: Blood Dawn : I dunno. My impression of Trucy is that she's kinda childishly eccentric sometimes and deadly serious during other times. o_o" Glad you like Nail though xD There's two more members in their band (Considering there were five parts with the sound mixer, I think that's a safe bet.) but I haven't had any OC's planned for them. Enrich's one, but he's not fully formed either x__x

Note : Omfg – I can't believe how long it took to get all the key players on stage. It's the seventh chapter, and only now my main characters are coming onto stage, I'm so slow I can't believe myself x.x

And yeah, I just realized how badly I've gotten a Type A personality when I woke up today and was like..."Shit, chapter seven is not done." I think I have some kind of screwed up impression of what 'late update' is. Every time my work is delayed by one extra day I go all sad-face and cranky and worried that I should be moving it up faster. :(

I need to unwind, seriously.

Oh, and part two will mostly focus on Klavier trying to charm the pants off Apollo. So sorry if there's not enough doo-rama xD


Rome wasn't built in a day,

And love is just that much better than a city.

**

VII : Ancient History

It felt like he was seventeen all over again. The same symptoms present themselves, and no matter how he looked at it, he rather thought he was in love. His palms get clammy when he was around him, and he got nervous a lot. But then of course he was a rock star, and rock stars don't admit to being nervous easily. So he air guitar'd and snapped his fingers out of his nervousness and pretended to be 'all that', because he knew that annoyed Herr Forehead the most.

Not that it was because Herr Forehead was jealous of course, Apollo would never be that petty. Not like Klavier, that is.

**

"Herr Forehead! Stop!"

The antennas showed no signs of stopping, dangling further and further into the rain as Klavier waved frantically in front of the courthouse building. For a moment, it looked like Apollo had really abandoned him for the day. But then he suddenly stopped, and his shoulders went rigid, and he turned around and stomped back to the courthouse.

"What do you want?" He yelled over the sound of the heavy downpour. " I don't have a spare umbrella if that's what you want!"

"I don't want an umbrella!" Klavier shouted back, fighting to be heard over the thunderous noise of the water pouring down, both from the sky and the roof of the courthouse. "I want a lift!"

"A life!?"

"A lift!"

Apollo looked furious – or maybe that was because the water was splattering into his eyes and he was scowling to stop the water from going into his eyes. Either way, Klavier found it adorable – and he resisted the urge to lean in and pinch him on the nose.

"What happened to your hog?" He shouted out the question. Klavier pointed at the maroon vehicle, parked a dozen meters away under a shed and nearly invisible through the heavy fog.

"It won't start! Something's jammed in it!"

Apollo scowled at his hog. "I can't give you a lift." He said at last. Klavier leaned forward and pretended he couldn't hear.

"I can't give you a lift!" He bellowed again, and Klavier winced. There goes his good ear.

"Why not?"

Apollo appeared hesitant, as though debating whether to tell him something or not. He opened his mouth a few times, then closed it a few more times.

"I...Kle." He mumbled at last. This time, Klavier really couldn't hear him over the sound, and he leaned closer.

"What!? I can't hear you!"

"I RIDE A BICYCLE DAMMIT!" Apollo screamed and Klavier's eyes widened between disbelief and incredulity.

"You – WHAT?"

"I ride a bicycle," He repeated again stonily. "I can't give you a lift." He added, looking on the ground as though he was ashamed of the fact, and Klavier resisted the ridiculous urge to pat him on his head until he cheered up.

"It's okay," Klavier told him cheerfully. "You can still give me a lift."

Apollo looked at him like he was crazy. "On a BICYCLE?"

"Why not?" He shrugged. "A bicycle's still better than walking."

"B-But- You're a rock star! Why would you want to ride on a bicycle!?"

Because I want you to pedal me around – isn't that obvious!?

"It's better than walking in the rain," He insisted. Incredulity, reluctance, and disbelief warred over Apollo's face, and he stood there for such a long moment that Klavier started to fear the worst – that he would turn him down, or the rain would stop.

Finally, he heaved a sigh. "Alright – fine. I'll give you a lift."

Klavier resisted the urge to punch the air and whopped – or swing his shirt around. "Thanks a lot!" He gushed, and Apollo shot him a look.

"You owe me one for this. I swear to God, for an expensive ride like yours..." He muttered darkly and walked off into the rain, umbrella in his hand. Klavier followed after him, smiling from ear to ear as they approached Apollo's small bicycle, sitting forlornly in an empty bicycle rack in the rain.

Klavier could have sworn it was a girl's bicycle, but he didn't mention it. After all, he wouldn't want to end up on his arse and mud stains all over him.

"Alright, get on the back." Apollo ordered. Klavier saluted, and sat behind him on the bicycle. A moment later – once he was convinced Klavier wasn't dangling bodily off the bicycle – Apollo started pedaling, the bicycle swaying from side to side with the weight of both men. The rain poured on them, and they went at a pace slower than a tortoise crawling. Klavier had a sinking suspicion – and he suspected Apollo guessed as much – that he could walk faster than the speed they were going now but...'Whatever', to quote Daryan. He smiled, grinning like a mad man. He would have hugged Apollo from behind too, except there was no way he could explain that. After all, who would believe he needed to hold on to Apollo at the speed at which they were going?

It was half an hour later when Apollo finally dragged them onto the doorsteps of Klavier's apartment, and they both stopped at the lobby. Klavier because he would do just about anything to spend more time with Apollo, and Apollo because he was out of breath and needed to breathe before he dropped dead from asphyxiation.

"Thanks a lot, Herr Forehead – I don't know what I would do without you. How can I ever repay your act of kindness?" He gushed.

"You can start by--" Apollo sneezed. "--air guitaring a lot less in--" Another sneeze. "--court."

"I could," Klavier shrugged. Apollo sneezed in answer.

"You look like you're coming down with something," he commented. Apollo sniffed and slumped against the wall, eyes half-closed.

"I've never been good with...Outdoors." He sniffed again. "Gets sick a lot." He mumbled weakly.

Klavier clicked his tongue – mostly to stop himself from smiling. That ridiculous urge to pinch Apollo's nose arose again, and he pushed it away by putting a hand onto Apollo's forehead.

"I think you're coming down with something," he announced.

Apollo lifted a hand to touch his own forehead. "It's cold." He commented.

"It's burning," Klavier insisted. Apollo sneezed. "I think you should come up to my apartment." He told him. Apollo looked at him strangely, but before he could protest, a series of sneezes made him thought better. By the time he was done sneezing, his nose had turned red - rather, Klavier thought, like Rudolph the reindeer.

"Okay...But just for a little while – I wouldn't want to impose."

"No worries – it's only a little something to repay your valor, ja?"

Apollo nodded weakly and trailed off into his apartment five minutes later. As he closed the door, Klavier couldn't help grinning.

Hook, line, and sinker.

He knew jamming more rags into his hog was a good idea.


Klavier reached up a hesitant hand and pressed the doorbell. Once, twice, and...Blah. How many times had he pressed that damned thing for the past five minutes? At least half a dozen, that was to be sure. He was starting to doubt if Apollo was even at home at all, or if he had gone out be all chummy with a neighbour or something. Certainly Ema saw him entering the building, but that wasn't saying a lot considering that this apartment block had it's own indoor swimming pool, it's own indoor gym and yes, a community library. Apollo probably won't be at the pool or the gym though – he chuckled at the thought of Apollo exercising – but perhaps the library.

Then again...Kazaf had told him Apollo had been working really hard to get the firm back into shape – he doubted if he was going to spend the day in the library, even if today was a Sunday.

He raised his hand again and jabbed the doorbell a few more times – and this time he was sure that if Apollo was anywhere in the apartment, there was no way he could have missed that. The doorbell was so loud that Klavier could hear it all the way outside. Klavier waited patiently, twirling his hair with one finger and tapping into his phone with the other – the very picture of glamourous indolence. Five minutes passed, and he was still tapping into the phone. Seven minutes later, and he was getting impatient.

Snapping his phone shut, he jabbed the doorbell again – and this time, he heard suspicious sounds other than the ring ding of the bell. Sounds that sounded like someone shifting uncomfortably or clothes rustling. This time Klavier didn't wait – he stuck his eye up onto the peephole and sure enough – he caught a flash of dark brown as it retreated from his own blue eyes, before the panel came down and shut it off again

Gotcha! He mentally cheered, mimicking the Forehead.

He raised a finger, and this time – broke all laws of courtesy. He jabbed it onto the button so fast that it would put a Type A's elevator jabbing to shame. A cacophony resulted in the house, and Klavier hoped with a measure of satisfaction that it was giving Apollo – and perhaps Kristoph – a migraine. Tapping his foot, he was once again the soul of benevolence, smirking at the door in his face. Take that, Apollo – He whistled.

Five minutes later, the door was still showing no signs of opening and Klavier's teeth gnash in frustration. So the Forehead wants to play hardball, doesn't he? Fine – let's rock then.

"I know you're in there, Herr Forehead!" He shouted, slamming his fists onto the door. If someone walked in right now on him they would probably have thought he was some sort of jilted lover – but he couldn't care less. He raised both fists again and slammed them as hard as he could onto the door. "Apollo!"

Still no answer. "Stop being a coward and open the door!"

The door shook so hard with the force that it looked like it was going to break altogether from it's hinges. Well, suit him just fine. If Apollo can afford to move back into Kristoph's apartment, he could bloody well pay for a door.

"Open the door, or I'll break it down!" He leaned against the door, wheezing. Damn, the guy was tenacious. "Open the door!"

He was starting to sound like a parrot – and he would have given up if he hadn't heard a tiny squeak from the opposite side of the hard wood.

"Go away," The voice squeaked, like a juvenile mouse squealing at a tomcat. A Jerry that quivered at Tom. Klavier grinned – nice to see that despite everyone's warning of a stone faced Apollo, there was still some shred of his Herr Forehead behind here somewhere. He banged on the door with renew vigor.

"I'll give you ten seconds, Herr Forehead. No wait, screw that – let's make it five." He raised five fingers and lifted it to the peephole just to make sure he saw it. "If the door isn't opened by the end of it – I'm knocking it down."

No sign.

"Five!"

"Four!"

Klavier grinned. "Three!"

"Two – I'm coming Apollo~"

He steeled himself with his shoulder parallel to the door. "And...One! Here I go!"

He threw himself forwards and slammed the whole force of his body against the door –

And promptly fell right through. The door opened the exact moment he ran into it, and he collapsed, pulled down by his own momentum – into a disgraceful heap on the ground, blinking an astonished eye at Apollo's shoes, brain still stunned. When he had recovered sufficiently through the power of sheer blinking, he looked up from the shoes up. When he finally got to the face he looked...

...Straight into the eye of his brother.


His first impression of the rolled-up sleeves was that he was one of those high-strung kids – those people who have breakdowns if they don't complete their homework in time. He was set to hate him – the boy who had dared put his brother behind bars, who had betrayed the very person who adopted him and helped Phoenix Wright stick him in jail. He knew his brother was the one at fault, but he couldn't resist hating Apollo anyway, mostly just because. Just because just that little more hate in the world made it felt like a homier place.

Then Apollo charmed him.

He was the picture of sincerity – not like the people Klavier met in the showbiz. Those people were full of shit, to put it mildly. They smiled when they felt like crying, posed prettily with their legs apart if they thought it'll make them more famous. Every compliment they pay you is calculated to advance their career in some way, and they would never think twice before stabbing you between the shoulder blades. That was part of the reason for the misconceptions about Apollo – he thought he was like one of those people. Y' know, full of crap.

Instead, he turned out to be the most honest person he had ever met. Not a single shred of artifice. He spoke his mind and never felt ashamed doing so. He had his principles. Sure, he bent them around sometimes to suit himself – something Kristoph had ingrained into him apparently – but he was still Apollo, the guy you can always count on to peg your hot air down a couple of knots.

Some time along the lines of the first face-off with Apollo in court, he sort of kind of found himself falling in love with the permanently high-strung Forehead. A few beers and a couple of slaps on the back later from Daryan, Nail and Enrich and he was ready to admit it. He was in love – with the defense, no less. He felt so motivated he went home and wrote half a dozen songs and crossed out almost as many. In the end he ended up with precisely one song – and he had serenaded the guy with it. Not that he showed any more emotion than to frown disapprovingly at his conduct and tried to get him pin for contempt of court for an effortless win.

Sneaky bastard, Klavier would say – but it would be said with a dreamy smile.

**

"W-Wha--" Klavier scrambled to his feet and ogled the man standing across him, barely a foot away. "Kristoph?" He burst out.

The man – Apollo, Kristoph, whatever – smiled at him. A condescending, confident smile that betrayed nothing of the squeak he had heard earlier against the door. That voice had all the charm of his Apollo, the one who gets all worked up and flustered if you told him you accidentally lighted up his paperwork. This one looked like--

"I- Kristoph...?" He said again, hesitantly. The face morphed into a look of annoyance and he snapped at Klavier.

"I would expect that from your average person on the road, but I would never expect that of you Klavier." He clicked his tongue. "Surely your vacation isn't so long that you can't even remember my face?"

Klavier certainly did – and it did not look like this. He allowed a critical eye to roam over his face, and allowed himself to admit this much – it was Apollo alright. It was Apollo's face – the reddish-pale skin with the slightest smattering of pink on the bridge of the nose was proof of that, along with the dark brown hair, still smoothed into it's usual antennas. It was a little droopier than normal – but then again, this was a weekend and he was spending it alone. No, the face was not what bothered him – it was the small pair of glasses perched on his nose.

"When did you went and get glasses?" He asked.

The annoyed look tenfold, and Apollo checked his watch as though every second he wasted standing in front of Klavier was going to cost him a bucket worth of gold. "When my eyes decided to become short-sighted," He retorted, righting his glasses. Klavier stared at the hand, just to make sure it didn't have his brother's scar on it. The gaze returned back to the face and he just...Couldn't wrap it around his head that this man was Apollo.

He supposed it was Apollo. Physically at least – but something was missing since the last time he saw him. The way he carried himself was different – confident, with an air of arrogance and unfounded confidence that seemed almost to border on hysteria. The kind of confidence you see on CEO's and executives of the highest order, the kind whose house of cards would fall if you so much as pull out one chip from it. The kind that he saw in his brother. The kind that--

"What do you want, Klavier?" Apollo snapped, bringing his attention back to him and not off wandering somewhere, writing off all the reasons why this isn't Apollo and all the reasons it's him and how he's changed. He was even willing to believe the fanciful notion that maybe Kristoph kidnapped Apollo and was masquerading as him. When Klavier didn't answer, Apollo clenched his jaw and the two antennas started quivering malevolently. "Well?" He barked. "Was there something you need?"

"I uh..." He brought up a hand to muss up his hair. "I came to say hi."

"Oh really? Hi then Klavier. Bye too." Apollo stepped backwards, swinging the door shut. Klavier shot out a foot and stuck it between the door and the panel – if the Forehead thought he was getting off so easily after he put up all that fuss, he was crazy. Shaking his head to force himself to recover from the shock, he forged on. There was more than one reason he was here today and he couldn't let it fall through, though if he was honest he was here more to see Apollo again than to find out about Kristoph.

"Don't be like that, ja?" He drawled, all rock star charm coming out in full force. He aimed a dazzling grin at Apollo, where it fell flat on it's face. "We have met after so many months – don't you think I deserve a warmer welcome?"

"No."

Oh.

The smile never wavered. "A hug then?"

A hand came up and smoothed itself over Apollo's face, and he sighed – long suffering and antagonized, just like Klavier remembered it. That was better he thought, grinning. Much more like the Herr Forehead he knew – less in control of the situation and just as annoyed. "If you want a hug Klavier, there's a blue badger downstairs that will gladly do it for you. Can you please..." He looked pointedly at the foot jammed through the doorway. "Remove your foot?"

"I would, if you gave me your word that you won't shut the door in my face."

"Foot please."

"Well?" He ignored the dirty look Apollo threw at him. "I can stay here all day with my foot in your door – I'm just that free."

"I see time has not mellowed you down." Apollo snapped.

"Hey, if I was any sweeter I'll give women diabetes, ja?"

Apollo cracked a reluctant smile at that and told him – but not before glancing nervously into the apartment, "Fine, I won't slam the door in your face. Foot please."

Klavier removed his foot, deliberately and slowly – with a smile like a cat who's gotten the cream. "Now we may hug better – see what a little tolerance do for you, hmm?"

He rolled his eyes at him. "I was the one who asked you to remove your foot." He tapped his own, just to make the point. "Now, what do you want, Klavier?"

"Will I get away if I say a peck on both cheeks?"

"Klavier..." Apollo started warningly. Klavier held up a hand to cut off the impending rant.

"Alright alright fine. I came here – all five pieces of me to ask you out for a drink. Shall we, Herr Forehead?"

"Go for a what?"

"A drink, you know." Klavier made drinking motions with his thumb. "The thing that your pour down your throat? Yeah, wanna go get one?"

"You came all the way here to ask me out for a drink?" He burst out, looking on the verge of an apoplexy attack. "Don't you have a job?" He said job like it was the last thing on Earth he thought Klavier owned.

He shrugged. "Why not? We haven't seen each other for months – what's wrong with a get-together drink? I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine."

"I'm not going to scratch--" Apollo cut himself off and took several long breaths before he trusted himself to speak again. "I have a lot of work to do," He said finally. "A lot." Just to get the point across.

"Ach, it's Sunday!"

"I was never a Catholic." Arms crossed defensively.

"Come on Herr Forehead," He coaxed silkenly. "Don't you think you deserve a break? A drink is not going to impede on your work, ja? You'll just pull another late-nighter and get it all done."

Apollo didn't bother denying it, and emboldened by it, he lifted a thumb and swept it gently across his cheek.

"Ach, you have dark eye circles already."

He brushed his hand away and snapped. "It's none of your business."

Thwarted, Klavier stepped back and stuffed both his hands into his pockets – the picture of innocent integrity. 'So what will it be, Herr Forehead? Will you come down for a drink with me or will I have to kidnap you?"

Apollo's foot tapped contemplatively on the parquet floor for so long that for a moment there Klavier thought he had shriveled up and died from the shock of having Klavier's face on his face. Seconds lengthen into minutes, and the foot stopped. Apollo drew himself up with a deep sigh that sounded more like someone going off to an execution rather than a friendly reunion.

"Very well," He breathed. "I'll go – but only for six-twelves. I have a lot of work to do."

Klavier didn't even pretend to understand him, snapping his fingers victoriously. "I knew you cannot resist my abundant charms."

Apollo merely rolled his eyes and stepped back into his apartment, closing the door before Klavier could protest further.

"I need to change," Came the muffled voice. Klavier grinned. One battle won, many more to go – but whatever. He smiled contentedly and patted his stomach, for want of a better thing to do.


"I'm not going in there!" Apollo screeched and balked at the sight of the neon lights of the nightclub. Tonight was a Saturday, and the whole front of the place was jammed-packed with humans, not that Klavier particularly cared. All he would have to do is wave a hand at them and they would disperse and make way for him. The same consent could not be said for his companion.

"Achtung! It'll be fun, ja?"

"It will not be fun – I have paperwork, Klavier!"

"How can paperwork possibly compare to a night out – with the most wanted man in all of L.A tonight?" Klavier asked him, tickling him playfully with the end of his hair.

"Paperwork is necessary," Apollo huffed. "And anyway, that won't be the only thing I'll be doing – I can play Sudoku too."

Klavier rolled his eyes at him. "Ja, and that is fun – for sticks. Now you Apollo, you are not stick material, ja? You have all the potential to be fabulous," He gestured a hand at himself. "Like mir. You want to be fabulous, nein?"

It was Apollo's turn to roll his eyes. "Pardon me if I don't find the prospect of becoming a- a..Sparkly person like you enthralling."

Klavier laughed, a melodious lilting laughter that twisted Apollo's gut. "You're starting to sound like the fraulein detective, Herr Forehead." Before he could protest further, he wrapped a hand around Apollo's wrist and pulled him forwards with him – into the crowd. Like magic, the crowd parted and they strolled into the bar. Apollo couldn't help but notice a few girls in the line staring at him enviously and he almost laughed – imagine their horror if they knew that the guy tagging behind Klavier Gavin doesn't even want to be tagging behind him at all!

Though...They shot into the deep end of a crowd and Apollo snuggled a little towards the Prosecutor. It's really not such a bad feeling, if he allowed himself to be honest about it.

They reached the other end of the dance floor, where the people were less packed and there were booths scattered around the bar. Klavier picked one and gently pushed Apollo into it. He smiled as Apollo squirmed into his seat – aware of how out of place he looked with his rolled-up sleeves and post-work clothes. Everyone here was dressed flashily, with gaudy jewelry – just like Klavier, except most of them looked considerably worse than him.

"I think you'll find this spot acceptable, ja? It has less people."

Apollo nodded weakly, and moved aside, the smallest gesture of invitation he allowed himself. Klavier's smile grew wider, but he refused the proffered seat.

"We need a drink," He told him. "What do you want?"

Apollo flicked a random glance at the menu stand standing forlornly beside the bar and randomly picked one that looked appealing or at least, interesting.

"Bloody Mary," He told the prosecutor.

"Alright, if that's what you want." Klavier laughed and turned around – heading off to the bar to ordered their drinks. A moment later, both drinks magically appeared across the counter, far faster than anyone else's and he brought them back to Apollo and offered it forwards grandiosely.

"For you, good sir."

Apollo accepted it with good cheer and started sipping it cautiously...

And almost spat it out immediately after. "What is this!?" He yelled, eliciting a few curious glances from their neighbours. Instead of looking self-conscious or wincing at the spectacle Apollo was creating like he had expected, Klavier merely threw back his head and laughed, nursing his own drink – which was a yellowish colour thing with slices of fruit stuck to it.

"That's a Bloody Mary – it's what you ordered. It has ketchup mixed into it."

"Ketchup!?" He cried, outraged.

"Oops, my bad – I mean, tomato juice." He leaned back and sipped his own drink languidly with an expectant eyebrow. Not wanting to disappoint after Klavier put up a game face like that, he sipped the drink cautiously. Surprisingly, the thing didn't taste all that bad after a few sips, and he told Klavier that.

"It's not a bad drink – though I prefer mine."

Apollo peered curiously at the liquid he was nursing. "What's that drink?"

Klavier smiled slowly, a skittish, charming grin – the trademark one that made girls all over the world fell at his feet and lunged at his crotch and did other, completely nonsensical things.

"It's a 'Screwdriver.' " He looked suggestively at Apollo while he said this and Apollo coughed modestly, turning back to his own drink and staring into it's reddish depths and refusing to look up. He drew such a large sip that he started choking. Klavier patted him sympathetically on the back.

Once he had enough of the drink, he pushed it aside and pulled out his journal – the one Kristoph had given him long ago that he still lugged around in his briefcase wherever he went. The thing was hardcover, and boy was it heavy – but he felt happier having it with him, no matter where he went. It gave him something to do with his hands when he's nervous – like now for example.

He pulled out a pen, drew a margin and started going through his job schedule for the week in neat, precise handwriting. Apollo had half expected Klavier to drop dead of boredom some time within five minutes and go off to fraternize with his friends, but instead, he only watched him work, sipping his drink in an even pace. It racked a little on Apollo's nerves, but he put up with it and went to work. Lost in his work, it was only half an hour later when he looked up, and found Klavier still on the same spot, still watching him.

"Don't you want to go hang out with your friends?"

Klavier smiled at him – eyes half closed. He reminded Apollo of the Cheshire cat. "I rather watch you," He quipped. Apollo blushed and went back to his work, keeping his eyes on the book while he spoke.

"Are you sure? I must be boring you."

"Not really," Klavier mumbled, peering closer. "I like watching you work."

"You sound like a voyeur," Apollo retorted.

He shrugged. "It's not always about the party. Sometimes it's nice to sit down and hang your legs over the edge. More relaxing, ja?"

Apollo couldn't agree more, and went back to work. Twelve o'clock came around soon enough, and when the next time he looked up more than an hour later, absorbed in his work. Klavier had fallen asleep on the couch and was snoring lightly. Apollo pursed his lips to stop himself from smiling at the rock star, looking for all the world like a misplaced child. He pulled Klavier's arm a little, which had been stuck in an awkward position to support his entire body's weight and he came loose, literally falling onto the couch like an ungraceful sack of potatoes.

His only answer to his renewed position was to snore.

Apollo smiled then. Prosecutor and God of Rock or not, he was still a guy – maybe a little flashy, but still a normal guy underneath. He may tease him a little, but when it came down to it, he wasn't disdainful or even deliberately hurtful. He reached out a hesitant hand and placed it on his cheek. He's still a normal guy, he repeated to himself. Someone he could like. Perhaps even...

Snore.


The blue Ford screeched to a halt somewhere between one to two meters away from the front door of Elmer's, with a jerk that could only have come around because it's owner pressed too hard down onto the brakes. The vehicle jerked, coughed, and were it not for the seat belts pulling the two men down, they would have gone flying out of the window. Bang, bang, and they would be gone, two holes in the windshield to remember them by, with a couple of cracks as their eulogy.

Apollo dragged up the handbrake, and the car jerked again, finally returning to it's disturbed slumber. Klavier on the other hand, had no such compunctions to stay silent on the matter.

"Jesu Christo," He swore. "Are you suicidal?"

Apollo turned around to check if he was parked correctly. The back of the Ford cut into the next parking slot, and the whole car was slanted at 45 degrees. He gave a self-satisfied smirk and patted the handbrake – it was much better than his last attempt, where he had almost dislocated the side-view mirror. In fact, it would have went flying off if it wasn't because the fire hydrants around this part of town were a couple of inches shorter than the standard measurements.

"It could have been worse," He told Klavier truthfully. And it could, it really could.

"How!?" The man cried, scrutinizing the way in which the car jabbed awkwardly out at passersby as though it wanted a piece of them.

"We could have crash into the building." Apollo retorted. That shut him up fast. And that was the truth too, because he had momentarily forgotten which one was the brake and had kept jamming his foot onto the accelerator. One of these days he would need to get one of those sticky colourful labels and stuck them onto the pedals. Accelerator, clutch, brake. Fool-proof.

"I should have just took my own ride," He muttered under his breath.

The locks clicked and popped up, and Klavier stumbled out of the car – shaking and white, which, in Apollo's opinion served him right anyway. He was the one who dragged him all the way out here when he could have spent it at home doing his hobby – filing paperwork. Instead, he was all the way out here, getting a drink with just about the first name on his shit-list these days. Apollo exited from his side of the car and jabbed the button to reset the alarm (He may or may not have accidentally pushed it earlier.) He jabbed the wrong one, and the wipers spring into life.

"Are you sure you have your license, Herr Forehead?" Klavier drawled, flicking an insulting glance at his frantic button-mashing.

"I cleared it top of my class, I'll have you know." He told him haughtily. He must have pressed something right, at least, because the next moment the wipers stopped and all was silent.

"With a sizable bribe, I'm sure." He tipped a non-existent hat and pointed a thumb at the building. "Shall we?"

Apollo grunted under his breath.

Elmer's was empty this time of the day. Sunday or not, it was one or two in the afternoon, and the place couldn't have been opened for more than a couple of hours. Glass scattered on the bar counter, waiting to be wiped after last night's closing up washing, and the only bartender leaned across the bar. He leered at them slightly – clearly not please with their intruding his time alone – standing up to switch off the sounds of Stevie Wonder cranking up from a nearby stereo. Klavier raised a hand in soft salute, and he barked at him.

Apollo smiled a little happy smile. It was petty, he knew – but he liked seeing Klavier getting dissed by people sometimes. People followed him everywhere with a hangdog expression and dreamy smile to play second serenade to it, and sometimes, when he was feeling mean and base like he was now – he liked seeing Klavier getting the old up yours routine. Klavier merely smiled indulgently, and they took a booth in a corner by the window.

"So, what do you want for a drink?"

"A White Russian." Apollo stated. Klavier gave him a startled look and Apollo snorted, remembering the last time they had walked into a bar together. Well, he had to socialize a lot more since. Sauntering over to the bar, he placed the order to the bartender.

"A Caucasian and a beer."

The bartender snorted, and Klavier returned back to the corner, rocking onto a high-backed chair while Apollo sat in the booth. Both sat and stewed in silence while they wait for their drinks to arrive, with Apollo doodling over a napkin with a finger and righting his glasses continuously. They were far too wide for his face, and kept falling down – or perhaps it was just because he had lost half a dozen pounds since he had them made. Klavier made no move for further conversation, and Apollo continued fingering the white, slightly greasy fabric.

I wonder what he's here for. But then again, I think I can guess pretty well.

The two glasses conked in front of them. Dirty ones too, from the looks of it. Klavier grunted and without a second thought, started gulping down his beer while Apollo merely sipped his.

When he was done gulping half of it down, Klavier wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So, how have you been?"

Apollo looked up from the white foam on the cup. "Busy," He mouthed, sipping the foam off. He had no idea what it tasted like, other than the vague collection that it died on his tongue like a zombie with half it's face blown off - struggling slightly above the taste of bitterness.

"I heard you got Kris' firm up and running again?"

"Yeah." Silence hung in midair, and Apollo reluctantly elaborated. "That Thompson's hopeless. He's okay when it comes to filing paperwork I guess – he's a pro at meandering about the alphabetical hierarchy, that's for sure. But when it comes to trial? He gives Payne a run for his money."

Klavier remembered Thompson from his last visit to Kristoph's firm years ago. He had a vague recollection of large thick-rimmed spectacles over wrinkled, pasty skin and he nodded in affirmation.

"I heard from Wright he's got it mortgaged. Has it been paid?"

"Yeah...Half of it is anyway. I'll scrap up the rest of it within a month." He did a couple of mental calculations. After the mortgage was paid off, he would probably have enough leftover to redecorate the office in any taste of his choice. "We'll make it." He shrugged. Klavier shrugged too, and conversation died down again. Apollo had no idea what Klavier called him out for, but if this was what he planned to do for the next hour, he was going to be severely bored. He checked his watch. Two six minutes segments have passed by. Ten-six more to go before his hour with Klavier was up. He'd send the bill for his time over to Klavier too, for good measure.

"Huh?"

He looked up, belated realizing he had blurted out the last part of his internal monologue.

"I um- nothing." He muttered.

A slow grin started boiling up Klavier's face mischievously. Apollo recognized the sign. When Klavier was bored, he resorted to one of his favourite sport around – bothering Apollo.

"You were saying something about billing me for your time...?"

Apollo cleared his throat. "Well, you are technically taking up my time." He pointed out. "If this was a weekday, I would be charging you a hundred for an hour."

Klavier whistled. "A hundred an hour eh, Herr Forehead? You're charging more than the girls up downtown."

"Wha-" Apollo stuttered off, too flabbergasted to even form a half comprehensible retort. He had come down here with two things listed on his to-do list.

1. Remain calm and composed.

2. Ignore Klavier, or treat him like a slug.

He was failing miserably at both, and he turned an impotent glare at the man. Nothing got through the chinks of his armour like Klavier did. Klavier merely hummed and nursed his drink like an attentive drunkard. The stereo down the side of the bar cranked up again, and Stevie Wonder started crooning Superstition through the crackling speakers.

"It's the standard price for a L.A lawyer these days," He said at last. "I don't know what kind of 'lawyers' you have been associating with – but they clearly aren't up to the task if they're charging so little."

Klavier's lips started trembling, but he refused to rise to the bait.

"I see," He said at last. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever need to associate with them again."

Klavier started biting the edge of the glass. Nine and a half-six to go. Maybe he should have a go at starting a conversation – it was starting to get awkward, with Klavier trying to stop himself from laughing about God knows what and the air suffocating them with silence and more Stevie Wonder. Apollo never liked Jazz, or whatever it was he sang anyway. He was more of a crickets chirping kind of person.

"Are you going to restart The Gavinners?"

Klavier looked up and pondered this question by swiping the tip of his hair up and down the length of his cheek, a movement Apollo found fascinating. "Nah – that's over and gone. We can't play without Daryan anyway. Band's as good as a clockwork without the arrow hand with one of us down." He raised an eyebrow. "Why? Interested in signing up?"

Apollo snorted. "Yeah – if you take saxophone players."

Klavier laughed. "Well, even if I wanted to, there's no way in hell I could anyway."

"Why not?"

"Have you turned on your television lately?" He asked him, smiling as though he already knew the answer anyway.

"No," He admitted.

"Then you've just missed out on the best porn of your life." Klavier declared, which elicited a strange look from the bartender. The chime above the door dinged, and a couple of high school kids drifted into the bar, and he turned his attention back to them.

"Porn...?" Apollo blinked at the madman. 'What porn?"

"Naked pictures of," He flicked a finger at himself dramtically. "Yours truly."

Apollo's eyes widened. "Naked pictures of you?"

"Yeap." He answered with good cheer, lifting up his glass of beer. "Let's drink to my famous anatomies."

Apollo was too stunned to even lift up his glass – looking for all the world like a deer that had been caught in the headlights. Discreetly, he roamed an eye around the bar and spotted a small television set perched behind the bartender. His fingers itched to get closer to the black box and check every channel.

Klavier caught the look and glanced bemusedly at the television. "You can ask him for it if you want – though I doubt he would take kindly to it," He told him laughingly. Apollo coughed and tug at his shirt collar. The bar suddenly felt like it needed a couple of brand spanking new ACs to cool him down sufficiently to make his brain work.

He meandered about and bit his lip, wondering whether or not to ask, torn between just wanting to go home and get back to work and wanting to know. "Why would there be naked pictures of you on satellite?" He blurted out at last – cool and composed behaviour be damned! He wanted to find out, whatever happened to the cat.

"We don't know, hmm? Ach, chances are, someone who hates my guts sent it to the TV station. Someone like hmm..." Klavier tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I don't know, perhaps Kristoph, ja?"

That doused any sort of humour Apollo could have possibly summon up for the situation, and the smile was wiped off his face as smoothly as if it was a germ and someone had just scrubbed it off with a wad of disinfectant.

"Kristoph would never do something like that." He said coldly. And he believed that too – there was no way Kristoph would sink to such petty depths – ever. Klavier merely shrugged nonchalantly.

"It can happen, nein?"

"And anyway," He righted the glasses. "Isn't Kristoph safely tucked away in jail?" He asked him sweetly. That wiped the grin off the man's face, and Apollo smirked. Take that, you lazy, good-for-nothing prosecutor.

He coughed, and tugged at his own shirt collar. "Ja, ja. He is, isn't he?"

Apollo merely grunted and crossed his arms defensively. He checked the watch – five-six remaining. Well, he could always motion for a faster retreat – and as he said, he genuinely did have stuff to do at home. Redd White's appeal was tomorrow, and if he doesn't hurry, he'll never get all the paperwork straightened out and shoved up the Prosecutor's Office.

"What did you really call me out for, Klavier?"

"Can't I call you out for the sake of old times?" He drawled out, stressing everything with a heavy German accent just for the fun of it. It earned him a censorious frown from Apollo.

"No." Apollo snapped. "You've been out of commission for two whole months – almost three now. No one's seen you in the court, you never called, then suddenly your reappear one day and ask me out without so much as a by-your-leave. What do you really want, Klavier?"

Of course he knew what he really wanted. What he really wanted was the fugitive Apollo was hiding under his roof, but he wanted him to say it anyway. Hearing it from a person had notable side-effects, most notably the fact that it squelches all other feelings or hopes.

"Even if I had called, would you have answered?"

Apollo pondered that.

"No."

"See?" Klavier raised his glass. "Why can't we let bygones be bygones?"

Apollo gnashed his teeth and started drumming his fingers on the table impatiently. "Because we can't. Face it, Klavier – we were never friends. You're the prosecutor, I'm the defense – we don't even sit on the same side of the court."

Klavier actually looked hurt at that one – or at least it looked like it was. In a flash though, it was gone, replaced with the usual charming smile and Apollo doubted if it was ever there at all. The man was immune after all. Mirror to all light rays – they simply bounce off him harmlessly.

"I would have thought we could at least be called friends."

"No, we aren't."

"Really? What do you call going out with me?"

"I call it necessity."

"Well, I call it --" His eyes snapped suddenly onto Apollo's fingers – the ones drumming on the table impatiently. Apollo immediately dragged the hand off the table – but too late, he had already seen them.

"Apollo – are you using nail polish?"

Apollo crossed his arms. "It's none of your business even if I do." He snapped. "And anyway, they're just...Colourless ones."

"Herr Forehead..." Klavier started, looking at him as though he had never seen him before. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. The way a child would look at a particularly unsatisfactory lint of dirt on the ground. It discomfited Apollo, and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "What's happening to you?"

"Nothing's happening to me!" He protested loudly. The two scraggly teenagers looked over their shoulders at them, cigarettes dangling off their lower lip. He forced himself to lower his voice and glared at Klavier. "Nothing's happening to me." He insisted again.

"Nothing? What do you mean by nothing?" Klavier looked furious at him – though he had no idea what he did to elicit such a response. It was just an experiment...And so what if someone else did it too? It bore no consequence for him. "You're acting strangely Apollo – you moved back into Kristoph's house, drive his car, wears his – and yes, those are his aren't they? - glasses. And now I find you're using nail polish too – why are you acting like him?"

"That's none of your business!" He shouted back, standing up so suddenly that his shins knocked into the under-table carvings.

"Yes it is!" He insisted, standing up too, making the chair he was on rocked back and forth furiously. "Why are you- Why are you impersonating my brother?"

"I'm not impersonating him," Apollo hissed, struggling to maintain a calm facade. That was a Gavin creed – always stay calm, cold, and collected – whatever the situation. "And if you're going to stand there insulting me – I'm leaving."

"No you're not," He said angrily, reaching out a hand that clamped onto Apollo's elbow like a vice. Apollo looked down at the hand encircling his arm like it was a bug or a cockroach that had found it's way onto his shirt.

"Take your hands off me."

"No I won't – what's happening to you, Herr Forehead?"h

"For the last time – NOTHING'S HAPPENING TO ME!" He roared. The hand came off, it's owner stunned by the sheer volume of his voice. The two teenagers had given up pretense of smoking and had turned around on the high-back chairs, openly staring. The bartender cranked down the stereo just to get a better ear at the conversation down the room. Well, too bad for them, Apollo mentally snapped. The show's over.

He pulled his arm free of Klavier's weak clasp and stomped out of the booth, stopping only to shoot an angry look at him over his shoulder.

"I don't know what you want, Gavin – but we're not friends. I'll make it clearer again if it helps – we're not friends. Not now, not ever – and if you knock on my door again I'll press charges against you." He spat out. Grabbing his briefcase, he stomped out of the bar – leaving Klavier and the bill – yes the bill too – because he just deserved that much. On his way out he rubbed his nails agitatedly on his vest, nearly tearing a hole in the fabric while he was doing that, stopping only to shoot a nervous glance back at Klavier in case the man decided to chase after him. But no, no, he was only rooted on the spot – staring at Apollo like he had never seen him before, and was just getting a good long look at him – or that he had suddenly grown a third arm.

Well, suits him just fine – he hope he rots on that spot.


Post Drew Misham. Post-trial. Post everything.

He had been stomping out of the courtroom – not wanting to see the man carted out by the bailiffs for yes – the second time. The first for Shadi, and now for the Mishams. Finding out he had really been the one behind Phoenix Wright's downfall was the last crack of the house of glass. If there was one with Apollo's name on it, he knew it would come down with a crash and remain on the ground – unrepairable, irrevocably broken.

Broken, yes that was the word.

He never thought he hated someone more that day – and he wasn't even sure who he hated. Phoenix Wright, who had compiled all the facts and threw the final spanner into the clockwork to break it down into bits; Kristoph, for betraying every single admiration he ever held for him; Klavier Gavin, the prosecutor who had made all these possible by lending a helping hand on the betraying, or himself. Apollo 'Justice'? Justice was a joke, insofar as he was concerned.

So he had gotten that 'justice' that he harped on and on about. Brilliant, freaking, great. Let's bring down the house with applause – to what end? What had he gotten? Nothing. What had he lost? Everything.

And okay, it was a long time in coming – a seven-year-old time bomb that was the final blow the place needed to fold in on itself. It was the truth – it was better than that, it was a 'justified' truth. But how did it make it better? It didn't, period. Then Klavier waltzed in on him, all shaky but still smiling – and he hated him for just that little bit more too, for being able to smile when he can't. For looking like a winner in a prizefight instead of bruised all over, like Apollo was.

He asked him out – for a drink, and Apollo agreed. After all, why would he want to go back home and spend the night staring at his wall and his diary? They went out, they got drunk, and by the end of it Klavier had pressed him down onto the couch and breathed into his ear. It would have been fun, it really would – had he not asked him that question.

"Apollo, won't you be my boyfriend?"

Almost childishly sweet in that eagerness. Apollo just froze right there, inside and out. How dare he ask him something like that? How dare he brush off Kristoph's second incarceration barely hours after the trial – when Apollo himself was still reeling from it? Was he really that far above him in everything, so much better than him, that he could even forgive himself faster than Apollo? That he could scrap out of a trial like that and smiled for the cameras?

Apollo had licked his lips, and Klavier had flushed, waiting expectantly for his answer, smiling like a teenager confessing his first love.

"No."


By the time the Ford returned to the apartment, it was already dark, and the first signs of an ugly polluted sky was already coming out. Faraway stars clouded over by smokes from whatever exhaust the city had churned out. Street lights giving out a ghoulish green light, maybe from Carbon Monoxide, maybe from pixie dust. Whatever, Apollo didn't give a shit, and if it made him feel better to swear, he'll say it again too – Shit you. And your mom's a llama.

Take that.

He stumbled out of the car, jammed into one of the allocated parking lots and stumbled onto the steps. A six pack was in his car, empty and rolling around like fucking cowbells. They were- They were- What was the word? Stoned? Oh yeah – stoned. They had him stoned to death. He never had been able to hold his drink for more than five at a time, and this time tomorrow he was going to wake up with his head pounding like a drum, and ants would be all over the pretty beige carpet of the Ford like bees to honey. Kristoph would probably be furious, but then again – how was he going to know anyway? He's stuck in the house, practically under house arrest. He would never need to know that Apollo had gone out and crash his car like a teenager on a 16-year-old, I-just-got-my-fucking-license-high.

As long as he...

"Hold it!" He giggled weakly as he staggered onto the steps leading up to the apartment lobby, dragging out his keys with a free hand.

"Mr. Justice?"

Apollo looked up – whoever had spoken was pretty loud – and with the first couple of drinks starting to wear off into a hangover, it sounded abnormally...Huge. Like someone had stuck a can upside his head and screamed down it.

"Yeah?' He drawled, swaying this way and that. No scratch that, it wasn't him swaying, it was the floor swaying. Was there an earthquake? He posed the pretty question to the guard.

The guard looked confused, then taking in his state, decided to overlook the comment. "Sir, there's a bike out there registered under your visitor list – and the period allocated is over. The authorities are going to clamp it sir, unless you renew the time sheet."

"Bike?" He scowled. What bike? He only had a bicycle, and no one between here and shitville could ever confuse it with a motorcycle of any shape or size.

"The maroon one, sir."

Maroon? His brow snapped to attention as he remembered the only person he knew who owned a purple hog.

"Clamp it," He snapped.

"Clamp it, sir?" The guard asked, startled.

"Yeah, clamp it. No wait, I have a better idea." He took out a couple of clean ten bills and stuffed it into the man's surprised hands. "Drag it off while you're at it," He ordered. The guard stared at him in shock, then shook his head in a vague motion that Apollo took as a yes, and he pushed the red button to get the elevator to ding ding ding him right back onto his floor.

Twenty one floors later he was back in front of home sweet home, shirt kind of unbuttoned and smelling like beer and cinnamon rolls – the place where he had bought the beers had a neighbouring shop that was a bakery and it had pumped odious amount of cinnamon roll smell into the shop. He dragged his heart-shaped key chain out and randomly stabbed a couple into the door until it clicked open, then stumbled into the place – dark and a dimly lit. Bach assaulted his ears, and it was obvious that Kristoph was back to sitting in dark halls and turning on the classics – except now it's barely audible unless Apollo is at home. Places that are empty don't just turn on stereos on their own after all.

He managed to make twenty one steps into the house before collapsing onto the floor in a heap – and a moment later, the familiar blonde figure raised an eyebrow at him.

"You look drunk."

"I'm above the legal age," Apollo retorted, slurring the words slightly but they were still clear. Words he can spit out at a moment's notice, whatever his state of mind. Ah, those are the words.

Kristoph stood, walked over and knelt beside him, taking in the disfigured clothes and hair.

"I gather your little meeting with my brother didn't go well then?"

"Speak when you're spoken to." Apollo snapped. He wagged an insolent figure at the man. "And your brother's a needledick – kind of like you." Kristoph merely smiled and wrapped an arm around him, dragging him up to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you washed up and put to bed. In the morning, you'll feel better about Klavier."

His answer was swift, simple, and earned him a chuckle from Kristoph.

"No."


Mohoho. Looks like public opinion is that Kristoph's the letter-sender. Well...We'll see, won't we? xD

Yeap, and another guy walks back onto the stage after a physical hiatus for two whole chapters. Now, let's have the stalking in earnest! *__*