Guilt Trip

By icecreamlova

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When Klavier Gavin met Ema Skye for the first time, he did not make a good impression. It wasn't his first impression, mind. She had already heard about how he stripped Wright's badge away, during an excited visit to Wright & Co Law Offices only to find it had changed into a talent agency, and the glimmerous image he presented only reinforced her opinion. It was beginning of a mutual dislike that only simmered for the first few months of their acquaintance.

Klavier Gavin knew none of this. He had sauntered down from his office to meet the new recruit that had the busy office buzzing (Skye was not, after all, an obscure name in this part of town, and Lana Skye was still legend in that particular Prosecutors' Office), and was fully prepared to whip out his charm in case anything went wrong. What he didn't expect was the loathing that filled her eyes at her first glimpse of him.

It was there only for a moment before her social skills snapped it back into minor annoyance, and Ema pushed away the files she'd been working on, and a bag of some sort of snacks. Klavier might have thought he'd imagined it if he weren't a prosecutor, thus absolutely confident in his ability to read people.

He ignored it.

"Good morning, Fraulein," he greeted pleasantly, deciding quickly against lavishing compliments that would probably only make her snap harder. "You must be the Ema Skye that has the office buzzing."

Ema paid no attention to his comment. "And you're Klavier Gavin? The prosecuting genius?"

Klavier tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I see you've heard of me."

Ema stared at him, hard, for a moment. "Yes."

"All good, I hope," he said lightly, trying to find a balance in dynamic. She wasn't, by all records, a terribly competent detective, but she HAD been hired to work under him. That glimpse of loathing in her eyes earlier, though, he quickly recalled again, and wondered how he could even hope that any rumours which had reached her all the way in Europe could be good.

"I've heard you're a skilled prosecutor," she said, "and a rock star"--a flash of annoyance, then--"and that you defeated Phoenix Wright in court."

Then his eyes did widen in surprise. Phoenix Wright had been renowned, yes, but his defeat had been YEARS ago, and hadn't been as much news in the European crime scene, as far as he knew.

Ema's mouth was a thin line, stretched into a grim smile. "I do, occasionally, pay attention to the criminal scene. Mr. Wright's... circumstances were a shock, as was the news he would do something like present forged evidence."

"It was proven that the evidence was forged," Klavier murmured, watching his new recruit carefully. He'd been away on tour for the past few months, and had only caught a rudimentary round of gossip about Ema Skye earlier. After all, he hardly made a habit of investigating everyone who worked under him. "Does it surprise you Phoenix Wright would have done something like that?"

Ema played with a lock of her hair, but her answer was decisive and firm. "Yes. I seem to recall that he's had pretty high-profile cases before. Scientifically speaking, his track record of winning without forged evidence suggests he would hardly start so suddenly."

"I suppose that people will surprise you when you least expect it," Klavier said quietly, after a moment, knowing that to press further would be counter-productive. "It was nice meeting you."

He barely heard her grudging, "Likewise."

(Because as an employee, she could complain to her co-workers about him, but he was the boss, so had to take the high moral ground.)

Honestly, Klavier wasn't too bothered by the meeting. It wasn't the first time he'd met incredulous audiences as he retold his version of events, and it certainly wasn't the first time someone related to law had asked him it was true. He'd received a long-distance call from Germany a week after the trial from a mentor, and then a visit from an oddly dressed woman, who he would later discover had covert connections to the government.

In every case, he had reiterated his position and a hint of advice: that the people you thought you knew could surprise you when you least expected it. Like Ema, however, none of them—not his mentor, nor her friend, nor the visiting woman--seemed to have been satisfied by the answer.

Every single time, Klavier had taken the high moral ground: Phoenix Wright HAD presented forged evidence, and had taken responsibility for it, and he, Klavier, had prevented an innocent man from suffering the consequences of false accusation.

Despite the fact that credited sources insisted on Phoenix's noble nature.

Despite the fact that Phoenix's commissioning of the forgery was never proven.

Despite the very important fact that Kristoph had somehow KNOWN that Phoenix Wright would be presenting the evidence when the other attorney's name hadn't even been linked to the case until just a day earlier!

None of this had mattered to him, because the evidence Wright presented was forged, and it was Wright who had presented it.

The very idea that Wright wasn't guilty of forging evidence himself was preposterous. The man was a mediocre lawyer who'd relied on luck, a soiled and sullied participant of the court who had underestimated youth, to his severe loss. His brother had told him as much, and he knew his brother's character better than any man in the world knew another.

Surely he, who was so fixed on the simple truth, wouldn't miss the truth if he looked!

And then, seven years after entering law, the trial of State vs. Misham arrived. Klavier hadn't been sure what to think when Phoenix Wright was appointed the Chair of the Jurist System, but Wright had been an admittedly successful lawyer (though not a good one) before his downfall, and despite his personal objections against the man, he couldn't fault the new system. He'd bitten his tongue and worked through the 'simple' trial it appeared at first glance.

Klavier knew he should have realised that any case chosen by Wright, for defending or for something else, wouldn't be simple at all.

Still, he stuck to his guns, taking care to stay ahead of the crowd, and to find the truth. Apollo Justice raised a few legitimate problems, but they were non-issues that didn't really pertain to the case at hand. They were overwhelmed by the evidence Vera Misham was guilty. What did he have to fear?

He played it cool until Herr Forehead unwittingly linked it to a case seven years past, with a stamp that he couldn't accept existed. And, as if the world was mocking him, his first trial came back with a vengeance, with a severe poisoning and suddenly shaky moral platform.

Gramarye. What a dangerous, deadly name, it was. What dark secrets it had held until two defense attorneys, past and present, uncovered the truth.

He fought them every step of the way. Klavier knew he hadn't been wrong. (Humility had never been one of his strong points either, incidentally.) Despite the worries he'd carried around for the past seven years, Klavier knew his brother; and Kristoph, for all his faults, wouldn't cheat. The case had promised to be brother against brother, and Kristoph Gavin wouldn't have sullied that, wouldn't have crossed the line of absolute moral obligation by reaching greedily for fame.

It was odd that telling himself so didn't appease the uneasy knot in his stomach other people suffered when in front of crowds, the tension thrumming through his muscles. He didn't want to believe that the impenetrable darkness lurking at the bottom of the case could possibly be attached to his brother... and yet the possibility had flown into his mind, erected a nest, and refused to leave.

His suspicions were confirmed when Justice brought out that bright yellow letter. It was a link between his brother and the victim, evidence that played on the use of common sense despite being invalid in court, and felt like his world tearing away from centre, like that fateful advice he'd offered to different people floating back to haunt him: "I suppose that people will surprise you when you least expect it."

In the end, he had been completely wrong in his judgments. He had doomed an innocent man -- two innocent men, if Wright was to be believed -- and saved the guilty one instead.

He helped when the defense was down to its last legs, unloading his chief worry about the whole affair when he offered them a clue: Kristoph had knowledge of the forgery before anyone else. It was almost a relief that the mystery was solved, though it was quickly overruled by his brother's guilt, and by the weight of Mr. Wright's gaze on the other side of the closed-circuit cameras as he watched the truth, which Klavier had unwittingly helped cover up, being revealed at least.

He had helped make this.

But the triumph of the new structure of law stripping away the old was not apology enough.

How could you say sorry to the man you had forced into hiding?

(He died because your brother was never called out, because you never noticed that clue of guilt.)

How could you say sorry to the young girl who had lost her father?

(He went into hiding because your brother faked a clue, and you fell onto the red herring like a fool.)

How could you say sorry to the man whose life, good name, and ability to help others you ruined?

No, an apology was not nearly enough.

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END