For as much as Klavier has contemplated dying, he's never once entertained it being at Simon Blackquill's hand.
A shriek reminiscent of his teenage fangirls, a useless thrash, and Klavier is on the floor, very much alive and covering his disheveled hair with crossed arms.
Blackquill unleashes a dark laugh, and cautiously prods Klavier with a booted foot. In a completely deadpan tone, he commands Klavier, "Rise and shine," before striding away.
Blackquill's footsteps change from muffled upon the bedroom carpet, to wooden clats out into the hallway. Klavier sits up, retightens his hair, then stands. He pauses, inhaling a deep breath, if only to convince himself that this is not a dream, or something he is watching as a member of the audience. The aroma of warm bread fills his nostrils.
He passes the kitchen, to the living room where Blackquill has a simple arrangement laid out on the coffee table. Two plates with blueberry bagels, toasted and sliced. A mug is placed beside each of them, filled with steaming hot tea. A small tub of cream cheese and a jar of grape jam are open, and two butter knives sit between them.
Blackquill is sitting on a corner of the sectional, in front of one of the plates. He's still holding the bagel knife, and speaks only once Klavier takes a seat catacorner to him, in front of the other plate.
"I awoke before you, and... you do not have much in the way of breakfast, Gavin-dono. While I was not particularly hungry, I thought you might be once you awakened and so I took a walk, and found some provisions at the nearest convenience store."
Klavier removes the tea bag from the mug. A spiced orange scent wafts from it, but Klavier knows tea never tastes half as good as it smells. "You... walked? The closest convenience store is over a mile away."
"Yes. However, it is a pleasant morning. The walk served me well, allowed me the opportunity to sort out my thoughts after the events of last night."
Klavier slices out a glob of cream cheese and smears it over his bagel. He's not terribly hungry either and has never been much of a breakfast person, but Blackquill's act of kindness overrules any of that. He takes a bite, and swallowing it down becomes suddenly difficult, for the lump that's formed in his throat.
He manages, but it's choked with the gratitude swelling within.
"You... but you just... left?"
"I did."
"...And you came back?"
"Yes, Gavin-dono. Why are you asking questions to which you already know the answer? I am loathe to imagine how you operate in court without your daily caffeine intake if this is any indicator." Blackquill trades the knife for his mug of tea, bag still intact, and draws a long sip.
"I wasn't asking." Klavier mirrors Blackquill, but can't mask his distaste of Blackquill's—and Kristoph's—favorite beverage.
"What is the matter? Is black tea not to your liking? Perhaps it over-steeped or—"
"Nein, I ah... I don't like any tea very much." Klavier goes back to his bagel; even without much of an appetite, it's pretty delicious.
"Oh." Blackquill gazes into his mug, as if it might explain to him just why Klavier does not like it. "You had a box in your cupboard. I thought... but then again, it was expired, so... that is why I bought you some, close to the flavor you had before."
Klavier didn't even know tea could expire; it's just leaves, isn't it?
"It wasn't for me," he says quietly, Kristoph's maniacal laughter spiraling through his mind.
Klavier, always trying to gain Kristoph's approval. Kristoph had never once visited Klavier at this address, yet Klavier kept his condo stocked with items Kristoph would like: candles of crisp, clean scents; tea he might drink; vinyl records of Kristoph's favorite classical songs—what would be nice background noise when they sat down and discussed a case together, the way the did at Kris's place after Klavier's first trial.
What had been an amicable meal between friends turns inside-out, an awkward silence looming between them. Klavier internally curses himself and sips more tea, despite his dislike of it.
A phone buzzes on the other end of the coffee table; Blackquill's. Klavier uses it as an excuse to check his own, and moves to the kitchen. His phone rests on the island, where he plugged it in last night before his shower. He smiles at Ema's texts informing him of her departure—she's less than thrilled about having her bag of Snackoos being considered too large to keep in her carry-on, but is otherwise ready for take-off.
And she hopes his dinner went well.
If he replies, she'll be charged international texting rates, and isn't sure his lie of a response is worth that to her. So he forgoes messaging her back, and pours his tea into a sink piled with less dishes than the day before.
Blackquill.
Klavier turns, unsure if he wants to thank or question Blackquill, only to find him in the midst of dipping a knife into the jar of grape jam. A shiny chunk is positioned precariously on the blade, and Blackquill's face is expressionless as he spreads the jam onto his bagel. "One might say this is..." he peers over at Klavier, the slightest smirk rising. "...my jam."
Klavier snorts and it turns into a laugh far too rich for such a stupid pun. "I'm surprised you didn't go with raspberry. More closely resembles blood," he says as he returns to the couch.
"Perhaps next time, Gavin-dono." Blackquill says, and takes a bite of his bagel. After swallowing, he continues. "Not that I wish for the circumstances of last night to repeat themselves, but... if we were to dine together again, at your place, a larger selection of spreads would be in order. I had to make do with what the convenience store offered."
This is Blackquill's roundabout way of reassuring him, Klavier knows; it's not about bagels or their toppings, but the prospect of sharing them.
Klavier mumbles a "Sounds good," and goes back to his bagel, sneaking glances at a Blackquill who is, in turn, letting his own gaze periodically slide towards his phone.
Blackquill eats as if Klavier is not there, and seems perfectly content with the silence they're enrobed in. Klavier opens his mouth a couple times, hoping to bring up the idea that had taken root last night, but at each chance, he stuffs it down with another bite of bagel.
He knows it's not the case, but what if Blackquill takes it the wrong way—that Klavier is not trying to help, but more, thinks Blackquill himself is helpless? Or worse, what if Blackquill, so dangerously perceptive, suspects Klaver's good intentions are but a front for a less honorable pursuit?
No, but it's not like that. Just because Blackquill looks different to him now doesn't mean he is different, as a person...
Blackquill's eye catches Klavier's, the edge of his lips lifting in an attempt at a smile before he takes another sip of tea. It's very non-Blackquillish, this initiating of eye contact and knowing glances—that has more been Klavier's job, coaxing an introverted Blackquill into conversation and the like while out at the Cabooze.
Gott, if he hadn't felt that flicker of attraction last night, it would have happened right now. Between the breakfast and the attempt at domestic upkeep, and now Blackquill deeming him worthy of even the smallest of smiles...
He runs out of bagel to stopper up his proposal. And though there's no flawless way to deliver it, Klavier has always been fairly talented when it comes to ad-libbing. "Last night was, ah... revelatory, ja?"
"Yes, quite."
"But there's a couple things I'm not sure were resolved. That have been on my mind."
"Such is life, giving us more to wonder and worry about the moment we believe we've finally pieced it together. But what, might I ask, are you referring to?"
Being in an arena in front of thousands of adoring fans is child's play, but trying to talk to someone Klavier respects and considers a friend is the ultimate challenge. It's not hard when they're at karaoke together, so why the stage fright now?
Because he's not giving a performance, he supposes. This is the unplugged version, that he's presenting. And it's just him, no background noise to serve as a distraction.
Picking up the container of cream cheese, Klavier leans back into the plush warmth of the couch, knees bent up to rest his bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. He turns the cream cheese around in his hands, reading its label without absorbing any of the information it presents. It makes him vaguely reflect on the cheesecake he missed out on last night.
"It is the low fat variety," Blackquill says, setting down a now-empty mug.
Klavier laughs lightly. "That's not what I was thinking about, but good to know."
"Yet you seem awfully infatuated with it, for not thinking on it." Blackquill reaches to take the cream cheese from Klavier, and places it back on the table. "What is troubling you so, that it's been at the forefront of your thoughts since you've awakened?"
"Right, I... Blackquill, I hope it's not too intrusive for me ask, but... ah, the case. Your case. With Geist..." Klavier trails off, checking to see if the mention of Blackquill's nemesis draws any negative reaction from his friend.
It does. Eyes narrowed, Blackquill picks up the bagel knife, and spins it adroitly between long fingers. The blade ends up pointing at Klavier, almost accusatory. "To the point, Gavin-dono."
"Alright! I was just wondering—"
Blackquill's phone interrupts them, vibrating loudly against the heavy mahogany. A couple seconds pass, and it buzzes twice more.
"Are you going to answer that?" Klavier belatedly edits his question.
"I am not."
"No? It could be Herr Edgeworth or—"
"No, it is only Athena. I believe I told you, she and Miss Woods went out to the movies last night."
"You did," Klavier says.
"Right. Well, apparently she thoroughly enjoyed it. When I asked her of it, she replied with the same message she has now been sending me every ten minutes for the past three hours. This, and only this..." Blackquill picks up his phone, and taps open a message. "And I quote, 'I am Groot.'"
Klavier grins. "Ah, that is what is known as 'trolling'."
"Whatever it is, it is dreadfully irritating." For being so irritated, Blackquill sounds as though he is not in the least.
"Does she know you're here?"
"She does not. I'm sure she would approve; she often asks of our karaoke nights. But, you see, there is another reason she is sending me these childish responses: she is unwilling to accept me postponing the appointment we made for this afternoon. I've tried telling her I don't feel... up to it, but she just keeps replying with all this nonsense about Groot."
His questions about the case can wait. Klavier watches Blackquill idly twirl the knife by its handle, and does his best to simply listen instead of thinking about how he should respond. It's not a battle, like what he's used to with Kristoph—saying the right thing, winning favor.
"What sort of appointment?" he prompts.
"Athena wishes for me to cut all this off." Blackquill gestures to the long fall of hair tied behind his head. "She feels it would be... symbolic, if I were to do so. And I've been finding excuses not to, for months now. It's just... it will open the avenues to venture along anything and everything related to her mother, to my time in prison, to... things I don't find myself ready to speak on."
"Whatever you were to tell her, regarding any of those topics, she would not think ill of you. I hardly know her the way you or Justice does, but I know enough." It's easier said than done; trusting someone doesn't tear down the barriers built for the purpose of self-preservation. "But if only it were that simple, we would not be discussing it, ja?"
"Correct. With what occurred last night, I need time to prepare myself. To determine how I will explain to her what led to my actions, and ultimately, the consequences that will ensue. If I see her this afternoon she will know something is wrong. That is, typically, there is always something wrong with me... emotionally. And she is respectful enough to leave it be, most of the time. But this is... quite an anomaly, when it comes to 'something being wrong'."
Klavier wishes he had some sort of advice to pass along, to break Blackquill out of his sullen state. He opts for light-hearted observation, instead. "Hm, it's too bad you didn't have your luxurious mane lopped off at an earlier date. You could have maybe even sold it to be used as a wig."
"My 'mane' is not 'luxurious'." Blackquill's tone is razor-sharp, but a smile forms around his words. "Nor would anyone want to don it as a wig."
"Oh, ja, thick and dark. Perfect for a guitar god to shred a solo behind." Klavier brings his own hands to his face, miming where a curtain of hair would fall in front of it.
"Try dead and dry." Blackquill says, still smirking. "Hair to match my soul."
"Ah, well..." Klavier hopes he doesn't sound uncomfortable—it's not like Blackquill, shrouding the truth with morbid humor, is telling him anything beyond what he himself has felt. At least he's in better spirits, even without any sort of resolution to his predicaments with Fräulein Cykes or Geist. "If that's the case, you're well on your way to rock stardom, Herr Schwarz. It's all about accessorizing."
Blackquill's smirk flattens out. His reply is calm, but serious. "I don't know anything about fashion and trends, but I'm guessing that almost eight years of a singular look means that a change is past due."
He knows Blackquill can't just be speaking about himself; his prison sentence began not too much after Klavier's own career. And they both certainly project a very distinct image, that's become bigger, more real and alive than they themselves feel most days.
Blackquill wipes the knife blade with the hem of his shirt. "You know, Athena is right—it is symbolic, my hair is. Of who I became, who I had to be in order to survive. And that is not who I can continue to be, as was proven yesternight."
Klavier eyes the knife. He doesn't even remember purchasing it; he should just let Blackquill keep it, as he's handled it more in the past hour than Klavier has... ever. Regardless, Blackquill is in possession of a blade and Klavier refuses to outright disagree with him. "I wouldn't phrase it that way, but... to a degree, ja. I suppose."
"And you are right too, Gavin-dono; that it is a shame I did not do this sooner. I do not want to be the Twisted Samurai any longer; that is, someone who simply survives. I want to live."
Blackquill brings the bagel knife to the notch where his hair is gathered back, and uses his left hand to hold it taut.
"What are you—?" Klavier's feet fall to the floor, and he finds himself trapped somewhere between fight and flight. His hand moves towards Blackquill, but makes no attempt to snatch the knife away.
Pressing the jagged teeth in, Blackquill saws into the dense black snarls. By the time Klavier comprehends what's happening—that there is no real danger— Blackquill pushes through the last threads of resistance, and then there is only the knife, suspended in thin air.
On the couch's armrest is seven—nearly eight, now—years worth of memories, of commitment, of a physical reminder how Simon Blackquill was willing, no, yearning to die.
Blackquill, somewhere amid disbelieving and relieved, touches the tips of a haircut that now ends in an asymmetrical slant at the back of his neck. "Excellent. Now Athena can not harass me about having my hair shorn today, as I've already done so. How do I look? Presentable?"
Interviews are like second nature to Klavier, but this feels a little more like he's in the interrogation room—and not on the law's side. "Well, ah... I'd say, a little less twisted. Much more... not yourself. Your once and former self, I mean."
"Hmph." Blackquill's smirk returns as he continues to stroke at the tips of his hair. "That was a nice touch, such dramatic opining, was it not? If it convinced you, then Athena will devour it."
Klavier would roll his eyes if he wasn't certain Blackquill would spear them out, were he to do so. Blackquill's flippancy borders on obnoxious, yet Klavier surmises that he is one of the privileged few who Blackquill chooses to subject to it.
"Well, I'd be lying if I said you weren't convincing, Blackquill." But Klavier's tone hints that he might also be lying if he fully admitted that Blackquill, at least in this instance, was.
"Here." Blackquill pushes the topic away by handing his phone over to Klavier. He picks up his severed tail of hair from where it lays like a dead fish. "We shall send off a digital photograph to her, and see if she then still insists on identifying as this Groot creature."
"Why do I get the feeling that everything you've done this morning is part of an elaborate scheme to involve me in your ah...even more elaborate schemes?"
"That is where you are wrong, Gavin-dono, for you've already involved yourself without any scheming on my part. Regardless, any attempt to escape on your end will prove futile."
Only Blackquill could turn an affirmation of friendship into an ominous threat. Klavier accepts this by tapping the phone's screen, capturing Blackquill holding up his hair like a prized catch.
"There." Klavier passes the phone back. Blackquill's devious grin signifies he's satisfied with it, and with a few more taps, it's sent off to Fräulein Cykes.
Within seconds, it's buzzing with an incoming call, and Blackquill answers.
"Yes, good morning, Groot." With that, Blackquill extends the phone at arm's length, and Klavier can hear Athena's energetic, incredulous rambling. What begins as a chuckle under Klavier's breath builds into barely contained laughter as Blackquill returns to the call.
"No, that is—Athena, listen to me: it matters not when or how I rid myself of this unruly overgrowth. You should be thankful that I did and—we will discuss it at a later date!" Blackquill is pacing as he speaks, and turns away, that Klavier can't see his expression. But there's a relaxed slouch to his shoulders, his free hand still casually fingering at his freshly-cropped hair that indicate his clipped tone is nothing except his way of communicating with Fräulein Cykes as openly as he can bring himself to.
He'd spoken of avoiding any talk of what had contributed to his long hair and this impulsive decision, Klavier realizes, is an expertly crafted way of continuing to do so.
"No, I do not mean... you just saw it last night—no, I don't... oh, hell, fine, we can go see it. But I am not paying for anything other than my own ticket and concessions... Where am I?" Blackquill must be repeating Athena's question, as his eyes flick about, searching for a reply. Klavier gestures to himself, indicating permission for Blackquill to tell her the truth. "I'm with Prosecutor Gavin. I am assisting him with a personal matter... What? No, I'm sure he does not want to—alright!"
Blackquill cups his hand over the lower portion of his phone, looking over to Klavier. "Athena would like for you to join her, myself, Misses Woods and Newman, and that O'Conner cad. Tomorrow afternoon. To see the Groot movie."
Klavier smiles, speaking with a calm he was certain he wouldn't be able to find again so easily. "Danke, Athena, I'd love to."
"He accepts... what? No, I will not consult him on that matter, I will—goodbye, Athena. I will see you tomorrow. No. Yes. Good—...no, you are not Groot!"
Blackquill hangs up, tosses his phone onto the sofa, and sinks back into his seat with a heavy sigh. Klavier tries to stifle his laughter, especially so after Blackquill retrieves the bagel knife and begins to twirl it again.
"Thank you," Blackquill finally says, though he's looking at the metal blade.
"Ja, of course." Klavier savors Blackquill's gratitude, as he doubts he'll receive any more once he divulges his intentions for what could become their mutual future. "It's been some time since I've seen Fräulein Newman anyway. And it's ah... well, it's becoming habitual now, isn't it? Me answering your pleas for help. I suppose I couldn't stop myself."
At last, it's Blackquill who laughs, a short huff through his nose. "Hmph. If you would like to think of it that way, you would not be entirely incorrect. Just see to it you fine-tune that well-trained ear of yours to hear beleaguered cries from a much shorter distance. Understood?"
Klavier nods.
"Now, what was it you were dithering over, before we were rudely interrupted?"
This time he doesn't wait for a knife to urge him. Klavier leaps past his own anxieties, right to the point. "You mentioned Herr Edgeworth will remove you from Geist's case."
"Yes. He will. I will not agree with it, because no one currently living is as familiar with the phantom as I am, but... he has every right to. It is the punishment that I deserve, for not keeping myself composed when being confronted by the face—or lack thereof—of evil."
Klavier bypasses any acknowledgment of Blackquill's dramatics, knowing there'll be plenty of opportunity to address them later. "Right. Then, I'm going to take the case from you; I'll ask the chief about it first thing Monday morning."
Blackquill shows little reaction, only continues spinning the knife about, examining it. "No," he says in a low murmur, as if he's merely thinking out loud about something entirely unrelated.
"Blackquill—"
The knife slams to the coffee table. Blackquill is on his feet now, surely aiming to talk down to Klavier, quite literally. Klavier won't let him, and also rises. Either his new look has drained Blackquill of his intimidating aura, or Klavier is just that boldly committed, that Blackquill's seething hot glare has no effect on him.
"No," Blackquill repeats.
"Why?" is Klavier's immediate response.
"There are... elements of this case that I do not want you exposed to. Certain truths will come to light, and... you don't understand, Gavin-dono. You don't..." Blackquill pauses, and for the first time this morning, appears tense. He breathes in, and then out, audibly. "There are truths that even I have not been enlightened to as of yet. And those truths may be all I have left. I do not want them revealed to anyone but me."
Klavier can not make heads or tails of Blackquill's statement; for how blunt he's been since last evening, he's become inexplicably vague, and that might escalate into uncooperative if Klavier presses him for details. It's for the best if he keeps up his own assault; inevitably, it will have to intersect with Blackquill's reservations.
"But that's just it; the truth. And the truth is, what you've just presented is no longer an option. Someone will need to resume this case, as it's a high-priority one. And these truths you're so worried about—would you rather anyone else, perhaps a prosecutor you've never even met, learn them?"
"It's not about you, or anyone else." Blackquill says in a dangerously even tone. "Like I said, you don't understand. There's... " The reality of the situation seems to have finally hit Blackquill, like a sucker-punch. He reaches a flattened hand to his ribs, as if he'd been struck there. Unable to finish his sentence, he instead gathers up his portion of the breakfast setting, and transports it to the kitchen sink.
Klavier follows, doing the same, undeterred. He didn't expect this to go smoothly; all he can do is keep on.
"Listen, Blackquill. After my brother's... actions, I gave up my life as a musician. Professionally, anyway. And it wasn't just because I'd lost a member of my band, it... working opposite Justice opened my eyes. About striving for the truth, no matter how painful it might be, and I... when I agreed to work with you, originally, it was part of that promise."
"It wasn't out of the goodness of your heart?" Blackquill still isn't fully recovered; Klavier can sense he means to be sarcastic here, but it's falling flat.
"Not at all. I was reluctant to do so, but Herr Edgeworth informed me that if I did not work with you and... ah, with you..." Blackquill is already on edge; Klavier does not want to further it with any mention of his deceased detective. "Then no one else would. I'm assuming he came to me knowing I was not in a position to say 'no' to him. He very much believed in your ability to apprehend Geist and simultaneously prove your innocence, and I think... that was enough for me."
"And what does that have to do with where we are now?" Blackquill crosses his arms, a sign of dwindling patience.
"Everything, naturally. Our work isn't done until the phantom is brought to trial for his crimes, and sentenced accordingly. And it... I can tell you, that nothing these past couple years has been easy, but those months working with you... I actually felt like I was fulfilling the purpose I'd laid out for myself so long ago, and then renewed. For once, I felt... needed. Useful."
"A convincing argument. But as I said, there is specific knowledge that I, and only I, have of this case and those involved."
Klavier wishes he could be upset with Blackquill for being so self-centered. But hadn't that been his same angle he'd presented when he'd wanted to be the one to prosecute Daryan? It became a struggle between biased feelings versus intimate knowledge. There was no one better-suited, and at the same time, no worse choice, to prosecute Detective Crescend.
"Then, the time will come when you have to share that knowledge with me." Klavier slowly steps backwards, away from Blackquill and towards his phone—and the case folio Blackquill tossed on the counter last night.
"You sound incredibly certain of this development."
Klavier nods with a smug smile. "Mm-hm." He stops at his phone, feigning that he's reading a text. "Oh, our favorite forensics expert has made it to Khu'rain. She says..." Klavier pauses, glancing at Blackquill to ensure his defenses are still lowered.
"...Yes?" Blackquill asks, suspicion poking through. He's still not noticed where he's left his files.
"...That I have every right to sound so certain." In a swift motion, Klavier snatches the case files up and darts back towards the living room, desperate to find higher ground.
"No!" comes Blackquill's cry from behind him. He snags Klavier by the shirttail, but Klavier breaks free as he rounds the side of the sectional Blackquill had been sitting on.
Picking up Blackquill's abandoned tail of hair from the arm rest, Klavier chucks it at him, striking Blackquill directly in the face. Blackquill lets out a string of muffled curses and rips it away, but it's given Klavier just enough time to climb up the back of the sofa. He sits, back resting against the wall with his arm stretched as high as possible above himself.
With no hesitation, Blackquill picks up the bagel knife and steps up onto the couch with far more steadiness than he should have with such weighted boots. He could easily tear the files from Klavier now, but instead glares with silent reproach.
"You are a terrible houseguest, Blackquill." Klavier's arm is still extended above him, a taunting gesture that matches his carefree tone. "Putting your feet on the host's couch? Pulling a knife on them... how many times is this...? Three? I mean, I know you loaded my dishwasher and bought me breakfast, but still, I don't think—"
"Give me my files back," Blackquill growls. "Now."
"Nein, my files now. What are you going to do, tattle to Herr Edgeworth?" Klavier lowers his voice and affects a slight British accent. "Edgeworth-sensei, Gavin-dono stole my case files!" He stamps his foot petulantly for emphasis, which isn't much as it only squishes into the cushy couch.
Blackquill inches the knife closer to the Klavier's jaw. "No. I will simply end you."
Klavier guesses that none of Blackquill's threats have resulted in the recipient laughing in his face, but Klavier bursts out in a gale of laughter.
"This is amusing to you?!" Blackquill's voice is strained with the anguish of one fighting a losing battle. He's clutching the knife so tightly that it's visibly shaking.
"Amusing, no, but laughable? Yes, Blackquill! Incredibly so! You want my support, my... ah, companionship. Crave it, I would go as far as to say." Klavier brings his tired arm down to cradle the files close. Blackquill makes no attempt to steal them away. "You go on and on about how you value me, my opinion, and then...! When you've no choice but to accept help from me, you reject it. Refuse it. What else can I do, but laugh? Well, cry, I suppose, but I've done far too much of that lately."
Blackquill himself looks ready to cry. His own arm falls away, knife dropping to the cushions. But Klavier knows better than to claim victory just yet. He waits for Blackquill to speak, and after turning his gaze away and swallowing thickly, he does.
"Seeking help through one's own accord and accepting it without having asked first are very different things, Gavin-dono. You know this. All my maundering on last night... my demonstrations of said desire for companionship, my declaration of... of the high esteem I hold for you as a prosecutor and as a person. None of that was disingenuous, you know that as well. But... this case is more important to me than any words can properly describe."
"Ja, ja, we've established as much. Just... if you will not accept it for your own sake, at least think of what Fräulein Cykes would—"
"This does not involve Athena!" The Twisted Samurai flashes momentarily in Blackquill's eyes.
What might have once invoked fear is now a plaintive appeal. Klavier makes every effort to keep the pity out of his reply, despite how rapidly it's welling up within him.
"Do you hear yourself? How does this not involve her? It involves her in every way possible. She has faced irreversible trauma because of Geist, and she... I am speaking from experience; she can not be protected from it, if she is to move beyond its effects. You know this. I know you do."
"Are you insinuating you are more closely acquainted with Athena than I?"
"I'm not. But I don't think you know her very well either, Blackquill. I think you did, once. Just as she knew you. But for you to know each other now..." Klavier shakes his head, thoughts drifting to how much people change over the years. Or, perhaps, they never really do, and it's just one's perception of them that changes. "With you off this case, it would give the two of you equal footing, so to speak. You would both be victims—I mean, you are, regardless, but... you are not her keeper. Not anymore. You've both saved each other, and you're back to square one. Please, let me be the one to help you take the next step. Together."
Klavier can't begin to imagine all the cogs turning within Blackquill's vast mind. He simply waits, mesmerized, and hoping his rapt attention does not disconcert Blackquill any further. It doesn't seem to, as Blackquill is mentally elsewhere, and does not sound altogether present when he responds.
"It sounds as though it might allow you, too, to move forward."
"Ja, there you go. Exactly. Also, I can't speak for Herr Forehead... er, that is, our mutual friend Mr. Justice... but there is little reason to believe he'd have any objections to me being the one to bring Clay Terran's killer to justice. So there's that."
For all of Blackquill's obstinance, something in this particular statement penetrates his defiance. He steps down off the couch, and rubs at his chin in a thoughtful way.
"I... to justice, you say."
"That's right. For Dr. Cykes, and Athena. For Terran, and Justice, and everyone at GYAXA. For..." Klavier pauses, feeling as though he's pronouncing a word in a different language for the first time, and exercises great caution. "...Detective Fulbright."
Klavier never knew Fulbright except in passing; by the time they'd been officially introduced, they hadn't, truly, ever been.
Blackquill's expression morphs—not panicked, exactly, but very alert. "Perhaps you should acquaint yourself with the case files before speaking with Edgeworth-san, or he might not grant you the permission you're so confident you'll be given. There is nothing in there about our phantom friend being charged with Fool... with Bobby Fulbright's murder."
"But that can't... a body was found shortly before our work together, and was, a year later, identified as Detective Fulbright's. He had to have been slain at the hands of Geist. There is no way it was a happy accident, for Geist, that Fulbright died, allowing him to slip into the identity undetected."
"No. That has yet to be proven. There's only circumstantial evidence, and given the state of the body that was recovered and the length of time that's passed, nothing conclusive that can be reached. That, even, it was a homicide." Blackquill says this all in a tight, overly-professional manner, and it squeezes at Klavier's heart. "Nor will the accused admit guilt. No matter what methods are employed."
Suddenly, Klavier has a pretty accurate idea of what sparked so much rage within Blackquill last night. And what Blackquill means by there being truths that remain unearthed. About the heightened level of importance of this case.
"Then, I have a long road ahead of me, and your cooperation will be much appreciated. But you can count on me, Blackquill. And I think it best we let Fräulein Cykes know she can too."
"Yes, I... fine. We can speak with her tomorrow. After the movie. Together. I just..." Blackquill sighs, frustration nudging out. "It will hurt her. Maybe not tomorrow, but... at some point, throughout this, it—"
"But it is already hurting her, and you. Pain is sometimes necessary. Thankfully, there are many things that can be stronger than it, as proven."
"I... I suppose, yes."
A silence unrolls between them, until all the discussion of the case pulls at a related thread in Klavier's mind. "Did you call both of us out today, Blackquill?"
"Out of where?"
"Work, of course. Unless you're assuming those wardens informed Herr Edgeworth that the both of us left... rather indisposed last night."
"What are you playing at, Gavin-dono? Today is Saturday. I have not spoken to Chief Edgeworth, and do not intend to until Monday."
"No, what? I thought it was Friday. I... but the movie tomorrow!" Klavier climbs off the couch, and rushes to his phone, noticing what he hadn't before. "Oh, Scheisse."
"What..? What's wrong?"
Klavier can't answer, his mouth sealed shut. If he opens it, he may scream.
The holiday on Monday, leading to the shortened work week. Moving his counselling appointment to a different day and throwing off his internal clock. And he'd assumed, Blackquill, in his responsible nature, had told Herr Edgeworth that they were both taking sick days, as their chief was accommodating enough to allow "sick days" to include ones pertaining to mental health.
But no. Today is Saturday, which makes tomorrow Sunday. When he's agreed to go out with Blackquill, Athena and their friends to the movies, then subsequently tell Fräulein Cykes his plans of taking the reins of the phantom's case.
Sunday. When, every other week, he visits his brother.