Only a few more chapters left! That is, if all goes according to plan… +_+
Apollo and Klavier arrived by motorcycle about five minutes late. This proved to be alright, since Lamiroir was running even later. She was apparently making a side-stop on the way over.
Trucy had stopped crying long ago, but Apollo couldn't help but notice the extra box of tissues that Phoenix had subtly placed on the lobby table.
"I'm sorry I hit you, Mr. Nick," Pearl offered her apology from the couch.
Phoenix replied from the other side of the room, where he was tending to Mr. Charley, "That's okay Pearls. It wouldn't be the first time, and I can't say I didn't have it coming."
Pearl turned around in her seat, so that her knees dug into the cushions and her hands were gripping the top of the coach, "But you didn't deserve it!" she paused for a moment, chewing on the tip of her thumb, "…okay, maybe a little, yeah. It wasn't really your fault though! It was because of this Lamiroir person."
Trucy, who had been making light conversation with Klavier over by the piano, had something to say to this, "It wasn't her fault either! She'd lost her memory!"
"But didn't she get it back after that case? That was a long time ago! Why hasn't she said anything?"
Phoenix tapped the spout of the watering can against the edge of Charley's pot, "It didn't all come back at once you know. She's been taking this time to 'remember herself,' as she put it. There's also the matter of her surgery."
Apollo sat up straighter, "Surgery? Then you don't mean—"
There was a squeal from Trucy, "She can see again?!"
Phoenix made his way to the couches, setting the water can next to the tissue boxes, "Not quite yet—her eyes are still healing from the operation."
He sat down across from Apollo, next to Pearl, who gave him a look of skepticism, "I…I see."
Trucy sidled up on Pearl's other side, "Come on Pearly, don't be like that."
"I already saw you cry once today, Trucy, I don't want it happening again."
Trucy immediately wrapped her arms around Pearl's middle, "She's really nice, I promise! You'll love her!"
Apollo leaned back and closed his eyes as a familiar presence pressed itself to his side.
He felt a warm breath on his ear, "How're you holding up?"
Apollo's face turned slightly towards Klavier's, eyes still closed, and the side of his forehead brushed against the prosecutor's, "Mmm. A little nervous, actually."
"Why?"
"It's just…I'm a grown man, Klavier. I'm afraid this isn't going to be anything but awkward. What if I can't connect with her? I'm not sure I'll even be able to call her anything other than just Lamiroir."
Klavier slipped an arm around Apollo's waist, resting his hand on the opposite hip, "It'll be fine."
Apollo took a deep breath. Klavier's soft voice in his ear was like a tether grounding his nerves together, which was especially helpful now, since he was finding it hard not to focus on the fact that all his previous interactions with this woman so far involved him heckling and pressing her on the witness stand. Not exactly son-of-the-year material.
Apollo's eyes snapped open as a thought came to him, "I've yelled at my own mother."
When Klavier only gave him laughter, his brow furrowed.
It was light-hearted, but even so, "It's not funny."
Klavier's voice was in his ear again, smooth as ever, "You're worrying about it too much. Lamiroir is an understanding and forgiving woman."
Another thought occurred to him, "You know her better than I do."
Klavier didn't laugh this time, but his smile remained as he conceded with a simple, "Mm," before tracing comforting circles on Apollo's hip with his thumb, "Does that bother you?"
Apollo gave it some thought,"…Not really."
He rubbed at the skin above his bracelet and gave it a little more thought, "Maybe a little…tell me about her."
"Well," Klavier scooted closer so that they were touching from knee to hip, "she's very kind. And her voice is unlike any other I've ever heard."
"I knew that," Apollo said, but a sense of appreciation washed over him nonetheless.
At the mention of Lamiroir's voice, a sort of memory came over him, a sound in his ears that only he could hear. It was smooth and sweet…his mother's voice, no song he'd ever heard her sing, and yet it was familiar somehow. Not sultry, like the Guitar's Serenade, but more soothing, something he could fall asleep to.
He felt a little calmer, "Tell me more."
"She has an incredibly even temper. Unlike someone I know."
Apollo elbowed him in the stomach.
"Ach! You're only proving my point, Mein Forehead," Klavier sounded hurt, but only playfully so.
Apollo just absent-mindedly pulled at the hem of Klavier's sleeve and sighed.
It was a strange thing, really, if he thought about it.
Amnesiac mothers, magical half-sisters, and prosecutor rock-star boyfriends—and here was Apollo in the middle of it all, feeling rather ordinary and not quite sure how he'd gotten so tangled up in such extraordinary company.
Was this how it was always going to be?
Neurotic clients, and spirit medium best friends, and having Phoenix for a boss. That last one alone could be enough to drive anyone up the wall.
Was this what it was like? Having a family?
Apollo had been in good company at the orphanage, but the thing about orphanages was that people often came and went. Even the matrons had changed in and out over the years.
In the span of less than a year, Apollo had gone from being orphaned to having a sister, a mother, and a…Phoenix. The jury was still out on whether this was a good thing or not.
And of course, there was—
"Klavier?"
"Hmmm?
"Thanks for being here."
Klavier moved in and kissed him on the temple, "This is important, ja? Of course I'm here."
"No, not just today, I mean…oh, never mind, it's okay."
Apollo's chest felt light, and in a moment of affection, he found Klavier's hand at his side and squeezed it.
When Klavier laughed, Apollo looked up to see him merely smiling.
"…what?"
Klavier made a motion of the head, pointed his eyes in the direction of the couch opposite.
Apollo shifted his gaze to see Trucy and her father, both giving him identical mischievous looks, grins as sly as foxes. He gulped and felt his face heat up.
In between them Pearls was staring, mouth slightly open in shock.
"Are you…" she looked straight at them with a look so intense and curious that Apollo unconsciously leaned back a bit from the force of it, "Are you special someones?!"
"S-special what?"
Klavier just smiled and tightened his hold on Apollo's waist, not even missing a beat, "Yes, Mein Forehead is very special to me."
Pearl's look of absolute delight slowly melted into one of confusion, "Your… forehead is…?"
The blush on Apollo's face matched the exact shade of his vest. Why did he always wear this color again? Oh, right, because he couldn't afford a second suit.
"Me…he means me…" he muttered, almost inaudibly.
He was practically dying under the smirk that Phoenix was beaming at him—he could see something, some witty smartass remark forming on the tip of Phoenix's tongue. Phoenix opened his mouth, and Apollo narrowed his eyes in response, but before his mentor had even finished drawing his breath, the sound of the bell above the entrance rang softly throughout the room, and everyone's necks instinctively trained towards the door.
The door swung slowly open, and Apollo's heart pounded, because (maybe, maybe it's not her—maybe it's just a customer), until finally the door creaked to a stop to reveal—
"Machi!" Trucy stood up in recognition, smile warm and welcoming.
The young boy flushed in embarrassment, gave a conversational cough and nod and said, "Please to be meeting you. Again."
Then he quickly averted his gaze and leaned back out in the hallway, as if reaching for something, and Apollo swallowed because it occurred to him in that split-second that Machi was about to lead Lamiroir (no, you can't call her that), his mother into the room.
He just saw her hand first—slender, petite, clasped tightly against Machi's—then flowing fabric, so beautiful and elegant—everything about her was elegant. Was he really related to someone this pretty?
And then there she was, standing fully over the threshold, parted lips enough to convey all the hesitation and fear beneath bandaged eyes.
Apollo's breath caught in his chest.
His gaze lingered on the bandages as everything was quiet for a moment.
Lamiroir looked momentarily speechless, obviously nervous, because even without sight it was easy to sense that she was currently the focus of the entire room.
"I…I'm here. Where are my children?"
And that was it, because that was all that was needed. Lamiroir was a mother with only one thing on her mind, and anything else would've sounded scripted.
It was the moment of truth, and Apollo's legs refused to do anything about it.
(Get up—come on, move)
It was like trying to motivate bricks into moving.
Trucy, in what Apollo would later attribute as the bravest thing she'd ever done, stood up before him. Without a word, with just the softest of steps as she practically glided across the room with all the inherited skill of a stage performer, she crossed the distance straight into Lamiroir's arms. It was a soft collision—Trucy didn't even hesitate to throw her arms around her mother, didn't even try to stop the tears.
In that moment, Apollo felt the smallest he'd ever felt.
Looking at the two of them, it just seemed so obvious—Trucy was without a doubt her mother's daughter, brown hair and full cheekbones, and that same sort of prettiness radiating off of both of them. It seemed almost painful that no one had made the connection before now.
Apollo found himself doubting whether or not he could fit himself into the picture.
He could feel Klavier's hand squeezing at his hip, felt him move in to whisper, "Go."
There was a light pressure on the small of his back, propelling him forward, and before he knew it his legs were unlocking and he was moving towards Trucy and Lamirior.
He gulped as he searched for something to say, but found only a dry throat. He still wasn't sure how he should address Lamiroir—(Augh, I'm already half-way across the room!)—maybe he'd just open his mouth and go with the first thing that felt natural. There it was on the tip of his tongue, the first letter of a name forming as he opened and shaped his mouth—
"Apollo."
He mentally started screaming at himself.
Trying to play it off and save himself, he quickly said, "I-It's me, Apollo."
Pure joy and disbelief pulled at Lamiroir's visible features.
Quietly, as if afraid she might awaken from a dream at any moment, she spoke, "My son."
When she blindly reached a hand out, Apollo instinctively met her halfway and clasped it in his, one hand firmly in hers with the other resting gently on her forearm.
There was a slight clinking sound, of metal on metal, and when Apollo looked down he saw it, identical in every way to the one around his own wrist— the same in more than just the metallic copper-tone hue, the same indications of attachment in the glow of regular shine and polish, because they both meant the same thing to their owners.
His chest tightened and he swallowed.
Without thinking, he choked out, "H-Hi…mom."
Trucy, who had been embracing their mother this whole time, now extended her arm out in an invitation to include Apollo. He wasted no time stepping forward to wrap an arm around each of them.
"Y-You're crying, Polly," sniffed Trucy, unable to hold back the tears herself.
"Sh-shut up," Apollo squeezed them both, "I only cry when it's important."