The doctors were right. He needed therapy.

Not physical therapy…although, given the state of his arm, that was also a possibility. Stitches could only do so much.

"Are you listening, Mr. Justice?"

Yes, he was. This was about his mental health.

A comprehensive evaluation would be a great start. Identifying the root of his issues might give him some perspective. Rash decisions, on the other hand, would cause more harm. Didn't he remember what they'd said about his lungs? They'd spent days draining the excess air from his chest cavity, and he was fortunate that his ribs hadn't splintered further.

"This is a serious condition…"

He stared down at the file they handed him, scanning the highlighted text. Traumatic pneumothorax. It made him sound like a crushed insect.

Insects had thoraxes, right? Had Trucy taught him that?

"Mr. Justice. Please pay attention."

Ah. Wrong approach. Start over.

Now, they were aware of some of the details. The authorities had kept things quiet, yet as physicians, they couldn't help but worry. He'd been through a lot. Criminal cases weren't common here, but they were more than willing to work with him.

"Would you be open to counseling?"

Definitely not.

It was understandable why he'd want to leave the hospital. Completely understandable, and honestly, when it came to the legality of it…they couldn't stop him. As a lawyer, he should be familiar with that. Still, they had his best interests at heart, and—

Oh. How'd they know his profession?

"Your dad mentioned it."

His dad. He laughed.

Speaking of family, wouldn't his dad want him to stay? After all, they'd seen his dad this morning itself. Signing out like this, especially without talking to his dad first, could create more problems.

Did he want to call? They could give him a cell phone…

He refused to contact anyone else.

"So that's a no, then."

Naturally.

They were persistent. He couldn't care less. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. Or, er, easily distracted object. Same difference.

After a few more attempts and one long, disappointed sigh, they finally gave up.

"Alright. Sign here and you can leave."

He did. The form was pretty aggressive about the whole "against medical advice" bit, except that that wasn't completely true. Sure, he was cutting his treatment short. That didn't mean he disagreed with what they'd told him, though. He'd admitted to the therapy part, hadn't he?

That's because I'm crazy.

Right.

Once they removed his IV, he slipped on Phoenix's hoodie, stretched his limbs, and braced himself.

Time to find Kristoph.

Among the many skills he'd picked up from his week of hell, scheming was one he'd mastered. That's why, half an hour after Klavier's abrupt exit, he decided to make a plan. If he wanted to see Kristoph, he'd have to handle things on his own.

No one knew what he was going through.

Apollo trudged outside, wrapping one of his arms around his torso. The very first thing he'd done was request a supremely high dose of medication, and by god did it help. The pain had been reduced to a slight ache. He also sort of felt like he was floating, but that could wait. With this, he could move around for a short while…just enough to make it to his destination.

Klavier had mentioned that Kristoph was on the same floor. Questioning the staff had revealed that there were two larger units in the ward. He'd feigned curiosity, asking what they were for.

Reserved for severe cases. Perfect.

He just had to reach the end of the hall.

Come on.

Leaning against the wall was the only way he could keep steady. Hopefully, no one would approach him if he seemed relatively healthy. With the hoodie obscuring the swathes of bandages, he could get away with wandering around.

He tugged on his sleeves. Pretty nice of Mr. Wright to leave this behind. Was it a comforting gesture? Something to keep him warm? Technically, it was serving its purpose…just with an added advantage.

Okay, he could see the rooms now. Nurses flitted in and out, occasionally stopping to check their charts. A police officer stood by one of the entrances, listening to a physician give a detailed report. This would be tricky.

There was no way to bypass the medical team, let alone law enforcement. Signing out of his room removed his status as a rogue patient, at least. That left him free to assume another role.

As far as investigations went, victims often had a fair amount of power.

So, he'd walk up. Greet the doctor. Greet the nurse. Persuade the authorities that he could wrench a confession out of Kristoph, closing the case without a fuss. Police loved that sort of stuff.

It would work.

He'd make it work.

"You didn't believe I would notice?"

Ah, fuck.

Apollo jumped when a hand grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. Both his plan and his soul were shattered in an instant.

"K-Klavier. Um…hey."

The strange greeting was paralyzing. For a split second, sheer bewilderment overwhelmed the prosecutor's solemn countenance.

Eventually, it faded…along with Klavier's patience.

"That's what you have to say?" Klavier snapped. Apollo shrank under the man's stern glare, praying for sudden onset invisibility. "You…you…voltrottel. Blöde voltrottel."

The language was lost on him, but not the sentiment. It was rare to see Klavier get angry. Hell, the glimpse from before was nothing compared to this.

"I…was…" he began. Drinking water. Finding a nurse. Sleepwalking, for fuck's sake. "Looking for you."

Wow. Every excuse sucked, and he still managed to pick the worst one.

Klavier scoffed. "I doubt it was me that you wanted to find."

To say that this was less than ideal was borderline facetious. Apollo wrung his cuffs under his fingertips.

"I know you're upset," he said. "Let me—"

"Upset?" Klavier grasped the edge of his hood, eyes burning bright. "I find you missing from your room, and you call me upset?"

Of course someone would check as soon as he left.

"Fine. You're furious," Apollo admitted. Is this what being cornered felt like? "I have reasons, really…"

All of a sudden, his stomach dropped.

Klavier's grip on his collar made his muscles freeze up.

He'll

Bury

Me

ALIVE

"No. You have a stubborn mind."

Sensation drained from his limbs. The pressure had built up to a suffocating degree.

"…Justice?"

G̵̱̑ḙ̶̆t̷̨̞̊ ̶̞͓̆̌ o̷̼̍u̶̜͋t̶̩̆͜ ̸̮̅́ ö̷̟́͊f̸̲̋ ̷͕͙̈́ h̸̫̾i̶̙̽s̵̭̒͝ ̷̘͗ͅ s̷̠̈́̈ĭ̶͖͓͝g̸̖͆ḥ̵̍̿t̴̗̅̽͜

He stumbled back, smacking away Klavier's hand. He'd moved so fast that his nails left white marks on the man's delicate skin.

"Have you gone mad?"

The harsh question split through the distortion. Apollo took a moment to catch his breath, winded by the experience. He wasn't sure what that was. It was like his body had become a disobedient husk, and all he could do was watch…and watch…and watch…

Damn it. Getting caught up in a simple stress response did not foster confidence.

"Sorry," he said. "I…you know, I…"

This was slowly crumbling apart. Klavier pressed his palm against his forehead, his expression worn and weary. Similar to yesterday, actually. Apollo wondered how much of their relationship had devolved into tiring confrontations and fits of distrust.

"Tell me. How did you plan on getting in?" Klavier asked. His voice had softened, but hadn't lost its edge.

Lying would reinvigorate that tamed rage. Best to tell the truth.

"By bringing up the case…"

"There is no case! He is dying!"

Apollo glanced back at the room. As far as he could tell, there were officers standing by. Why else would they be there if not to make an arrest?

"The police—"

"Are a precaution," Klavier interrupted. "And, to certify that he has…passed, when the time comes."

No way.

"You said he was awake," Apollo argued. He could barely comprehend his own diagnosis, but regaining consciousness had been treated as some sort of medical miracle.

"In limited capacity."

"He spoke to you."

"Very rarely."

"You told me it was a good sign."

Klavier paused, seeming pained. It took a minute for him to respond.

"These are his final hours, Herr Justice."

Apollo's bracelet was still.

Sickening.

Another one gone. Another wretched mentor, ripped away from his life. They always managed to restore his hope before grinding him down into a pleading, pathetic paste of a person. Nothing was ever different. Promises left unfinished.

I'm never satisfied.

If he had any strength within him, he would've dropped to his knees and cried. Both a logical reaction and a refreshing outlet. Besides, with Klavier here to comfort him…they might have connected on some level. Loss. Grief. Basic empathy.

All wishful thinking. He was empty.

"Let me see him," he said, evenly.

His tone was…reserved. It'd be foolish to claim that he was devoid of emotion, but he couldn't deny that the sentimental part of him had been muted, somehow.

Klavier looked far too concerned.

"I'm going to call Herr Wright," the man said. Despite Apollo's swift disapproval, he pulled out his cell phone and continued. "You are not thinking clearly."

"And what's that going to do? Cure me?" Apollo challenged. He held up his hand and started peeling off the wrapped gauze, casting a stern glare when Klavier reached over to stop him. "You don't know any better. So go on. Run away again."

Guilt tripping or repressed blame? It didn't matter. Klavier faltered, struck by the severity of the words. "You…misunderstand."

"Oh, do I? That's rich."

The dressing was bound tighter than he'd thought. Apollo calmly used his teeth to tear into the last layer, much to Klavier's alarm.

"You'll hurt yourself!"

"I don't care."

There was a metallic taste to the cotton. In the past, this might've disgusted him. Side effect of being naïve.

Sometimes, a man needed to suffer to prove a point.

At last, the jagged cuts were revealed. He held them out, watching Klavier recoil at the sight.

"I tried to escape, once," he explained. "Nearly killed myself in the process. Guess how I survived."

The answer was obvious. Klavier remained tentative. Fortunately, Apollo didn't mind waiting.

"Kristoph?" came the reply, following a brief period of uncertainty.

"Yeah." Apollo shielded the wound with his sweatshirt sleeve. "When we talked in the café, you said Kristoph was my family."

"We shouldn't fight—"

"We won't. Because I agree with you."

Shredded bits of bandage were scattered on the floor. Klavier glanced down at them, coming to a reluctant conclusion.

"As does my brother, it seems."

There was nothing else to say. Apollo knelt to pick up the pieces of cloth he'd dropped, feeling his chest strain from the movement. He didn't want to think about what would happen once the painkillers wore off.

"I'll do that for you later," Klavier said. The man latched onto his uninjured arm, gently pulling him to his feet. "Come with me."

Caution skewed Apollo's judgement. "I can't go back to my room."

"I believe you're visiting someone, instead."

Before he could digest the meaning behind that statement, Klavier guided him down the hall. He followed along passively, until his brain sped up and whipped into a frenzy.

"You're letting me…?" he trailed. Part of him was scared to acknowledge it.

"For a short time. I am still contacting Herr Wright, as well." Klavier dropped him off a few feet away from the mass of staff and security, scanning the group with a keen eye. "Wait here."

With the grace of an autumn breeze plucking leaves off austere trees, Klavier was able to convince the medical team to let him in. Apollo stayed quiet and observed, captivated by the man's inherent charisma. That suave persona was hard to resist. The smooth voice complimented an even smoother talker.

"He's awake," Klavier said, breaking his trance. "You should hurry."

A full-scale plan had been rendered useless by generosity. Apollo clasped Klavier's hands, unable to properly articulate his gratefulness.

"Thanks…seriously, thank you…"

Klavier smiled and patted his head.

"We'll talk soon, Forehead. Go ahead."

One last chance for closure.

He opened the door.