history
this isn’t finished, but it’s all i actually wanted to write, SO.
klavier/apollo. 950 words.
The bandages have long since come off, but Apollo can feel where they should be in slight ache in his wrist and the stinging in his eye when he blinks.
“How was Germany?” he asks quietly, and he can see the prosecutor’s expression flicker between confusion and concern as he quickly turns his head from the windshield to regard Apollo. The stoplight above them casts an unnatural red hue through the rain on the windshield, blanketing the interior of the car in a bloody, bright light, and Klavier’s eyes look suddenly dark. Apollo shudders despite himself. Whether it’s memories or the cold that causes it, he doesn’t know.
Klavier reaches to turn up the heat regardless.
“You don’t need to make small talk, schatzilein,” he replies, all sympathy in his tone.
Apollo sighs, so long and drawn out that he’d likely make Solomon proud. He feels the air rattling in his chest, the exhale stretching and pulling at the muscles still working overtime to repair themselves. He winces and Klavier frowns. “No, I want to hear. Please.”
Klavier reaches one hand from the steering wheel to absently tuck a piece of hair behind his ears. They accelerate through the light. “It was fine, ja? Nothing new. You would think a year would be long enough to untangle one man’s finances, but-” and he sweeps a hand across the air before him expressively, as in presentation, “-mein bruder, ladies and gentlemen.”
Klavier doesn’t say the name, they rarely do, but it hangs unspoken in the air around them all the same. There are so many ghosts that ride with them, so much history amassed in the short time that they’ve known each other, that the car feels crowded and full. Apollo turns the heat up again.
“It already snowed there, though. Ein winter wunderland for Christmas,” he continues. “Open the glove compartment? There is something for you.”
It takes a moment of awkward fumbling to get Clay’s coat out of the way enough that he can reach down for the tiny latch. A loud click echoes through the car as the compartment falls open, and Apollo reaches inside. It’s empty, save for one lone piece of paper, small and wedged into the hinge in the back. Apollo extracts it, careful not to rip the corner.
It’s a postcard, ‘Viele grüße aus Deutschland!’ written in bright letters across the front. Apollo turns it around in his hands until it’s facing up and stares at the image. It looks like a painting, a Bavarian gingerbread village, each house carefully frosted with sparkling snow. In the center of the image is a cobblestone square, where a Christmas tree stands tall hung with baubles and twinkling lights. It looks so warm and peaceful that Apollo’s heart aches momentarily, a sharp tug beneath his ribs that leaves his eyes stinging.
This is not the snow Apollo knows.
Snow makes him think of the mountains of Khura’in, a thick and deep blanket of white smothering the roofs of all the surrounding buildings with little distinction made between houses or holy temples. He remembers the sound of the market square, acoustics uncharastically dampened despite the number of people still occupying it. Voices carefully pitched low on the mountainside, fearing the distinct rumble of an avalanche as though it was retribution from the Holy Mother and not a force of nature. He remembers the sight of the sun setting behind tall peaks. Bright colored flags against the stark white background, still waving wildly in the wind.
He hasn’t seen snow in over a decade, not since the day he stepped onto a plane headed for LA.
Apollo turns the postcard over in his hands.
It would be better if you were here. Come with next time, it says in Klavier’s scribbled handwriting, There is more underneath, but it has been scratched out with a dark pen, carefully enough that Apollo can make little of it out except that seems to have been written in German.
“You didn’t send it,” he says, instead of asking.
“A waste of a stamp. I was back before it would have arrived,” Klavier hesitates, the sound of it too loud in the space between them. “When Herr Edgeworth called… He was not very specific about the status of your condition, you know.”
Apollo doesn’t reply, still staring at the card in his fingers.
“But he was kind enough to help arrange my flight. He said-” and his voice changes without warning, accent evening out into the unmistakable timbre of the Chief Prosecutor’s tone, “-‘it would not be the first time a prosecutor made the trip for the sake of a defense attorney and it very likely would not be the last, either’.”
His impression of Edgeworth is uncanny, but Apollo doesn’t applaud the performance. It doesn’t seem to be Klavier’s intention, anyway, with the way he visibly deflates at his own words, running a hand through the bangs that fall across his eyes before placing his hand back on the wheel.
After a moment, he continues quietly, “It was not the most pleasant 14 hours of my life, that flight. I should send flowers to the crew to apologize.”
And for the first time, Apollo notices the circles under Klavier’s eyes, dark and bruised. His hair looks rough and hastily braided, strands breaking from the confines of the loose plait at random points before jutting out at odd angles. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days, maybe longer. Apollo wonders if he looks any better off.
“You didn’t have to come back.”
Klavier laughs, but it is bitter and short. The sound of it makes Apollo wince. “I thought you were dying, liebchen, while I was running away again. Of course I came back.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 32/32
Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Yuugami Jin/Mitsurugi Reiji | Simon Blackquill/Miles Edgeworth
Characters: Yuugami Jin | Simon Blackquill, Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth, Hannah Fright, Yahari Masashi | Larry Butz, Kidzuki Kokone | Athena Cykes, Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma, Shiryuu Rou | Shi-Long Lang, Ooba Kaoru | Wendy Oldbag, Oosawagi Natsumi | Lotta Hart, Hayami Mikiko | Nicole Swift, Yuugami Kaguya | Aura Blackquill
Additional Tags: Post-Exoneration, Cohabitation, Slow Build, Steel Samurai nerdery, Talking, The thinkiness is strong with this one too, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, There will be porn later, much later, Also some triggery stuff, So please watch out for warnings, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, AAI2 spoilers (but you should be able to make sense of what's happening without having played it), now with extra UR-1 background explainery and ending that pesky dark age of the law!, also: the kitchen sink, srsly, this now has it all, Humor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Banter, Okay enough tags already
Summary:
Simon Blackquill may have been exonerated in the eyes of the law, but the public at large continues to view him with suspicion. He is forced to live in a hotel as no one will rent an apartment to him, and beleaguered by reporters. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, appalled by his subordinate's situation, comes up with a somewhat unorthodox way of lending him a hand, gradually leading to a closer connection than either of them initially envisioned. A balancing act of weighing propriety against their personal desires ensues...
The currently given rating reflects what is going to happen in later parts; the majority of this story is a T. Please heed trigger warnings given in chapter notes!
Summary: The breach between universes is permanently closed. After a horrific accident, Rose Tyler decides to re-create herself. Broadchurch is as good a place as any to start afresh.
