Author's note:

Thank you for the favs, follows, and 100 hits.

No warnings for this chapter, but this is where things start getting interesting. Enjoy!

House of Cards

by Dark Interval

Chapter 3

Phoenix stopped coming to 'Gavin Law Offices'.

At first, Apollo thought he fell sick or something, but when three days passed and it was now already Thursday and there was still no sign of Phoenix, he started to grow anxious. Kristoph mentioned he wanted Phoenix around to guide him – had he changed his mind? Had Phoenix changed his mind? Things didn't help when he recalled the memory of said gorgeous, naked man watching him masturbate as he made love with his boyfriend of seven years. Apollo had allowed his desires get the better of him and for that he felt ashamed. Was Phoenix disgusted by him? Creeped out perhaps? There was really no avoiding the idea of a crush at this point; then again, no crush was as unhealthy as what he felt whenever he was confronted with thoughts of Phoenix Wright.

As a child in an orphanage, void of parental affection and guidance, yet like most kids; Apollo grew up with tales of valor and bravery, of heroes up against titanius challenges, victorious against all odds. The characters in his books were extraordinary men, destined for greatness, immortal; but they were only fairytales and as he grew older and watched the happy faces of the other children getting adopted, he stopped believing in them. That is, until he picked up the morning papers on the orphanage doorstep one fine Monday and saw Phoenix Wright's photograph for the very first time. From then on, his whole world changed.

He still remembered the date clearly: 3rd August 2016. It had been Phoenix's court debut in a murder trial (Harry Butz? Larry Butz?) and despite his status as a greenhorn, had managed to deliver his defense flawlessly and with admirable confidence. That was also when Apollo was first exposed to the lawyer's would-be infamous bluffing tactics – an unorthodox, albeit slightly questionable technique, but it was different and Apollo found the blend of cunning and queer, fascinating and oddly charming. Back then, 24-years-old was considered exceptionally young, even for a rookie, so much so that Phoenix had risen up the ranks and popularity charts, as well as posed a common feature on the front page of various publications; affectionately dubbed by the media and public alike as 'The Turnabout King'.

From then on, subsequent trials were followed mostly by success and Apollo enthusiastically, loyally followed every single one. The way Phoenix always managed to turn even the most unfavorable cases around, made the impossible possible, and showed that the underdog could emerge on top – he was a real life hero; Apollo looked up to him, and when he was old enough, he actually obtained a ticket to watch one of Phoenix's trials with his own two eyes. It was the one with Shelly de Killer: Phoenix had been willing to forego justice for friendship and it was there in the gallery where Apollo learned that not everything was in black and white; the truth wasn't always pretty; the law had its limits; but trust went a long way. There was more to trials than winning; and even when Phoenix had lost that case in paper, Apollo was convinced that his hero was amazing.

After that trial's drama, he had nervously approached his idol in his middle school uniform, blushing; autograph book in hand. He shyly asked for the man's autograph, his voice as quiet as a mouse back then, and thought his hero wouldn't notice him. But when Phoenix actually disregarded the reporters in favor of signing his book, complete with a sweet smile and an encouraging message; innocent admiration turned into a full-blown crush and Apollo had fallen head over heels.

That was eight years ago. He doubted Phoenix remembered him, but he certainly couldn't forget.

"Hello? Earth to Apollo! Come in, Apollo!"

Someone waved a hand in front of his face and he jerked back in surprise. Then, he remembered he still had his spoon from his sundae in his mouth and hurriedly removed it.

"Sorry! Wait – what were we talking about again?"

Clay facepalmed and released the longest sigh ever known to mankind.

"Forget it. I was only asking if you wanted to watch me train for my upcoming HAT-2 launch for like, the third time." He paused to sip his milkshake. "So, what's on your mind? You've been quiet all evening – he made a face – It's fucking weird."

"Nothing much," Apollo replied with a shrug as he stirred his half-melted sundae, his mind wandering off again. "It's just that Mr. Wright hasn't come in since Monday and the last time I brought it up to Mr. Gavin, he asked if I had a problem understanding the word 'privacy' and nearly threw a dictionary at me."

Clay spat out his milkshake.

"Woah, woah! Rewind and freeze – Wright as in Phoenix Wright?!"

Apollo blinked with honest surprise. "You mean I didn't tell you?"

"Oh, sure, you told me. I just like freaking out over stuff I already know because I like people to think I'm completely crazy – OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T, YOU BASTARD!"

Clay threw his straw at his friend and Apollo immediately recounted the events of Monday in extensive detail, minus the part where his boss and Phoenix were going at it like bunnies in a bloody law firm. The act still embarrassed him after three whole days and at the same time, left him feeling exceedingly bitter. So what if he had only been 13 years old? It was petty, unreasonably selfish and he knew it was his own jealousy talking, but he saw Phoenix first.

"Well I'll be…" Clay slapped himself on the forehead, nearly pushing his visor off his dark unruly hair. This was madness!

"Seven years – that's… that's…" And then he started snickering. "Please don't tell me you went full fanboy mode on the poor guy."

Unfortunately, Apollo didn't quite share his amusement.

"Not quite," he replied as he tapped his spoon on the table with impatience, a contemplative frown on his face. "I don't know, Clay. He's… To put it generally, he's not exactly what I hoped for."

"Well, seven years really changes a man, Apollo," answered Clay, matter-of-fact. "Not to mention, a single moment was all it took for him to lose everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. You said you'd wait forever, right? Just give him time to climb back up again."

Apollo ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He didn't expect Clay to understand what he was going through; the raging emotions swirling in his chest. Clay hadn't seen Phoenix, not the way he had; and frankly those hollow, glazed over eyes and empty smiles continued to haunt him well into his unconscious. There was barely any trace of his hero left and whatever remained was hardly enough to be chalked up as cautious optimism or hopeful in the slightest.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Phoenix – the old Phoenix – who had proudly signed his autograph book along with a message which read: "Good luck in law school! Pass that bar exam and see you soon in court. You'll be fine!" But that memory seemed more distant than a dream and just seeing what his hero and long-time crush had become, a mere shell of his former self, made Apollo wonder if the Phoenix he met nine years ago even existed or if it had been a mere figment of his imagination. His hero was getting further and further away from him, and the pain of Phoenix's sorry state mirrored the pain Apollo felt in his heart. He wanted to help him, would fly to Phoenix's side in a heartbeat, but he didn't know how and he wondered if he would even be needed when Phoenix had Kristoph to count on.

"That's the problem – I don't think he wants to climb back up! Heck, I don't even know what he does or what he's been doing for a living!" Came his answer as he slammed his fist onto the table; shaking his head. "I don't know, Clay… I don't know if I can go on believing in someone who can't even believe in himself."

Said man fell silent, unsure of what to make of his friend's cynical disposition. Hearing Apollo talk like that; giving up on his idol after years of persistent devotion – it was like the world had gone topsyturvy. The abrupt change was almost ridiculous. In the past, Clay had begged his best friend time and time again to give up on his silly little crush and blind faith. Now, when Apollo actually appeared to veer towards his opinion, Clay felt terrible, apprehensive, and longed to eat his own words at the sight of his best friend's sorrow.

"Apollo, don't say that," he admonished gently as he reached out to squeeze the brunette's arm. "You know, meeting your idol is pretty awesome. Not many people get to do that for their whole lives!"

When Apollo started to smile a bit, Clay went on, "You told me you believe he's innocent, and I can bet you all the stars in the galaxy that you're the only one who truly does. Gavin's got nothing on you… maybe except your pay cheque."

"Clay…" Apollo warned jokingly.

"My point is: imagine living seven whole years in darkness. Nowhere to run. No one to trust. Out of options, save the will to survive. He needs support, Apollo. Your support. You just need to continue believing in him, so he will find the strength and confidence to believe in himself again. Don't give up."

"But –"

"You're fine!"

Apollo jumped from his friend's outburst. Clay rubbed his nose with a cheeky grin. "Right?"

Slowly, a smirk inched it's way across Apollo's lips and it didn't take him long to get back to his old self again. He stood up, clenched his fists in determination and shouted at the top of his voice. "Right! Because my name's Apollo Justice and I'm fine!"

"That's the Apollo I know!"

They burst into laughter, never mind that the other patrons in the sweet shop were shooting them annoyed glares. Apollo could always count on his best and childhood friend to give him a good smack whenever his spirits took a nasty beat-down, just like how Clay could always count on him whenever he felt alone. Although he wasn't able to comprehend the immense devastation Clay felt when he lost both his parents in an accident, Apollo understood the pain of having no family to call his own. He grew up in an orphanage; Clay grew up in a loving home. To suddenly lose all that at a young age of 13 and struggle to pick himself up again – it was a feat greater than waking up every day to the same loneliness and dark walls. At least there were other kids in the orphanage. In a way, Clay was stronger than him and as a result, probably understood the tremendous loss and suffering Phoenix had and still was going through better than anyone.

"So, are you going to find him?" asked Clay all of a sudden, to which Apollo returned with a grimace.

"Haven't had any luck with that, I'm afraid. The only person who knows anything is Mr. Gavin, but I seriously doubt he'd be happy to share information about his boyfriend with another guy."

"Why not? You're his understudy, aren't you?"

"... Possessive."

"Ah. Those types."

"Yeah. Like I said, no one's seen Mr. Wright for years and suddenly, he appears in the office on Monday because of a lunch date."

"That's strange, don't you think?" Clay commented after some time. "I mean, someone so famous dating someone so… well… infamous – and nobody knows a thing? What, has your boss locked him up for the past seven years or something?"

As Clay snickered at his own joke, Apollo forced a smile, but couldn't help but feel disturbed by the implications. After working for Kristoph for almost four months and witnessing his possessiveness on Monday, it certainly wouldn't surprise him if theory indeed proved true. He recalled the numerous love bites all over Phoenix's fair skin; the bruises he wasn't so sure, but unless his idol had a tendency of getting into fist fights, he seriously didn't like where, or rather whom their source pointed to. Then again, Phoenix could be into stuff like that and he could be reading too much into it.

The two friends shrugged it off.

"Nah-/ Nah-"

"Jinx! You're paying!"

"Fuck!"

Apollo smirked. Clay dug out his wallet and grumpily made his way to the cashier.

As Apollo happily finished his last spoonful of ice-cream, he spotted a familiar figure emerging from between two blocks of flats across the road on the opposite side of the street. If it had been any normal person, he wouldn't have paid them any heed, much less notice them, but this man's distinct, trademark spiky hair successfully grabbed his attention. He only knew one person with hair like that and he almost pushed back his chair and ran across the street in his excitement, but stopped when a tall gentleman came up behind the spiky haired man to wrap his arm around his waist. Apollo saw the smaller man jump slightly from the contact, but otherwise shot his companion a tentative smile; and under the glow of the streetlights, Apollo's suspicions were confirmed: it was indeed Phoenix Wright. But his date definitely wasn't Kristoph Gavin.

His beanie was gone and he appeared to have shaved, making him look 10 years younger and more like the man Apollo once respected and desperately admired. He saw the ex-lawyer gracefully shrug off his thick coat and actually sputtered from the sight of his attire underneath. Phoenix had traded his hoodie and baggy sweatpants for something far more indecent: a black, off-shoulder see-through blouse of a provocative, feminine cut which drew attention to his pert nipples underneath; tight leather short-shorts that ended just below his ass; high-cut black heel boots; studded earrings and a metal-and-chain choker. The entire outfit was slutty; dark makeup donned his eyes and he had gloss on his lips. If not for his hair, Apollo wouldn't have even recognized him. Phoenix looked stunning, sexy, gorgeous...

The gentleman's hand moved from Phoenix's waist to dip past the waistband of his shorts. Phoenix simply let him, encouraged him even, and Apollo watched the man lead the both of them into a nearby apartment. The whole scene stunned him so much, he didn't even sense his best friend's incoming presence.

"Your damn sundae's more than half the total bill! And who the hell eats ice-cream in win…ter… Apollo?" Clay paused in the middle of his rant and approached the silent attorney worriedly. "Apollo," he repeated, "are you ok?"

"... Yeah. It's nothing."

Apollo turned his gaze away from the apartment entrance. He felt sick.

Not here… Not here either…

A pile of folders tipped over and crashed noisily onto the floor. Someone cursed. The room was dark, shadows playing tricks with the eyes; save a single beam of dim light from a portable torchlight. A dark figure scrambled to set the objects in order, before moving onto the next section: a small setup by the window, desk littered with nondescript papers and law books. The figure smirked; figures the kid was messy, or he just had a really unique organizing system.

They sifted through the contents.

No… No… No… Nothing.

Next location. The figure moved to a towering bookcase against the wall.

It has to be here somewhere...

The lights suddenly came on. The figure jumped, ended up tripping over their own feet and crashed into the shelves. A few thick volumes landed on their head and someone else winced.

"You make a pretty lousy cat burglar, Mr. Wright," commented the newcomer dryly.

With a groan and pushing the books aside, Phoenix sat up and held his throbbing head in his hand. When the room stopped spinning, he slowly looked up at his unexpected companion for the evening.

Apollo stood by the office entrance, arms folded and expression a cross between bemused and suspicious. He was dressed down in a pair of casual jeans, sneakers, a white t-shirt and a dark red jacket with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It gave him a stylish, youthful edge and actually made him look his age compared to his red suit. Phoenix also noticed that Apollo was staring at him, specifically at his groin which was emphasized by the tight, unrelenting material of his shorts. His outfit really didn't leave much to the imagination and with a shy blush, Phoenix closed his legs.

Upon realizing he had been shamelessly staring (and drooling), Apollo crimsoned and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Um… Uh… W-Who let you in?"

Phoenix's embarrassment disappeared at the young lawyer's fumbling. His blue eyes sparkled with something knavish, and he gracefully, sexily rose to his feet, approaching Apollo with a slight sway in his hips. He saw the kid's resolve crack fast, saw the beginnings of desire enter his dark brown eyes, and didn't bother hiding his smug leer. Wearing his heart on his sleeve like that – the kid really was easy.

"Looks like you caught me, officer," Phoenix teased as he sidled up Kristoph's desk, crossing his thighs. The move made the shorts ride up and gave Apollo a generous view of his long, shapely legs in the process.

When the kid eyed him, wary and confused, Phoenix winked.

"So, whatcha gonna do with a bad boy like me?"

"Stop fooling around!" Apollo snapped.

The pain in his voice rang true. Didn't Phoenix have any idea how much his dressing, the way he spoke and shamelessly carried himself, hurt him? Then again, with the way the guy kept smirking at him, taunted him with his tasteless flirtations, Apollo supposed he didn't. Yes, he wanted Phoenix, but not like this. Never like this.

"You disappear for three days and I find you here in the middle of the bloody night!"

"Aw… You missed me."

"Shut up!" he seethed, grabbing Phoenix by the front of his blouse. "Why are you here? How did you get in?"

That infuriating smirk remained. When Phoenix opened his mouth to answer him, Apollo released him with an aggravated sigh. He was wasting his time.

"No, forget it. You probably broke in. Pretty fitting for a dishonest guy like you."

He missed the sad expression that entered Phoenix's eyes, or pretended not to care at all. The ex-lawyer mumbled something, but it was too soft for Apollo to catch it.

"Come again?" he clarified as he went to collect his laptop from his work station. Whether it was a good thing he had forgotten to take it home earlier, he honestly didn't know.

"I'm innocent," repeated Phoenix, this time louder and noticeably frantic. "My case… I'm looking for my case."

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Apollo with a frown as he looked up from his packing. One moment, Phoenix seemed to enjoy pissing him off; the next, he sounded so pitiful and looked close to tears.

"If you're referring to that fake evidence charge, you never had a case. You were immediately disbarred after Zak Gramarye's trial, remember?"

"Hey, I may be older than you, but I'm not that old," Phoenix openly bristled, insulted. "I know I never had a case. I was referring to Kristoph's private investigation."

His answer made Apollo stop and stare. The brunette blinked slowly, incredulously. Why was this the first time he was hearing about this?

"Private investigation? Mr. Gavin?"

"He spent seven years looking into the forgery on his own," Phoenix explained, "but he eventually gave up because the culprit left no loose ends. I was hoping to take a look at his findings. Maybe he overlooked something."

'Gave up? That doesn't sound like Mr. Gavin at all,' Apollo thought, feeling strangely unsettled.

"All records go through me, Mr. Wright," he explained with a shake of his head. "There's no such thing."

However, his response failed to alleviate Phoenix's distress. If anything, it made things worse.

"No… No, that can't be right!" Then he paused as if realizing something. "You probably don't know about it. It's private after all. Kristoph… Kristoph wouldn't lie about such things. He'd never lie to me."

"If you're so sure about that, then why not ask him yourself?!" Apollo fired in return, his anger and annoyance rising.

Kristoph, Kristoph, Kristoph… Frankly, it was starting to get really sickening. If Phoenix loved and trusted Kristoph so much, why did he have to go through all that trouble of sneaking around and breaking into his boyfriend's own office? Why not ask him himself? Why did he need to go around whoring himself? Why couldn't he stop seeing Kristoph wherever he looked? Why couldn't Phoenix ever see him?

Phoenix fell silent, unable to dignify that with an adequate response. Apollo knew he was definitely hiding something… and the way those blue eyes kept sneaking quick glances at his bracelet made him feel uneasy. What the hell was Phoenix's deal with his bracelet?! He recalled the man's startling reaction on Monday and unconsciously hid his left hand behind his back. The worst thing that could happen was for him to find out his idol was secretly a kleptomaniac too.

"D-Do you know Trucy?" Phoenix asked all of a sudden, catching Apollo off-guard.

"What? Who?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Phoenix dropped the subject as soon as he brought it up. The cryptic questions and remarks were seriously grating on Apollo's nerves. On one hand, it enticed his curiosity; on the other hand, he would rather not know. The way things were now; how unbelievably messed up Phoenix's life was; it was probably best not to get involved. After all, he didn't know if his heart could handle anymore disappointment.

However, the way Phoenix looked – his teary gaze, tentative naïveté and sorrowful disposition – made Apollo's heart soften and he quickly found himself giving in.

"Look," he began after a moment's hesitation, feeling sorry for the ex-lawyer, "if it's anything private, it's probably in Mr. Gavin's desk drawer…"

"..."

"..."

Fuck.

"Wait, don't!"

Too late. Phoenix dashed to said location and Apollo threw himself after him, wrestling the older male onto the ground. If Kristoph found out someone had messed with his personal stuff on his watch, he was as good as fucked (fired). Fortunately for him, killer heels didn't make for very good mobility and subduing Phoenix proved less of a challenge than he initially feared.

"Let me go! I need those files!" Phoenix growled, struggling against Apollo, but the kid was stronger than he looked.

"There isn't any files!"

"You don't know anything!"

"Sir –" When Phoenix elbowed him in the cheek, Apollo held his wrists down and tugged him forward. "Mr. Wright, stop it! Even if they do exist, it's been seven years! Why are you suddenly so eager to look at them now?!"

"Ah!" Phoenix cried out in pain and Apollo immediately released his wrists out of concern. There were rope burns around them, violent gashes of red against pure, soft white; and upon closer inspection, around his neck and thighs as well – raw, fresh and disturbingly distinct. There was so many of them… and the way their redness blossomed around the skin was clear indication that Phoenix had resisted until the very end.

"Mr. Wright?" Apollo's voice shook, eyes wide in horror. "How did you…?"

But when he tried to touch him, Phoenix flinched away, acting as if nothing had happened.

"It's locked," he said bluntly, indicating at the bottom-most drawer with a nod of his head, "open it."

His voice was cold. Apollo was this close to telling him off, but held back his temper in favor of teasing the truth out of him.

Let's just see where this goes.

"I can't. It's installed with a very specific lock mechanism and Mr. Gavin's the only one with the key – And don't even think of picking it," he interjected as soon as he saw Phoenix stick his fingers into the pocket of his shorts. "If you break it, we're both screwed."

He turned around to grab his things.

"Go home, Mr. Wright. I'll see you at work tomorrow –"

"You believe me, don't you?" interrupted Phoenix all of a sudden as he took a step forward.

Apollo paused, barely registering the question. "Excuse me?"

"That I'm innocent," Phoenix clarified, his desperation returning. "You believe I'm innocent, don't you?"

At that moment, Apollo felt the pressure of the situation weigh heavily on his shoulders, couldn't help but feel cornered in which whatever answer he gave, no matter which side he took, would result in a vain setup for his own downfall. Clay's words continued to echo in his head; the memory of his encounter with a younger Phoenix refused to leave him alone; and now, there were these horrific scars on top of all the bruises he had witnessed three days ago. Exactly what was going on between his boss and Phoenix behind closed doors? Bedroom kinks were one thing, but even that had its limits, right? Or was it something else? He suddenly remembered that stranger leading Phoenix into his apartment and wondered if such arrangements happened often… then again, if Kristoph and Phoenix shared a normal relationship, none of this would have to happen.

"... Does he hit you?"

Phoenix stiffened at the question and that reaction was enough for Apollo to draw his own conclusions. It didn't take a genius to read between the lines, analyze what hadn't been said, to know that Phoenix couldn't run to Kristoph and that his lover, in terms of the famed forgery, had abandoned him along with everyone else. He longed to believe in Phoenix's innocence, but growing up made Apollo realize that things weren't so simple, that the law wasn't so simple, and faith could be easily displaced.

"Evidence is everything," Apollo found himself emulating his boss and watched as the hopeful light in Phoenix's eyes gradually diminished

"What?" came the disbelieving whisper.

"You heard me, Mr. Wright. Evidence is everything," he reiterated with conviction. "I can't help you if you've nothing to show for your innocence."

"But do you believe me?" Phoenix insisted.

Apollo hesitated, "Well… Yes…"

"Then isn't that enough?"

Apollo was visibly torn. Phoenix closed the space between them and held the kid's face gently between his two hands. The gesture was initiated without a second thought and it felt far too intimate to be anything but an affectionate expression between lovers – at least, that was what Apollo wanted to believe.

"What made you become a lawyer?" asked Phoenix in a kind whisper.

"You," was what Apollo wanted to say, but realised he lost that reason a long time ago. Disillusioned, he remained silent. Phoenix however, took it as a cue to go on.

"You know, at the start of each round of poker, all players are required to place a bet," he began with a mysterious glint in his eyes and a sly smile playing on his lips. "It's called an 'ante'. That's why there's always risks when a player decides to fold, but an amazing payout if they win. The same goes for life."

Apollo felt those fingers trail down his neck to tug at his tie, bringing him closer, and he gulped. Those gorgeous blue eyes held him prisoner and he was powerless against their charm.

"Everything has its risks, even the truth. If you don't make the first move, nothing will change and for the rest of your life, you'd be chasing shadows."

Apollo shook on the spot from the impact of Phoenix's words. He's asking for my help. But could he really bring himself to forego his mentor's trust and work behind Kristoph's back? Because that was essentially what Phoenix was begging him to do. It wasn't right – he knew it wasn't – and yet, the idea of being the one to actually save his hero from that great injustice done unto him from seven years past, seemed far more appealing than any promotion or recommendation his boss could throw at him.

As he contemplated his position, Phoenix watched him with an opportunistic gleam in his eyes. Now he was getting somewhere. It was no secret how the kid felt about him and he'd be a fool to allow this chance for redemption to slip past his fingers. Admittedly, taking advantage of someone wasn't something he felt particularly proud of, but there was just something about that bracelet that told him his luck was changing. He had fallen too far to be above cunning and deceit; and after Kristoph lost his temper the last time he begged him to resume his private investigation, it hurt to sleep on his back for six weeks. Phoenix needed an alternative. He couldn't do this alone and now, he found the perfect replacement.

Now, for the final icing on the cake...

"It appears my lawyer needs a little motivation," he commented with a playful leer as he ran his fingers across Apollo's thigh.

He moved closer; stroked and squeezed. Apollo crimsoned when he felt those skilled fingers move higher, dancing around his crotch. They pressed against the zipper of his jeans, lingered there, provocative.

"S-Sir?"

He squeaked when Phoenix pushed him onto the desk and blushed when he felt a sudden weight on his thighs. Phoenix climbed onto Apollo's lap, straddling him; pressed his body flush against the younger male's chest and caressed every inch of him tenderly, like a temple maiden who worshipped her god. Then, he leaned in to breathe against Apollo's ear, low and sensual; his lip gloss shimmering under the pale moonlight.

"So, what do you say, Mr. Justice? Everything has a price and I'm willing to give my all."

With a well-placed moan, he ground his hips against Apollo's for emphasis. But instead of the flustered reaction he expected, Apollo pushed him away. Phoenix stumbled back a few paces, shock registering clear across his face. It was the first time in a long while someone actually rejected his advances, and out of all people, he certainly didn't expect it from his adorable, hot-blooded fanboy.

"Get out," Apollo growled, livid and dangerous.

When Phoenix made no move to leave and continued to stare at him bewilderedly, Apollo pointed at the door and raised his voice.

"Get out!"

The surprise on Phoenix's face gradually gave way to a wry smirk and he shut his eyes in resignation. Perhaps he gave a little too much.

"As you wish."

With a low chuckle, he brushed past the young lawyer and confidently sashayed out the office. The door shut with a soft 'click', leaving Apollo alone in the silent office to his thoughts. Shaking his head in frustration, he crossed the room in long strides to his desk to grab his laptop, only to pause when his gaze landed on an old newspaper cut-out of Phoenix Wright on his bulletin board. Apollo reached out to lovingly trace the picture's outline, stared at his hero's smiling face a while longer, before bowing his head to finally let the tears fall.

The man he had grown up to respect and admire, he realised, proved no more real than a fairytale.

"What the heck took you so long?" Clay grouched at the building's entranceway as he kicked off the wall he had been leaning against for the past half hour.

Apollo ran up to him, doubling over to catch his breath. "Sorry, sorry!" He gasped and wheezed, hand flying to his heart.

Yeesh, he seriously needed to hit the gym. For all this office's class, it could really use an elevator.

"Just some last minute things I needed to take care of."

"And you didn't think of calling first? I was waiting out here in the cold like some–" but Clay stopped abruptly as soon as he got a good look at his friend's face, softening his tone in concern. "Hey, you ok? Your eyes are all red…"

"It's nothing," Apollo answered hastily and Clay dropped the subject in favor of conserving his friend's pride.

"Oh yeah, some weird hooker dude wanted me to pass you this." He fished a slim disk from inside his coat and handed it over with a shrug. "Said something about helping your case… Woah!" He clapped Apollo on the back as soon as he realised the implications behind those words. "Hey, your first client! Congrats! See? Told you it was only a matter of time!"

You said no such thing, you ass, Apollo was half-tempted to remind Clay, but decided against wasting his breath. Nine years of friendship taught him as much.

"For your information, that 'weird hooker dude' is Mr. Wright and no, he's not my new client," he muttered and was about to demand Clay to toss the damn disk into the nearest trash bin, when the latter suddenly shouted.

"Wright?!" Clay's eyes bulged comically. Apollo was suddenly reminded how dramatic his childhood friend could be.

"As in the Phoenix Wright? That Wright? The OBJECTION! Phoenix Wright?"

"Yes…" Apollo ground out through clenched teeth, growing increasingly annoyed – not at Clay, but how his friend seemed to be unconsciously reminding him about his disgust and disappointment with said ex-lawyer.

"Oh," Clay mumbled lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. "He was kind of hot…"

"Clay Terran!"

"What?! He was! I'm not gay… but he was!"

Apollo chose not to dignify that with a response. As usual, Clay was missing the point entirely.

"Mr. Wright approached me regarding that case from seven years ago – the one that got him disbarred… He wants my help."

"So help him!" Clay exclaimed, frustrated and at the same time, hopelessly confused; nearly tugging his hair out. "This could be that 'big case' you've always dreamed –"

"I refuse to help a whore like him!"

Apollo's sudden outburst shocked Clay so much, the young astronaut actually took a nervous step back and stared at his friend with wide, disbelieving eyes. The young attorney was visibly shaking, his fists clenched tight by his sides. His brows were knotted and a fire borne from betrayal and rage burned bright in his hazel eyes. At that very moment, Clay knew the cause of Apollo's tears.

"It's like you said, Clay: seven years changes a man," said Apollo, looking away as he struggled to force down his hurt. His tone had gone quieter; considerably grave.

"I can't continue believing in a guy like him – inconsistent, cheating, a complete slob…" he trailed off sadly and it sounded like he was holding back a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, he gave into the doubt that he persistently denied over the years, yet continued to haunt him; a popular claim that he never thought he'd ever hear himself say: "For all we know, he could have really forged that evidence. After everything that's happened, I honestly wouldn't rule out that possibility anymore."

They swapped silences for a whole minute: Apollo despondent and Clay gradually feeling the hopelessness of the situation as well. There was only so much he could do as a friend. Perhaps there was some merit in Apollo giving up his silly crush and childhood hero for good; after all, it was time to grow up.

"Maybe you're right. Plus, we both watched the trial and that cool young prosecutor even said he got a tip about Wright's forgery," added Clay as he fiddled with the slim disk between his fingers. "Guess you won't be needing this…"

He was about to flick the thing into the trash when Apollo's hand suddenly shot out to pluck it from his fingers.

"Hey! What gives?! I thought you said –"

"What did you say just now?!" Apollo demanded urgently, leveling Clay with his eyes. There was a brilliant spark in his gaze, the kind that indicated he'd just figured out something.

"Uh… That you were right?"

"No, after that!"

His heart hammered in urgency. Why hadn't he seen this before?

"A cool prosecutor got a tip about the forgery?"

Apollo grabbed a confused Clay by the shoulders and shook him. The dark shadows on his face had disappeared to be replaced with a wide, excitable grin. It made Clay wonder if his best friend was secretly bipolar, and was admittedly a little worried.

"Exactly! Where do you think he got that tip from?"

"Uh… The police?" answered Clay blankly, to which Apollo facepalmed. This guy… Then again, mysteries were never Clay's forte: astronauts didn't really need much brain power in space.

"No, you idiot. There were only three people who knew the details of the case before it entered court: Zak Gramarye, Mr. Wright, the forger and – assuming Mr. Wright's innocent – a fourth person: the forger's real client. All are likely suspects, until you consider that tip-off."

Clay stared at him helplessly as he made weird confused sounds. Apollo meanwhile went on.

"Unless Zak Gramarye and Mr. Wright had a death wish, I doubt they would sabotage their own defense."

"Meaning…?"

Apollo sighed. "You wouldn't tell the prosecutor handling your trial you forged your own evidence, would you?"

"Ohh…"

"Which leaves the forger and their client –"

"Assuming," Clay interjected, "there really was a fourth person involved."

"I don't know yet," returned Apollo honestly. "But I need to look into the identity of this mysterious forger first. With some answers, I might be able to move forward."

Clay shot him a knowing grin. "So… Does this mean you're taking up Wright's defense?"

For a moment, Apollo remained silent, the gears in his head turning. Despite his hurt and disappointment, he knew he couldn't continue lying to himself: he wanted to save Phoenix. The only reason the man led such a shameful, terrible life was because of this one accursed case, and all he had ever wanted to do was pursue the truth… even if that ended up costing him gravely. There was tremendous pain and suffering behind his smirks and flirtatious touches, steamy techniques of coy seduction; and Apollo had a feeling the rate of Phoenix's fall was proportionate to his despair and gradual acceptance of his fate. The world had turned its back on him, Kristoph gave up after years of chasing ghosts, and when Phoenix came to him on his hands and knees, he had turned him away too. Whether he believed in Phoenix was one thing; wanting to believe in him was another. But what he did know was that back there in the dimly-lit office, in the middle of a cold winter's night, when they had been so close they could've kissed, Phoenix had looked deep into his eyes and saw him for the very first time.

'Always believe in your client. Always seek out the truth… Let these principles be your guide, and you'll be fine.' He remembered those words of advice and though he was scared and anxious over the repercussions of his decision, knew that he would rather quit law than live on with the guilt and regret of abandoning Phoenix when he needed him most.

Meanwhile, Clay rolled his eyes so hard, he saw the back of his skull.

"I know that look: you're planning something crazy," he observed with a shake of his head. "Figures you'll never stop believing in him – Hey!"

Apollo grabbed Clay's wrist and tugged him down the snow-covered street.

"Come on, we've got work to do!"

"We?! When did 'we' ever happen?! And my house is–"

"You're staying over!"

With the mysterious disk weighing heavily in his pocket and consumed by a passionate desire for the truth, Apollo dragged his kicking and protesting friend all the way home. Phoenix left him a clue. It was his duty to see what it was.

"Oh my God, we've been watching the same thing for over an hour!" Clay moaned on the bed as he smashed his face repeatedly with a pillow. "No more… please…"

Apollo meanwhile, remained vigilant on the floor, eyes glued to the television, brows set in a frown. It was almost 4 a.m. on a Friday morning and it was clear as day neither boys were getting any sleep before sunrise.

As it turned out, the disk contained undisclosed footage featuring the mysterious forger behind the fake evidence – a fake journal entry from the victim, Magnifi Gramarye. The man was a local artist by the name of Drew Misham: hermit by circumstance; unestablished talent, but earned a name for himself from his astounding ability in reproducing authentic masterpieces right down to its tiniest detail. The whole video was a testament to his (unknowing) involvement with the trial.

"The old man was just doing his job, like we heard him say for a whole 15 times," grumbled Clay as he sleepily stared up at the walls. "... Did anyone tell you how creepy you are with all these Wright posters?"

"Rewind to the 20 second mark."

With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed the remote and did as instructed. Honestly, he wondered why he didn't just fall asleep like his brain screamed at him to.

'All my clients are anonymous. I have a policy of communicating solely through letters, including all matters of payment. I've never stepped foot outside my house for consultations.'

'Is this the first time you worked with evidence?'

'Yes… But I admit I didn't know anything about it, nor do I question my clients.'

'So, Mr. Wright really did go to you for help.'

'Yes.'

Apollo suddenly sat up. He didn't hear it wrong, did he?

"Clay!"

"Alright, alright…"

He replayed the scene.

'All my clients are anonymous. I have a policy of communicating solely through letters, including all methods of payment. I've never stepped foot outside my house for consultations… So, Mr. Wright really did go to you for help… Yes…'

"Got it!"

Apollo jumped to his feet while Clay fell off the bed. The former's eyes shone with triumph (never mind those dark eye circles); excitement coursed through his veins. Finally! The first and only contradiction all morning!

"What, what? What'd you get?!" Clay scrambled back up, more awake now than when they first started.

"A rat," said Apollo, folding his arms with a smirk. "Or to be more precise, a rat by the name of Drew Misham."

"How so?"

"Tell me: how do you know how someone looks like if you've never seen them before?"

"It could've been a slip of the tongue… Or Wright actually disclosed his identity before…"

"Think again, Clay," Apollo interrupted, tapping his forehead for emphasis. "I've spent all my life forging expensive works of art, structured my livelihood around illegal activity and stayed hidden to avoid the authorities. I've done the same thing for many years. Why then, would I be so careless as to let my client see my face and vice versa?"

"Because… I was having a bad day?"

Apollo nearly fell over. But seeing as it was 4 a.m. he was willing to give Clay the benefit of the doubt.

"What about this: because I never actually saw my client's face."

Clay frowned so hard, it looked like he could kill himself from simply thinking.

"But that goes against his claim! Does that mean Wright's clean?"

"I'm willing to stake my faith on that," Apollo replied as he fixed his gaze on the younger, despairing Phoenix on the screen. 'I promise: I'll save you and clear your name,' he made a silent vow and deep in his heart, he hoped his hero heard him.

"If anything, it sounds like Misham's covering for someone and I'm willing to bet it has something to do with his real client," he continued with his line of reasoning. "That should explain the contradiction and his nervousness. He might not know the identity of his client, but something tells me he knows it's not Mr. Wright either. That alone is good enough for me."

"So, you're saying the forger's the real suspect? That Misham intentionally created that fake evidence to frame Wright?" asked Clay.

"I didn't say that," returned Apollo, voice grave as he began to realise how dark this particular case actually went. "Our forger could simply be a very good liar… or very good at hiding things."

But why? What's his motivation?

Apollo quickly grabbed his cell phone from his bag and sent a text message to his boss. Usually, he'd be up by now practicing his 'Chords of Steel' routine, so the timing wasn't that suspicious. If Kristoph had been investigating this case for seven years, whatever evidence he gathered might prove vital for this next step. All he needed was access to those private case files, find a way to rendezvous with Phoenix, and a little bit of luck.

'Good morning, sir,' he typed, 'would you be free for lunch after your trial? There's something important I need to discuss with you.'

To be continued...

Author's note:

Hah! If you thought Clay was just going to be a phone call in the prologue, think again!

So, Phoenix has been playing this game for years and he's seduced a naive Apollo into his web. Poor guy thinks he's a hero. Things certainly don't help with that white knight complex of his and Phoenix willingly taking advantage of that. Also, what the story behind those mysterious private case files? Dun, dun, dunnnn...

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