Note : Heavily dialogue-ed chapter. One may argue that I've OOC'd Apollo (again) but he's always had a sarcastic side in AJAA. He just doesn't show it much. And...I seriously love Apollo in here LOL xD And yes, forgot to mention in the previous chapter : Dr. White is an OC. If you can't already figure it out, d'oh.

Finished note : Oh my god. This chapter is even longer, at 8000 words. -__- (I am getting tired proof-reading it LOL ) I'm so sorry! By the way, I just noticed while I'm submitting this that 10 happens to be the number of the wheel of fortune in the tarot, way after I keyed in the title. Funny how life works that way. o_o (Random observation.)

Spin spin, O wheel of fate;

And when thou stop, all hell shall break loose;

***

X: Rotation

When Klavier had first barged into Kristoph's apartment both unwanted and unwelcomed, the first thing he had noticed was the sheer ...Difference of the place. The last time he had been in this apartment was many years back, shortly after Kristoph shot up in fame after successfully defending an influential senator in a near-doomed situation - He had stayed for a while, while he studied for the bar in America, and the place had been meticulously clean, neat, and absolutely spotless. No amount of dirt or grit was allowed on his floorboards – Kristoph is a hypochondriac of the highest order.

Everything in the house had a stamp on it that practically shriek to anyone who knew the man : KRISTOPH KRISTOPH KRISTOPH. Not so now. The place was so changed from the last time he had been there that he had backed up a step to look at the door, then down the hallway. Crickets chirp. No other door on the floor, so it must be the right one then.

Throughout his entire conversation with his brother he had noted little things that were out of place. An extremely ugly painting on the wall grinned at him with Kristoph's prodigy's name scrawled at the bottom. Tables were cluttered with serious-looking books – sleepy if you ask Klavier and...What is that? Ah-hah! He has found a magazine most inappropriate slotted between the books! – and the chairs doubled as shelves for school paperwork.

"Who is that?" He had asked, pointing at a cut-out clipping of a lawyer with antennae-like hair holding a disproportionately large award shaped like a hammer stuck to the wall.

"Hunh." Was Kristoph's answer. "Some lawyer he saw in a magazine that he fancied."

And that was all he would say one the subject. Kristoph was usually tight-lipped, but his lips were like clam shells this time around – he had barely spoken more than the necessary after the initial barrage of information. Klavier was curious as to who this boy was, whom Kristoph had not only allowed into his life, but had messed it up and flushed it down and turn it around. The boy whom, he was heading to meet right now with Kristoph.

"Kristoph, can you please slow down?" He yelled after his brother's disappearing figure. The pavement leading towards the hospital was dark that time of the night, and barely anyone was on it. In fact, there was the none. The occasional hobo tromped up and down the street, waving their empty bottles, but no sign of activity was visible. "The hospital isn't going anywhere, so why are we running towards it like the hell itself is after us?"

"No." He snapped back, not even bothering to look behind. Klavier trailed after his demon-possessed brother in a huff.

"...You act like you're running off to meet your long lost lover, jeez..." Klavier mouthed under his breath. Kristoph stopped in the middle of his tracks and turned around, and Klavier rammed into him. He recoiled, rubbing his injured nose.

"I heard that!" He hissed.

"Well, it's true." Klavier retorted. "Seriously, he's not going anywhere. Take a break, smell the flowers! You're always so pent up, Kris."

"Feel free to take a break and smell the flowers."

Klavier grinned at him. "I knew you weren't actually a stick."

"A-a stick?" Kristoph stared at him agog. "I am most definitely NOT a stick."

"You are. In the mud, I might add." He grinned at his brother's dumbfounded expression. "So can we? Take a break and smell the flowers I mean. Actually, I kind of need to go..."

"I see Europe has not taught you manners," Kristoph muttered. "And feel free to smell the flowers..."

"Sweet!"

"Alone. I'm heading up." And with that he kicked his heels and turned to head into the hospital.

"H-Hey! Jerk!" Klavier yelled after him as he ran after him pass the sliding glass doors. An old woman looked over her nose and thick-rimmed horn glasses at him and shush him. He grinned sheepishly - the hospital, like the road outside was as still and quiet as well...Night and his voiced made an unnatural echo in it. The lobby of the hospital was dimly lighted, like a scene out of a zombie-horror movie and smelled of sickly medication – with only two staff of the medical arm leaning on the counter, flirting with each other.

"Dr. White." His brother said, inclining his head at the doctor teasing the nurse behind the counter. Seeing the man, the doctor's face hardened and assumed a craggy demeanour.

"Oh hey! If it isn't the studious lawyer himself. How ya doin', folks? Glad to see my five notices finally got through your inbox."

Kristoph pursed his lips and bit back a no-doubt acidic retort. "I was...Distracted."

The doctor glanced at him, then at Kristoph. "Hunh. Distracted huh? Wait...Don't tell me – What kind of distracted did you say it was again?" He scratched his chin, which showed the slightest hint of stubble, with a sly grin.

Kristoph blinked. "He's my brother."

"Oh. There you went and ruin my wet dream." White projected a mock-sigh and slumped his shoulders forwards with a look that suggested serious bereavement. Klavier had to chuckle at that one. He stepped forward to introduce himself.

"Klavier Gavin, nice to meet you."

A grunt. "You sure you're his brother and not his second kid or something?"

"I'm sure," Kristoph snapped. "How is Apollo?"

White leaned onto the counter on his elbow, answering nonchalantly. "Dead."

"What?" Kristoph stuttered. "But you- the message -"

"Yeah, well, that was hours ago. Kid woke up, kid died. Happens all the time." He slapped Kristoph's back, who was sporting a stunned expression. Klavier looked at the him questioningly and he winked at him. Ah...Klavier brought up a hand to hide his smile. A joke then. The perfect thing to loosen up his brother.

"I—He's really dead?"

"Yeap, iced. Packed and ready for consumption."

"But that's- It was just a couple of hours ago!" He narrowed his eyes at the good doctor. "This isn't some kind of joke, is it?"

"Of COURSE not!" The doctor announced loudly, with a hand to his heart. "You doubt me?"

"No but I--" Kristoph stopped mid sentence. Then he asked quietly, looking broodingly at the tiles. "Can I see him?"

The doctor stared at him. "Uh—See him?"

"Yes. Can I?"

"I um- well. That's to say – He's dead, ain't he?"

Kristoph looked aside. "So? How does death impinged upon my ability to see him?" He snapped, a touch defensive.

And that was it. Klavier couldn't hold it in anymore – the sheer incredulity of the situation and the expression on both Kristoph's face and Dr. White – a resigned look on one and an utterly dumbfounded look on the other – as though it never once occurred to him that Kristoph would want to see Apollo's dead self. He wiggled horizontally to Kristoph's back to shield himself from his line of sight and burst into laughter. It was the hardest thing ever to do – to laugh and not make a sound at the same time – and he failed miserably, snorting like a horse.

"Klavier, why are you --" Kristoph stopped dead, staring at his self. He was laughing so hard his whole body shook and he was doubled over, half falling onto the ground.

"O-Oh my Gott, Kristoph, if you can only see y-your face--"

Kristoph turned around to pin a gulping Dr. White with a death-stare. "You..." He snarled.

"Okay, okay, now listen here!" The doctor inched backwards. Kristoph advanced, flexing an angry scarred hand. "One, violence in the hospital premise is not good for your health."

"...Should have..." He swung a fist at his direction.

"Two, even if you break me into three pieces – and that's actually really hard to do mind you," The doctor ducked a blow. The old lady started shouting at the top of her voice for Kristoph and the doctor to cut it out, waving her arms at Klavier to help break up the fight, but he was still immobilized by laughter. "Well, this is a hospital, so they can patch me up real quick, and I won't even have a scar to -WATCH THAT FACE – brag to beer buddies about."

"...been aborted..." A swipe at his head.

"Wow, that's harsh, I mean really --

Another.

"-- Abortion might have deprived society of an excellent healer." He made a bad turn and ended up in a corner of the lobby.

"BEFORE BEING A MENACE TO SOCIETY!" Kristoph snarled and lunged at the cornered doctor--- before being pulled off by Klavier just in time.

"Chill, bruder. Just because you have no sense of humour, we're free to have it you know," Klavier said to Kristoph, who was racked with shudders from the effort it took him to restrain himself. "It's under the little clause called free will."

"It's not funny!"

"Yes it is! I laughed at you!"

"That's the point, it's not funny to me! And there's nothing funny about making Apollo out to be dead!" He backed off, still panting. "You-- He pointed a finger at Klavier – stop laughing before I po--"

His mouth snapped shut in mid-sentence. Klavier looked at him questioningly – what had he been about to say?

"Before you what? Po---und me? Po---ooounch me? Pooo-uncee on me?"

Kristoph straightened himself, and muttered, not quite meeting Klavier's eye. "Let's just go. It was a slip, that's all."

Sure didn't sound like that. "Ya kay, Kris? You look frazzled. Why don't we come back tomorrow?"

"No. The joke might be real then."

Touché. The doctor nodded, and lead them to the elevator, and the both of them trailed after him – suddenly as somber as a funeral.

Klavier leaned against the whitewashed walls of the twenty-second floor, where Apollo had been moved following his stable condition and turned his head so that he faced the room Apollo had been stationed in – a homey private ward with it's own television set that must cost Kristoph at least a couple of hundreds a night. The hallways here were a little brighter than those on thirtieth floor, Kristoph commented on their way down the hall, pointing at the fluorescent lights basking the company in it's sickly glow – but that was the only thing he had said during the entire trip up - the whole trip had lasted in complete silence. It seemed that the joke had left a bad taste in Kristoph mouth, and he was reluctant to speak himself.

Despite how entertaining the little incident, he had to admit that there was another change he hadn't observed while he was first entered the apartment – something he had noticed when Kristoph lashed out at the doctor. There was more than the shallow physical changes in their house – there was a change in it's owner – Kristoph himself too.

He watched as Kristoph walked into the room. A pale, sickly looking boy – though he supposed it was to be expected - the sole occupant of the room. The kid, and he called him a kid, even though he wasn't that much younger than himself – was buried under a thick layer of blankets. Kristoph stood beside the bed quietly, silently – but the kid must have sensed he was there anyway, because he struggled to open his eyes. The kid – Apollo, he reminded himself. The kid had a name, not just some faceless person in a faceless crowd – squinted at Kristoph, and Kristoph immediately turned down the light beside him. Apollo grinned and said something, and Kristoph grinned back.

Kristoph never used to show very much expression at all. He was the model of everything that had gone right – the American dream, with a touch of sputzah in the form of an irresponsible rock-god brother – and he was the patriarch of everything stony too. He was like a statue chiseled from Michelangelo's hands – perfect. But that was it, nothing more than stone and cold marble. But he was different now. Today. He wasn't just bottling everything he felt inside him. When he was sad, he grimaced, he mopped. When he was angry, like at the lobby earlier, he showed it. He snapped, he snarled - not maintain the smooth facade of an expressionless man.

The kid tried to get up, pushing hard on the bed to lift himself up. Kristoph frowned at him, saying something. Despite the glass there (Apparently, humanity has given up on privacy in an attempt to be more accessible in case of an emergency) he couldn't make out what they were saying. The walls were thick, and this was the hospital. Kristoph wouldn't shout in here, he wouldn't shout anywhere. Apollo grinned sheepishly, biting his lip – then scowled in concentration, pulling himself up. He succeeded somewhat, and leaned lazily onto a pillow Kristoph propped up with a self-satisfied smile like the cat's that's got the cream. He said something, Kristoph laughed.

Outside, Klavier smiled too. He knew his brother wasn't the paragon of perfection he is taken for – far from it. But maybe he COULD change. Maybe the kid was a nice influence. His phone rang, and he snapped it out. Daryan. He glanced at the two person secluded in their own little world, and walked off to answer his call.

"...And then I asked him, why does this medication taste like strawberries?" Apollo said from below a white blanket, grinning up at Kristoph, all cheer and spunk. "And you know what he said?"

"No, what?" Kristoph tilted his head with an indulgent smile. It was nice to see Apollo bouncing back after being so sick.

"It was his girlfriend's lunch! He took it by mistake and I ate it!" Apollo laughed, and Kristoph chuckled with him.

"He IS a rather terrible doctor." He allowed, smiling.

"Oh no no, he's a really good one. Just a terrible person." Apollo glanced behind him, at the direction of the window. "Hey..."

"Hmm?"

Kristoph turned around to look too, but no one was there.

"I thought I saw..." Apollo frowned at him. "No, never mind I must be seeing things." He stared at the spot he had left Klavier at earlier harder. "I could have sworn I saw this guy from a poster standing right there."

"It must be your mind playing tricks."

"Yeah," Apollo grinned again, pointing at the television. "Can you turn it on? I've been dying to see the news."

Kristoph got up with a heavy mock-sigh. "You and your news, Apollo. "

"It's not as bad as your nail polish – at least mine serves a purpose : To educate the ignorant of what's happening."

"Fair enough. I will let that slur against nail polish slide." He switched on the television and turned down the volume a little. Come to think of it, he was dying to know what was on the news too. He hadn't had time to check neither the news nor the paper since he's little... tête-à-tête with the chief police. He would have to examine the news log later for any possible mention of a poisoned boy.

The news rolled on, a repeat of the news program from earlier in the night, and the female newscaster begin to drone on about the news. A pair of celebrities photographed together. The chief police of Los Angeles making an offensive remark about a senator. Senator shit-fights. A skirmish in some unknown and unheard of part of the world. No mention of poisoned victims anywhere.

"Huh..." Apollo made a strange sound from the bed. He was straining his neck a little, trying to get a better view of the television.

"Did you pulled something?" He inquired.

"No no, it's just...Heh." Apollo chuckled. The chuckle turned into a cough, then a series of them, and Kristoph frowned at him. "I just....It's funny." He paused, staring into space. "I got admitted into the hospital, and it feels like such a big deal to me. But then I turn on the news and I realize exactly how insignificant my ordeal is compared to the news out there."

The newscaster droned on in the lapse.

"It's just that. Then I hear news about some celebrity being reported to be talking all chummy-like to some other celebrity, and then I wonder : THIS is more important than the massive amount of car wrecks and deaths and murders out there? Some guy liking some girl?"

Kristoph's head snapped up at the mention of the word 'murder'. A long moment of silence, in which they stared at each other, like adversaries before a match.

"Do I know, is that what you want to ask?" Apollo was looking at him with his unwavering gaze. "The answer's no." He stated, but Kristoph couldn't relax. His next words proved it. "But I can guess, and I can guess quite a lot."

He stared at the newscaster.

"Don't dare to even look me in the eye?"

He didn't.

"Chickenshit."

Kristoph smiled a little at that one. "That's an interesting euphemism."

"It's an apt one." That cut the smile off.

"How did you figure it out?"

"By using my brain. Beep. Wrong question, Mr. Gavin, sir. Try again." he snapped.

"When then?"

"When you're comatose there isn't much else to think about, other than why you happened to be so."

"Ah." Kristoph continued staring into the television screen without registering a single iota of what the woman was saying. "What gave it away?"

"Oh, um, hey. Maybe the fact that you show up at my school, blabbering like crazy, and then shortly afterwards I get sick from drinking the juice YOU gave me?" Apollo sneered at him. "Get real Kristoph, I'm not stupid. I can piece it together."

He refused to look at him.

"So then the next question is why? Why did you do it?" He announced in a falsetto. "And the simplest answer seems to be : Because I 'know'. Am I right, father ?" The last word was a vicious bite, to remind him that he was the one who signed up for him in the first place.

"Well, aren't I?" he repeated in a snarl.

"Yes," Kristoph stated simply. That seemed to stun Apollo, the confession, and they lapse into awkward silence. The newscaster was rattling off football results.

"So what do you want now, now that you know? A brand new law thriller?" He joked, in an attempt to lighten the situation. It played to an empty audience – Apollo's face remained stony.

"I want out." He announced. Kristoph's heart skipped a beat.

"Out?"

"Yeah, you heard me. I want out. Just send me back to the Fish. Tell her I broke your favourite vase. Tell her I'm a jerk. Tell her I'M the psychopath, just send me back HOME."

Kristoph did not miss the slur.

"May I ask why?" He asked mildly.

"Gee, I don't know, Mr. GRANT. I'm not really a fan of your cuisine. Maybe that's why?"

"Don't behave like a child, Apollo. This isn't a mud-fight."

"Okay. So let's behave like an adult then. Maybe I should start by forging an Apollo. How does that sound? I should pay someone in a dark alley somewhere in New York to have a fake me made, maybe with glitter too. You know glitter, Kristoph? It's that shiny shiny thing people put on cards. Heard it's really popular these days." Kristoph grounded his teeth in respond.

"Then I can get myself a kid! Not the goat, the real kind I mean. The kind that you actually have to assume responsibility for? Gosh, I wonder if I'm up for it. But that's okay, everyone seems to be doing it anyway and it's fine! If things don't work out, I'll just give him a lethal dose of Cyanide, just between the two of us, like a bonding sorta thing, know what I mean?"

Apollo's voice started getting louder, and both his fists were clenched tightly in the sheets.

"Then while I'm at it, why don't I go ahead and butter up some fat cat to bail me out of trouble when I get convicted for it?"

Kristoph stared at him, his pulse quickening. How had he --

His surprise did not escape Apollo. "And once more, ladies and gentlemen, the question is : How does he know? No doubt the great and almighty Kristoph Gavin wouldn't leave trails for some wannabe stupid kid out of the suburbs to find. And...golly, isn't the answer simple?" He smiled a sickly sweet smile."The news, honey. It's not hard to figure it out. Kid got poisoned by own father, end quote. Surely that's more sensational than a bomb exploding somewhere Americans have never even heard of? Straight right out of the oven and in this very own city too! How does a person cover all that shit up? Can't be by licking it himself. No indeed, he must have contacts to help him eat up the muck."

Apollo finished with a grand flourish of his hand, then lapse into a violent cough. Kristoph got up to pat his back. Apollo shove him away.

"Don't touch me." He bit out. Kristoph winced as if he was slapped. The effort made him cough again – but this time Kristoph didn't lay a hand on him. Apollo was staring at his hand like it was poisonous.

"So...What do you plan to do if I do send you home?" He asked quietly.

"WHEN you send me home. I'm serious, Kristoph. Stick me back in the orphanage or you'll have to come after me with a gun to stop me from blabbing on you."

"The question remains."

A muscle twitched in Apollo's tightly clenched jaw. "I don't know. Apply for a scholarship. Failing that, I'll just...live? It's not that hard to live without a scrap of paper. God knows the paper doesn't guarantee sanity of mind." He lashed out another verbal blow, but the venom was mostly gone. He was getting tired too.

"At least..." The words caught in his throat. "...At least let me help you."

"I don't need your sympathy," Apollo spat out. "All I want is a paper, and being free of you. All else is secondary."

"And if I say I'm sorry?" The question was said softly, but Apollo heard it nonetheless.

"Sorry...?" His fist twisted the fabric around it, creasing it, clawing into it until it resembled a violent vortex. "Sorry? So what if you say sorry, Kristoph? What's so great and awesome about your 'sorry' that it has to make a difference in anything? Why is everything about you? KRISTOPH KRISTOPH KRISTOPH KRISTOPH, that's what all of these is about, isn't it? You forge stuff 'cuz it helps YOU win, 'cuz it makes YOU famous. You poison me, and who knows who else because we could reveal dirt on YOU, don't you?"

He couldn't get up to hit him or shout at him effectively, so he snatched up a cup sitting on the bed-table and flung it at Kristoph's head. Kristoph sidestepped it, and it shattered on the wall. Apollo's voice rose a dozen octaves higher, his voices fraying a little at it's edges from the volume, his body shaking from the strain.

"-- AND ALL THESE, ALL THESE CRAP IS BECAUSE YOU WANT SOMETHING, OR YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, OR BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST PLAIN SELFISH! Tell me Kristoph! What's so great about that word of yours that can undo everything you've done? Because you're sorry, because you vow to be better, verdicts can be changed? Or the noose around the convicted's neck can magically untwist itself, and he'll rise back to life? Huh? ANSWER ME!! "

The room shuddered at the strain of his volume. Kristoph had nothing to say. Apollo was tired of saying. They stared at each other, two adversaries locked in a problem that neither had a solution to.

Silence, and Apollo's heavy breathing from the exertion.

"...If I may say something?"

The both of them jumped, noticing for the first time the head poking through a slight opened door.

"Ah, silence is good then. Silence is acceptance." Dr. White strolled into the room as though he owned the place. Come to think of it, maybe he did.

Surprisingly, it was Apollo who voiced the question. "D-Did you--" He turned pale at the implication of what he could have overhead, looking over at Kristoph. Kristoph showed no emotion, and Apollo swallowed, turning away.

"Did I hear what was being said? Well, it's kind of hard not to. Bravo kid, you probably just earn the hospital a cool million in hearing aid." He randomly picked a chair and dropped into it. "So, what's this I hear about forgeries? Sounds juicy, not to mention..." He slide a sly glance at Kristoph with a feline smile. "...Decisively illegal, I would say."

Kristoph was unshakable, after Apollo's request. He felt oddly calmed by it actually. At the very least, he would no longer have to listen to Apollo's gut-wrenching tirade, though potential blackmail from a devil's advocate seemed to be cold comfort.

"And what of it? I welcome all attempts to have me disbarred." He said coolly, raising a disdainful eyebrow at the man.

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him in return. "Pshaw, I wouldn't do that. You know me. Under these layers of dirt, I actually have a heart of gold."

"It must have been stolen some time ago then, assuming it's solid."

He flashed a grin. "Well, I wouldn't try to get you disbarred...But that probably would." He jerked a thumb at a machine in the room. It looked like the kind that had been plugged into Apollo, but was switched off.

"Oh? Planning a lawsuit using a machine and it's lines, on the grounds of distressing patients? Try again later, and good luck trying to explain that to the judge." He sneered.

"Oh no, I'm not going to stomp the courthouse yard with a flimsy lawsuit like that. I like money you know, and my idea of spending it is not on lawyers. No no, it's what's IN the machine that will clinch the hat trick. There's a...Mouse in there, let's just say. Pretty silent and cute. Got a good ear too."

Kristoph's face turned stony and he gave him a grim stare. "It's illegal to eavesdrop on peoples' conversations using bugs, bug. I should think even you can understand that."

"Illegal in law, unless you practice it yourself."

"Meaning?" Kristoph narrowed his eyes at the doctor. He merely smiled at them indulgently like he was waiting for a caller for his game show.

"The police planted it here?" Apollo asked, expressionless too.

"Give the boy some hair gel! That's right! Couple of dicks today walked in, and planted the thing in there. I happened to be the one telling them which wire NOT to touch, and how to put the machine back."

"How does a doctor even know that? Sure you guys know how to use it, but do they even teach you the construction of the equipment in medicine? I find that hard to believe." Apollo stated coldly.

White shrugged. "I'm a jack-of-all-trades."

"And master of none, it would seem," Kristoph added. "You realize that if it's sending information to the police headquarters, you could well be in trouble too?"

"No, my dear. It seems that I, like you, have quite a golden card to bail me out of jail too. And anyway, it's not that kind. It records in a disk inside it, and has to be taken out before they can see it."

"And you know this with your admirable knowledge of medicine?"

"Nah. To quote a particular Hippocratic oath : 'I will not be ashamed to say "I know not" '. The dicks told me they're coming back in a couple of days to replace it with a new one, and will need my professional aid."

"And you're telling this to me because..."

"Not to you." The doctor injected, with a scowl for the first time on his face. " I don't give a rat ass what happens to you. All I'm worried about is this : If the case gets dragged onto court the kid--" He pointed forcefully at Apollo. "--will be hauled in for testimony. There's no way he can survive hours of grilling from the court. He'll survive longer with his signature on a death warrant. He'll drop dead within 5 minutes of being stuck up in the witnesses' stand"

"How touching," Kristoph sneered.

"At least SOMEONE around here cares." He sneered back.

That touched a nerve. Deadlock, and a lapse into silence again.

Then Apollo spoke quietly, wheezing under his breath. "They have no case against him anyway."

"I beg your pardon." White said, affronted. "Feel free to disbelieve me, but they can most definitely nab him."

"No they can't." Apollo repeated stubbornly, boring his gaze into the doctor. "Because they can't base a case only a recording. Recordings can be edited."

"Voices then. Those can be analyzed."

"And those can be snipped and made into something else altogether too. One tiny voice recording isn't enough to put anyone in jail."

"And hence, they will have you testify against him."

"I won't testify against him." Apollo stated, matter-of-fact. White stared at him. Kristoph stared at him too. He couldn't believe what he just heard.

"Ever." He snapped at the doctor, as though he harboured illusions of making him testify. "And no such thing will be necessary. Kristoph, take the thing out. And you--" He jabbed a finger at the doctor. "--You will help us."

" And if I don't? Death to the dissenters?"

Apollo merely looked at him and snapped. "Stop being stubborn. You told us about it for one reason, and if you're going to send someone east, send them all the way there. Obviously I can't help, so hop to it."

"Aye-aye, matey," the doctor saluted, grinning.

They locked the door, and for the next half an hour, got to work at removing the bug inside the machine. Dr. White kindly hopped down to the janitor's room to retrieve a bunch of screwdrivers, and they made short work of it. Kristoph left twice to check on something outside, but in the end they managed to retrieve a small rectangular object from the insides of the equipment. It was grey, two inches wide, and barely bigger than a cellphone – but it was recording everything they said.

"Alright...There we go..." White held up the bug like it was a precious newborn and lifted it with two fingers up into the light to examine it. "So, who gets to destroy this thing?"

"If you think I'll let you walk out of here holding that thing, you're crazy." Kristoph stated simply, and begin to methodically recombine the machine.

"Aye, I knew today would be a bad day. Knew it from the chill in my bones." The doctor pulled a sad face and handed it to him when he was done. Then he left, poking his head in one last time before he left. "And yes, don't take too long now. Wouldn't want your 'stray' to wander around here lost." He winked at him and retrieved his head before Kristoph could throw something at it.

The door slammed shut with a note of finality.

Left alone again, with silence as their poor mistress.

They suffered in silence like that for a long while, before Apollo gave up and lied down.

"I'm tired. Please leave," he ordered. When Kristoph did not respond, he switched off the light, and the only thing they could hear was the sound of their own breathing.

After a long while, Kristoph finally spoke. "You asked me earlier : So what if I'm sorry, didn't you?"

Apollo didn't answer, but Kristoph could tell he wasn't asleep. His ears were pricked up and he was as alert as he was. "And all I have to say is this : My 'sorry' can't undo anything. If you had died yesterday, or today, it won't do anything. It won't bring you back to life, and it probably won't exist anyway, because there's no one I would say it to."

Soft breathing.

"...But it's all I have to offer. I'm sorry, Apollo."

Apollo didn't answer for a long time. A clock ticked noisily in the darkness, and Kristoph counted at least half an hour before he left, thinking that Apollo either refused to speak to him, or that he had fallen asleep.

Apollo had lain awake all night thinking about that statement and massaging his wrist, where his bracelet usually was.

Kristoph walked out of the hospitals with a coat borrowed from Doctor White - and immediately ran back in. The man had saw him shivering just at the sight of the heavy snow piled outside. There had been a freak storm and now the snow lied almost a feet above the ground. Trying to ride out of the place was impossible, and would do as much good as walking home. Kristoph had returned to the lobby to witness Klavier throwing a tantrum, calling his manager and yelling at someone on the line.

"...It's cold. I'm cold. I'm miserable. Get me out of here. Fast."

"Klavier, stop acting like a spoiled brat." Kristoph chided, falling into a row of plastic chairs. He was tired, and had a long day ahead of him.

"I'm not acting like a spoiled brat. I'm acting like a spoiled brat trapped inside a hospital, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, with the heater broken."

Kristoph merely grunted, wrapping the coat around him and curling into sleep on the uncomfortable chair. Tired of his own antics a little while later, Klavier joined his brother on the row of chairs, trying to get Kristoph to share his coat and squabbling like children over it. Twice they were woken up by Klavier's screaming fan-nurse.

And so the brothers, one a rock-god, one a lawyer of renown fell asleep in the hospital lobby with their heads knocked against each other and Klavier snoring loudly while the snow outside drifted down like a blanket of white.

"What's that you're typing out?" Klavier asked from over Kristoph shoulder. He minimized it and glared at his brother, who was chewing a piece of toast with a cup of his morning, watered down beer.

"It's none of your business," he snapped. "Peeping is rude, Klavier."

"Bitchy, bitchy." Klavier mumbled, snagging Kristoph hot tea off the table and drinking it in one gulp. "Ah, excellent. What blend?"
"Royal." He shutdown his laptop and started stashing his papers into a briefcase. "Now, I'm afraid I have to abandon you for the comfort of my office, where I can work without people looking over my shoulder while I do it."

"Why so early? It's only..." He slide a glance at Kristoph's watch. "...Eight. It's always nice to be fashionably late."

"Says the guy who flies halfway down the states because his brother slept in."

Klavier chuckled. "Well, it's you. You never sleep in. I --" He yawned to emphasis his point. "-On the other hand, need my beauty sleep. So sorry, but I can't play with you today, brother dearest."

He tapped Kristoph's head playfully and sauntered off to the guest bedroom, since Kristoph refused to let him use Apollo's last night.

He organized his files and folders and walked out of the apartment and down the building quickly, refusing to let himself think too much. In the car, he turned on the music so loud that it drowned out any possible thoughts and even made a neighbouring car honked at him, telling him to tone the funeral down. His office, neatly tucked in a fashionable corner of a fashionable street filled with lawyers hoping for the fashionable demise of their surrounding people so that they could sue someone, turned out to be empty, as he had expected. His secretary wasn't there yet, and she likely would be late, thinking that Mr. Gavin won't be in today either.

Fine with him, he needed to think.

He had drove down to the institute shortly after the snow let out, as soon as he ditched Klavier back at his apartment. The Fish was much upset, more put-upon, and severely depressed while handing him the necessary papers to return Apollo to the litter box. Only the mention that he would try his best to put Apollo in another institute got her hopes up. It wasn't a promise made idly either – he genuinely wanted to move Apollo to a better place – a second visit, one in the middle of the night at that, left him feeling revolted at the place. It felt like a squatter's yard to him – on the way out he had littered the hopelessly dismantled and crushed pieces of the police's bug into the city sewers.

His task now was to type out a legal document – binding Apollo to the agreement, and settling out the wrinkles in the adoption. He didn't want his secretary to type it out, for obvious reasons – but he found he had great difficulty concentrating long enough to type three sentences at one go. His mind trailed after his fingers, and he ended up typing long strings of drivel into the computer.

Once he was done, Apollo would no longer belong to him – neither as a son, nor as a friend of any sort. He would be on the fast track back to an orphanage, and Kristoph would return to his unhindered life of becoming a super-attorney. And his wish comes true. This was what he had hoped for when he had first adopted Apollo – to be rid of him – and now in a twisted roundabout way, rather like those sham of a trial of Wright's, he would end up without him, and regain his hours of silence, sitting in the middle of a swirl of a social life amongst the elite of the law, and his classical music.

Back to the walls grinning at him, as though gloating at the very fact that they were the only who really knew him.

Back to hours spent in silence, plotting someone's demise - someone who had gotten themselves accidentally dragged into his bottomless whirlpool.

His nails bite into the paper he was holding, punching neat holes into it. That's enough, he stated coldly to himself. Apollo made his decision, and a decision has been made.

He typed the document out.

When he was done, he left the office, not even bothering to leave his dumbfounded and stuttering secretary instruction. Just tell any client who walks in to call me later, he instructed crisply, then walked out with only a binder-full of papers. Good help, he thought grimly, was like a pink thundercloud. Maybe he can hire Apollo to be a paralegal – god knows the kid knows enough of it, the law – if he was willing. His step was methodical as he stomped down the stairs leading to his office. He was starting to come to terms with the fact that he would no longer go home to a barrage of 'Objections!' thrown around the house with the 'chord of steels' Apollo had been so proud of. When questioned as to the origin of the word, Apollo had sheepishly admitted it was from a Steel Samurai-Jammin' Ninja crossover special in which they combined to use a special technique by that name that blows everyone away.

Kristoph chuckled softly at the thought and punched twenty-two on the elevator panel. The elevator whizzed silently up to Apollo's floor, and he stepped off it.

Apollo was sleeping when he entered the room, and he took the chance to observe him. It would probably be the last time he saw him, if Apollo got his way. He looked like a child, Kristoph thought – WAS a child, he reminded himself – and looked as vulnerable as one. Had he really tried to poison him? He wondered. No excuses for that, he thought grimly. Apollo opened his eyes.

"Mmm..." Apollo mumbled sleepily, climbing up from the bed. He looked much better today, and Kristoph told him.

"Thanks, I feel better too." He looked up at Kristoph still blurry-eyed. Then his gaze switched to his briefcase. "Did you bring the papers?"

"Yes."

"You work fast."

"Thanks."

Two quick clicks, and the briefcase popped open. They reminded Kristoph of the sound a gun made when you ready it for firing.

"Here you go," he said, handing Apollo a thick bunch of papers, including those from the orphanage. "Since you're almost eighteen, you're only going to stay at the orphanage for a few more months before you're allowed to leave."

"Huh..." Apollo chuckled. "I feel like Harry Potter, going home for the summer. What's this?" He pointed at the name of another institute.

"Well...I figured since you don't like that institute of yours, you can go to another one. One with nicer people."

"Your people, you mean?"

"...I only received your announcement yesterday, Apollo. I don't have a hobby of scouring orphanages well enough to merit a lackey there."

Apollo just shrugged. "Tell me where to sign," he said.

"This one," Kristoph handed him the document he typed out.

"What is it?"

"It's a document dissolving all legal binding responsibilities between us."

"I see," Apollo scanned the document, reading through all the clauses and fine print in case Kristoph was out to catch him. There were none, but Kristoph was proud that he did anyway – he had taught him well.

"Pen please."

Moment of truth. He handed Apollo the pen, and Apollo signed it, and started writing a statement acknowledging it. Kristoph watched from beside the bed quietly as he listened to the almost melodious scrapping of the pen against the paper. Apollo's writing was neat – though not meticulous, and strong and crisp. Kind of like him, Kristoph thought.

Apollo finished writing it and set the pen down. Kristoph reached out a hand to take them, suddenly just wanting to get it over with and go home, but the boy slapped his hand away.

"Before that, where's my bracelet?"

"Bracelet...?"

"Yeah, the thing I always wear? It's not here," Apollo raised his left hand, wriggling it for him to see. "I want it back."

Kristoph nodded and headed off to find a nurse to retrieve the things they took and kept for Apollo and handed it back to him. He immediately slipped it into place.

"Why? Does that bracelet mean something?" Kristoph asked, unable to resist the habit of being sneaky.

"No," Apollo stated simply, giving him a look that told him he knew exactly what he was trying to do. "But it makes me feel safer."

"Now then..." He organized the papers, then held them for a moment. He looked up at Kristoph. "Tell me, what you said yesterday. Did you really mean it?"

"...Yes." He answered simply.

"Okay. Say it again," Apollo said, tilting his head upwards in challenge.

Kristoph looked at the boy, who was staring holes into his head, as though trying to see right through it and smiled gently.

"I'm sorry, Apollo."

There would be nothing for him to see if he could anyway – he genuinely meant it.

Apollo stared at him, for what felt like the longest time in the world.

Then Kristoph opened his mouth to speak--

A grotesque sound of paper atoms being torn apart echoed in the room and Kristoph stared, stunned, at what Apollo was doing. He was in the process of dismembering the paper into tiny bits of almost exact sizes.

When he was done, he let the paper fall from his fingers onto the sheets and gave a dramatic, exaggerated sigh. "Oops, look what I did, Kristoph. You really should say that more often, look what I reduce the paper to in my shock."

Kristoph grinned at him. "I can buy you a new one if you want."

"Just get me a guava juice." Apollo said, grinning back.

He didn't make a single poisonous remark all afternoon, and Kristoph knew he was forgiven.

And...Plot holes left unanswered. *Bang bang, I hit the ground* What do you guys think of White? I am thinking of making him a real OC (as in, flesh him out some more, not in this story but in others as well? Well either way, yes or no - what do you think of his personality?