Chapter Text
Klavier was, by all definition, shitfaced.
Even when nearing his late twenties, he understood his influence was not going to falter away despite the Gavinners no longer performing. He was invited to some VIP event that in his eyes looked like a reunion of up-and-coming idiots and future wash-ups. He seemed to be on the path for the latter. Of course, the only way he could truly make it through the night without leaving early and making a bad impression was by drinking himself sick, until he could fully tune out the people around him. Before everything that transpired, he would stick near Daryan and let him talk to all the meddling "stars" who simply wanted some coverage for being seen near the sensation of that time. Daryan was many things, but there were times where he seemed so easy to like.
Shame what the reality turned out to be.
He leaves the venue eventually, his sight blurry and his head pounding. It was far too late to call a cab and calling any of his contacts was very much off-limits. They were all working people who didn't need to be bothered to pick up a drunk twenty-seven-year-old at least a mile away from where he lived. Only option he had was his motorcycle which he arrived with. He clumsily puts on his helmet and gets on, ignoring all the reasonable thoughts in his head telling him to not get himself killed.
The roads were basically empty; it was four in the morning, after all. He would have to go straight for a good half-hour then simply take a light curve and he'd be home. He's done it multiple times and this time wouldn't be any different.
The younger defense attorney stared at the flashy motorcycle the prosecutor owned. Usually, the people he'd meet would stare in awe, compliment it, ask to sit on it, even offer to take it for a spin. Of course, not Apollo Justice though. Klavier figured that everything that resembled him, the younger man would be opposed to, not too different from what Ema does. The defense attorney raised his eyebrow as he saw it in the parking lot of the courthouse, it was a late night and somehow, it managed to radiate even more under the moonlight. Certainly made his rental car look like a real treat next to it.
"I see you've taken a notice to meine prinzessin. She's a looker, isn't she?" Klavier remarks, which only makes Apollo nearly roll his eyes off. "Somehow, this suits you. But that nickname should never be uttered again, it's a motorcycle."
Klavier scoffs playfully. "You and frau Skye will never understand. I have a very close connection to her; I bought her with my very first check that I made from performing for the Gavinners and she's been with me ever since."
"Can't imagine Kristoph was too happy about that, huh." Apollo crosses his arms. "And ... are you planning to drive home with this? It's pretty late, Prosecutor Gavin."
Klavier has had his share of late-night drives in the past, and especially now since his brother was sentenced ... he needed the distraction. He was confused at the question, nevertheless. "Well, I have to bring her back home somehow. She is a big target for some too enthusiastic fans, after all."
"I guess, but ... isn't this pretty dangerous? "
Thirty minutes of driving in what had to be the eeriest night ever, he finally reaches the curve. From the distance, he could see the penthouse standing tall over the other buildings. He actually preferred to live in a more solitary place, but the office's location didn't seem to benefit him. He would have to think about that move in a sooner future.
At possibly the worst time, the on-going headache he's had becomes ten times more painful and if he didn't know any better, he'd think his head was about to explode. His sight blurs and the curve he's taken a hundred times in the past becomes unknown territory. In what seemed like a second, the tires of the bike slid unexpectedly. It was a small patch of wet leaves, half-hidden in the shadows, but it was enough to send the back wheel skidding out from under him. The bike jerked to the left, and Klavier instinctively corrected, but the sudden movement threw him off balance.
Time seemed to slow. He could feel the tires slipping, the bike shifting beneath him as he leaned the wrong way. His heart raced, but his reflexes kicked. He grabbed the handlebars tighter, pushing himself into the turn, trying to steer through it, but the bike wasn’t having it. With a low thud, the tires lost grip completely, and Klavier felt himself tipping over, the bike tilting awkwardly to the side.
He could not brace himself in time even if he tried. He is thrown across the asphalt and his thirty-five grand hunk of metal skids along the road with a shill screech.
The older defense lawyer sits next to him, the deafening silence only being interrupted by the monitors and nurses coming to check on him. "I did tell you how you would end up if you kept driving that thing with zero regard of your surroundings. Sometimes, it seems like you seek out these injuries."
Klavier sighs, his left arm aching from it being dislocated after the accident. He nearly crashed into another vehicle, but no one got hurt, that was all that mattered to him. "No, I don't. It was just an accident, Kris.."
Gavin crosses his arms. "At first, it will only be an accident. Then, it will be two. Then, it will be five. Until eventually, you will have to be scraped off the highway because you believed you knew what you were doing."
"I DID know what I was doing! I didn't do this on purpose, I just didn't want to -"
"Do not raise your voice at me, Klavier. This is coming out of my pockets every time you choose to do something remarkably stupid. Because it seems that even sixteen years later, you still are a child."
Klavier lowers his head, choosing to avoid looking at his older brother and not further continue the argument. The silence is back and somehow, it is the loudest thing in the room. He could not handle when Kristoph remained silent, because he didn't know what he could be thinking at that moment, and it scared him. Kristoph straightens up and looks at his younger brother. "Klavier."
He looks at him, expecting a lecture, or somehow, an apology. Anything but this silence which somehow ached more than his real physical injuries. " . . ."
"How much am I going to have to give you to keep you from getting yourself killed?"
He lifts his head slightly, amazed at the sheer fact that the impact did not make him lose consciousness. At least, not for long as there were no paramedics or bystanders yet. He tries to get up as he normally would, but a sharp pain in his chest sends him back down. He wouldn't be surprised if he had broken a rib.
Somehow, his phone was tucked safely in his pocket, only bearing tiny scratches and working just fine. As he basically dragged himself over to the knocked down bike and leans against it, he immediately goes to his contacts.
Edgeworth was out of the country, so that was a certain no. Blackquill would probably not answer. Pearl was in Khu'rain Village. He was not going to involve either Athena or Trucy in this mess, because that would lead to having to call Wright of all people, and he truly would rather lie dead on the street than have to do that.
His eyes hover on Ema and Apollo. Skye would tell anyone she knew proudly on how much she despised the prosecutor, but she was the first to check in on him after Kristoph's trial. She "had no choice" when she started to spend their breaks together after the trial. She was just "being a good colleague" when she held onto him whenever he'd have a panic attack and tell him it'd be alright.
And Justice? Well, it didn't need to be said. Just him being the way he is, he knew he'd probably come and get him despite the time. The longer he stared, the more his thoughts consumed him. Who was he to burden his co-workers with his mistakes? The mistakes that Kristoph had warned him about multiple times during his teenage years?
Who was he to believe that he deserved the help?
His vision begins to get dizzy, and he realizes that he is possibly mere minutes away from going down again. With what little adrenaline he had left, he pushed himself up and tried to drag his bike into the underground parking lot. He did not want to risk a scandal by calling someone to get it, but he was not about to leave it out in the open. It was his only possession with good memories, and he was going to keep it, despite its current state. However, that was easier said than done, as whatever injury that was causing his chest to ache and his shoulder to burn was making it ten times harder and slower. He slowly drags it, getting to the other side of the road, but not without tumbling a few times as a result.
Call someone. Anyone. His head would say, though it would constantly contradict itself, making sure to remind him of what's possibly at stake here.
Would Skye quit the friendly banter if she'd seen him in an even more pathetic state than before? Would she only see him as an object of pity?
Would Edgeworth tell him to take another paid leave? Suffer the same wallowing self-pity he felt during his first leave after the trial?
Or would Wright just not trust a drunk near his employees? Near his family who he's grown to love more than his real family?
Just as he reaches the parking lot, he uses the last of his strength to drag the bike onto his reserved spot. He attempts to lock it, but he had the keys anyway, so not even the most stalker of fans could steal what used to be his clean and luxurious bike. His legs completely give out and he goes tumbling down onto the asphalt. Perhaps it was simply a moment of weakness, or the pain became overbearing, he couldn't really tell at the moment, but he didn't notice two things.
How bruised and bloody he really was and the tears streaming down his face.
He thanked the heavens that no paparazzi followed him home this time. Because this was truly a sight to see, one that would sink his image and make him look even more pathetic after his breakdown at ...
... Yes, that's what this all would be about. Kristoph Gavin's trial. Somehow, completely unrelated events would all lead back to that day and he would not be able to deny it to the press. They would have a field day capturing the once charming and confident dream boy watered down to whatever he was right now. And why?
Because of his brother. Everything was about him, and somehow, the pain of that realization hurt worse than the wounds. It would hurt worse even if the crash was serious. Sometimes, he believed death would not even ease him from it.
He pressed the button to the elevator, and as he took the twenty floors up, he already had made up his mind about the situation; he will wait until he gets better on his own, until no bruise is visible. Until there is no proof that anything even slightly destructive might've occurred. He was not going to be a burden, not again.
Nobody needed to know. It's best for everybody else that way.
Ema sat with her feet up on her desk, already through the second bag of Snackoos despite only clocking in three hours ago. No Edgeworth to lecture about office etiquette, not her problem.
She glances at the door with the obnoxious custom plate that read "Prosecutor Gavin". It was instinct to roll her eyes, however, something was strange. She didn't remember that door ever opening during the day, nor her being incredibly annoyed at a certain voice. She catches another employee walking past. "Hey, is he in there? The fop?"
The man looks at her confused. "I mean, Prosecutor Gavin. Has he left his office yet?"
"From my knowledge, detective, he has not clocked in yet." He then walks away to tend his business, only leaving Ema more confused. Personality aside, he was punctual as can be. He absolutely would've taunted her the day before. Make sure not to miss me too much, Frau.
She pulls out her phone and dials his number, slowly moving with her rotating chair as she waited. ...
No answer. She tries again. Still no answer.
She frowns. Gavin never ignored her calls. He always found a way to inject some kind of flirtatious comment or over-the-top apology if he was delayed. She dialed again and was promising herself to kick his ass for not answering the first time. The phone kept ringing, until ...
"This is Prosecutor Gavin. I’m unavailable at the moment, but leave a message and—"
She hangs up mid-message and sits up properly. Something felt off, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Was he on some granted PTO she didn't know of? Was he on some spontaneous trip to ease his mind? Possibly not that ... because he would've told her before-hand, and that's when she feels like something might be going on.
She wasn't going to lie to herself when these strange occurrences worried her. The man annoyed her to impossible lengths, but she didn't truly hate him. The trial with his brother ... it showed a different side of him, and she couldn't sit by and let him feel the way he felt. It made them closer — it left a gross taste on her tongue and a headache at the realization that they've grown to be friends, good friends, even.
At that very moment, she gets a text from the younger Wright, with a picture attached of some poster and something along the lines of "spectating the rehearsal of the greatest magic show yet." Well, what the hell. No Edgeworth to reprimand her and she'll only be there for half an hour tops. She takes her coat and informs a nearby deputy of her whereabouts for the next possible hour in case somehow the chief were to find out.
She glances at the prosecutor's door once more and she can't help but feel like something may be wrong. She reminds herself to drive to his penthouse and check in on him and possibly reprimand him if by chance he was just slacking off.
As she exits the precinct and drives off towards the agency, she truly hopes that it's the latter.