Apollo had to admit—working at the Agency was one of the most difficult things he'd had to adjust to since leaving law school. The actual work hadn't been too different from what he'd been doing so far, but everything else…well, it couldn't have been more outlandish. The eccentric lifestyle. The strange props covering every corner of the place. Trucy's impromptu magic tricks that always, always sent his paperwork flying. For a while, it all seemed impossible to get used to.
In reality, he only needed two weeks. Sure, things were weird, but with Trucy's help, he eventually came up with the answer to everything. Three random pigeons hopping on the coffee table? Magic. That fork floating over a plate of eternally fresh spaghetti? Magic. Important court documents turning into confetti? Magic. Apollo's last, undying sliver of patience? You guessed it—magic.
With an open mind and a lot of exasperation, Apollo was finally able to say the words "get your wand and panties off of this table so I can work" without stuttering from sheer embarrassment.
Trucy called it character development. He called it "survival." Either way, he'd managed to overcome half of his struggles with just a little time.
That's right. Half.
The other half? All from the legendary attorney himself: Phoenix Wright.
Aside from his top-notch deduction skills, Phoenix also had the exceptional ability to infuriate Apollo like no other. At first, Apollo strained to exchange even a few words with the ex-attorney. Soon, it didn't take long for almost every conversation between them to devolve into some sort of heated argument.
In hindsight, though…"argument" wasn't even the right word.
Apollo would struggle to suppress his irritation, unable to restrain some of his annoyance. Phoenix would grow amused each time Apollo failed to hold back, aggravating the young attorney even more. Ultimately, the one-sided fight would end with Phoenix shrugging it off, leaving Apollo fuming for hours after.
He still remembered one of the clashes they'd had. Phoenix had been sprawled on one of the couches, whiling away a lazy Sunday. Across from him, Apollo cradled a fresh mug of coffee, scrutinizing document after document.
"Having fun, Apollo?" Phoenix said. Apollo kept his eyes on his paperwork.
"Clearly, Mr. Wright."
Phoenix laughed. "Wow. You're more sarcastic than me, huh?"
Apollo didn't bother responding. He was losing focus, and his brain was already buzzing from translating heaps of legal jargon.
That didn't stop Phoenix. "You know, I always wondered…why do you use so much hair gel?"
Apollo downed a swig of coffee, nearly losing his place. "It's just my style."
"Ah. I remember when I used to use hair gel." Phoenix mused, adjusting his beanie. "You aren't trying to imitate me, are you?"
Apollo choked in the middle of another sip, coughing profusely. Phoenix raised his eyebrows.
"Wait…really?" The ex-attorney said, "I was just kidding…I didn't know you idolized me that much—"
"N-No!" Apollo managed to stammer. He cleared his throat, setting the coffee mug back on the table. "That's not…I didn't—"
"Well, it is kind of flattering. You know what they say about imitation, right?" Before Apollo could respond, Phoenix stroked his chin and continued. "Hmm. Why else would you use it?"
It was too late. Despite skimming over the page in front of him multiple times, Apollo couldn't find the last sentence he'd been reading. "Damn it…I don't know where I was."
"Take a break, kid. Your head's gonna explode." Phoenix said. Apollo stared at him reluctantly, but Phoenix was too lost in contemplation to notice. "Maybe…you want to look taller?"
Apollo's eyebrow twitched. He crossed his fingers, trying desperately to remain civil. "I need to get this done, Mr. Wright."
Phoenix shook his head, glancing in Apollo's direction. "Come on. It can't just be because you're short, can it?"
"It's not because I'm—! Just…no, okay?" Apollo said, barely managing to tone himself down. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. "If I tell you, will you let me work?"
"Hey, this is a break." Phoenix protested. At Apollo's dry expression, he gave in. "Alright, alright. Tell me."
Apollo fiddled with tips of his hair spikes, trying to capture his feelings in words. "It's like…like a sort of routine. It gives me some confidence, just standing in front of the mirror and making myself look exactly how I want to."
"Oh." Phoenix scratched his head, looking as though he were piecing together a complex mental puzzle. "You like a sense of control."
"I guess you could put it that way." Apollo said. Phoenix nodded.
"So…you never wear your hair down?"
"I mean…not really." Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Only if I'm tired, or super stressed. Maybe I'd look better, but…it's just my thing."
"What about when you're relaxing?" Phoenix asked. "Or going to a concert? Or for something formal?"
"I'd still keep it for those last two events. I've done it this way for so long, it feels normal." Apollo said. "As for relaxing…well, I don't think I would, but I…I haven't been relaxed…in a long time…"
Apollo trailed off, too uncomfortable to continue. Phoenix blinked.
"Apollo…do you think you've been working too hard?"
"What? No, Mr. Wright!" Apollo exclaimed, sitting up straight. Phoenix slid off the couch and stood up, striding towards him.
"You know what? Let's just take the day off."
"I'm fine, Mr. Wri—wait, what?"
With a simple shrug, Phoenix reached over and swept all of Apollo's documents off of the coffee table.
"What the…Mr. Wright!"
"Now, don't get too worked up, Apollo." Phoenix said. Apollo immediately fell to the floor and started picking up all the sheets, trying to organize them the way he had sorted before Phoenix's unwanted intervention. "Let your hair down."
Phoenix chuckled, impressed by his own wordplay. Apollo shot him a withering glare. "We needed to get that done! You just undid all the work I've been doing—!"
"Just relax." Phoenix reached down, ruffling Apollo's hair. "We'll do it later."
"No, I'll do it later!" Apollo swatted away Phoenix's hand and shot to his feet, unable to keep his composure any longer. "I'm the one who does everything around here! You just…you…argh!"
Apollo scooped up whatever remaining papers he could and stormed away from Phoenix, locking himself in another room. He'd ended up working the rest of the day.
He'd been so angry with Mr. Wright back then. The memory had stuck, irritating him well after Phoenix had apologized and forgotten about the whole thing.
Now, he missed it.
Apollo leaned against the closet wall, stretching out his legs the best he could. Everything was cramped. His arms were pressed up against a corner, twisted behind his back. His feet competed for space with four other pairs of shoes, barely having enough room to move. No matter what he did, he couldn't get comfortable.
If only he'd relaxed back then.
I have to think of a way to tell him.
He didn't know how long it had been since Kristoph had thrown him in here. At any moment, the murderer could fling open the door and drag him back out, demanding his end of the deal. Apollo had to come up with something by then. If he didn't…
He won't let me say goodbye to Mr. Wright.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself once again. Not only did he have to make up the initial message, but he'd have to anticipate Phoenix's responses as well. And he had to say it in a way that would prevent Phoenix from thinking anything was wrong.
The idea of escape flashed through his mind one more time. He batted it away, bitter that every scenario he could think of ended in horrible, horrible failure.
Getting out of here now was out of the question…the handcuffs were made of metal, and he could barely muster the energy to move. That just left trying something over the phone.
If he yelled anything, Kristoph would kill him. Plain and simple.
If he refused to speak, Kristoph would either threaten him, torture him, or kill him.
If he tried to signal something, there was a very slim chance that Phoenix would decipher it. However, there was an even greater possibility that Phoenix would rush over in concern, falling right into Kristoph's web.
Most likely, though, Kristoph would pick up on it. And then kill him.
He was trapped.
Okay, let's try again, he thought, One more time. I'm fine.
Apollo closed his eyes, concentrating.
Mr. Wright…it's Apollo. I just wanted to tell you that I…I don't feel like I can come back to the Agency.
He imagined Phoenix's expression. A slight frown. Shock in his eyes at first, gradually transforming into sadness…then understanding. Then: "why not, Apollo? Is everything okay?"
That was the trickiest question. Apollo wasn't sure if he'd be able to pull it off, but he'd have to try.
Yes. I just need some space right now.
Phoenix would probably try to ask him to talk, of course. He'd refuse. Phoenix might ask if he was alright again, and he'd have to swallow all that pain and regret and say yes, he was. And if he succeeded, Phoenix would say, in the most dejected voice, "Alright, Apollo. I understand."
Then there would be only one thing left to say.
Thank you, Mr. Wright. Goodbye.
He couldn't do it.
Apollo felt his throat close at the thought of hanging up. Would that really be the last conversation he'd have with Phoenix? Out of everyone he knew, Phoenix was one of the few that he'd truly ended up opening up to. Phoenix knew what he was like when he was angry. Phoenix had tried to do what was best for him, even if he opposed it. They'd had their disagreements, but…at the end of the day…
Another memory surfaced, unbidden, to the front of Apollo's mind.
The aftermath of the Vera Misham trial.
Right after visiting Vera in the hospital, they'd all returned to the Agency. Trucy had danced around for a bit, still beaming about their lucky victory. Phoenix had poured himself a generous glass of grape juice, swishing it around with a smug smirk. And, after a moment's hesitation, Apollo had asked to use the shower. To "clear his head", he'd said. Phoenix had let him.
Apollo remembered turning the temperature up high, his skin stinging from the burning heat. He'd slicked back his hair, letting the boiling water trickle down his face. Then, once he'd thought the sound of the shower drowned everything else out, he sobbed.
Even now, he still didn't know why he'd started crying. On paper, everything had gone well. Vera's miraculous recovery. The "Not Guilty" verdict. Kristoph's arrest. And yet all he could think about was Klavier's desperation, Kristoph's relentless taunting, Vera's glassy eyes as she collapsed on the stand…
Something had cracked.
He didn't know how long he'd spent in there. After dressing and returning to the living room, though…he noticed Phoenix steal glance at the clock. It was obvious that the ex-attorney had been waiting.
"Feeling better?" Phoenix asked.
"Er…yes, Mr. Wright." he responded. Something seemed off. He shrugged and swept his towel through his damp hair, imitating Phoenix's casual tone. "Thanks for letting me—"
"Don't thank me." Phoenix said. His gaze was unusually sharp. "You needed it, didn't you?"
Apollo stared at Phoenix. Phoenix stared back.
Finally, Apollo spoke.
"Mr. Wright, did you…hear…?"
Apollo couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. He looked away, humiliation smothering whatever words he had left.
Phoenix gently swirled his glass. The grape juice rippled. "Want to talk?"
Apollo hesitated.
Seconds slipped by. Phoenix waited.
"…yeah."
And they did.
I'm not going to do it.
Forget the game. Forget the deal. No matter how many times he rehearsed, he knew he wouldn't be able to cut Phoenix off like that.
There had to be another way.
Apollo pulled his wrists apart until the chain binding them was taut, searching for grooves along the handcuffs with his fingertips. He scrabbled at a set of four rivets, feeling around for an opening…and there it was. A small, shallow gap for a key.
He looked around. What did he have? There was nothing metallic in here…just leather and cloth. For once, he cursed himself for being born a boy. A single bobby-pin would have made the difference between life and death.
Life and death…
Nothing here meant that he'd have to try something once he was let out. And every option there was just going to get him killed.
Apollo groaned. Dead ends everywhere. He found himself wishing he didn't have a tongue, just so he wouldn't have to go through with Kristoph's plan…
Wait.
An uncomfortable idea blossomed in Apollo's mind, suffocating his desire to keep strategizing. He tried to push it away, but the longer he considered it, the more valid it began to seem.
What would Kristoph do if…I couldn't speak?
Force wouldn't work if he was physically unable to comply. It might not be considered disobeying, either—he could feign willingness, only to reveal that it was impossible for him to follow through. Of course, Kristoph could still kill him, but…there would be no sense to it. It wouldn't be as if Apollo was alerting anyone about the situation. Murdering him would just be a waste.
But how could he sabotage his own voice? He couldn't pretend to be mute—Kristoph would just torture it out of him. Screaming was a quick way to lose his voice, but it would catch the attention of everyone in the vicinity…including Kristoph. He chewed his lip, combing through his brain to find something, anything useful.
If I didn't have a tongue…
That was it.
It was crazy, of course. He was going crazy. He curled into himself, hoping to banish the gruesome thought. Nonsense, that's all it was…sheer desperation, shaking his head into a miserable static.
Besides, how would he even do it? He couldn't use his hands. He didn't have any tools. The only way it could work, realistically, was if he bit it off.
Wouldn't that be suicide, though?
Way back in law school, Apollo had once read a case about a woman pleading insanity in court. In a fit of mania, she had grabbed her husband's head and bit off his tongue. Unfortunately, despite clear evidence of psychosis, she was implicated.
Not for assault. Not for domestic abuse. For the murder of her husband, who had died from the injury.
He shuddered, recalling the grisly details. That settled it—there was no point to severing his tongue. After remembering all that, he wasn't sure if he could even cut it, let alone hack it off.
Hold on.
Cutting his tongue wouldn't kill him, would it?
Before he could stop himself, he pushed the tip of his tongue between his front teeth. It didn't seem too bad…if he just sliced the end of it, he doubted it would do any permanent damage.
It would certainly prevent him from speaking for a while, though.
Oh, god. This wasn't some runaway train of thought, or some rogue manifestation of his stress. This had turned into a real plan.
And he was going to do it.
Apollo pressed the back of his head against the wall, steeling his nerves as best as he could. It would hurt like hell, but he had no other choice. He could either stomach the pain and save Phoenix from Kristoph's manipulation…or succumb and become the pawn Kristoph dreamed of.
He stretched his hands, grasping a fallen shirt behind his back. He opened his jaw, resting the edge of his tongue right between the ridges of his teeth. Finally, he balled up the shirt within a tight fist, squeezed his eyes shut, and braced himself.
Sorry, Mr. Wright.
Then he bit down.