed, just like that. A day he would never get back, spent bitching and moaning that people rightfully hated him. He gathered his things and took one last look in his emergency mirror, as if he could afford to still be vain. Even his reflection wouldn't meet eyes.
He snapped it shut and made his way to the door, taking a deep breath before slowly creaking it open. It was dark outside.
Klavier blinked and spun around, trying to gain a foothold of his surroundings. "Wha-?"
He was standing in the entryway of his penthouse. He was back home.
He didn’t remember clocking out. Did he say anything to anyone? Clearly it had been hours. He stared at the floor, taking in the awful and heavy silence that greeted him.
After a second, or maybe hours, Klavier finally dropped his things by the door and then found himself sinking into his couch.
He stared at the ceiling. Edgeworth's words replayed again and again in his mind.
Try seven years. Then we can discuss penance.
It had only been 3 months.