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janglyjusticeforall · 6 years

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Begin Again

Summary: Several snapshots following two men cracked by the harsh reality of life and trying to piece each other back together again.

Read it on AO3

Characters: Klavier Gavin, Diego Armando/Godot, Ema Skye, Phoenix Wright I Mentioned: Kristoph Gavin, Mia Fey, Misty Fey/Elise Deauxnim, Winston Payne, Daryan Crescend, Simon Blackquill

Ships: N/A

Word Count: 2,725

Author’s Note: I actually wrote this for a good friend of mine who hasn’t quite finished Apollo Justice yet, so I can’t really give it to him. Instead, I’ll share it with you guys! I really hope that one day Godot will return to the series; he deserves it. Enjoy!

The first time they meet is two weeks after Klavier’s first trial. He’s proud of his win and even more so proud of exposing a long-standing attorney who’s built his entire career on lies.

“You look lost, kid,” a voice says. Klavier hates to admit that he is. Chief Prosecutor Payne had issued him to go to the district’s only high security prison and speak with an inmate who may have intel the prosecutor needs for an upcoming trial. The task itself isn’t exactly in Klavier’s job description, but something tells him that this is more than just your standard interview. This is a test Payne’s providing to see if Klavier is all the record’s chalked him up to be. Klavier has every intention on passing it.

Of course, nothing had prepared him for how utterly useless the guards are. Sure, the outside of the prison is high security and solitary confinement is on an absolute lockdown, but every other section of the prison is mazes of cells and little population watching the outsides of them.

Klavier thinks he might have had to turn left 13 paces back instead of right. No matter- he could always turn around.

Instead, he looks to the barred inmate speaking to him. “I don’t suppose you have a map,” he counters.

The man… isn’t what he was expecting. Regardless of personal prejudices, he thought criminals had to meet a certain caliber. He thought once their true selves were exposed, once they were locked up and justice was served, they’d revert into orange-clad monkeys who spit at you and call you names.

The man in front of Klavier did not look like someone who would spit at him and call him names. The man in front of Klavier was wearing a designer suit and drinking out of a mug that said ‘#1 Inmate’ with a handcuff decal. Instead of baggy eyes or thick-rimmed glasses, this man dons a metal visor that glows a deep red in contrast to the green tinge of the prison lights.

Alright then.

The man sets down his mug and leans back against the metal frame of his cell’s bunk-bed. “‘S the problem with lawyers like you nowadays,” he broods. “You take the first mug you see as coffee and never once question whether it may be just an extremely dark cup of tea.”

Klavier narrows his eyes. He decides this man is trying to fight him. That’s the problem with Klavier at age 17. He never could back down from any challenge or fight. He never could let anyone try to change his mind. He never could admit that his perspective is not absolute.

He’d yet to be proven wrong. Give it time.

“Who even are you?” Klavier snaps. The man seems to have to consider this for a moment before finally coming to a decision.

“Godot.”

Klavier presses, “Is that a last name or a first name?” The man doesn’t respond- just takes another sip of coffee. “Whatever,” the teenager grumbles. He doesn’t have time for this. As he stalks away, he can feel eyes from behind the visor trained on him until he turns the corner again.

It wasn’t a test. Chief Prosecutor Payne just didn’t feel like taking the time to interrogate his own witness.

He gives Klavier the rest of the day off, though, as compensation for his efforts. Klavier takes the time to just-so-happen-to stumble into the court’s archives. And if he winds up in the ‘G’ section, well, that was a stumble as well.

There are four cases in Godot’s folder- three of which he was a prosecutor for, and the final he was the defendant in. Despite the information for that one being completely blocked out and marked as ‘confidential’, Klavier can imagine what the verdict was. Another one of his files- the last dated prosecuting one- is completely classified as well; however, the first two of his trials are free for Klavier to read.

They’re both against the same defence attorney. Phoenix Wright- the name makes Klavier scowl. He decides then and there to put the files back and push this to the back of his mind. He had no intention in getting involved with another one of the cheat’s schemes.

The second time they meet is after Kristoph’s first conviction. Truthfully, Klavier knows where solitary confinement is, yet he finds himself making a left where he should have turned right and is face to face with the ex-prosecutor Godot yet again.

There’s no particular reason, Klavier thinks. He mostly just wants to see if the man is still alive.

Godot now has a bunkmate. The man has thick black hair, broad shoulders, and an intimidating presence. He sits in the back of the cell, legs crossed, eyes closed, completely devoid of any movement aside from his own steady breathing.

“Meditation,” Godot informs Klavier. “He can sit like that for hours and nothing disturbs him. It’s almost fascinating.”

Klavier doesn’t say anything.

Godot continues, “You aren’t dressed like a guard. You’re dressed like you might actually make some money.”

“You don’t remember me?” Klavier asks, sounding surprised. Godot laughs in response, but it sounds bitter.

“There are other things I prefer spending my time mulling than a bratty kid.”

Klavier opts against responding again. Instead, he takes the time to look into Godot’s cell and deeper at his life. It’s small. If Klavier took a step to the right, he could probably see the toilet against the wall, but he doesn’t. He looks back at Godot again. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Godot scrunches up his nose. “Maybe, but not for me. If you were sorry for me, you would have come back earlier.”

Klavier nods because that’s fair. There’s a lapse in conversation before he decides to admit some truth.

“I looked up your records. I couldn’t find anything from before you started prosecuting. Not even your résumé or where you studied law.”

Godot shrugs, taking a sip out of his #1 Inmate mug. “The person whose body this once was died a long time ago. I am just a prisoner to the mistakes he made.”

It doesn’t really make any sense, but in that moment, Klavier felt like he understood.

Klavier starts visiting him every Saturday. It’d be unprofessional for him to abuse the benefits of being a prosecutor to visit Godot’s cell, so he sits along a row of cubicles, each with their own special phone, surrounded by other people who share business with convicts trapped within these walls.

Godot actually made Klavier laugh the first time he’d come there. “I almost rejected your invitation to meet,” the white-haired man admits, sliding his mug between his palms, “because I had no idea what the fuck your name is.”

On Klavier’s way out of his and Godot’s first visit, the guard by the door remarked, “That’s the first time I’ve seen him accept an invitation since he was admitted seven years ago.” In that moment, this one time fluke became a regular, weekly thing.

Randomly, some weeks later, Klavier tells him, “You could get out of here,” leaning closer to the glass and gripping the table. “Become a prosecutor again. I’m sure you could do it. Get off on good behaviour or something. Even if it’s not in your sentence, strings can be pulled.”

Godot’s nose scrunches up, dark hand reaching up to scratch his chin. “You know, kid,” he says, leaning back in the rickety metal chair the government oh-so-generously provided. “I just don’t think prosecuting is in my blood.”

“Then why’d you do it,” Klavier arches an eyebrow, knuckles turning white. “It’s not exactly an easy job to obtain.” Godot ignores the younger’s obvious frustration in favour of looking out the barred window of the visitation area.

After a long pause, he replies, “There was someone I needed to find. Someone I needed to stand on equal ground with. Actually, no, that’s a lie,” he looks back at Klavier, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I needed to find him and always be five steps ahead of him.”

“Did you?” the blond asks. Godot laughs.

“No,” he sighs. “I never did.”

The first time Klavier ran into Phoenix in the seven years since he’d exposed him was in the supermarket at 3:42 in the morning. Earlier that day (or, he supposes, it was technically yesterday), Klavier lost a case to the same defence attorney that sent his brother to solitary confinement. Apollo Justice was now working under the Wright Anything Agency. Go figure.

“Nice work in court today,” Phoenix remarks. From anyone else, Klavier thinks it may have come across as a taunt of sorts, but Phoenix seems to genuinely mean it.

Klavier could say thank you. He could ask Phoenix about what happened seven years ago. Hell, he could ask Phoenix what happened just a few months ago.

Instead, he asks Phoenix about Godot.

Klavier doesn’t miss the recognition that immediately flares up in Phoenix’s eyes. But then Phoenix still responds with, “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity to meet him.”

The experience makes Godot genuinely holler with laughter. “Trite really said that?” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. The whole predicament has Klavier on edge. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I wouldn’t have expected him to say. He really has changed a lot since he was disbarred.” Godot takes a sip of coffee.

“Since before he was disbarred,” Klavier finds himself arguing. Even to himself it sounds rehearsed, though it’s never an argument he’s ever had aloud before. “He presented false evidence in court.”

“Yea, well that’s-” Godot stops abruptly, shakes his head, takes another sip of coffee. “I try not to call things impossible. But the Phoenix Wright I knew- the one from seven years ago- he respected his mentor. And for anyone who respected Mia Fey to do something like that, well,” a third sip, “that’s impossible.”

Klavier’s about to argue that Godot’s point was cute and all, but he wasn’t there like Klavier had been there, when he notices the absence in Godot’s voice. Klavier suddenly thinks they’re talking about more than just Phoenix Wright.

“When you get out of here,” Klavier asks, “what will you do?”

He receives a firm shake of the head in response. “I don’t plan on getting out of here,” Godot admits. Before Klavier can ask why, he continues, “There is nothing waiting for me outside of here. My story has already ended.”

Mia Fey’s body was buried in a graveyard outside a small village in the mountains. Klavier goes there late at night when he knows no one will spot him. To the right of her grave is a stone that reads ‘Misty Fey’ and to the left is the only one in the graveyard with a male’s name on it. It says ‘Diego Armando’. Somehow, it looks older than its companions.

According to the archives, Diego Armando drank up to 17 cups of coffee in nearly every trial.

Klavier’s trying not to let it show, but he’s getting sick of bullshit. Is everyone around him keeping secrets? First Kristoph, now Daryan. He swears next week Ema Skye is going to kill somebody, and he’s just going to have to quit his job.

“Please tell me you haven’t killed someone,” is the first thing that comes out of Klavier’s mouth. Godot’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Prepare to be disappointed,” he mumbles into the rim of his coffee mug. Klavier groans, head falling into his arms. It’s silent as Godot watches the prosecutor before him try to pull himself back together with ropes that his loved ones keep on wanting to cut. “Hey, kid,” Klavier lifts his head up. “The only time a lawyer can cry is when it’s all over. Your job is to keep smiling until the end.”

The blond nods, finally sitting up. Godot grins, not quite like he means it, but not at all in the grim way he usually does. It gives Klavier hope.

Months later, Krisoph is convicted.

Again.

Klavier smiles when he says it to Godot. The older man tiredly runs a hand through his hair, whistling lowly. “I think it’s fair to cry now, honestly,” he admits. Klavier shakes his head.

“I think I may be cursed. Or have really, really bad luck,” when Godot’s expression turns questioning, Klavier continues, “Herr Wright seems to think this is just the beginning. They’re calling it ‘The Dark Age of the Law’. I can’t help but think that I contributed to the start of it.”

Godot makes a face. “I can’t say I believe much in curses or luck,” he begins.

“But you do believe in spirit mediums?” Klavier finds himself asking before Godot can finish. Immediately the white-haired man goes rigged. Klavier regrets opening his stupid mouth.

“I believe that the world keeps turning,” Godot says carefully, “and that we turn with it.”

Klavier starts speaking again to apologise, but Godot cuts him off, saying he has to go. Klavier knows he has nowhere to go but still lets him use the excuse. For the first time, they stop talking before visiting hours end.

Klavier thinks that, to him, Godot is what Phoenix Wright was to Fräulein Skye however many years ago that was. And he understands now why Ema hated him so much for so long. He supposes that if he’d been in her situation, he’d have a lot of reasons to hate a lot of things as well.

Now he sits cheerfully on her desk awaiting her to return from her lunch break. And when she does, she looks significantly less ecstatic about coming to work today. Klavier could concede, however, that she doesn’t immediately attack him with her ever present arsenal of Snackoos now that Phoenix’s name has been cleared. Progress?

“Can I help you?” Ema even bothers to sound somewhat professional. Progress!

“I need a non work related favour,” he sheepishly admits. She tilts her head to the side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Klavier can’t help but think about how different her response would have been three months ago. “And regardless of whether you pull it off for me, I do have something else to give you.”

Ema gives Klavier a skeptical look, setting her bag down next to him on her desk. “Alright,” she decides. “I’ll hear you out.”

There is a rehabilitation program for prisoners. After all, once you’re convicted for eight or so years, it can be a bit difficult to get back up on your feet.

When Godot is released, the state has him join one of these programs. He’s to meet with his parole officer every week indefinitely. He also has a psychiatrist now, which is an interesting touch, but he supposes it couldn’t hurt. If he didn’t like it then he’d find a way out of it. He thinks it might do him so good, though, because even though the gaping hole in his heart no longer yearns for things he could never again have, it has filled with a certain emptiness that he doesn’t think will ever go away. But, yknow. Maybe it’s manageable.

He’s given a temporary living space until he sorts out where he wants to go from here. On his bedside table is a poorly disguised mug underneath gaudy purple wrapping paper and a note.

Herr Caffeine Addiction,

If you are ever truly found guilty again, do not expect anything like this to happen. There is no smorgasbord of second chances. Let’s not kill anyone else, ja? This is a thank you for everything you’ve done this past year.

Diego Armando may be dead, but Godot still has life left in him. Do not be prisoner to yourself. That is, for lack of a better word, stupid.

I’ve left you a gift to get you settled. Once you obtain a phone, give me a call.

Klavier Gavin

P.S. Recently, my detective has found the resources to return to school so that she can take her forensics test again. I’m sure you, too, could find the resources to replace said detective. If that’s something you’d be interested in, ja?

When he unwraps the present, he finds ‘#1 Partner’ staring up at him. Godot wonders, for the first time in this new life, if a story can really begin again.

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