2.
Sebastian suffers his first loss in court three months after he passes the bar.
He knows what's going to happen before it does. He has just spent three days desperately trying to find the evidence he needs to see his suspect convicted, but somehow the defense has managed to rip gaping holes in his theory anyway.
The defense isn't even a good attorney, like Ray Shields, or a well-respected one, like Klavier's brother, or even an old one, like Grossberg. Would it sting less, if it were Mr. Shields standing across the courtroom from him? Would the smug certainty in the defense's eyes as Sebastian struggles to find some way to salvage the proceedings look like something else—like justifiable pride, or honorable conviction?
He's going to cry. Sebastian stares across the courtroom at the thirty-something-year-old nobody who is going to destroy his win record, and his eyes begin to prickle uncomfortably, and he's going to cry. In the middle of court, because he couldn't do his job, because he's the failure his father said he was, and—
"Do you have anything more to add, Mr. DeBeste?" The judge is an old man—the same old man who presided at the trial of Blaize DeBeste. His eyes aren't cruel as he stares down at Sebastian, merely calmly questioning. "Any other evidence to present? Any other witnesses to call?"
Sebastian looks down at his notes, biting down on the inside of his cheek until blood floods his mouth. Surely he has something. Something that he missed, some little piece that will let the pieces fall into place...
He knows that he doesn't, though. The defense hasn't even presented evidence today. All they've done is examine the evidence that Sebastian submitted to the court record in a new light, and with that new insight it becomes painfully obvious that the young woman on trial could not be the killer.
"Prosecutor DeBeste." The judge is frowning, now, a mild display of disapproval.
It is still enough to make Sebastian's already-unsteady hands begin shaking noticeably, and he presses his palms to the top of the bench, trying to hide the evidence of weakness. He can still feel it, though, a shivering that starts at his core and spreads out to infect his whole body.
"Prosecutor DeBeste, I would appreciate you not wasting the court's time." The judge leans toward him. "Do you or do you not have anything else to present?"
"I—I'm s-sorry, your honor." Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to let tears fall. Not here. Not yet. He will not embarrass himself—and thus, by extension, everyone who has helped him—with such an obvious display of weakness. "I... the prosecution has nothing else to present."
"I see." The judge settles back in his seat, his eyebrows rising just slightly. "In that case, I suppose it's time for a verdict to be handed down. Ms. Anne Chovy, for the murder of your step-brother, Mac Kerel, the court finds you..."
A dramatic pause, and the judge's eyes rove over the courtroom, as though he expects someone to say something. As though he is waiting for an interruption, for some great insight, but Sebastian has nothing to offer, and after long seconds of silence the judge sighs and slams down the gavel.
"Not guilty."
The words are a brand to Sebastian's ears, though they are almost immediately drowned out by the sound of his heart, beating fast and desperate in the too-close confines of his skull. He failed. He was trusted, both by those in power and by the people who depend on the justice system, and he failed.
It isn't his first trial. He has been the prosecution for over a half-dozen trials already, though he has rarely been working alone. Before he was called to Europe, Miles Edgeworth helped him; when Edgeworth left, Sebastian still had Gumshoe and Justine and Kay to fall back on.
He shouldn't need them, though. He should be able to do this himself. This is his job, finding justice for the dead, and he has utterly failed.
He can't seem to hear anything, and his vision is badly blurred. Hopefully the judge doesn't try to talk to him. The last thing Sebastian needs is to have the judge think he is being intentionally contemptuous, when really all Sebastian is trying to do is not burst into uncontrollable sobs in the middle of the courtroom.
He succeeds in not sobbing.
He doesn't succeed in not crying. Tears patter down onto his paperwork, drops that he can feel against his hands but not quite see through the blurring of his vision. His chest feels tight; his throat is attempting to close up. He won't have a choice soon about whether he sobs, unless he wants to choke to death on his own mucus and misery. Though given his luck, he would probably survive and have to live with the shame of having passed out after his failure for the rest of his life.
Crybaby, his father's voice whispers in his ear. Useless wretch.
Shoving everything into his bag as quickly as he can, knowing that he simply needs to get out, Sebastian retreats back toward his office at the fastest speed he can manage without running into a wall.
He makes it back. He's not quite sure how, but he eventually makes it back to his office, and once the door clicks shut behind him he lets the tears flow freely.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, to let himself be set up like he was. A waste of time, a waste of money, a waste of a life, and he sees the dead man's eyes staring up at him from the autopsy report and the sobs just come harder.
He doesn't hear the knock on his door. Or perhaps Klavier didn't knock, but the other prosecutor usually does, and Sebastian sees no reason he would change that habit now.
Or perhaps he does. Perhaps Sebastian has sunk low enough, with this last display of foolishness, to not merit even the courtesy of a knock at his office door.
Klavier's hand touches tentatively at Sebastian's shoulder, and a box of tissues is pressed gently against Sebastian's chest until Sebastian manages to unclench his fingers from their death-grip on his suit jacket and hold it.
He needs them, honestly. He's sure he must look terrible, his eyes bright red from crying, his face a mess of tears and snot, and he pulls a tissue from the box with trembling fingers and mops furiously at his face. Another tissue, another mopping effort, and on the third one he thinks it's probably safe to attempt blowing his nose.
He's gone through at least a dozen tissues by the time he can blink the office and his guest into a semblance of focus, and Sebastian shoves them all into the wastebasket in one fell swoop, his cheeks flaming hot with embarrassment and shame. "I'm... s-sorry. This is v-very impersonable of me."
"Unprofessional?" Klavier's hand retreats from Sebastian's shoulder, returning to its usual place at the prosecutor's hip as Klavier leans against Sebastian's desk. "There is no need to stand on profession, mein Freunde. It is just you and I here. Did something happen that you need to discuss?"
"I..." He will have to say it. If he is going to continue investigating, which he must, if he is going to try the case again, then he needs to be able to say what happened this time without flinching. His voice is still a bare, choked whisper when he finally pushes the words out, though. "I l-lost."
Klavier leans closer, a frown on his face. His short blond hair is flying around his head in an artful mess that Sebastian couldn't replicate if he tried, though it looks remarkably good on the singer. "Come again?"
"I lost." From too-quiet to too-loud as Sebastian spits out the admission, and he can feel all the skin from his clavicles—not carbuncles—up to the very top of his head burning. "My case. The defendant was found not guilty."
"Ah." Klavier breathes out the soft sound, his face twisting into an unreadable expression. Disdain? Anger? Disbelief? "I... imagine that must be very difficult."
For a second Sebastian just sits staring at Klavier, cold rushing up to fracture his too-hot skin. Difficult? What would Klavier know about difficult? Klavier is perfect, from his fly-away blond hair to the effortless ease with which he manages his cases to his rising-star band to his unbroken win record. All with a bare minimum of mentorship, while facing the same grudging grumpiness from most of the police force that Sebastian faces due to his age, and it's not fair.
Even against frauds and cheats, Klavier manages to win, to be the golden prosecutor.
A simple murder investigation, and Sebastian can't even manage to get justice for the victim when left to his own devices.
"Perhaps..." Klavier's right hand drums against the table, a syncopated rhythm. "I could take you out for a drink tonight? Drown your miseries?"
"No." Sebastian's voice is harder than he intended it to be, all his muscles feeling too tight and tense, and he sets the tissue box down on his desk with mechanical precision. "No, thank you."
"As you like." Klavier straightens, taking a step back. "I just—"
"I have work to do, Prosecutor Gavin." He tries to find the cool, distant tone that Edgeworth uses, but Sebastian can hear the banked fury and trembling pain that colors his voice instead. Hearing it doesn't give him any better idea what to do to make it go away, and words keep spilling out without Sebastian telling his mouth to continue. "I have work to do. Real work, investigating the crime scene, talking to witnesses, finding a suspect. I don't have time for franchising right now."
"Fraternizing." A muscle jumps in Klavier's left cheek, and his lips are pressed together. "The word you want is fraternizing, and I will of course leave you to your work. Sorry if my existence interrupted something more important."
Turning on his heel, Klavier stalks from Sebastian's office, his boots making soft thuds against the carpet. He doesn't slam the door; he shuts it very carefully, making no more noise than necessary.
"Klavier..." Too late Sebastian takes a handful of faltering steps toward the door, knowing that Klavier is already out of earshot. Even if he weren't, there's no reason for Klavier to want to talk to him, not when Sebastian just intentionally raked claws across a known sore spot.
How many times have they heard detectives and senior prosecutors sneering that Klavier isn't fit to be a part of the office, too distracted by his work in the Gavinners to properly focus his time and energy? How many times has Klavier's number-one hit come on the radio only to be quietly mocked by everyone else in the break room, to the point where if Klavier is there when the opening bars play he changes the station?
They're both too young, everyone says. They're children playing at being adults, but they don't have the discipline to do what needs to be done. Surely there was some kind of underhanded deal involved in their passing the bar so young—Sebastian was surely helped by his father, Klavier by his brother and the labyrinthine mess that is the European legal system.
No one seems to want to assume that they've just worked at it. That they've dedicated time and effort to getting where they are. That they're trying, really trying, and it has been harder for Sebastian since Edgeworth left, harder for Klavier the more popular the Gavinners become.
And now Sebastian threw the same words everyone else uses to differentiate themselves from Klavier in his friend's face. Real work, prosecutor's work, never mind that Sebastian knows Klavier pulls ludicrous hours some days to succeed in both his careers.
Dropping down in his chair, Sebastian buries his head in his hands and starts sobbing again. He is such an idiot. Why is everything so hard for him? Why can't he manage at least one job? Why can't he even manage to be a decent friend to anyone?
Prosecutor Edgeworth is going to be so disappointed in him.
Sebastian is crying harder, bent almost double, his breath gasping sobs that doesn't seem to do anything to calm the fire burning in his chest. Everything's ruined. He can't handle it, just like his father said, and—
"Yep, this is about what I was expecting to find." Kay sighs.
Lifting his head, Sebastian tries to blink his vision back into focus. "K-Kay? What—how—"
"That's for me to know and you to find out." Kay has settled herself on the edge of Sebastian's desk, her legs kicking in front of her. The door to his office is still closed, as is his fourth-floor window. Sebastian knows better than to ask how she got past security and into his office, though. Or at least knows enough at this point to realize that she won't answer.
Offering him a smile that is far more hesitant than her usual one, Kay kicks her feet in an idle pattern. "Rough day, huh?"
Sebastian draws a shuddering breath, considers what he could say, and eventually ends up just nodding.
"I saw. On the news." Kay nibbles at one of her nails.
Closing his eyes, Sebastian wishes he could sink through his chair and disappear. She already knows. Of course she already knows. Kay is almost equal in competence to most of the detectives Sebastian has worked with.
"It's all right." A hand reaches out, pats him awkwardly on the elbow.
"No, it's not." Despite his best efforts, Sebastian can't suppress either a sniffle or a slight flinch. "I'm a failure."
"No, you're not." Kay frowns at him. "You lost one trial. That doesn't make you a failure."
"Last I checked lost was symbologist with failing." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Sebastian tries to ignore how sulky he sounds.
"Lost is not synonymous with failure." Kay's index finger stretches out, very gently poking him between the eyebrows. "If someone came up to you and said they failed their wallet, that give you a much different impression than they lost their wallet, yeah?"
"It is failure though, Kay." Melting down into his chair, all the energy seeming to drain from him as he studies the young woman, Sebastian sighs. "Prosecutor Edgeworth trusted me to be a good prosecutor, and I've quite simply failed. I can't do it alone. I can't be like him. Stubborn and certain and always right."
"I doubt he's always right." Kay continues to frown, but it's a thoughtful, considering expression rather than an aggressive one. "Even my Daddy wasn't always right, and he was an amazing prosecutor. The trial... do you think that the defendant was guilty?"
Sebastian thinks back over the last three days, trying to sort through the anxiety and agonizing sense of defeat to find the facts. The evidence. The testimonies. The forensic reports. Does he think that Ms. Chovy killed her step-brother? Is he still convinced that the young woman is a murderer, rather than just a liar?
"If you're really convinced the defendant is guilty..." Kay's right leg stops, her shoe pressed tight to the leg of his desk; her left continues to kick, though it's in a steady, tense rhythm now, the drums of war. "Then we'll go after her. I know you can't try her again, the whole double jeopardy thing, but we'll find something else. We'll find evidence and let everyone know. We'll make it right, even if it means going above and beyond the law, but we'll make it right."
"Kay..." Sebastian swallows, studying the young woman, his throat tight and tense for a different reason now. She would do it, he thinks. If he is certain that a failure of justice has occurred, she will swoop in, the Yatagarasu bringing the heaven's judgment down on those who would twist the legal system, and she will make it right. "I wouldn't ask you to do that."
"You wouldn't have to ask." Kay's whole body is still, now, the tense, waiting stillness of a predator searching for the prey's scent. "My father died trying to find a way to get true justice. Badd's in jail for the same reason. Prosecutor Edgeworth's been through hell and back. You've put up with so much from your father... I'm not going to let it all be in vain. I won't."
"It isn't. It hasn't been. Even if we l-lose every once in a while... even if we fail..." His baton has somehow ended up in his hands, and Sebastian slides his fingers along the cool, slick metal. "We're going to keep the justice system running, just like Prosecutor Edgeworth wants. Keep it focused on true justice."
"That's our goal." Kay grins, a bright flash of her usual smile. "So, is it time for the Yatagarasu to go hunting?"
"I..." Sebastian reviews the facts once more before sighing. "No. I don't think it is. At least, not against Ms. Chovy. The defense was right. She couldn't be the killer."
"All right." Kay nods. "So what do we need to do to help you catch the real killer?"
"We—this isn't your job, Ms. Faraday." Sitting up in his chair, Sebastian tries (and, he suspects, fails) to look poised and in control of the situation. "I'll be returning to the crime scene, to see what I might have missed. I'll also be going over the evidence again. I will find the true killer."
"Good. That's the spirit." Kay's fist connects ever-so-gently with his shoulder. "It's not the end of the world if someone innocent gets off, you know. It's only if the bad guys are going to get away that you really need to panic."
"I'm fairly certain panic isn't terribly helpful, actually." Sebastian looks down at his hands, at the baton still cradled between them. "Panic makes you rather useless. Has you saying things you can't take back."
"Says who?" Kay arches one elegant eyebrow. "An apology will often go a really long way. Though you didn't say anything irredeemable to me."
"Prosecutor Gavin was here shortly before you." Sliding his baton back into its holster in his jacket, Sebastian winces at the memory. "I... was rather rude to him."
"Gavin..." Kay crosses her arms in front of her chest, thinking. "That's the pretty blond airhead, right?"
"He's not." Leaning forward, Sebastian stares earnestly up into Kay's eyes. "He's not an airhead. He's smart, Kay, he's so much smarter than me, and he's got a perfect record still, he beat Phoenix Wright, one of the best defense attorneys of our time, proved that he was using forged evidence, and... and he's been trying to be my friend, despite being... better than me in every way. He's the type of person who should be Prosecutor Edgeworth's protege, not me."
"Wow." Kay blinks. "Sebastian, that's probably the most impressive issues-to-words ratio I've ever heard. Though I've also got to congratulate you on not getting a single word wrong."
"I... um..." Sebastian can feel himself blushing, and he offers Kay a hesitant smile. "Not one?"
"Not one." Kay leans closer. "Let me try to unpack everything else in that little speech, though. For starters, I doubt he's smarter than you."
Sebastian drops his gaze to the floor, his chin tight to his chest. "He's the same age as me and he speaks two languages plus he passed the bar without any fiddling from his family plus he writes platinum songs in his free time plus he's got a spotless record."
"None of that means he's smarter than you." Kay holds up one finger. "First, languages are something some people are good at and some aren't, and usually you learn them if you need them. If you're living in a country with a different primary language or have a lot of friends who speak a different language, that sort of thing."
"Well..." Sebastian considers her words. "I suppose he did live in Germany for a while."
"See? Not a sign of smarts, just different life paths." Kay holds up a second finger. "Two, your father didn't pass the bar for you. You passed on your own. Edgeworth looked into it for you, remember?"
"But everyone says—"
"Everyone can say that the moon's an elaborate hoax projected up into the sky, doesn't make it true." Reaching out with her counting hand, Kay pokes him between the eyebrows. "Edgeworth said you passed on your own. You trust him, right?"
"I do." Sebastian bites his bottom lip, to keep any of the doubt from spilling out. He will not doubt Edgeworth unless he is given reason to.
"For three..." Kay slides off the desk, onto her feet. "There're all sorts of different kinds of smarts. And you've got the book smarts to pass the bar, and maybe this guy has more book smarts and maybe he doesn't, but it doesn't matter."
Sebastian blinks. "Of course it—"
"No, it doesn't. It's not supposed to be a competition, Sebastian." Crossing her arms in front of her chest again, Kay gives him an exasperated eye roll. "Edgeworth thinks you're worthy of his time and commitment. He thinks you'll be a good prosecutor. That's all that matters. If Gavin is a good prosecutor too, then great! You work together. Because you're supposed to be on the same team."
"Oh." The word is spoken softly, quietly, and Sebastian stares up at Kay with wide eyes.
"Yeah." Moving slowly, giving him time to pull away—they are all so good about that, about touching him but also not touching him if it looks like touch will be too much—Kay wraps her arms around him in a gentle hug. "You're one of us, Sebastian. You're our friend and we trust you and Edgeworth wants you on his team, and your win record has nothing to do with any of that. Focus on getting the right person because that's justice, not because you think you need to in order to be worthy of anything. Okay?"
Resting his head on Kay's shoulder, Sebastian draws a slow, deep breath, breathing in her scent. Her scarf is just slightly damp, and Sebastian realizes it must have been raining when she was outside. That she was in the rain for him, to comfort him when she realized he had lost, not to chastise him or condemn him for failure. "I think I've been a bit of an idiot today, Kay."
"No more than usual." Pulling back, Kay grins up at him. "No more than any of the rest of us have been. But if you've had enough time to cry, let's go through your notes and figure out who our next suspect should be, yeah?"
"I..." Sebastian hesitates. "Is it all right? For me to rely on you like that? Shouldn't I be able to find the suspect on my own, without having to reach out to others for help?"
Kay's knuckles rap against his chin. "Justice is a team sport. There's a reason my dad had three people in the Yatagarasu, you know. It's harder to screw up when you've got people watching your back. Plus Prosecutor Edgeworth has a whole bunch of people who help him with his theories—me, Gummy, Agent Lang, his sister, that science-obsessed girl. You'd just be following in his footsteps if you were to reach out for a helping hand."
"You don't..." Sebastian draws a shuddering breath. "You don't think he'd be angry at me? Or disappointed in me? Prosecutor Edgeworth, I mean."
"I don't think he'll be disappointed at all." Kay grins again. "After all, it's not like he has a perfect win record, either."
"He..." Sebastian blinks. "He doesn't?"
"Not by a long shot." Kay pats him on the shoulder. "Look into his record sometime. It's really fascinating."
"I've been meaning to." Sebastian sighs. "I've just been so busy... but I'll do it. Once I've finally finished this case properly."
"I can help you." Turning to the desk, Kay begins rifling through the half-organized chaos. "So, where's the file? What can I do to help?"
"It's here." Sebastian pulls the file from his bag, handing it to Kay. "And... if you don't mind... while you take a look... could I take a quick stroll? I... think I owe somebody an apology."
"Go for it." Kay already has her nose buried in the file. "It'll take me a few minutes to get caught up and program Little Thief, anyway."
Slipping out of his office, closing the door behind him so that hopefully no one will come in and assume that Kay is a thief—well, an active thief, in the process of stealing something she shouldn't—Sebastian makes his way toward the stairs.
He used to use the elevator more often. Before he met Edgeworth, any time he had to visit his father he would simply climb in the elevator and press the button for the top floor and wait impatiently while the machinery did its work. Edgeworth seems to have an aversion to elevators, though, despite his office being on the twelfth floor, and so Sebastian has been seeing much more of the stairs than usual. It's probably good for him, and in the interest of not huffing and puffing like a dying train when following Edgeworth up and down the stairs, Sebastian has continued to use them even in Edgeworth's absence.
Klavier's office is two floors above his, though it looks remarkably similar to Sebastian's. Rookie prosecutors are given the smaller, less desirable offices, at least until they have proven themselves.
Pausing outside the door, Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut, willing them not to tear, and knocks frantically for a count of three before forcing himself to stop.
"Come in." Klavier's voice is crisp and clear, his German accent almost completely erased.
Sebastian knows that takes an effort of will still, that Klavier tries his hardest to sound like everyone else only when he has been facing ostracization, and his chest aches a little at the thought that he is responsible for this.
Easing the door open, Sebastian slips into Klavier's office. Though he's only had the office for a little over two months, Klavier almost immediately set about personalizing it, hanging posters and adjusting the location of the furniture. A small instrument collection, including three guitars, has taken up one corner of the office, and Sebastian has walked in multiple times to find Klavier deep in thought while his fingers idly pick out chords.
Klavier isn't toying with one of his instruments right now, though. He is at his desk, bent over his work, and he studies Sebastian with wary eyes as Sebastian closes the door behind him. "Prosecutor DeBeste. Can I help you?"
Sebastian winces. How long has it been since Klavier called him by his title? Klavier is prone to handing out nicknames and seems to have a general dislike of formality unless it's absolutely necessary. "I... um..."
Klavier's blue eyes seem to bore into him harder with each stutter.
"I just wanted..." Sebastian draws his baton from in his jacket again, finding comfort in letting his fingers roam over it. "I wanted to apologize. For the way I snapped at you. I shouldn't have."
Some of the tension falls from Klavier's shoulders, and he leans back in his chair. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry about whatever I did to upset you. I was just trying to be helpful."
"I know." Sebastian nods. "I appreciate it. I just... it's really... upsetting to me. Losing a case."
Some of the tension returns to Klavier's shoulders, though he forces a smile. "No one likes to lose, H—... Sebastian."
"It's not just about winning and losing." Sebastian chews on his bottom lip for a moment. "Though... a part of it is. It hurt hearing you talk about it because you haven't lost. Because it seems like you're never going to lose. Like... like you're perfect."
"Perfect?" Klavier points at himself, and his grin becomes more honest. "Me? Ach, the only thing perfect about me is my body, Herr Erste."
"There's a lot more to you than just pretty hair and nice eyes." Running a hand through his hair, Sebastian turns away from Klavier, not quite able to meet his eyes. "You're musically talented. You're smart. You've been doing fantastically in court. I was... a bit jealous of you, I suppose."
Klavier sits blinking at his desk, his smile slowly fading. "Of me? But you have done so much more, Sebastian. You have helped bring about an end to the corruption in the P.I.C.—if it had not been for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth would not have been able to do all that he did."
Sebastian blinks. "You and the Wright case—"
Shaking his head, Klavier waves a hand in dismissal. "A small thing, compared to what you did. You have helped to fundamentally change how the Prosecutor's Office works—to make it more just. And you are Prosecutor Edgeworth's chosen protege."
There is a definite note of jealousy in Klavier's voice, and Sebastian remembers the way Klavier spoke of Edgeworth when they first met. "I... I think he's just helping me because he feels sorry for me. Because of what happened with my father."
Narrowing his eyes, Klavier shakes his head. "You have worked with Prosecutor Edgeworth for several months now. Closely. He is not one to suffer fools. If he keeps you under his wing, it is because he thinks you belong there."
"I'm trying to be worthy of it. Of him." Sebastian's breath shudders, and he hugs his arms to his chest, trying hard not to cry again. "But when something happens like today... I feel like I'm not."
Klavier gives a slow, thoughtful nod. "Was the defendant guilty?"
"No." Sebastian whispers the word with a shake of his head. "I don't think they were."
"Then it was right that you lose. It is not justice to see an innocent sent to prison, ja?"
"Ja." Sighing, Sebastian allows his head to hand down on his neck, sheepish. "I know that. I just need to be better at choosing my suspects, I guess."
"We all need to be careful in who we accuse." Standing in one graceful motion, Klavier rounds his desk, approaching Sebastian, his expression equal parts earnest and hesitant. "We must be cautious to see that justice is not bent and distorted to our ends. But we are all only human. I am certain I will make a mistake, and then you can offer to buy me a drink to drown my sorrows. Because turnabout is fair play in love and the courtroom."
Sebastian laughs, though he finds his cheeks heating a bit, tears teasing at his eyes again. "Does that mean... are things all right between us? We're still... friends?"
"If you would like. I do not have so many friends here that I can carelessly toss one aside, but more than that... I very much like having you as a friend, Herr Erste." Klavier shoves his hands into his back pockets. "And would like that to continue."
"Me too." Sebastian lets out a shuddering breath, blinking, and despite his best efforts a stray tear or three slide free.
"So no more lyricless laments." Klavier reaches out—also slowly, gently—and brushes the tears from Sebastian's face. "There is no need for it. We will see justice done, still. And if there is anything I can do help with that..."
"Would you like to?" Sebastian forces himself to make the offer. They are a team, Kay says, and Sebastian will not doubt that. "I have an... ally in my office, and we were going to go through and see who else might be a good suspect..."
"Nothing would make me happier than to assist you." A full grin appears on Klavier's face, and he grabs Sebastian's hand, leading him to the door.
Sebastian shakes himself free when they're in the hallway, taking point, and he, Kay, and Klavier spend the afternoon and most of the evening assembling a much better case against Kerel's biological father than the one Sebastian had crafted against his step-sister.
You'll get your justice, Sebastian silently promises the dead man staring up at him from the autopsy report. I promise.
He doesn't think he will sleep well that night, his father's disparaging, disappointed voice keeping him awake, but he is dead to the world when Edgeworth calls him at a quarter to midnight.
"I heard about your case today." There is no preamble, no lead-up, just that calm, cool voice announcing to an only semi-conscious Sebastian that his last lingering fear has come to pass. "I wanted to call and tell you I'm proud of you, for the way you handled it."
"I... but..." Sebastian stares at the phone.
"Losing the first time is very hard." He can picture Edgeworth, finger tapping against his arm. "But it's something that happens to all of us, unless we're willing to twist justice into a game-board for our own entertainment and egos. You didn't. That takes strength. I'm proud of you."
Sebastian continues to stare straight ahead at his bedroom wall, not quite believing the words.
"Do you need anything that I can provide?" Edgeworth's tone is still clipped and precise. "Have any theories you need to run by me, or any questions about what forensics personnel or detectives to use for specific tasks?"
"N-no, sir." Sebastian curls up in bed, the phone cradled close. "And... thank you."
"You're welcome." Edgeworth pauses. "Given the time difference, I don't want to keep you for longer, but if you—or Kay or Gumshoe or any of the others—need me, you will call."
It's an order, not a request, and Sebastian smiles. "We'll call."
"Very well. Guten Abend then, Prosecutor DeBeste. I'll see you as soon as I'm back in the country."
Sebastian barely has time to stammer out his own good evening before the phone cuts to a dial tone, and he settles it back on the nightstand, still not convinced he hasn't been dreaming.
After that, Sebastian sleeps well and deeply, and when the guilty verdict is read out three days later, he loses no time contacting Klavier and Kay so that they can celebrate together.