Apollo's fingers fumbled with the numbers on his phone's touchscreen, shaking and not wanting to comply.

This isn't real, were the words that kept going around and around in his head, it's just a nightmare, and I'm going to wake up, and everything will be fine, and-

His mind brought the image of Clay's body back to him in full detail, memory emphasising how he'd zoned in on insignificant things, tiny details. Like the fabric of the spacesuit and the way his friend's eyes were closed and the slow but steady flow of the blood still staining the fabric.

He swallowed, gasped for air, and made the call.

Every ring felt like an eternity. Time was everything in situations like these, wasn't it, and every second counted, seconds and minutes and hours racing by that couldn't be taken back.

"Yes, Apollo? Is something the matter?"

He forced himself to take another shaky breath just to get the first words out, the easiest ones, because this was supposed to have been his day off, he was supposed to be watching and cheering everyone on, not - not this.

"I… I need your help. Please."

Phoenix Wright had said before that a lawyer never cried until it was all over, but this wasn't court. This was life, and someone's life was over, and if he couldn't let out his tears now, then when could he?

And if Phoenix couldn't help him, then it really was all over.

"Tell me what happened."

The shift, in moments flat, from fatherly concern to experienced lawyer. If that were the kind of problem he was in, it would have put him instantly at ease, knowing that he was in safe hands.

But he didn't need Phoenix Wright the attorney for this.

"Someone- my-" Apollo shook his head. The words were getting stuck on the way out, and every time he tried to retreat into professionalism this time, it just wasn't working. "It's Clay. Clay's- help. You have to - there's got to be something you can do."

"Apollo, slow down. I can't understand - what are you asking me to do?"

It was like being paralysed, because all of a sudden he didn't know how to breathe, and he felt his heart pounding in his ears as he thought how can I ask this, how.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just. I just want him to stop being dead. He's my best friend and he's just lying thereand you're a- a phoenix. Can't you do… something?"

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, moving the salty tear tracks around rather than actually dealing with the problem.

I shouldn't be asking this. He trusted me. I don't even know what it is he can do, and I'm asking for so much, but it's Clay. It's Clay.

"I- Apollo, I… if someone's dead, then I don't know what I can do. I'm sorry."

Two emotions warred within him. The wish to spare himself the further shame and embarrassment, to stop being in denial and apologise for asking for the impossible, and sheer anger at the world. At everything. Because this was someone's fault, and he had been able to cope with so much, but this was too much, and he didn't want to have to deal with this, too. He didn't know if he could.

"You - there has to be something you can do," he said, careful not to raise his voice too loud. "This is my best friendand you're a fucking phoenix, Mr. Wright. There has to be something. Anything." He gasped for air. It almost felt like he was the one who couldn't breathe. "Please," he said again.

The anger drained out of him as fast as it came, and he was left a pleading, desperate mess yet again.

The silence stretched on.

Seconds, minutes, hours…

"I can't promise anything, you know that, don't you?"

Said slowly, carefully. And voices were Athena's thing, not his, but there was a slight change there, one that he'd be able to hear better if he weren't so distracted, one that at the same time made him worry that he'd made a mistake, and made him hope, however dangerous that may be.

"I know. I know. But you can try, can't you? That's better than - than nothing."

"…I'll be there," Phoenix said, and then he hung up, leaving Apollo alone with his thoughts again, and wondering if things would be better or worse when Mr. Wright was there in front of him, so that he would be able to tell whether or not the man - phoenix - was lying when he said that he could make this right.

...

Phoenix sent off a quick text before dropping his phone back into his pocket - Might need your help later. Will call when it's all over either way. Got to fly. He hoped that he wouldn't end up causing either him or Miles to do anything they'd later regret, with that favour, but if the cost of saving someone's life were a few abuses of loopholes, then he had to admit, he'd pay it any day.

He breathed in slowly, and then let it out, to prepare himself. He didn't fly often, it wasn't as easy as just melting from one form to the other.

Breathe in, and he closed his eyes, starbursts dancing on his eyelids from having been looking out of the window as he opened it.

Breathe out again, and he felt humanity slipping away, the air and warm currents beckoning, the wind singing to him to ride on it, the warm heat of his body in the sunlight turning to the searing flames of sacred fire.

A wingbeat, and he was free, he was riding the dust motes of the city air and blazing a trail behind him, spiralling up into the sky so high that he could see for miles around.

It was easy to get lost in the feeling of flight, to forget, to want to leave everything behind. There were places he could go, where the gods were remembered.

But this wasn't the time for that, and it wouldn't be for - hopefully - a long time yet.

He'd made his promises. For now, he needed to be the Phoenix, but he would always remain Phoenix Wright, too, always stay for those who needed him, because he needed them.

Trees and buildings raced past as he sped toward his destination, a round building with a launch pad connected to it on either side, and a track heading north, but he could feel where Apollo was, a little spark of phoenix fire that burned brightly and beckoned him back down to earth. The inbound flight was filled with twists and tight corners after finding a gap that he could fit through that would lead him in further, and then, as he got closer, police officers and the forensics teams scattering at the sight of a bird-shaped-fire that hurtled toward them, careful, whether they realised it or not, to never burn.

Phoenix let himself grow bigger, big enough to scare off the last of the brave men and women trying to preserve the scene until the ME arrived to take the body away - he'd have to compliment them to Miles later - and then settled himself down to figure out what he was supposed to do.

If these were only his own injuries, then healing them, even after what others would see as death, would be as simple and easy as breathing. The only thing that would be able to knock the wind out of him would be if his flames were somehow doused - which certainly wouldn't help here either - but right now, the process was going to be a bit more complicated than usual.

He'd healed others plenty of times. A small scrape, broken bones, a gunshot, he could deal with those. A knife wound like this one shouldn't have been difficult, per se, but it wasn't the injury that he had issue with.

Fire. He was going to need plenty of fire, and he was going to have to be careful. A phoenix was a being of the elements, of fire and air and nothing solid at all. Humans were so much more fragile, breakable, and their lives could be snuffed out so easily.

Not to mention, he had to be careful with the evidence. This was still a crime scene, after all.

Come on. You can do this.

He leaned his head close the body, putting his beak around the knife's handle and drawing it out as delicately as he could. Walked awkwardly on bird feet to the table so that it was safely out of the way before he continued.

You're eons old, you can do this. You've done more than this. Remember that one time in Egypt? Or how about Greece, you stayed there so long they named you. Next to that, this is easy. It's just one kid.

Just one kid, and you're out of touch, and no one's thought of a phoenix as real in - hundreds of years. Friends and family, instead of thousands of worshippers rising to greet the day with your name. I can hardly remember most of that any more, much less how to do this, I'm rusty-

A beat of his wings, tendrils of fire trailing behind every movement. His beak opened, and song burst forth.

Maybe Godot was right about one thing - I should have been able to save Mia. But I was younger, and afraid, and I didn't know if I could without letting go completely. But this is Apollo's friend. And I can't afford to be rusty, even for just a moment. None of us have that luxury.

He thought about Mia, and all that he'd lost, and of Apollo, and how much he deserved to have that he was at risk of losing. He brought to mind how had sounded over the phone during their brief call. He forced himself to remember that this person, this Clay Terran, was the one who had kept Apollo, someone who he had grown to care about so much, stable and okay while he didn't have a job, because of Kristoph, yes, but also because of him, and he made himself feel once more the pain of having been punched hard by someone who had trusted him.

He thought of all of those things, and he looked down at the body lying still underneath him, and Phoenix wept.

...

The first thing that Clay became aware of was that he was warm. It wasn't even the same kind of warm that happened when the heating was left on too high, or when he'd caught himself standing too close to the oven… and it wasn't the cloying, choking sort of 'warm' that he'd had nipping at his and Starbuck's heels all the way from the bombed space museum.

No, he was warm, all the way through, which didn't make sense.

Because the second thing he realised was that he was lying on grass. He was outside, and now that he knew that, he could hear birdsong in the nearby trees, and sirens as the police-

Memories started to come back to him, at first in a trickle and then in a flood, making him wince in pain.

"Clay? Clay?!"

Starbuck. He had to make sure Sol was okay - after all that, he was somehow all right, even though he remembered getting knifed in the chest, remembered bleeding and hurting and dying-

His eyes opened as he jerked upright, shaking and gasping, and now his eyes and head were hurting from how bright it was.

"Careful, Apollo. I know you're worried, but it's going to be a shock to the system. Clay, right? How are you feeling?"

He turned towards the voices, first one, familiar and welcome, concern so clearly evident on Apollo's face that he couldn't help but smile, and then the other, who he recognised. He thought they might even have met a couple of times, but only in passing.

"It's all right," the man was saying, not letting his eyes leave Clay, "you can take your time."

Phoenix Wright looked - tired. Worn out. Even in dressed in a blue three piece that made its owner look like they should be in the courtroom, he seemed… just, exhausted. But even then, he was asking after Clay.

He had to cough a bit before he could speak properly, because his voice was scratchy from disuse, even after only a few hours. It had just been a few hours, and not a few days… hadn't it? The sun was in the right kind of position, and the police were still there from the bombing - and, decisively, when he looked up at the sky, he could still see smoke billowing out.

"I'm… I'm fine." Apollo cracked a smile, but he looked like he was about to start crying any moment now. "Uh… howam I fine?"

Sure enough, Apollo's eyes started leaking like they always did when he was overly emotional and he was angry or upset or worried, but he was laughing as well, so maybe it wasn't too bad.

"Yeah, about that. Did I ever tell you my boss is a phoenix?"

He rolled his eyes.

"A few times. It's been hard to get you to shut up about it recently, given he's-"

"No, not just that. Literally. He's literally a phoenix."

Phoenix literally-a-phoenix Wright huffed. But he wasn't denying the idea. And although it didn't make even a bit of sense, neither did the fact that he was alive, when he remembered dying.

"You know, I'm not even gonna argue with you. If you say your boss is a freaking phoenix, sure. He's a freaking phoenix. And you've got a magic bracelet." More relieved - though at least not hysterical, but with the way things were going he was just saving that for later - laughter from both of them. Then, "Is Sol - is Mr. Starbuck okay? I was with him when- when it happened, but I can't remember anything else."

"Yeah." The word was one big release of tension from Apollo. "He's fine. Though, I heard something while I was waiting for Mr. Wright. Apparently, since no one else was there, they're thinking he was the one who did this to you. They've got him for your attempted murder. Which is stupid. He wouldn't do that."

He caught Apollo's use of attempted, but didn't feel able to correct him when it was clear none of them were holding it together very well.

"You two know that," Phoenix Wright said, speaking up again, "but unfortunately for us, that won't hold up in court. We're going to have to present evidence or testimony that says that it can't have been possible, and without Clay here able to say what happened, we'll be in trouble without it."

Clay frowned, his hands clutching at grass through the one glove he still had on, and the other hand that was bare to the elements.

"But I can testify. I'm here, aren't I?"

But Wright was shaking his head, and Apollo was just as confused as Clay was, it seemed, looking all ready to argue, before his boss explained himself.

"The person who did this to you… they're still out there. And a good and trusted friend of mine says that whoever they are, they're dangerous. This person believes you to be dead. Because of that, I'm sorry. But you have to lie low. We need to find somewhere you can stay where no-one will know you're there, and you need to recover there, while we sort this out on our end, with everything we do have at our disposal."

Clay swallowed, hard, the physical memory of something sharp jabbing into him and cutting his life short with no one to help being one that caused the blood to drain from his face.

Apollo made a small, distressed noise, looking at his boss as if for any sign that he might be joking. Then he met Clay's eyes, and a moment later he was nodding.

"Klavier would probably be able to help. He's got a big enough house, so Clay could stay there and not get noticed even if there were visitors. And he's gone through something like this before, so I don't think he'd be loose with information he knows could kill." Another nod. "I trust him."

Wright considered the option before smiling.

"Good idea. He's been starting to piece things together about me, too, so hopefully it won't come as too much of a shock when I drop by unannounced with a dead man."

"Wait, you mean you're flying again? I thought you said-!"

The older man laughed, and not for the first or last time, Clay thought that he could like the guy.

"If I tried to carry anyone but him, you're right. I wouldn't be able to. But Clay?"

He found himself looking Apollo's boss right in the eye, and it was… disquieting, to say the least. Unlike the laugh he'd just heard, this serious look, eyes closer to blue than the dark near-black that seemed to be normal, made him worry.

"Part of the reason why I want you to lie low and recover is because right now, you've just been… remade. You've got a lot of fire in you. You'll be fine, and you'll even out, but - and I'm saying this so that you both understand - I wouldn't say that you're one hundred percent human."

You've got a lot of fire in you. That had to be why he felt so warm. He couldn't say he fully understood, though.

"Is that something I need to worry about, Mr. Wright?" he said, just as Apollo was saying, "But he's fine, isn't he? There isn't anything wrong, right?"

Wright laughed again, seemingly pleased with their responses.

Like before, Clay figured that if he was going to be freaking out about how he was alive and how he was apparently not all human anymore, he could do that later, and he'd be happy he just was alive for now, thank you very much, without worrying about the consequences.

They could be problems for tomorrow.

He had a tomorrow.

And then Phoenix Wright was telling Apollo to back away a bit, and Apollo was stepping clear of them, and then the world was on fire, and he was on fire, and he was riding the air, and if he'd had any doubts before, he definitely didn't any longer.

It's only a short trip, said a voice that he immediately recognised as Phoenix Wright's. Just to Klavier Gavin's. And I'll be walking back from there.

Klavier Gavin. If this was any other situation, Clay would probably be a lot more excited, a lot less daunted with underlying paranoia and fear. He'd known about the prosecutor's band before Apollo had even realised they existed. And now he'd be staying at the man's house.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a star, he thought to himself, the sensation of being fire and flame instead of being on fire not one that he'd be forgetting any time soon.

Laughter came back at him, and he realised belatedly that his thoughts could be heard.

I wouldn't know, came the response. I've never been into space, so I've never been able to get up close and personal with one.

They made a turn, and then a sharp twist, and he wondered if this was anything like what it would be like when he finally did get to launch, like they'd supposed to, like Sol had thought they were.

I haven't either, yet.

Slowing down, and then they were getting a spectacular aerial view of what he had to assume was Klavier Gavin's home, and then they were spiralling down, and it was a good thing he was used to low gravity and spinning at high velocity, because if he wasn't, he might have started puking the moment he stepped, suddenly solid again, onto the carpet.

He heard Phoenix actually, really is a real freaking phoenix Wright start mumbling something about getting jelly legs whenever he's been flying, something about rapidly changing perspectives, and he's being told that Apollo's probably going to call or visit Prosecutor Gavin himself to warn him, and to be careful, but they were going to get whoever had done this - Phoenix, Apollo and Athena, all of them - so he didn't have anything to worry about.

It was as the man was just about to leave that he turned around with a large smile on his face.

"I'm holding you to that 'yet', Mr. Terran."

Clay laughed, sitting down on a chair that seemed safe enough to sit on, for something that was in a rock star prosecutor's place.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to give up on my dreams just because of something like this! I trust you, and Apollo, and everyone else. You get 'em for me. I'll be fine."

...

AN: Mainly inspired by how I'd written Clay into one of my other stories (Dischord and Fine Tuning, from the soulmates au) and I was hit with a massive amount of feelings over this guy. Mainly over the fact that we only get about as many pictures of him as we would a well-documented victim, *not* someone who had such a massive impact on a main character. I mean, they had Apollo mention him several times, but he never appeared until he was gone.

Well, I felt the need to rectify that. So I did, especially when I realised that I had the perfect AU on hand with which to do so.