Chapter 2

"Mr. Wright!"

Ema launches herself at him when Phoenix is still just half-standing from his chair, and he only keeps them from falling to the ground by putting one hand on the table behind him.

"Oh, man, you look fantastic!" Ema takes a step back, her right hand moving to rest on her hip as she looks him up and down. "I wouldn't have believed you could clean up so nice."

Phoenix looks down at his blazer and waistcoat and tie, a smile stealing its way across his face. He supposes he does look nice like this, and it fits both the little restaurant he's treating Ema to and the topic of discussion he has planned for today quite well.

"Though I do miss the hat and my beautiful little toy." Ema pokes at his forehead, at the spot where the button she gave him usually sits. "Very helpful little toy, I might add."

"Extremely helpful." Phoenix grins at the young woman, moving to pull out the seat across from his and gesturing for her to settle down. "I couldn't have taken Kristoph down without your help."

"All I did was help you rig a little spy camera." Ema drops her bag next to her chair and settles down with a sigh. "You're the one who completely rewrote the legal system."

"Not completely." Shaking his head, Phoenix settles down as well. "Just gave it a few tweaks to help it run a little smoother, that's all."

"I'd say bringing back a relic of the past, proving its usefulness, and helping to weed out some of the corruption in the system all after being carefully excised from said system is a little bit more than that." Ema watches him with wonder-filled eyes.

Eyes that remind him of the girl who first came to him to help prove her sister's innocence, remind him hauntingly of the way she looked at Edgeworth back then, and he turns to the menu and clears his throat. "Order whatever you want. It's on me."

"Oh really?" Ema flips open her menu. "Business must be pretty good at the Agency, then. Or are you anticipating landing a couple dozen big cases when word gets around that your hat's back in the ring soon?"

Phoenix blinks. "What?"

"You! Retaking the bar exam, getting your badge back." Ema drops her voice to a quiet whisper. "I know you haven't been announcing it yet, but word's been getting around the precinct, and I think it's awesome. I can't wait to see you back at the defense's bench."

"Yeah, well..." Phoenix forces out a half-hearted chuckle. "It won't be that different from how things are right now. I'll probably still have Apollo and Athena handling most of the cases. They're younger, after all."

"You're barely into your thirties, Mr. Wright." Ema frowns.

"That makes me ancient by the rock-star standards the press and the public likes, right?" He has gotten good at forcing a smile, over the years, though it is always hardest with his friends.

"Are you..." Ema's fingers scrape gently over the surface of the menu. "Do you... not like how things have turned out?"

"What? No!" Phoenix shakes his head, a more honest smile rising. "I'm really happy with how a lot of things have gone. Apollo and Athena are wonderful lawyers—"

"With you on Justice, though you haven't properly introduced me to Athena yet."

"I'll get to it as soon as I can, things got a bit hectic as soon as she arrived. Returning to topic, I think, even if this is the so-called Dark Age of the Law, that it's not really that bad. Or maybe..." Phoenix shrugs. "Maybe I can just see the dawn coming. But we've gotten rid of a lot of corruption. We've spread out power so that it won't be quite so easy for corruption to sneak back in. We've got good people in good positions. We're getting there."

Ema nods, expression contemplative. "Then why did you look so sad?"

"Because I get tired, sometimes. Ten years is a long time to fight." Looking away from Ema, Phoenix rubs at the right side of his head. "No better crew to fight beside than you guys, though. And I'm nowhere near giving up."

"You better not be." A nudge of Ema's foot against his shin under the table draws his eyes back to her fierce, determined expression. "So what do you need me for, Mr. Wright? Need another gadget? More spy equipment?"

"Not exactly." Phoenix hesitates, then decides that straight-forward is probably the best policy for this interview. "I wanted to know what your opinions on Klavier Gavin are."

"The glimmerous fop?" Ema blinks, then flushes. "I mean..."

"Glimmerous." Phoenix tries out the word. "I like the sound of that. Very fitting for the way that Gavin dresses. And maybe a few other people we know. Fop, though... I take it you aren't very fond of him?"

Ema just stares at him, expression torn—expression concerned, concerned for him, and Phoenix remembers Apollo's descriptions of Ema the first time he met her. Remembers other bitter remarks he's heard, frustrations she has voiced, and understands, abruptly, some of her reticence. "I'm not mad at him, Ema. For any of what happened. I just want your honest opinion of him."

"Honestly? He's a decent guy." Ema shrugs, looking down at the white tablecloth, picking at it with her fingernails. "Probably one of the most decent prosecutors I've worked with, aside from Prosecutor Edgeworth. He's thorough and intelligent. Also vain, proud of his accomplishments, obsessed with Germany, overly fond of music and the sound of his own voice. But... overall a decent guy. If you and Prosecutor Edgeworth are looking for corruption, you're not going to find it there."

"We weren't suspecting him of corruption. Though it's good to know you trust his dedication to the truth, at least." Phoenix sighs. If everyone assumes he's gunning for Klavier because of a few snarky comments, what must they think of his relationship with Apollo?

Though he knows that's not fair. Knows that it's the snarky comments in combination with the fact that he and Klavier have met fewer times than he has fingers on one hand, and in those times managed to systematically dismantle each other's lives. Knows that his friends are trying to show their concern for him by showing him a united front against someone they assume to be his enemy, but at this point it's really not helpful.

Ema frowns. "Why are you interested in Gavin, then?"

"Edgeworth's worried about him. Trucy, too."

Ema's frown only deepens. "Trucy tends not to worry about people without reason. You think there's something going on with the glimmerous fop?"

"I think you like the sound of that nickname a little too much."

"Given that his brilliant nickname for me is Fraulein Detective, I think I win all the points."

Their waiter appears, and Phoenix decides to wait until he's gone to resume their conversation.

Ema beats him to it, though, waiting just long enough for the waiter to be out of earshot before leaning towards him. "You think someone's threatening him?"

Phoenix blinks. "I had been assuming it was just the stress of the last eighteen months catching up with him, but I... suppose it's possible. Have you noticed anything that would make that seem likely?"

"No." Ema seems to deflate a bit. "And I guess he's been through a lot, huh? Never seemed to slow him down, though. If anything it seems like it got him really focused. Ever since he disbanded the Gavinners he's been going through about three times as many cases. Keeps me busy. Also pays me pretty decently, though, which is more than we can say for three-quarters of the prosecutors."

"Yeah..." Phoenix decides, given Edgeworth's history with detectives and salary reviews, he should probably just avoid that conversation. "Do you have any idea what he does outside work? Any friends that he talks about, anything that he likes to do?"

"Now that you mention it... not really." Ema swirls the ice cubes aroud in her water glass with her index finger. "He used to talk about the Gavinners a lot, and about his music. When I first started we couldn't be working together more than an hour or so before he'd start humming some insipid melody. He... doesn't really do that anymore."

Phoenix winces. Why couldn't Daryan Crescend have chosen a better time—preferrably an earlier time—to reveal his true colors? Losing a friend and his brother within the span of a few months must have been difficult for Klavier. At least Daryan hadn't been connected to Phoenix in any way.

"And he doesn't really talk about anyone outside work. But, I mean, he's never really been one to talk about his family. I worked with him for weeks before I knew he had a brother." The ice cubes in Ema's glass continue to tinkle and spin in a circle even after she takes her hand away. "Klavier gets along with everyone, though. Apollo and I were considered outliers because we weren't instantly charmed by His Majesty the Prosecutor King of Rock. He's got to have someone out there who's helping him through. Right?"

"Right." Phoenix nods his agreement with Ema's theory, though there is a sinking feeling in his gut that whispers perhaps the answer is no. "I'm still going to be looking into things, though, seeing if there's something else we can do to try to help him out. Edgeworth says it's more effort than it's worth, trying to break in new semi-decent people, and he'd like to just give the ones he's got a good tune-up if he can. So try to be nice to him for the next little while, okay? And if you notice anything you think I should know or that Edgeworth should know, call one of us."

"You got it, Mr. Wright." Ema grins. "Any time you need help stalking my boss, you just let me know."

"It's not really stalking, it's just..." Phoenix sighs, recognizes the grin and the glint in Ema's eyes. There are some things it's just not worth arguing about. "Thanks, Ema. I really appreciate it."

"You're very welcome." Ema glances down, some of the grinning edge fading from her smile. "Though... is that all you wanted to talk to me about? You invited me out to lunch so we could discuss Gavin?"

"No." Picking up his straw wrapper, Phoenix lobs it at the young woman across from him, earning a disapproving glare from a woman at a table across the aisle. "I also wanted to see how you're doing. It's been a bit."

"Too long!" Ema's good cheer flows back as she raises her head. "Though other than still being stuck as a detective, I'm doing great."

"Edgeworth says you're a pretty great detective." Phoenix takes a sip from his own glass. "Very thorough and detail-oriented, I believe were his exact words. Apparently you and Gavin are, statistically speaking, his most successful team."

"Really?" Ema practically glows, as Phoenix expected she would at any inkling of praise from Edgeworth. The glow fades after a moment, though. "Still isn't what I trained for, though."

"Maybe not, and I know that Edgeworth's going to let you retake the forensics entrance exam when it comes up." He will if Phoenix has anything to say about it, at least, especially since Phoenix still isn't convinced there wasn't some kind of corruption involved in Ema failing in the first place. "But being a detective, it seems to me, requires a bit more intelligence than being in forensics. You have to help decide what tests to run, what people to question... have to keep your team and your equipment safe..."

A soft giggle comes from Ema's side of the table, and she shakes her head. "Fine, Mr. Wright, I get the message. I'm doing good work as a detective. And it's close enough to what I originally wanted to do, I suppose, especially since now I know I can trust people on both sides. You can stop trying to come up with reasons I should stick with my job."

"I don't have to come up with reasons." Phoenix leans back, making room for the waiter to place their appetizers in front of them. "You're smart—smarter than me, definitely. You know that the work you're doing is helping people, and that simply having you there—having an honest person doing honest work—makes it harder for any more corruption to sneak in."

"You're a flatterer, Mr. Wright." Ema's cell phone chimes, and she's smiling as she picks it up, though the smile thins and she gives a grumpy sigh as she types out a reply. "But I appreciate the sentiment, and I'm not quitting. Not unless Gavin gives me reason to. Like insisting I accompany him right now to our crime scene when he knows I'm meeting a friend for lunch."

"Remember that you're supposed to be..." Phoenix watches Ema's eyes narrow and decides silence is the best option.

After only a few seconds Ema's phone chimes again.

Ema is smiling when she finishes sending her next reply. "We're good for an hour. So, tell me all about how Trucy's doing..."

They spend the rest of their meal reminiscing and catching up, and Phoenix is smiling when he hugs Ema and bids her farewell.

Now, to continue his stalking of Klavier and figure out what it's going to take to get the young prosecutor to honestly smile, too...

XXX

Klavier paces through the basement and kitchen, stopping occasionally to shine the tiny pocket flashlight he has in hand up or down into various shadowy crevices.

He doesn't stop moving. It's rare that he can settle down when the crime scene—well, suspected crime scene, in this case—is someone's house. It feels too much like he is trespassing somewhere he is not wanted. Too much like he is the one bringing sorrow and danger to halls that are painted bright yellow with cheery balloon wallpaper, though he knows that the truth is the other way around—trouble has summoned him here, made him a ghost in this cathedral to normalcy and happiness.

He wrote the Gavinners single Halloween song about the sensation of walking through the halls of a domestic crime scene. Ghost of a Crime, he had originally called it, and he had been proud of the lyrics, once. Proud of the way that the lyrics twisted, making it hard to tell if the singer was a ghost or if the singer was the only solid point in a house filled with the ghosts of now-impossible futures.

He can't remember the way the lyrics go, now. It has been over two years since he sang it, the song never having been one of their most popular—except during the Halloween season, when anything remotely creepy by popular artists suddenly became quite overplayed.

Not that it matters whether he can remember the lyrics or not. He had pushed the edges of his vocal range for that song, liking the way his strained voice added to the sense of unease, and lack of practice has made that range more limited, now, than it was when he wrote it.

Forcing his thoughts away from songs and the Gavinners—both futile tracks, full of pointless waste—Klavier continues his perusal of the house. Detective Skye should be here shortly, and then he will be able to test his theory, see if he is right about where the true crime scene was. There just hadn't been quite enough blood with the body, and he wants no surprises when he finally brings in his suspect.

(Wants to be sure he is right, to be sure that if he wins, if he hears the word guilty, it will not haunt him at night. (Surely, some day, he will once again be able to do his job and sleep at night. If he just does it well enough, does it right enough...))

The basement, he decides after his third or fourth walkthrough. That is where his true crime scene is. The basement, which looks just a bit too neat and orderly to belong to the rest of the house. The basement where a void, a lighter patch of concrete, shows that some large obect has recently been moved—removed, because he doesn't find anything that could fit there in the rest of the house.

In combination with the toxicology report on the victim... yes, he likes this story much better than the one that had initially been suggested. This was no crime of passion. This was an amateur crime, certainly, but one born out of business disagreements, not passion.

And he thinks he can prove it, once Ema arrives.

He wishes she were here now, though he remembers, after her rather pointed text message, that she received permission from him yesterday evening to take an extended lunch.

Perhaps his anxiousness wouldn't be so bad if he had been able to sit and enjoy his own lunch, but eating has been distinctly unappealing for the last few days. He still does—he knows he has to, has always promised himself that no matter how much he looks like a stereotypical rock star he will never descend into drugs and reckless promiscuity and eating disorders, will always remain the clean, respectable prosecutor that his first agent billed him as to win over hesitant parents. But there's no joy in eating anymore, only a quick task and a queasy, nauseous feeling afterwards that makes each subsequent meal that much harder.

Perhaps he should have had forensics meet him here, instead. It is technically forensic tests that he needs done, after all. But he trusts Ema Skye, and she is as capable of doing forensics tests as an actual forensics expert, and—

"Gavin."

He jumps, skin crawling, stomach clenching around his unwanted meal. The voice is female, though, and not so much angry as annoyed, and after barely a second he manages to make his body obey his wishes again. Turning to the stairs, Klavier sees Detective Ema Skye outlined in the doorway, one hand on her hip.

"Were you even paying attention?" Ema trots down the stairs, tone still vaguely annoyed. "I've been calling your name since I entered the house."

"Sorry, Fraulein Detective." Klavier shrugs, hoping she wasn't able to see how badly she startled him. Ghosts should not be so easily frightened, after all—though with Ema here, brusque and quick and dedicated to science above any kind of mysticism, it is hard to conjure up the feeling that he had earlier of being a haunt in someone's collapsing life. "I could not hear you. Probably the acoustics in the building."

"Yeah, probably." Ema sighs. "The joys of houses—designed to bring people together, but not too close together, because heaven forbid you be able to hear each other without shouting at the top of your lungs."

"It can be useful." Klavier tries to think of a tactful way to make his point, one that won't result in Ema glaring at him. "There are times when one really doesn't want all of one's family to be aware of one's actions."

It doesn't work. Ema is glaring at him anyway, though there is more exasperation than true anger in her stare. "Proseutor Gavin, why are we here? And this is not the crime scene, by the way. You're lucky one of the beat patrol officers was complaining about having to guard an empty house for you, or I would now be fuming in the alley where the body was found."

"Did I say the crime scene?" Klavier tries to remember what he texted Ema, but even though it's only been a few hours he can't say for certain. "I am sorry, Detective Skye."

"It's all right. I'm here." Ema is still staring at him, but with an expression that he isn't used to—a curious, searching, hesitant expression. "Did our suspect say something to lead us here?"

"No. She has not been brought into custody yet." Klavier looks away from Ema, pacing to where the lighter concrete sits against the far wall of the basement.

"What? Why?" Ema trails behind him. "We have her fingerprints all over the victim's clothes, and her skin under the victim's fingernails."

"No prints on the murder weapon, though. She checked into a hotel two nights ago and is scheduled to stay there all week. I am having her watched. She is not going anywhere without our knowledge, and I wanted to be absolutely certain I know what happened before bringing her in." Be certain that he isn't making a mistake. Be certain that he isn't wrong.

(What the hell is wrong with you, Klavier? Daryan had screamed the words at him, the last time Daryan agreed to see him. The Gavinners weren't just yours. You're taking money from all of us doing this—taking money from me, and thanks to you I need all that I can get.)

"Prosecutor Gavin?" Ema's hand is touching his elbow, just the faintest pressure there.

Closing his eyes, Klavier dredges up a smile. "Sorry, Fraulein Detective. Lost in my own thoughts for a moment. Do you have your kit of science toys?"

"They aren't toys, Klavier." The usual note of annoyance creeps into Ema's voice as she opens her pack, though there is something else in her stare—something assessing, something that makes Klavier want to hide. "They're important tools, and of course I have them."

"Good." Klavier doesn't meet her stare for long. "I would like to check for blood here, but I would also like to test for methamphetamine residue. Can we do both?"

"Of course we can. We'll check for the meth first, though why—oh, I get it. Tox report came back?"

"Traces of meth in the victim's blood, yes." Klavier nods. "It could, of course, be recreational, but..."

"You weren't sold on the crime of passion thing from the beginning, though, I could tell." Ema smiles at him as she pulls swabs from her pack. "Tell you the truth, I wasn't either. I like this idea much more. Good theory."

"Thank you, Fraulein Detective." Klavier takes a few steps back, rocking on the balls of his feet as he waits for Ema to do what she needs to do.

"Hey, Gav—Klavier."

Klavier opens his eye, not certain when he closed them, taken aback by the stumbling of Ema's tongue.

Ema is busy adding drops of clear liquid to a swab, watching it intently. She is staring at the swab with a ferocity that, even for Ema in the midst of doing science, is unmerited. "Are you... ah, hell. What are you going to do when the unthinkable happens and they assign you another female detective to work with? Your nickname for me won't work very well then."

Klavier blinks, not certain where Ema is going with this or why she is trying to engage him in idle conversation. He had tried, when they first started working together frequently, to get to know the woman, to become friends, but she had made it clear what she thought of him, and he respected her loyalty and work ethic even if he didn't understand why she could care for someone like Wright so much.

Unless he is misreading her tone, and she is angry with him? Or considering requesting to no longer be assigned to his cases? Ah, that would make more sense, though he's not certain exactly what he's done recently to earn her ire. Was her lunch meeting that important to her? Or was it simply the straw that broke the camel's back?

"Klavier?" Ema has somehow come to stand right in front of him, is waving a hand in front of his face, her expression concerned.

Klavier doesn't remember her moving. Not good. He needs to focus. He needs to be professional and calm and together, even if he feels none of those things. Smiling for Ema, he raises his shoulders in a faint shrug. "If I were to lose the pleasure of your company and gain that of another fraulein detective, I would, of course, have to give them a completely different name. You are the only Fraulein Detective, Ema Skye—though, had I known you as well then as I do now, I would perhaps have instead given you the monicker Fraulein Science, so that I would not have to work so hard for other names."

"You could always just call them Fraulein Detective the Second, I suppose." Ema watches him with eyes that are too sharp and wary still. Then she sighs and holds up her swab, which has turned a dark purple. "We're positive for meth. Take a few more steps back, and we'll see what we've got so far as blood."

A large pool of it, Klavier sees, watching the fluorescence spread out from in front of the void on the concrete.

"Nice job." Ema packs her tools away. "I'll call forensics, have them confirm, but I'd say this gives us everything we'll need. Satisfied with our results, Prosecutor Gavin, or is there something else you'd like to look into before ordering the arrest?"

He doesn't know. For one panicked second he hesitates, not certain how to ask her to tell him he's right without sounding like he's begging and pleading. Without sounding pathetic and useless. Then he smiles, his stage-door smile that feels like it is becoming more strained with every use, and shrugs. "Can you think of anything else we may need, Fraulein Science?"

"No." Ema's hand brushes against his elbow again, and her voice is softer than he is used to hearing it, lacking the harsh edge of sarcasm that usually accompanies her statements to him. "I think we've got everything we need, Klavier. I think we've done well."

"Good." Klavier nods, turning away from Ema's searching gaze and toward the stairs. "If you will take care of the forensics side of things, I will order... order the arrest."

Drawing a deep breath through clenched teeth, Klavier curses his tongue for stumbling. It is part of his job. It is essential. It is what he does, ordering people's arrests.

(Ordering Daryan's arrest, ordering his brother's arrest. Pushing through Misham's testimony about Phoenix's guilt, a dog with a bone he wouldn't let go of, and he doesn't know anymore if the ones where he knows the victim was innocent or the ones where he knows they were guilty hurt more and he will still do it again, still have to trust himself and the evidence and one is untrustworthy and the other prone to manipulation and which is which—)

"Klavier, hey, steady there." Ema's hands close around his left arm, grabbing him when he misses a step and stumbles. There is blatant concern in her expression now, though there is also still that intense wariness in her eyes.

A wariness that he knows will always be there, because he is dangerous, he is too quick to believe, too gullible, and he hurt this woman he respects before he even met her and his chest feels too tight and he can't seem to see but maybe he has closed his eyes again and—

"Gavin, breathe. Fuck, I mean Klavier, breathe. Calm down, it's all right." They are at the top of the stairs, somehow, and Ema has a hand on each of his arms, has maneuvered him until he is leaning against the wall.

Klavier wants to let his body slide down along the wall, to curl in on himself, to close his eyes and cover his ears and have the world just go away for a little bit.

He cannot do that, though. He has already destroyed one of his legacies, disbanding the Gavinners. He must do enough good through his remaining job—must help enough people, protect enough people—to make up for the damage he has done. To make up for his role and his brother's role in creating this Dark Age of the Law, where justice is bought and faith destroyed, and he can't do that curled on the floor, no matter how tired or nauseous or useless he feels.

Ema has her phone out, has already pressed one button to summon help, when Klavier forces his fingers to move. Covering the keypad, Klavier shakes his head. "I am fine, Fraulein Detective. Just a bit of vertigo."

"Vertigo." Ema stares at him as though he just promised that he could scientifically prove the sky is actually purple. "Klavier, you just turned ghost-pale, started shivering, and looked like you were having trouble breathing. You don't feel like you're running a fever, but that was either one hell of a panic attack or you're really sick, and either way I'm not letting you drive your motorcycle-death-trap out of here."

"It is not a death trap. It has a very good safety rating for a motorcycle." It's easier to breathe, now, easier to talk as he falls into the familiar rhythm of defending his preferred choice of transportation.

"For a motorcycle. That's like saying that a .22 leaves a very small hole for a bullet. True, but not exactly comforting, especially if you've been shot." Ema's hand rests against his head for a moment, and Klavier closes his eyes, half wanting to lean into the touch, half wanting to flinch away from her, to remove himself and all the failures he represents from her line of sight.

(It feels like it has been a long time since he was touched, an ache he hadn't even been aware of until Trucy's hug yesterday and now Ema's touch today gives it a name, but that is no reason to take advantage of this.)

"Your color's better, and you really aren't warm." Ema takes a step back, frowning at him, clearly unsure what she should do.

"I am fine, Fraulein Science." Klavier smiles, and it is a true smile, an expression of appreciation for the kindness she is showing him. Kindness he doesn't deserve, but he appreciates it anyway, and will not let it go to waste. "If I feel faint, I will stop. I will not put anyone in danger for foolish pride."

"Mmmm." Ema continues to eye him speculatively. Then she pulls a bag of Snackoos from her satchel and holds them out to him.

Klavier stares down at the snacks, smile faltering. Ema doesn't share her snacks with anyone, except in the form of projectile missiles if she feels an underling has been particularly foolish and the crime scene will not be injured by the flying snack. Why is she offering him one now?

"Take one." Ema's eyes narrow, her expression becoming more belligerant, her tone commanding.

Why is she so eager for him to eat a silly chocolate snack? Perhaps he has entirely misread the situation and she is attempting to poison him...?

"It's not poison. It's chocolate." Picking one of the snacks out of the little pouch, she holds it up towards his mouth. "If you're not lying to me and you really did just feel a little faint, it might have been low blood sugar. So eat one."

"Ah." Klavier takes the small snack and chews it, swallowing it forcefully, willing his still-queasy stomach to please let it stay down. Vomiting at a crime scene when there isn't even a body present would just be pathetic. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ema nods. "You ate lunch?"

"Yes, Fraulein." Klavier just keeps himself from rolling his eyes. "Really, you are over-reacting. I am perfectly fine."

"I hope you are." Ema's gaze falls down to her shoes, her arms crossing in front of her chest. "I really hope you are and everyone's blowing things out of proportion. But I've... been through some things. Some bad things, with my sister. Thankfully she's not on death row, she'll be released in another year if she stays on good behavior, but... oh, hell, I'm not good at this. There're a lot of us on the good guys' side who've been through a whole bunch of nasty things, and if you ever need to talk about any of what you've been through, we're here. Okay?"

Klavier stares at Ema. Ema has a sister? A sister in prison? How has he managed to miss something so important?

"G—Klavier?" Ema raises her eyes to meet his, looking hesitant and uncertain.

"Thank you, Fraulein Detective." Inclining his head, Klavier forces his body to straighten, placing his right hand to his heart. "I am honored by your care and compassion, especially given our... history. I assure you, though, you've no need to concern yourself with me. I will continue to do my job, and I will be careful not to hurt anyone."

"Do they teach 'how to be infuriating 101' in prosecutor's school? I think they must, and I also understand some of Mr. Wright's complaints a bit better." Sighing, Ema shoves the half-empty bag of Snackoos into his hand. "Eat some more before you get on your bike, all right? And if anything happens to you, Klavier, I'm going to be really upset."

"Nothing will happen to me." Klavier chews and swallows another of the little snack bites, trying not to grimace as his body protests. "And I will remember this at your next salary review."

Ema's eyes narrow. "What are you implying with that?"

Klavier shrugs. "Just that it is, perhaps, time you received a raise again."

Laughing and shaking her head, Ema opens the front door for both of them. "I take it back, you're absolutely nothing like any of the other prosecutors, Gavin."

Klavier swallows another snack bite, barely covering a wince as the coating scratches at his dry throat.

That, sadly, is very true, though not, Klavier thinks, for the reason that Ema is implying.

XXX

"He has no support network!"

Phoenix allows his head to fall forward, resting against the desk where his laptop and a notebook are currently vying for space with Miles' case files.

Miles makes a non-committal noise, continuing to peruse data bits.

"He has..." Phoenix raises his head so that he can glance at the counter on the Web site again. "As of right now, eight million, six hundred fifty nine thousand, three hundred and eighty two friends, but somehow he has no support network."

"You've figured out how to use Facebook?" There's a note of mild surprise to Miles' voice, and he lifts his head and pushes his glasses back up on his nose.

"I know how to use Facebook, I just choose not to." Phoenix glares at Edgeworth. "There's a big difference between the two."

"If you know how Facebook works, then you know that most of those friends are likely fans of the Gavinners." Edgeworth continues to wear his usual self-satisfied smirk as he lowers his gaze back to the document he was reading. "I doubt that a teenager who thinks Guilty Love is the best song ever penned is exactly who you want to have help you through the ethical dilemmas inherent in fighting againt corruption."

"I don't know. There was a seventeen-year-old once who helped me through a lot of tough times, and had more poise about it than I did." Phoenix scrolls through the status updates in reverse chronologic order. They still happen, one or two a day, Klavier's icon smiling in an easy, warm, relaxed way that Phoenix dosn't think he's seen on the actual man in a month or two. The updates tell people when his trials will be, what he's working on, what Gavinners memorabilia is still available. Thank people for various gifts, with attached pictures of said gifts. There is clearly some robot that wishes people in Klavier's friend's list a happy birthday—that or Klavier spends far more time on here than Phoenix thinks he does.

There are not many personalized messages, though. None of the bright, cheerful updates and declarations of justice being served that there were seven, eight, nine months ago. No gently teasing analyses of the opposition at his trials, usually both flirtatious, whether he was facing off against a man or a woman, and frighteningly accurate in their breakdown of the defense's strengths and flaws, at least from the ones whose names Phoenix recognizes.

(None of the harsh, sharp rhetoric that had exploded six months ago, either, no battles to declare his innocence and his lack of involvement in Kristoph Gavin's schemes, no soaring calls for continued faith and trust in the system. Phoenix wants to think it's because the people Klavier was arguing with gave up, cut down by the young prosecutor's swift, sharp retorts; he suspects it is instead because Klavier simply stopped engaging in the fight.)

"Maya is different, Wright."

"Why?" Phoenix blinks as he looks up from the screen again. "She was a teenager; she likes Gavin's music. Trucy played it for her last time she and Pearls came to visit. She was also an incredible font of strength for me."

"She was seventeen, that's practically an adult, and she..." Miles sets the paper aside, fingers drumming once across his desk as he frowns. "She had been through a great deal, too."

"You have no idea what some of these fans of Klavier's might have been through. Some of them might be able to help him." Phoenix clicks the little red x to close the tab that has Klavier's facebook open. "But he hasn't reached out to them. Because, like you said, they're not actually friends. They're fans and acquaintances—"

"Perhaps even enemies." Edgeworth's shoulders rise in a faint shrug. "Social media can be a good way to keep up with what people are doing, if you need to keep an eye on them."

"Yeah, you're not convincing me to make a Facebook account any time soon. And I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to use it." Phoenix shakes his head, running a hand back through his hair.

"You don't need to have one, Wright. Trucy and Maya both do, and I am, of course, following them." Edgeworth smiles, an expression of teeth and self-satisfaction. "I can keep track of you that way."

Phoenix lifts narrowed eyes to study Edgeworth's smug grin. "Sometimes I hate you."

"I know." The smug grin doesn't fade until Edgeworth's eyes land on Phoenix's notebook. "I take it you aren't having much luck with your plans?"

"Depends." Phoenix sits up a little straighter. "How'd he respond to you this morning? Did you bond over a little German?"

"He responded politely enough, but that was it." Edgeworth frowns, concern deepening the furrow on his brow. "He was anxious to get back to work, and seemed quite... wary of me."

"Yeah. Boss. Scary." Phoenix waggles the fingers on his right hand, though there's little energy in the motion.

Edgeworth doesn't take the bait, anyway. "No, more wary than usual. I think... perhaps he looked into my history with you."

Covering his face with his hand, Phoenix groans. "Why are all the decent people in the legal system connected to me in some way?"

Edgeworth's eyebrows arch. "Not all of them, but most of them, and I think we both know the reason for that."

Phoenix shakes his head. Edgeworth has a tendency to give him far too much credit when it comes to the fight against corruption in the system—especially given how much of the work Edgeworth himself has done. "All right. New plan of attack."

Phoenix's eyes roam over the notes he's made on Klavier Gavin's life and career, catching on his hand-written copy of the text he receieved from Ema earlier in the day. Think Gavin had a panic attack at the crime scene today. Won't talk to me about it but promised me a raise. No letting him quit until I get it.

Quit. Phoenix underlines the word, hoping that Ema is seeing things more clearly, with less prejudice, than he and Edgeworth are. Not that he's going to accept Klavier quitting, either. Klavier is good at his job and he clearly once loved it and Phoenix isn't going to let all that fall apart because of him.

"He had a support network, once." Phoenix taps the little diagram he sketched a third of the way down the page. Klavier's name sits in a circle at the center, and three lines lead down beneath it. One line ends in Kristoph's name, and Phoenix had enjoyed scratching a large X over it, though that left only two other legs.

(Kristoph played at being a decent person so well—too well—and Phoenix had been both repelled by and fascinated by the quick exchanges recorded forever in Klavier's Facebook history, the well-wishes and congratulations exchanged between brothers who may not have seen each other often but who clearly kept in close contact on-line.)

One little support leg leads to a balloon containing the Gavinners, with five even smaller legs coming off it. One of the smaller legs leads to Daryan Crescend, and Phoenix had swiftly scratched that name out. Over the course of the day he has placed lines through all the others names, too. One member transferred to Chicago following Daryan's arrest—guilty conscience, Phoenix wonders? One said he hasn't spoken to Klavier in three months, shrugging and saying they've both been busy. One said Klavier's name with a sneer, insinuating that the 'perfectionist diva' hadn't been able to handle the controversy over Kristoph's arrest and had screwed everyone in the band in the process. Klavier's agent had been even more up-front about her anger, saying the only way she would discuss Klavier Gavin was if Klavier called her saying that he was reforming the Gavinners.

Which leaves the last little leg of Phoenix's diagram, the one that goes to coworkers. There are over a dozen names listed beneath that, but over the course of the day Phoenix has slowly crossed them all off.

Not that Klavier's coworkers dislike him. Quite the opposite. The most common words Phoenix has heard used to describe Klavier over the course of the day are nice and friendly. But it's clear none of them are people that Klavier really talks to about anything outside work—none are people that Klavier goes out with, that Klavier has taken into confidence about everything that's happened.

Drawing one fierce dark line through all the legs supporting Klavier's name, Phoenix circles it over and over again.

Nice and friendly and all alone.

Dedicated to justice and used to further corruption, to usher in the Dark Age of the Law.

Klavier probably hadn't noticed how few people he had to rely on until Phoenix and Apollo systematically took them away from him. He has eight million friends on Facebook, after all. He's a genius prosecutor and a beautiful rock star. His career was going brilliantly and he thought he was doing only good and he couldn't put pen to paper without turning out another platinum hit.

And then Kristoph went to jail for murder.

Daryan went to jail for murder and smuggling.

Phoenix was found to be innocent of wrong-doing, one of Klavier's first big cases shown to be one giant ball of lies and manipulation.

Was Klavier trying to hurt himself, breaking up the Gavinners right after that? Or was he really just trying to bring his focus to bear where he thought it needed to be, on the legal system that had just taken so many strong blows?

Phoenix's pen breaks through the paper with a crunching sound, tearing Klavier's name in half.

The results had been the same, either way.

"There's plenty of people right now who will help him, though." Phoenix mutters the words to himself, smoothing out the paper, putting the pieces of Klavier's name back together again. "Plenty who are trying to reach out to him, but he won't reach back."

Turning to a blank sheet of paper, Phoenix writes Klavier's name again, neat and clean and whole in the center. He writes Trucy's above it, Ema's to one side, Miles' to the other. Apollo and Athena he places below.

Missing fathers, brothers, sisters; used for blackmail, for corruption, for expediency; there are so many things they have in common, besides a fundamental drive for justice and truth. How does he connect them all?

"Hey, Miles?" Phoenix doesn't look up from his new half-finished diagram. "When you... what convinced you to get help? To come back?"

Miles sits back in his chair. His eyes fall away from Phoenix's, arms crossing. "I reached a point where I had only two choices. Finish it, or find a way to keep going. Die, or live. I chose living. Part of that was finding, as my therapist was overly fond of saying, healthier coping mechanisms."

"Oh." It shouldn't still hurt, knowing how deeply Edgeworth was damaged by all that happened to him. It shouldn't still make Phoenix's chest ache, but it always does. Taking a breath, Phoenix shakes himself, trying to focus on the important information. "So you ended up seeing a therapist that was helpful?"

"It can be very helpful, if you want to be there. If you want to change your thought patterns and behaviors and coping mechanisms." Edgeworth looks further away, hugging his arm. "Once you admit that something's wrong, that something has to change... there are lots of options."

Phoenix nods, turning back to the first sheet, the one with Klavier's torn name. Ema's text stares up at him. Won't talk to me about it. And what was it that Miles had said yesterday? He didn't seem interested in talking.

The shape of a plan begins to form in Phoenix's mind. He's not sure if it's a good plan—is fairly certain that there are many people who would tell him it isn't—but if being nice to Klavier is just resulting in him politely and nicely stonewalling those who are trying to reach out to him...

"Does Klavier have the weekend off?"

Edgeworth looks up again, expression quietly wary. "In theory. He had an arrest made this afternoon, but it seems like it should be a quick trial. I'd be surprised if it goes more than a day."

"Besides which you can just give him the time off, being chief prosecutor and all." Phoenix returns to Klavier's facebook page, scrolling back through the history until he finds, ages and trials ago, the last synopsis of a defense attorney that Klavier did. Apollo's synopsis. A synopsis from after the Kitaki case that is both very accurate and very approving of Apollo. "Right?"

"I can't force him to take the time off if he doesn't want to..." Edgeworth stares at Phoenix through narrowed eyes. "But I can definitely suggest it. Just what are you planning, Wright?"

Phoenix connects Apollo's name to Athena's and Trucy's, Athena's to Trucy's and Miles', Ema's to Trucy's and Apollo's and Miles', forming a net that completely surrounds Klavier Gavin. Then he draws a dotted line from Klavier down to Apollo. A small support, a small foothold, but far better than nothing. "I'm going to make him choose, and I'm going to trust that he'll choose the same thing you did."