To Make the Vastness Bearable

To Make the Vastness Bearable

Apollo waits while Trucy hugs Mr. Wright—or perhaps it's while Mr. Wright hugs Trucy, he's not sure who is doing the comforting and who is the one being comforted. Or perhaps both parties are taking on both roles, and he smiles, just a bit, to see the relief on Mr. Wright's face, the pride and joy on Trucy's.

They won.

It hurt more than Apollo ever thought it possibly could, but they won.

Simon Blackquill is free. Athena's nightmares are over. Trucy is safe—and Apollo will have to talk to Aura Blackquill about the use of hostages in the pursuit of justice. Though he understands the frustration and fear she felt, taking advantage of innocents is not an acceptable method of pursuing the truth.

Apollo doesn't actually see Trucy shift her grasp from Mr. Wright to him. He doesn't know if he blinked or if the girl used some misdirection trick of hers, but one minute she's wrapped in her father's arms, and the next she has him in a vice-grip.

"Polly." Trucy's voice trembles with a mishmash of emotion, and Apollo finds himself casting a glance at Athena, hoping that she will be able to help him make sense of the situation.

Athena just grins at him, and Apollo can't tell if it's vaguely threatening, the way she crosses her arms in front of her chest, or simply self-satisfied.

"Hey, Trucy." Apollo returns the young woman's embrace, pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. "How's our hero doing?"

"I was pretty heroic, wasn't I?" Trucy pulls back, though her arms remain anchored firmly in Apollo's vest, holding tight, as though he might disappear if she lets go. "Though you and Athena and Daddy were also pretty brave. The Wright Anything Agency—the most heroic family in the whole damn world."

A strangled noise slides its way out of Apollo's throat, and he glances first at Athena and then at Mr. Wright, waiting for them to correct Trucy.

They don't, though. Athena just grins wider, looking pleased with the world; Phoenix stands calm and collected, his hands in his pockets, the faintest fond smile on his face as he watches his daughter. All right, so it's probably not fair to expect Mr. Wright to correct Trucy at the moment. Trucy could probably say that the moon is actually an illusion projected by aliens who are trying to take over the world and he'd agree, he's clearly so thrilled and relieved to have her back.

"We should go out to eat to celebrate!" Trucy turns so that she's facing her father, though one hand continues to stay firmly latched onto Apollo. He's starting to get a little worried that she's going to rip the fabric if she continues to hold on so tight. "Also because I'm starving. I'm not sure Aura realizes that people aren't robots and need food and water to survive. I was soooo hungry by the time she let us go—"

"There you are."

Apollo recognizes the faintly exasperated voice, and he winces as he turns around, though he's fairly certain it's not him that the Chief Prosecutor is looking for. Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright have some kind of strange friendship-rivalry... thing, a thing that has resulted in Trucy being far too familiar with and comfortable with the Chief Prosecutor for Apollo's comfort.

Except it isn't Phoenix that Prosecutor Edgeworth is glaring at, it's Apollo.

Apollo returns the man's silver stare with a glower of his own, realizing belatedly that he probably shouldn't antagonize this man. (This man who knew about the Phantom, who was fighting the Phantom but failed to save Clay, but that is not Miles Edgeworth's fault, and Apollo will not let his grief make him unfair.)

"How you lot are managing to evade the reporters to the point where you're difficult to find, I don't know, but I'm glad I caught up to you before they did." Prosecutor Edgeworth's gaze scans over their group, and Apollo doesn't need his special eyes to see the way the man's shoulders relax, to catch the slight smile that touches his face as his eyes flit from Phoenix to Trucy to Apollo to Athena.

The Chief Prosecutor is glad to see them all, together like this.

Then his eyes return to Apollo, and Edgeworth's smile takes on a different edge. More... predatory. Except the Demon Prosecutor is just a person, no matter the tales that are told about him, and moreover he is a person dedicated to truth and justice, and Apollo will not be intimidated by him.

Apollo doesn't know what he does, other than meeting Edgeworth's gaze and refusing to look away, but whatever it is, it makes Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth give a brief chuckle. "An impressive crew you have here, Wright. Everything I've heard and more, given what I've seen over the last few days. I'm sorry to break up the festivities, but there are still some loose ends that need to be tied up. Come, Justice. I'm borrowing you for a few hours."

Apollo blinks, trying to make sure he's parsed that sentence properly. It was his name, right? It had to be. You can't borrow intangible ideals. But why would this man want him? He's a defense attorney. Edgeworth can have his pick of any of the prosecutors that he wants to help him with anything. Why come to Apollo? "Excuse me?"

Phoenix steps up on Apollo's other side, resting a hand on Apollo's shoulder. "It's already been a long enough day, Edgeworth. Whatever you need—"

"I need him, and I believe that he'll find the outing to be... enlightening. Hopefully something that can relieve a bit of the... pressure from the last few days." Edgeworth chooses his words carefully, but there's a buoyant note to his tone and expression that makes Apollo wary. The prosecutor is pleased with himself, and also very studiously avoiding telling Apollo anything useful.

Apollo crosses his arms over his chest. "Where do you want to take me?"

Edgeworth shakes his head. "I can't reveal that. Not yet, at least."

Apollo glowers harder, his jaw tensing. He hates people playing games with him—his eyes flick to Mr. Wright, who is currently frowning at the Chief Prosecutor, too.

Trucy raises her hand, as though she were in class. "Can I come too, Uncle Miles?"

The fond familiarity in Trucy's address breaks the mood the Chief Prosecutor had created, and Apollo watches in fascination as matching looks of exasperation flash across both Mr. Wright's and Edgeworth's faces.

Edgeworth steps forward, though, running a hand over Trucy's hair. "I can't take you right now, but I promise that I'll take you tomorrow, assuming everyone involved agrees. It shouldn't be so much of a secret tomorrow."

"What secret?" Phoenix pokes Edgeworth in the arm. "You told me you weren't keeping things about the Phantom case from me, Miles—"

"And I wasn't at the time I said that." Edgeworth straightens his already-immaculate suit, his fingers toying with his sleeve cuffs. "Really, why am I bearing the brunt of all your suspicions right now? I am trying to do your boy a favor, Wright, a favor that is going to be very difficult to complete if you don't let me take him now, before someone realizes I am not where I should be."

Phoenix hesitates a moment before turning to Apollo with a shrug. "Your choice what you want to do, Apollo. Though I promise Prosecutor Edgeworth wouldn't ever do something to hurt you."

Apollo hesitates, studying Edgeworth. "You said... it's something I'll want to see?"

Edgeworth inclines his head. "I am certain it's something that you'd like to know sooner rather than later, given what I've seen and heard over the last few days."

"All right." Apollo sighs. He is tired—it has been a long few days, and he knows that the days to follow will be no less long, filled with preparation for Clay's funeral. If he is being offered information, though, he is not going to turn it down. "Though... will you be able to drop me off at the Agency when we're done?"

"I can take you wherever you wish to go when we're done." Edgeworth smiles again, and it is a surprisingly gentle, kind expression, something Apollo hadn't expected. Something Apollo doesn't quite trust, though the smile doesn't change as Edgeworth raises his head to study the other members of the Agency. "I'll see all of you later. Do try to stay out of trouble for the next few hours, all right?"

And with that Miles Edgeworth turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Apollo to skitter after him, still utterly confused about what's going on.

XXX

Edgeworth has a bright red sports car.

Apollo supposes he shouldn't be too surprised. Prosecutors tend to be rich, and the way Edgeworth dresses certainly speaks to a flare for the expensive, the dramatic, and the elegant.

Apollo still finds himself running his hands over the soft leather seats, surreptitiously checking out all of the interior systems, listening in intent awe to the quiet purring of the engine. He isn't jealous. Really. He's just... curious. Inquisitive. Good traits for an attorney to have.

"You performed admirably, even without any backup or assistance."

"Huh?" Apollo resists the urge to look around. There is no one else in the car. Clearly the words are meant for him, though he has no idea why Prosecutor Edgeworth has decided to praise him, after six minutes of very studious silence. Unless the words aren't meant as praise? That would make a bit more sense, given Prosecutor Edgeworth's ties to Mr. Wright. "If you're trying to rub in that what I did was unprofessional and stupid, I already get it. I'll trust the people I'm working with from now on."

"I meant no such thing." Edgeworth's eyebrows both creep up, though his eyes stay locked firmly on the road. "I meant what I said. You showed initiative, courage, and ingenuity during a very difficult time. I am impressed. You are every inch the determined and talented young man that Phoenix Wright describes you as."

"I... ah... um..." Apollo closes his mouth, since all that seems to want to come out are stuttering sounds of disbelief. Focus, Justice. Don't just flail about. Arguments have to be coherent and usually grammatically sound in order to be taken seriously. "I could have gotten Athena killed for a crime she didn't commit."

"No." Dry certainty fills the single word. "You went searching for the truth, and you helped find it. Trust is not a thing to be given lightly—or broken lightly. She lied to you; you went looking for the reason; because of the searching you did, the reason was not only uncovered, a dangerous criminal was brought into custody. You have done very well, Apollo Justice, and I have no doubt that everyone else in your f—... at the Agency believes as much and will tell you as much."

"Maybe." Apollo faces the window rather than Edgeworth, watching buildings slide by at a surprisingly fast clip. His right hand creeps up to his chest, fingers pressing over his still-aching heart. "I hope so. I tried."

"You fought for the truth. You went looking for the truth, no matter how painful." Edgeworth draws a long, slow breath. "And I will repeat, and always believe, that this is never a bad thing. Wright and I... if he hadn't dug for the truth, I would have hung for my father's murder, while his true killer went free. Were we not to suspect Von Karma, because he had cared for me for fifteen years? And that is hardly the only time we have gone digging for painful truths in places that others would consider sacrosanct. Ask Ema Skye some time what her opinion is on uncovering potentially painful truths. From what I have seen and heard of your relationship over the last two years, I suspect you are close enough that she would tell you her story."

Apollo blinks, trying to imagine what kind of darkness there might be in Ema's past.

Edgeworth takes a turn probably a little bit faster than he should, and his jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed as he studies the road as though it were a recalcitrant witness. "I have seen to the arrests of detectives, police chiefs, and prosecutors in the course of my career. Was I to turn a blind eye to their crimes because we are on the same side—because I knew and respected some of them?"

"That's different."

"Why?" Edgeworth didn't give him a chance to say how it was different before asking the rhetorical question, and he hurries on after he asked it, keeping Apollo from making an argument. "Because they were guilty? The only way to know if someone is guilty or not is to find the truth."

True, but Apollo still thinks that there is something... different, something fundamentally wrong with the way he suspected Athena, though it is hard to put the feeling into words. "I bet you didn't have reason to trust most of those people you helped put away. I bet most of them were corrupt and it was just trying to find the evidence to stop them from hurting other people."

"For many of them. But there were also... I sent the mentor of a very dear friend to jail. A police detective who was circumventing the law because he thought the system was too broken to do what was necessary. He... wasn't wrong, with some of his assertions." For a moment Edgeworth is still, silent, and Apollo can feel the weight of too many ghosts crowded into the car with them. Then the man's mouth quirks into the faintest smile. "But then there was Wright, simply reworking the system when he found it incapable of handling certain events. His is a much better way to go, I think."

"That's probably the nicest way you could describe the creation and implementation of the Jurist System." Apollo studies Miles Edgeworth as surreptitiously as he can. He suspects that Edgeworth has a very... different view of Phoenix Wright than he does.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is easier to view things objectively when one isn't quite as intimately involved with the proceedings." Edgeworth turns down a one-way street, and Apollo takes a closer look at their surroundings, frowning.

He suspects where they're going, though he can't imagine why Edgeworth would be taking him to the hospital. Maybe there's some secret government building nearby? "I'm... not sure it's fair to say that you're completely objective with regards to Mr. Wright. I've seen you at Trucy's magic shows... quite a few times."

Edgeworth turns onto another one-way street, and they are definitely approaching the back way into the hospital parking garage. "Perhaps not completely objective, no, but he doesn't... antagonize me as he antagonized you during the Jurist System proceedings. I have suggested that he owes you an apology, but he insists that you understand when he's just teasing you."

"I... huh." Apollo has to pause for a minute, too surprised by all the turns the conversation has taken. The Chief Prosecutor has suggested to his boss that he apologize to Apollo. The Chief Prosecutor has been talking about Apollo with Mr. Wright. "Is any of this in any way related to whatever secret you're letting me in on?"

"Only insofar as it is related to the Phantom case, and I wanted to give you my opinion on your performance during said case." Edgeworth turns into the hospital parking garage, slowly and carefully easing his car through the lanes. "I like having honest, intelligent lawyers for my prosecutors to work against. I think it makes it much more likely for the truth to be found."

"Well, I'm not planning on quitting or leaving the Agency, if that's what you're worried about." The fingers of Apollo's right hand dance across his bracelet as Edgeworth slides the car into a parking spot.

"Good." Edgeworth puts the car into park with clean, decisive movements, removing and pocketing the key. His lips quirk up again into that faint smile again. "Gavin will be relieved to hear that."

Apollo groans. "He didn't put you up to... all of this, did he?"

"No." Edgeworth climbs out of the car, and Apollo hastily does the same. "I told you, what I said was my strictly my opinions, for what they are worth, on the last few days."

"And why..." Apollo licks his lips, staying where he is by the passenger side door. "Why are we here? You're not taking me to see... I'm not sure I'll be able to keep myself from doing something... stupid, if you're taking me to see the..." Apollo glances around the parking lot, and though there is no one in sight, he still lowers his voice and chooses a different word that will hopefully still be comprehensible. "The ghost."

"There will be no phantoms here, not today. Though ghosts..." Edgeworth shrugs, turning and walking toward the hospital doors.

Leaving Apollo to either follow him or stay by the car, still in the dark.

Heart beating too hard and fast in his chest, Apollo runs to catch up to the long-legged man, falling into step with him in the hospital corridor.

Edgeworth walks quickly, forcing Apollo into a half-jog to keep up with him. It is clear Edgeworth knows where he's going, and no one approaches them or tries to stop them, not even when Edgeworth lets himself into a stairwell that is very clearly marked as off limits to everyone but hospital staff.

Apollo follows behind him, trying not to look out of place or suspicious, keeping his questions locked behind his teeth by sheer force of will. He'll know soon what it is that Edgeworth wants to show him.

They are on a top floor, in a section that Apollo is fairly certain is meant to be administrative, when Edgeworth stops outside a door that is no different than any other door in the hall. He knocks eleven times, in what is obviously a pattern—loud, soft, loud, soft, soft, loud, loud, soft, loud, loud, soft. There is the click of a lock being undone, and a gruff voice proclaims, "Sir! Good to see you!"

"And good to see you, Detective. I trust there have been no incidents?" Edgeworth slides into the room, gesturing imperiously for Apollo to follow.

"No incidents, sir." The detective is enormous, towering over Apollo, but his grin is wide and kind as he closes and locks the door behind them. "The kid's recovering as nicely as the docs could hope, and it seems nobody's figured out he's still alive, so nobody's tried to come remedy that fact."

Kid.

Alive.

Apollo hopes, even as he tells himself that it's utter foolishness to hope. There are a great many people that the detective, who looks to be in his early forties, with gray streaks through his dark hair, could refer to as kid. There are many people that Miles Edgeworth could be trying to protect. There are many, many cases that the Chief Prosecutor might want Apollo's opinion or help on, and to think that it's—

Except Apollo knows the still figure lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by a cadre of machines that would be horrifying to Apollo if they weren't infinitely, indescribably better than the alternative.

He knows the dark brown eyes that are blinking hazily at him from above an oxygen mask.

He knows the shock of messy black curls, has helped Clay attempt to tame them, was there when Clay gave up and declared he was just going to wear a hat forever.

He knows that smile, clever and pleased with himself, though it is smaller and weaker than it was before.

"CLAY TERRAN." Apollo stands frozen a few steps into the room, his hands clenched into fists, and he doesn't know if he's going to laugh or cry or close the distance to the bed and punch his best friend because this is ridiculous. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD, YOU'RE ALIVE."

The detective winces, putting a finger in one ear. "Sir, I think it might not be a secret anymore."

"That's all right, detective." Edgeworth has his hands crossed in front of his chest. "The need for it to remain secret should have passed by now, though I intend to keep you on guard duty until I'm certain of it."

"Yes, sir!" The detective smiles, looking down fondly at Clay. "It's a pretty good gig, taking care o' the kid. I don't mind keepin' it for a little bit longer."

Apollo totters forward on legs that feel disconnected from his body, each step seeming unreal. He comes to a stop at the right-hand side of the bed, reaching out tentatively with one hand to touch Clay's hair.

Clay smiles, the expression obvious even through the oxygen mask. "Hey, Justice. Long time... no see."

Clay's voice is very soft, almost too soft to hear, but there is good humor in it, and Apollo recognizes it, had thought he was never going to get to hear it again. Drawing a breath of his own, he forces his numb tongue to form words. "I thought you were dead."

"Rumors of my... demise have been... slightly exaggerated." Clay's breath stutters out in a series of puffs, and it takes Apollo a moment to realize that his friend is laughing. A strange kind of laughter, one with barely any sound and with minimal movement of his chest, but laughter.

Clay is alive.

Clay is laughing.

"I'm going to punch you." Apollo buries his hand in Clay's hair, since it seems to be one of the few parts of him that isn't hooked up to one of the thousand machines. "As soon as you can sit up, I am going to punch you so hard for this."

Then Apollo bursts into tears, despite every effort that he makes to stop them.

Clay's left hand creeps up, slowly, as though every movement were a difficult and painful process, and his fingers clasp loosely onto Apollo's rolled-up sleeve cuff. "It's okay, 'Pollo. It's okay."

"You idiot." Apollo tries to draw a deep breath through the sobs, not quite succeeding. "You bloody damned idiot. You're alive."

"Uh huh." Clay grins. "Also... ten dollars richer now... thanks to you."

Apollo scrubs at the tears running down his face, though he still doesn't seem able to make them stop. Frowning, he turns to the detective.

The detective points at himself. "Me, I only bet the kid five dollars. I said that you would be so happy to see him alive you wouldn't say anythin' insultin'."

Clay's hand tugs on Apollo's sleeve, turns Apollo so that he's facing Prosecutor Edgeworth.

Edgeworth's finger taps against his arm, and after a moment he sighs. "I was coerced into betting that you would forget yourself and at least attempt to strike Mr. Terran."

"You..." Apollo looks between the three. "The three of you... bet on how I would react?"

"It's been really boring... lying here for two days... trying to remember... what he looked like." Clay's hand forms an awkward, wobbly thumb's up. "But I did. I helped. Always have been... Justice's best friend."

It's a terrible pun. It should make him angry. It should tangle with the rest of the complicated emotions in his chest and lose Clay five of those ten bucks.

Apollo isn't quite sure how he ends up kneeling on the ground. He doesn't intend to kneel, just like he'd really like to stop crying, but both seem to be completely beyond his control.

So he spends a few minutes sitting on the ground by Clay's bed, sobbing into Clay's bedsheets while Clay strokes his hair and tells him that everything is going to be just fine.

The man with a chest wound is telling Apollo that Apollo's going to be fine.

The man whose murder case Apollo worked on in court is alive.

His best friend is alive.

It doesn't make everything better. Some things it makes slightly worse. He is going to have to talk to Clay, now, about how much Clay knew. About how drugging someone without their knowledge and against their will is actually a pretty serious crime. About how not telling your best friend important things—like he needs to to shut up, you won't actually be getting out into space—is kind of awful.

He is going to have to talk to Miles Edgeworth about how prosecuting a murder case when the victim is still alive is probably against some law somewhere, and if it isn't, it damn well should be.

He is going to have to do a lot of things, but apparently what he's going to do first is sit here and cry like a lost child, and hope that everyone currently in the room won't think less of him for it.

XXX

Edgeworth exchanges a few quiet words with the detective that Apollo can't hear, and excuses himself from the room.

Gumshoe takes up a guard position at the door, grinning happily at Clay and Apollo before crossing his arms and turning his back to them, providing as much privacy as he can given the confines of the room.

"So?" Clay's voice is still thready and soft. "I hear you... caught my murderer?"

Apollo shakes his head, settling back more comfortably in the chair that the detective had provided for him. "I helped, maybe. There were a lot of people involved in the Phantom case. But you are not allowed to refer to someone as your murderer when you're alive."

"All right, my... would-be murderer." Clay rolls his eyes. "Given that he... tried very hard to kill me... I think murderer... is a fitting word."

Apollo strokes his thumb along Clay's fingers—at least along the ones that don't have sensors attached to them. "You know what? Though I should object, because legally there's a rather big gulf between attempted and successful murder, I think I'm going to side with you on this one. We caught your murderer. He's actually probably downstairs somewhere."

"What?" Clay's eyebrows draw together, and his skin must not be as pale as Apollo thought it was, because it becomes a ghost-white paper imitation now, all his veins showing clearly.

"Don't worry." Apollo gathers Clay's hand in his, holds it tight. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. But he's not going to be capable of doing so for quite a while, anyway. Once we figured out who he was... an assassin tried to take him out. Last I heard he was in critical but stable condition."

"An assassin... for the assassin." Clay gives another one of his soft, careful laughs, though his eyes are hard and sad. "So stupid. This whole thing... has been so stupid. Does it matter... who gets to the stars? I would go... with anyone from any country... as long as they loved them... as much as me."

Apollo smiles, though his throat feels tight and close again. "I'm not sure it's possible to love them as much as you. You've probably been courting them for as long as you could talk. You're a very dedicated paramour where space is concerned."

"I have been, haven't I?" Clay laughs again, and his color is slightly better, not healthy but not the death-pallor that it had been. "Doesn't mean... others can't be just as dedicated. After all... your dedication to justice... doesn't diminish any of your friends' dedication... yeah?"

"True." Apollo's smile fades as he studies his friend. "Clay... why didn't you tell me? You knew, and you didn't say anything. You just let me babble on like an idiot about how awesome the trip was going to be and—you didn't tell me."

His voice cracks, but his eyes are dry, anger pushing away all the other emotions for a brief period.

"I couldn't." Clay's voice is absolute earnest truth, and Apollo's bracelet stays loose on his arm. "I promised. Director Cosmos said... if I took care of Mr. Starbuck... he'd take care of everything."

"And you trusted him? The guy who suggested you drug one of our friends?" Apollo glares down at Clay. "That was... Clay, that was one of the stupidest, most thoughtless, most... idiotic things you have ever done. And I have a long list to compare things to."

"I get it." Clay rolls his eyes. "I'm an idiot. I owe... Mr. Starbuck an apology."

"You might owe him jail time, depending on if he wants to press charges."

"He wouldn't." There is utter serene certainty in Clay's voice. "He'll understand... why I did it."

"Yeah, well, will the Prosecutor's Office agree with him? I'm pretty sure the state can bring charges about illegally drugging someone."

"Oh." For the first time Clay looks somewhat hesitant, his gaze darting towards the door and then to Apollo. "He just... spent a lot of effort... saving my life. You don't think... he'd do that, right?"

"He's the Demon Prosecutor." Apollo tries to put all the force of Miles Edgeworth's reputation into the nickname, to impress upon Clay exactly how screwed he should be. "And he absolutely loathes corruption. He gets a case between his teeth, he doesn't let go until everyone who broke the law has paid the price."

"I wasn't corrupt. I was trying to help... Starbuck get back into space. And not... get him killed. He's not... a very good actor!"

"He didn't remember anything and he didn't have any idea why. Clay, he was—" Apollo pauses, drawing a deep breath, forcing his fingers to relax where they are crushing Clay's. "He pretty much asked me to throw the case a few times. He didn't know if he'd hurt you, and he was willing to maybe hang just because the possibility was out there."

"I'm sorry." The words are whispered so quietly that they are almost inaudible given the hiss of the oxygen pump, and Clay's eyes glimmer, a sheen of tears like Apollo has seen very few times before covering them. "I didn't... I was trying to help."

And just like that, just as quickly as it came, the anger fades back, and Apollo feels absolutely awful. "I know. Hey, easy there, don't mess up your breathing. It's fine. You're fine."

"Not fine." Clay's eyes rake pointedly over the medical equipment surrounding them. "But... I will be. Or... close enough. Though I probably... won't be able to make it into... space now. Not with... jacked up lungs."

"You'll make it." Apollo carefully gathers Clay's other hand in his, holding both in a firm grip. "We're going to get you better, and you're going to get up into space. Do you think Starbuck and the rest of the Space Center crew would settle for anything less?"

Clay blinks several times, and eventually the tears fade away. "Hard to... get into space if I'm... sitting in a jail cell, too."

"Well..." Apollo grins. "I may know a defense attorney or two who would be willing to argue there were extenuating circumstances for everything."

There were." Clay sighs, a puff of white clouding the inside of the oxygen mask. "But I know... how much you hate being lied to. And I... hated having to lie. I'm glad... you know everything. You can... forgive me?"

It shouldn't be this easy. He thinks maybe it won't be this easy, not really—thinks maybe he will remember that Clay can lie to him and make it seem convincing, will remember that there are loyalties Clay can place above their friendship.

But Clay is alive, and he hasn't lied at all to Apollo since Apollo found that out, and Apollo desperately wants to just be happy now. To just enjoy the fact that his best friend is alive and sitting here with him, rather than in a morgue somewhere, and so what if everyone Apollo loves and respects sometimes thinks it's best to keep him in the dark?

No. That's not fair, not true, and not what he wants. Squeezing Clay's hands, Apollo smiles. "It's forgiven. It's fine."

Clay's mouth quirks into a tentative half-smile. "You're fine, Justice."

"Yeah?" Apollo's smile grows. "You're fine, Terran."

"We're fine."

They say it in unison, and Clay's hands squeeze Apollo's as Clay puffs out his careful, quiet laugh. "You're the best, 'Pollo. The absolute best."

Apollo doesn't believe it, but Clay does, Apollo's bracelet hanging loose around his wrist as Apollo fiddles with Clay's pillows and blankets for the hundredth time.

And perhaps that's all that's needed to start making everything honestly fine again.

XXX

"You lied to me."

Phoenix stares at the Chief Prosecutor, currently ensconced behind his office desk, though they are both holding a glass of rather expensive wine.

"I did." Miles takes a sip. "I lied to a great many people over the last few days. I thought it was necessary."

"Apollo..." Phoenix paces the length of the office again. "Do you have any idea how hard the last few days have been on him?"

"I do, actually." Miles' tone is dry. "I am not unfamiliar with grief and sorrow, Wright. But I assumed he would prefer a few days of perhaps-needless sorrow to actually burying his friend."

"Ngh." Phoenix scrubs a hand over his face.

Miles raises one eyebrow. "Not so keen on manipulation when it's being used on you, I see?"

"I am not—..." Phoenix trails off, because it is no longer an unfair accusation. He has learned how to manipulate, and he has used it against friends as well as foes over the last few years. "You aren't going to logic chess me into saying that this was all right, so stop trying to do it. How did you even manage this?"

"I had Detective Gumshoe at the Center along with Detective Fulbright." Miles takes another sip of his wine. "The list of people that I trusted implicitly during this case was incredibly small—you, the detective. I was fairly certain I would be able to pick up any abnormalities in behavior in Detective Skye, Prosecutor DeBeste, or Prosecutor Gavin, given our histories, but not entirely. So I tried to have the detective surreptitiously present wherever I wished to be present but couldn't be. It was Detective Gumshoe who realized that Mr. Terran was still alive—just barely—and saw to it that he was delivered without incident to the paramedics. He then called me, and I instructed him to arrange it so that Mr. Terran was declared dead on arrival at the hospital."

"Even though he wasn't."

Miles inclines his head. "For the first two days it almost wasn't a lie. Mr. Terran had been grievously injured. He had been stabbed in the chest, in such a way that he likely saw the one who stabbed him. I thought perhaps he might be able to give us a few more clues as to the Phantom's true identity. I also thought that would make him a prime target for the Phantom while he was hospitalized and vulnerable."

"And so he's been officially dead. Because there's no need to assassinate dead men." Phoenix collapses into the chair across from Miles. He has to admit that it makes a certain kind of terrible sense, though having watched Apollo bleed invisibly for the last five days makes it hard for him to accept it. "And did you get something useful out of it?"

"Well, Mr. Terran is still alive. I consider that a win." Miles sets his own glass down. "And yes, he was able to give me some new pieces of evidence that led to me suspecting Detective Fulbright was not all he seemed to be."

"And now?"

"Now we inform those close to him—his father and Apollo and the space center staff—that Mr. Terran is alive. Tomorrow I make an announcement to the public." Miles shrugs. "And then we all move on, finally."

"I still don't like it, you know."

"I know." Miles meets his eyes evenly. "Being kept in the dark about events that will have an emotional impact on yourself or those dear to you is never a pleasant experience."

"If this is about how long I kept quiet about Kristoph—"

"You let me suspect everyone I worked with for months—years—before finally telling me the whole truth."

"I just wanted your unbiased opinions, because I wasn't certain exactly what had happened, either!"

"I just wanted to keep the boy alive, Wright." Miles' hand clenches into a tight fist for a moment before he very intentionally settles it down on the desk. "There have already been far too many good people killed or injured in this pointless affair."

"Well..." Phoenix sighs before emptying his own wine glass in one long drought. "I guess I have to agree with you there. Clay's going to be all right now?"

"For certain definitions of all right. He's down a half a lung and he's likely got three to four months of rehabilitation ahead of him, to say nothing of the physical and mental scars that I'm sure this will leave." Miles closes his eyes, and Phoenix can see the toll the last few months have taken on him in the slump of his shoulders, the slight muss to his hair. "But he will live. Blackquill will live. Your newest protege goes free."

"Not a bad ending. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but not a bad ending." Phoenix hauls himself to his feet, moving around the desk and holding out a hand to Miles. "You haven't eaten yet. Care to come to dinner with Trucy and Athena and I?"

Miles studies his hand uncertainly for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "No questions about my leaving Apollo at the hospital?"

"I'm sure he wanted to stay. If I were him I would have wanted to stay." Phoenix bends down, grabbing Miles' hand in his and hauling until Miles finally stands.

"Detective Gumshoe will either bring him home at the end of his shift or arrange for him to stay there." Miles' expression is hesitant as he follows Phoenix towards the door. "You're sure I'm welcome at dinner tonight? Your little crew—"

"Includes you." Phoenix holds the door to the Chief Prosecutor's office so that Miles can exit, giving a little bow as Miles walks past. "Come on, Uncle Miles. Let's go celebrate a victory that ended up being far less Pyrrhic than either of us expected."

"Oh, Wright, you're learning." Miles smiles as he pulls his car keys out. "One day perhaps you'll even be able to keep up with me in chess."

"I've beaten you in chess."

"Without your daughter's help."

Phoenix smiles as he follows Edgeworth down the stairs and towards the parking garage. "Just shut up and drive, Prosecutor Edgeworth."

XXX

Apollo wakes when someone drapes a blanket across his shoulders.

He didn't mean to fall asleep. He and Clay had talked until Clay's eyes were drooping, his answers becoming disconnected from the conversation. After Clay responded to a question about Starbuck with the assertion that DNA strands could, conceivably, travel through space on meteors and comets, Apollo had very firmly instructed him to stop fighting and go to sleep.

Advice that Apollo apparently followed himself, without meaning to.

"Sorry." Detective Gumshoe runs a hand along his neck, looking sheepish. It's impressive, given the man's size, how unassuming and non-threatening he manages to look. "Didn't mean t' wake you. You were just shiverin' a little bit."

"No, it's fine." Apollo blinks, sitting up and pulling the blanket tight around him. He is a little bit chilly. "I should probably go home, anyway."

"You can. I'm gonna be headin' home in the next fifteen minutes, and I can drop you off somewhere, if you want." Gumshoe nods towards Clay's sleeping form. "Or you can stay, keep watchin' over him. I think he's glad t' have more people t' talk to."

"I can imagine. Clay's never been one for calm and quiet." Apollo tries to keep his voice soft, to keep from waking his friend.

"Well, seein' as he's best friends with you, I imagine he learned pretty quick t' be loud." Gumshoe's grin takes any potential insult out of the words, and the big man reaches out to pull the blanket up and tuck it more firmly around Apollo's shoulders. "And don't you worry about wakin' him, once he lets himself sleep, he sleeps like the dead."

Apollo can feel his grin falter at the... unfortunate word choice.

"Aw, geez, I'm sorry." Gumshoe claps Apollo on the shoulder, the friendly blow still driving him down into the chair. "You don't have to worry. He's gonna be fine. Docs are happy with how he's comin' along."

"That's good." Apollo draws a long breath, his hands clutching the blanket. "I'm glad."

"And I know that he'll do even better, now that you're here. Nothin' like having friends around to make convalescin' easier." Gumshoe beams with pride. "Convalescin' is what Prosecutor Edgeworth says when he means restin' after injury."

"It's a good word." Suppressing a smile, Apollo studies the man who has been protecting Clay for the last few days. "Thank you. For keeping him safe."

"No problem, pal. That's what detectives are supposed to do, after all." There is genuine fondness in Gumshoe's eyes as he studies Clay. "And I do like your friend. He's got a good head and a good heart, even if he made some not-so-bright decisions over the last couple weeks."

"Yeah." Apollo grins, happy to hear someone else recognizing what an amazing man Clay is. "Even at his dumbest and most infuriating, Clay's a good guy."

"It fits. He'd have to be a good man, to be associated with you 'n' your boss." Gumshoe nods, as though he's just presented some decisive evidence.

Apollo blinks furiously, trying to figure out what he might have missed. Perhaps he's too tired to hold down a conversation properly right now.

"I'm friends with Detective Skye." Gumshoe offers the information as though it explains everything. "She likes you."

"Oh really?" Apollo wasn't aware that flinging snacks at someone was a sign of affection.

"Yeah. She's gotten a little bit rough around the edges as she's grown up, but she thinks you're a good attorney and a decent guy, and both of those things're high praise comin' from Ema."

"I'm glad to hear she likes me." He is, too, more than he probably should be. It's just... nice to know that others are noticing and appreciating his efforts. "And I know she's fond of my boss."

"Well, he did save her and her sister. I helped with that as much as they'd let me, and so did Prosecutor Edgeworth." Gumshoe leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, a fond smile of reminiscence on his face. "I've know your boss for a really long time. Over a decade, now. We didn't really get off t' the best start—I kind of thought he was a murderer for a bit—but I like him. He's tough. Crafty. Did you know he took on the mafia twice? I helped both times, too."

"I think I've seen those case files, yeah." Apollo has surreptitiously gone through all of Phoenix's old case files that he can get his hands on, trying to figure out where the truth is—how much of Phoenix is the hero Apollo loved when he was younger, and how much of him is the evidence-forging, infuriating man who goaded Apollo into punching him. The truth, as it usually does, seems to lie somewhere in between the two extremes.

Apparently he will have to re-read some of those files, see which censored name—minor's names are usually blocked out—could belong to Ema Skye.

Or... probably it would be better just to ask her. He would appreciate more being asked than having someone snoop through case files looking for the dark times in his past.

Gumshoe's hand lands on his shoulder again, and Apollo jerks his eyes open, his gaze up to meet the big detective's. "You're a good kid, Apollo Justice. I'm real glad to see kids like you gettin' involved in the system. Kids who're after the truth and not just tryin' to be the craftiest sneaky lawyer."

Apollo is beginning to suspect that Gumshoe had some bad experiences with lawyers in the past. "It's what everyone should do—try to find true justice."

"And it's nice t' see people who think like that everywhere again. In the Prosecutor's Office, among the detectives, on the defense's bench... really makes it feel like the Dark Age of the Law is comin' to a close, finally." The relief that radiates from Gumshoe is almost palpable. "So, stayin' or leavin'?"

Apollo studies Clay's sleeping face—studies the monitors that glow and beep, everything a cheerful green and a steady rhythm right now. "I'd... really like to stay, if it won't be a problem."

"It won't be. The nurses might wake you up when they come to check on him, but it'll be fine." Gumshoe once more adjusts the blanket around Apollo, stepping back when he's satisfied. "You sleep well, Mr. Justice. Me and Ema'll make sure nothing happens."

"Thanks." Apollo hunkers down more comfortably in his chair, feeling his cheeks heat at the unexpected kindness.

It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, though, and for the first time all week, Apollo feels relaxed and safe as he does, no nightmares waiting to claim him as soon as he closes his eyes.

Part Two

Clay goes home two days later.

Well, not exactly home. Edgeworth arranges for him to stay in protective custody for the first week, still not trusting whoever arranged for the Phantom incidents in the first place to leave Clay alone. He makes sure Apollo and Clay's father know where Clay is, though—which is good, because Clay needs help with pretty much everything.

Apollo spends all of his free time with the astronaut, sleeps on a cot next to Clay's bed virtually every night. Clay isn't dependent on an oxygen mask anymore, is able to stand and totter a handful of steps, but he can't do much of anything by himself. His arm mobility is severely limited. Reaching too far in any direction pulls on the hideous incision that bisects his chest, bringing him up short with a combination of pain and panting.

(Apollo tries not to react, the first time he sees Clay's incision. He tries to keep moving, to keep talking as though nothing has happened, but he feels light-headed, and he knows that even without Athena's special hearing Clay will be able to tell that something isn't right. Knows from the way Clay turns his head away, cheeks flushed with shame, that his reaction hurt Clay, and so he tries to tell Clay with extra touches and bright cheer that it doesn't matter. Tries to impress upon him without actually using words that Apollo doesn't care that Clay will end up with a centimeter-thick, ten-inch scar and neither will anyone else. It was just... seeing it, seeing how close to death Clay came, seeing the mess that the doctors made of his body trying to keep him alive... it hurt. It hurts every time Apollo sees it, though he reacts less and less with repetition.)

"I hate this." Clay's voice is thick with a combination of anger and frustration, and he stares up at the ceiling, pointedly ignoring Apollo.

"I know. It's just for a little bit longer, though. You're getting stronger every day." Apollo settles down in the incredibly comfortable chair that has been set up by Clay's bed for whoever happens to be caring for him at the time. He has just gotten done helping Clay to and from the bathroom—helping Clay with the bathroom, in a far more intimate way than he ever would have imagined, but the last week has made his tolerance for bodily excretions of all kinds much higher. At least Clay can get to the bathroom now. This is an improvement over bed pans.

"A little longer?" Clay laughs, but it's a dark, bitter laugh, and Apollo almost thinks he can hear the edge of a sob in it. Clay's eyes are closed, though, keeping Apollo from looking for signs of tears. "They said probably... another month before it's okay to leave me... alone for any length of time, two months... until I'm really independent again. If I knew this is... what it was going to be like, maybe... I would've let the bastard kill me for real."

"No." Apollo lunges forward, scooping Clay's hand up and holding it tight. He has to draw a steadying breath, to push back against the panic that his still bracelet has brought on. "Don't ever think something like that. This is hard, but it'll get better. We'll make it through."

"I hate being a burden. I hate seeing... what this is doing to my dad. He's always so tired... he can barely keep his eyes open."

"I know." Apollo's eyes track instinctively to the wall that separates them from the second bedroom, where Mr. Terran is currently sleeping while Apollo watches over Clay.

"And this is with you... coming whenever you're off work... and with Gumshoe and Ema throwing in... a helping hand." Clay's breath catches in his throat, and there are definitely tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Apollo tries not to let that bring even more panic. (Would Clay be all right if he cried? Should Apollo be getting the oxygen kit prepped? Will that make Clay even more upset?) "We're going home tomorrow, Apollo. It'll be... just me and him and you, when you're around, and I don't know... how we're going to manage."

"The same way we've managed everything else." Apollo fixes Clay with his most determined stare. "We're going to be fine. I will be here literally every moment I'm not at work—"

"Dad has... to go back to work in ten days." Clay's free hand fists in the bedsheets, his voice a quiet whisper. "I've heard... him talking on the phone. His boss says... he doesn't have any more paid... time off after that. I'm ruining... everything."

"No. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Terran." Apollo gives his best friend a light slap on the cheek. "What does an astronaut say when he's halfway between Earth and the moon and he needs to fit a square peg into a round hole to keep getting oxygen?"

"That he's... fine." The ghost of a smile dances at the edges of Clay's mouth. "And very glad... he brought duct tape."

"So?" Apollo releases Clay's hand, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm fine." The smile blooms, but there is still a haunting look of trapped panic hanging around Clay's mouth. "We'll... get through this. At least we've got... oxygen, gravity, water, and food. Lots better... than some situations we could be in."

"Damn straight. And don't you worry about your dad and his job. I'll take some time off work—Mr. Wright won't mind, it'll be fine—and I'll be here any time he can't be. All right?"

"You're sure?" Clay blinks furiously, but Apollo knows this is an entirely different type of tears from the last time. (He's still not sure he shouldn't be getting an emergency oxygen supply hooked up.) "It won't... be too much of a hassle?"

"You're never a hassle." Apollo grins at his friend. "Now come on, let's get this bed sitting up a bit straighter and see what I can do about straightening out that hawk's nest you call hair."

XXX

Apollo goes through his finances at work the next morning, in between answering calls.

He will be taking time off. He will be there to help Clay. It's just... figuring out how to make it really feasible. He's been doing all right for himself, has been trying to put aside a little bit every month, and he's got enough in the bank to cover a month's rent if he's very frugal.

Well, instant noodles aren't so bad, and at least they'll be lower sodium than the stuff Eldoon sells. And if he works the weekends, instead, doing some tidying around the office and filling out paperwork while Mr. Terran takes care of Clay...

Besides, he can technically skip two months of rent payment before they can kick him out of his apartment. Even if they report the missed payment and his credit score takes a hit, he should be able to manage. It's not like he was intending to move or make any big new purchases in the near future, anyway.

He waits until Athena and Trucy are out of the office before approaching Mr. Wright, wanting a little bit of privacy for what might end up being an awkward conversation.

(It wouldn't be quite so awkward if there weren't shades of an earlier conversation hanging over this whole thing, and Apollo wishes he hadn't been quite so angry when he said he was taking a leave of absence from the Agency to investigate on his own. He can't change the past, though, and this is something that he has to do—something that involves just him, no one else here.)

"Mr. Wright."

Phoenix looks up from the magazine that he is reading.

Apollo tries not to note that the magazine is decidedly non-legal. If there's no big case for him to work on, it's perfectly reasonable for him to be reading about... is that supposed to be a picture of a yeti?

"Apollo?"

"Sorry. I need to take a leave of absence, Mr. Wright." Apollo tries to stand so that he looks firm but respectful, and suspects he mainly ends up looking stiff and uncomfortable. "Probably for four weeks, maybe a little longer. I know that's way more paid leave than I have, and that's fine. I can work the weekends, if you don't mind—keep up with organizing case files, do paperwork, clean the office. But I need the weekdays free."

Mr. Wright closes the magazine, studying Apollo with slightly narrowed eyes. "Do you mind my asking what this is about?"

"It's about Clay, sir. He's home now, but he still needs a lot of care—around the clock care, which is more care than his father can provide on his own, especially because if his dad doesn't go back to work in a few days they're threatening to fire him. Mr. Starbuck's also been trying to help out, but there's a lot going on with Gyaxa and the Space Center right now, so he's only able to be there some of the time." Apollo shrugs. "That leaves me. You and Athena are more than capable of taking care of the office for a few weeks."

"We are, though we'll miss you." Mr. Wright rests his chin on one upturned palm, still studying Apollo. "I'd give you all the time as paid leave, if I could, but I'm not sure I'd be able to make the books balance for this place if I did."

"Plus I'm not going to accept charity from you." Apollo lifts his chin. "It's not what I want and not what Clay wants. If I'm not working, I don't expect to get paid. But if you're okay with me having the time off—"

"Are you going to be all right without getting a paycheck for a few weeks?"

"I'll be fine." Apollo hurries on, recognizing the look on Mr. Wright's face. Saying he was fine shortly before he almost passed out from his injuries post-bombing should probably go on his list of dumbest actions, because now it means they don't trust him when he uses the phrase. "So it's all right?"

Mr. Wright thinks for a moment. "Conditionally approved."

Apollo pulls back, studying Mr. Wright warily. "What condition?"

"You go get yourself something to eat—I think you've lost five pounds in the last two weeks—and give me until the end of lunch to come up with an alternative." Phoenix pulls a notebook out of one of his drawers. "If you prefer your plan to my alternative, I'm certainly not going to try to keep you captive here while your friend's sick. But I think you'll like my alternative."

Apollo isn't so certain, but he simply sighs and goes to gather his jacket and wallet. He has been skipping more meals than he intends to the last two weeks. It's just... hard to remember to eat when there's a hundred other things going on.

Slipping out the door, Apollo tries not to worry about whatever Mr. Wright is scribbling excitedly in his notebook, or to notice that Mr. Wright reaches for the phone as soon as he thinks Apollo is out of sight and earshot.

Clay's going to get taken care of, and that's really all that matters.

XXX

"No."

Mr. Wright's bright grin crumbles. "No? But you've barely looked at it."

Apollo points to a spot on the surprisingly-organized schedule that Mr. Wright slipped onto his desk as soon as he sat down. "That is the Chief Prosecutor's name."

"Uh huh." Phoenix grins again, clearly proud of himself.

"It is appearing multiple times." Apollo glances through the schedule in growing dismay. A lot of times, and he really hopes that wasn't who Phoenix was on the phone with earlier.

"He did save Clay's life. Do you really think it's that strange that he'd want to help out?"

For a brief moment Apollo considers the Chief Prosecutor helping Clay to the bathroom, and has to immediately put a stop to such considerations as his face turns bright red. "He's—this—Clay's my friend. My responsibility. Not the Chief Prosecutor's or the Agency's. You've got Trucy and Athena on this thing, too!"

As well as Phoenix himself, several times, but Apollo isn't going to bring that up.

Mr. Wright crosses his arms in front of his chest. "The way I figure it, we owe Mr. Terran several thousand dollars worth of free advertising, given how much screen time all of us got with his case. There's no reason Trucy can't practice her magic tricks while helping to take care of him—it'll give her an audience to practice with, and Clay the care he needs. Besides, if you spread out the work among several people, maybe you will actually be able to get some sleep and stop looking like you're a raccoon or a fifty year old rock star who no longer knows how to put on eye liner."

Apollo clamps his teeth shut just in time to avoid saying he doesn't need sleep. Uttering something that is obviously and blatantly false is not the way to win this argument. "Shouldn't we ask Trucy and Athena if they'd like to get involved?"

"I did. Trucy's exact words were yes, please, then Polly won't be able to hide him from me anymore."

Apollo rolls his eyes. "I wasn't hiding him from her, I just never got a chance to properly introduce them."

Mr. Wright just smiles smugly. "Athena also seemed quite taken with the idea, though she was a little more respectful. She said if Mr. Terran wouldn't mind, she would be very happy to assist in any way—especially since they share a connection through the Space Center."

Apollo groans, covering his face with one hand. There is a certain temptation to accepting the schedule that Mr. Wright has given him, but it also feels almost like cheating, asking for help from people who have other, more important things to worry about.

"It'll be good for the office, having you here. You know that some clients are very particular about which of us they want. And I think it'll be good for you, to get to keep working while still helping take care of Clay." Mr. Wright settles himself on the edge of Apollo's desk. "I know it'll be better for you financially—believe me, I am very familiar with the trouble of student loans and rent and grocery bills and not enough income. Plus... I would hope that you find the Agency a... comfortable place. Somewhere you can relax, while we're all still recovering."

"I do." Apollo chews on his bottom lip for a moment before sighing. "All right. I'll talk to Clay about it, see what he thinks."

"Excellent!" Mr. Wright is grinning again as he gathers the schedule back up. "Now, to figure out how to make the computer print out just each individual person's schedule..."

Apollo pulls out the case record he had been reading, keeping one ear tuned to Phoenix's mumblings. He's fairly certain they're going to end up with about a hundred non-functional print-outs by the time Athena gets back and saves Phoenix's computer from him.

Which is a shame, because Apollo's certain Clay will veto the plan, anyway.

XXX

"Really?" Awe and surprise vie for control of Clay's voice. "They'd really do that for me?"

"Yeah." Apollo shrugs. "Again, you don't have to agree. Just say the word and I'll tell Mr. Wright thanks but no thanks."

"Why would I... possibly do that?" Clay looks over the brilliantly color-coded schedule with what is almost reverence. Or maybe that's pain. Apollo certainly finds the bright and sometimes-clashing colors on the schedule jarring.

Especially since said schedule seems to have less and less red on it each time Apollo gets to see it. When he brought that point up with Mr. Wright, Phoenix had only shrugged and said that Apollo was, of course, always welcome to visit his friend at any time. "Because... well... it may be awkward having strangers help with some things."

"I had nurses wiping... my butt and giving me sponge baths... when I was in the hospital, and... none of them were friends." Clay hands the schedule back to Apollo. "I'm certainly not going to... have the girl who's practically... your little sister sponge down my penis. But there's no reason she can't help me make toast... and bring my little oxygen thing to me... if I need it."

Apollo opens his mouth, trying to think of a valid argument, and closes it again when he can't.

"Besides." Clay grins. "This means that... I finally get to meet all these people... you've talked about for the last two years."

"It was not a conspiracy! I was not intentionally keeping you away from them or them away from you! You have been incredibly busy preparing for—well you know—and we have been busy dismantling and rebuilding the whole damn justice system!"

Clay laughs, and there is sound to it, now, though it's still a very different, much quieter sound than what there was before. "Careful, 'Pollo. Don't want... to damn justice... too soundly. The universe... might get... confused."

Apollo sighs, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling as he pulls out his phone to text Mr. Wright and let him know that Clay agreed to the plan.

XXX

Apollo frets the whole time Trucy is watching over Clay.

It's silly, really. There's no need for him to worry. Trucy was incredibly happy when she bounced off with Mr. Hat and a bag of tricks she's working on, promising Apollo that she'd keep a close eye on Clay for him.

She has his cell phone number.

She would definitely have called him if anything happened.

Apollo still darts from the office as soon as his shift's done, making it to Clay's apartment in record time.

"—and that, good sir, is why you never stick your hand into a girl's panties without asking first! You never know what you'll find!"

The sound of clapping and Clay's carefully controlled laugh follows the proclamation, and Apollo pokes his head into Clay's bedroom in time to see Trucy packing her magic panties, a small toy crocodile, a mousetrap, and a series of linked handcuffs into her bag. "Hey, Polly! Perfect timing. It's just about time for me to go. Clay and I had a ton of fun, though. Not enough to make up for the months when you had him under an invisibility cloak, but it's a good start."

"She's a riot, 'Pollo." Clay grins, and there is a flush to his face, an almost-healthy color to his skin such as Apollo hasn't seen since before the accident. "I think we should keep her."

"I wasn't planning on getting rid of either one of you, though the next person who insinuates I have been intentionally hiding anyone from anyone else is going to be ignored for a month."

"You couldn't do that." Trucy bounces up to Apollo, giving him a quick hug. "I am unignorable."

Clay nods. "I suspect that's... very true."

"It's one of the requirements for working at the Agency. Must stand out in a crowd. Figuratively, at least. Polly and I would fail if height were a requirement."

"My height is just fine, thank you." Apollo crosses his arms, straightening to his full height and looking down on the young woman.

"It fits you." Trucy stands on tip-toes, reaching up to pat him on the top of the head. Then she turns and waves at Clay. "Anyway, I hope you guys have a good evening. Bye, Clay! I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wow." Clay gives a sigh as he leans back into his pillow nest, blinking at the door that Trucy disappeared through, a fond smile on his face. "Words do not do that kid justice."

"No, they don't." Apollo can't help grinning as he settles down into his customary chair. "So everything went all right?"

"Is force equal to mass times acceleration?"

"I don't know, are we approaching the speed of light?" Apollo quirks an eyebrow, glad he has been paying at least some attention when Clay is throwing physics facts at him.

"Ooooh, good one, 'Pollo. We are spinning in a circle at about 1600 kilometers per hour around the Earth's axis, and going around the sun at around 10,700 kilometers per hour—"

Try as he might Apollo can't think of what the speed of light is, especially not in metric units, and he's certain that even if he could Clay will have some trick about which velocity he's supposed to pay attention to. "Anyway. No problems?"

"No problems. She helped me eat. She gave me some little braids that you're going to have to help me undo before we brush out my hair next time." Clay leans forward and manages to maneuver his hand so that he's pointing to a spot behind his right ear, only wincing a little as he does. "We talked. That girl has had one hell of a life."

"Yeah." Apollo can feel his smile fade as he thinks of all that Trucy has had to face. "She's tough."

"And she adores you, so we got to talk about you a lot." Clay reaches out, poking Apollo's leg. "I told her anything she wanted to know. All the stories."

"No, you didn't." Apollo studies Clay's face, growing horror rising. "You wouldn't. Some of those stories you swore you would never tell another living soul."

"All right, not all the stories. I didn't tell her about the spider and the soap, or about the fire-pit with the alien pirates. But I did tell her about Homer the Sheep, and about the time you stole the podium from the principal during freshman year of high school because you thought he wasn't handling bullying cases properly, and about your war with Phi Kappa Zeta freshman year of college."

Apollo groans. "How do you even remember all these things? And how much alcohol do I need to give you so that you forget?"

"More than you can probably afford right now." Clay's smile slips a little, and he studies Apollo with an earnest intensity that makes Apollo slightly uncomfortable. "She really loves you, 'Pollo. It... it was really wonderful to talk to someone who cares about you as much as I do."

"Don't go getting all sappy on me, Terran." Apollo can feel his cheeks heating, and he covers his embarrassment by grabbing one of the pillows Clay is not sitting on and lobbing it lightly at him. "If you've already eaten, though—bathroom and a bath?"

"Yeah." Clay grins. "Sounds great."

XXX

Two days later, and Apollo is running late, has the last few bites of a bagel dangling from his mouth as he dashes up the stairs to Clay's apartment. This couldn't happen yesterday, when it was Athena who watched Clay during the morning and Apollo during the afternoon. No, he has to get caught up and delayed when it's the damned Chief Prosecutor who agreed to help them out.

Opening his mouth wide, he stuffs in the rest of the bagel, which Trucy had shoved into his hands before he bolted out the door. He's almost reached Clay's floor now, and if he chews and swallows very quickly maybe he won't look quite so much like an idiot when—

His attempt to dash through the stairwell door and sprint down the hallway is interrupted by a body, and Apollo knows that he's doomed as his eyes take in a rich purple hue to the fabric of the man currently keeping them upright while they sort out arms, legs, and feet.

"Herr Forehead! I am glad to see you are eager to see me, but really, we must coordinate these meetings a bit better."

All right, maybe he doesn't know what he's in for. Raising his head, Apollo blinks Klavier Gavin's face into focus. "Prosor Gamin?"

"You probably want to swallow before you choke to death." Gavin takes a step back, his hands going to his hips.

Apollo follows his advice, still trying to figure out what's going on. "Why are you here?" A sudden image of Clay dead, blood pooling under him from another stab wound or a gunshot wound, drains all the color from Apollo's face and causes the bagel in his stomach to transform into a hunk of jagged rock. "There wasn't—Clay—"

"Is resting in his apartment, waiting for you, I take it." Klavier glances at his watch. "I am sorry for leaving before you arrived, but I need to be down at the prosecutor's office by two."

"No, that... that's fine." A shiver runs its way up and down Apollo's body at the news that Clay is still fine. "Thanks. Though... I thought... why are you here?"

"The Chief Prosecutor sent out a message asking a handful of us if we would be interested in helping with Mr. Terran's recovery. I was quite eager to volunteer. It is not every day that one is able to sit and simply chat with a famous astronaut, after all." Klavier raises his eyebrows in a way that somehow manages to be suggestive. "A very fine astronaut, I might add. Though not, I think, so fine as you, Herr Justice."

Apollo narrows his eyes. "Don't you have an appointment that you have to be getting to, Gavin?"

Klavier gives a dramatic sigh. "I do, most unfortunately. Tell your friend that I thoroughly enjoyed our time together and am looking forward to more. Weidersehen, Justice. I look forward to seeing you in court again once Herr Terran is better."

And with that vaguely-ominous farewell Klavier ducks around Apollo and disappears down the stairwell, leaving the defense attorney blinking after him.

Shaking his head, Apollo turns and hurries to Clay's apartment, letting himself in.

"Apollo!" Clay greets him with bright enthusiasm from a perch on the living room sofa.

"Clay?" Apollo blinks, not entirely certain he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing. "You're dressed! In real clothes!"

Clay has spent most of the last two weeks in either hospital gowns, a sizable stack of which went home with him, or in very loose pajamas. Seeing him in sweat pants and a far-too-big sweatshirt, though hardly the epitome of formality and style that Clay usually manages with his Gyaxa uniform, makes him look... incredibly different.

Incredibly good, and Apollo returns Clay's bright grin.

"Washed, dressed, and into new but equally boring surroundings. He helped me." Clay nods towards the door. "You never told me Klavier was so nice, Justice."

"Gavin isn't nice. He charges his friends for tickets to his concerts and he's a monster in court, ready to torment you for two years over one slightly foolish comment."

"Oh, come on, I like Herr Forehead as a nickname for you." Clay's grin grows teeth. "It's not quite as good as pollywog, but it'll do in a pinch."

Apollo glowers at his friend, though he isn't able to hold the expression for long, a smile once more breaking through. "You felt up to walking this far?"

"Eh." Clay waggles one hand back and forth. "I wasn't sure, but I was complaining about the posters on my walls starting to get really boring. Then he pointed out it's really only about twice as long as the walk to the bathroom, and I do that just fine. Before I really knew what was going on I had been washed, dressed, and escorted out here. And it was actually a lot of fun."

If Clay had seemed perkier after Trucy, he's practically glowing now.

"Well." Apollo settles down carefully on the sofa next to Clay, not wanting to jar Clay and make him hurt. "I'm glad it wasn't too awkward hanging out with him."

"It wasn't awkward at all. He's really pretty charming." Clay's smile becomes toothier. "And cute."

"He is not cute." Apollo shakes his head. "I'll grant you he's a rather pretty man, but there's no possible way that he's cute. Cute involves a personality type that Prosecutor Gavin doesn't have."

"Or maybe he tries to hide it from you." Now Clay is the one waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"You don't get to tease me like that until it's all right for me to punch you in the shoulder." Apollo very lightly pokes Clay where he would usually slug him.

"No, I think this means I have to make extra use of infirmaries." Clay raises one finger. "Gavin is cute." Another finger goes up. "Ms. Cykes is absolutely lovely." A third finger rises. "Ema has the best smile when you get her started on a topic she enjoys."

A fourth finger goes up, and Apollo grabs Clay's whole hand in a firm grip. "Nope. Nope, no, and nyet, we are stopping right there."

Clay gives a long-suffering sigh. "Believe me, this is going to be a lot more fun than whatever is currently on daytime television. And filled with less drama."

"That makes me worry about daytime television, because the one thing my life is not lacking in is drama." Apollo releases Clay's hand once it's clear that he's not going to immediately return to listing off potential romantic partners. "And don't get your hopes up too high with regards to Gavin and anyone. His default mode is pretty much flirt, but so far as I know he doesn't tend to do much more. And he's... well, you already know what he's been through over the last year, I've told you. So just play nice."

"I wasn't intending to break your friends, not when they're being kind enough to help me out when I'm nobody to them." Clay studies Apollo with an expression that is hard to read. Amusement? Exasperation? Fondness?

"That's not true that you're nobody." Apollo pokes Clay in the arm again. "He was bragging to me on the stairs about getting to talk with someone who is currently a world-famous astronaut."

Clay rolls his eyes. "Do I really get to count as an astronaut when my one attempted foray into space ended up like this?"

"Your one foray so far. There are going to be many more." Apollo grabs the brim of Clay's hat and pulls it down so that it covers his eyes.

Clay reaches up—reaches up, and it's sometimes sad the little things that can make Apollo so glad right now—and pushes his hat back into place. "Right. I'm going to be running a half-marathon in six months, and you're going to be at my side."

"Half of that is accurate."

"Well, since you're going to be at my side—"

"I am going to figure out a way to punch you, Clay, just you wait."

Clay laughs, and it's even a little bit stronger, a little bit louder than it was with Trucy.

Given everything they're fighting, Apollo will take that as a stellar victory.

XXX

Phoenix is remarkably good at taking care of Clay.

Apollo supposes it shouldn't surprise him as much as it does. Phoenix has raised Trucy successfully for eight years, after all—has done, all things considered, much better with Trucy than her dead-beat biological father did.

Apollo's still half expecting the apartment to be on fire and five or six bodies to be littering the floor when he arrives late in the evening to replace Phoenix.

Instead the apartment is quiet, though Apollo can hear the vague sounds of instrumental music coming from Clay's open bedroom door. The door to the guest bedroom is closed, and the lights are off except for the UFO-shaped lamp by the couch where Phoenix is sitting. Mr. Wright is in a grey hoodie and faded jeans with the knee ripped out of the right leg.

"Hey, Apollo." Phoenix looks up as soon as Apollo opens the apartment door, smiling as he closes his book. "Have a good evening?"

"Yeah." He did, surprisingly. He'd been expecting he would spend most of it fretting and wanting to be at Clay's side, but Trucy had been practically in tears, begging him to go out to a movie with her and Athena. It hadn't been a particularly good movie—he'll have to watch it with Clay when it comes out on DVD, Clay will have fun lambasting the "science" in it—but he enjoyed the time with Trucy and Athena. He enjoyed sitting down to eat at a little Italian restaurant that Athena found—actually having time to sit and taste and enjoy his food. And apparently nothing has burnt down and no one has died in his absence. "It was a really good time. Athena's taking Trucy home now. You'll probably run into her there."

"Sounds good." Phoenix stretches, clambering slowly to his feet. "Clay's been sleeping for about a half hour; his dad's in the guest room, and he's been out for a little over ninety minutes now. Clay had dinner and a bath already. His incision's oozing a little bit at the bottom, but between the three of us we managed to figure out how to take a picture on his phone and send it to his doctor, who thinks it's fine. She thinks it's probably just from him managing to do so much over the last few days, but since it's better for his lungs that he's being mobile, she wants him to keep it up unless the oozing gets worse. I just wanted you to know so that you don't worry if you notice anything. So basically all you need to do is decide if you're sleeping on the cot or on the sofa and curl up for a good night's sleep yourself."

Apollo's not sure if it will be a good night's sleep—Clay still doesn't sleep through the night very frequently, woken up by either pain or a need for the bathroom or both—but the idea of being able to simply curl up and rest is lovely. "Thank you, Mr. Wright. It means a lot to me, what you've done—what everyone's done."

"Don't mention it. We take care of our own." Phoenix turns the book in his hands over and over, frowning slightly as he looks down at it. "It was nice having a chance to talk to Clay and his father. They're good people, and it's clear that they care a lot about you. I'm... glad that you have them."

"Me, too." Apollo can feel his cheeks burning, allows his eyes to drop to the ground and stay focused there as he slips out of his jacket and bends down to unlace his shoes.

"We talked about some other things, too, Clay and I." Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, Mr. Wright stares over Apollo's shoulder. "I swear to you I didn't know anything that could have helped prevent his stabbing, and I didn't know that he was alive until a few hours after you did."

No tightening of his bracelet, no sign that Phoenix is lying to him, and Apollo stays very, very still as relief washes through him. He hadn't even realized he was worried about the possibility, but it's nice, to know that Mr. Wright hadn't been keeping important things from him this time.

"I wouldn't do that to you." Phoenix's voice is still quiet, but there is an intensity to it that Apollo is only used to hearing in court. "Watching you hurt, for those five days—watching you walk away and not knowing if you would be back—if there had been anything I could do to make that better, I would have. In a heartbeat, damn anyone's secrets and plans."

Mr. Wright is standing just in front of him, now; is bending down, holding out a hand, and Apollo takes it as though this were a dream.

Phoenix hauls him up to his feet, and pulls him into the briefest, fiercest hug Apollo thinks he has ever gotten.

Before Apollo can decide how he wants to respond, Mr. Wright is already past him, a hand on the door. "Sleep well, Apollo. I'll see you tomorrow."

Apollo does sleep well, even with having to get up at two in the morning to help Clay, and he's fairly certain he can thank everyone at the Wright Anything Agency for letting him do that.

XXX

Apparently the Chief Prosecutor's name is currently taking up about half the schedule because he's farming out his time to other people at the office.

Apollo doesn't mind so much when Clay tells him about the second time—Gumshoe and Clay clearly get along well, and apparently the big detective is a surprisingly good cook if you keep the ingredients simple and cheap.

He's slightly more nonplussed when, the third time it is supposed to be Miles Edgeworth watching Clay, he instead finds Clay embroiled in an argument with Ema Skye.

"No, it was definitely the Jansens who made the best use of the improved glass-crafting capabilities!"

"Lippershey, hands down." Clay's voice is forceful, louder than Apollo thinks he has heard it since before the incident.

"Jansen."

"'Pollo!" Clay's voice holds imperious authority. "Come tell her that the invention of the telescope was the greatest moment of the sixteenth century."

"Tell him it was the microscope." Ema's finger stabs furiously in Clay's direction.

It is seven thirty in the morning, and Apollo is fairly certain he is not currently and may very well never be awake enough to handle this conversation. "Aren't they, like... virtually the same thing?"

"No."

Clay and Ema speak in tandem before turning back to each other, apparently having dismissed Apollo as too much of a plebeian to understand the debate.

"The telescope set the stage for everything that came after—Galileo, the separation of science from the church, everything that eventually ended with a man on the moon and fact rather than dogma being taught to children."

Ema shakes her head. "Clearly you haven't been looking into the school systems over the last few years. But even putting aside that shaky argument, people had been looking at the stars since long before the telescope was invented. It didn't invent whole new areas of study. The microscope let us see what we're made of. We created cell theory, germ theory—all of modern medicine, a good chunk of archaeology, a huge chunk of forensics—there are hundreds of disciplines today that wouldn't even be a thing if the Jansens hadn't figured out that we could magnify the world around us with fascinating results."

"Science as we know it wouldn't exist, period, without astronomy. What's one of the oldest studies out there? Oh, right, the study of the stars."

"I'm not sure 'trying to predict them so we can make big religious artifacts about them' counts as rigorous scientific study. I'm actually fairly certain it doesn't."

"It took your people four hundred years to figure out finger prints existed even with the microscope, and you can touch everything you're working with." Clay crosses his arms in front of his chest, the gesture slow and awkward but very smug. "My people have figured out how to measure mass, velocity, and temperature all from a little bit of light."

Apollo is fairly certain none of this has anything whatsoever to do with microscopes or telescopes, but he's a little afraid to try butting into the conversation again.

"My people—" Ema's cell phone chirps, a bright, cheerful run of music that sounds suspiciously like it comes from one of the super hero shows Maya and Pearl like to watch. She growls, punching in a response with probably more force than is necessary. "He's all yours, Justice. Mister Edgeworth wants me to meet Gavin at a crime scene in ten minutes. That's the only thing that's saving you this time, Terran. We will be picking this back up the next time I see you."

Clay keeps the same position and smug smile in place until they hear the sound of the apartment door closing, and then he bursts out laughing. "Oh, man, she is fantastic. It's been a while since I talked to someone outside the Center who's that into science. You're going to have to help me look up ammunition for our next show-down."

"Right." Apollo supposes, given that Clay seems to have enjoyed Ema's company a great deal, that he won't make a scene about Ema being here in front of his friend.

He does call her, later that day, when Trucy is watching Clay and Apollo is on his way into the office. "How did you end up at Clay's apartment? Prosecutor Edgeworth isn't just randomly assigning people to watch over Clay, right?"

"Straight to the point. I guess I can appreciate that." The sound of angry chewing comes over the phone remarkably well. "But no, he's not assigning random people to watch our astronaut. Prosecutor Edgeworth asked a handful of us that he trusts—me, Gavin, DeBeste, Gumshoe—if we'd mind helping out a little bit. I'm sorry if our caring about you and your friend offends you."

"I wasn't—I didn't—" Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted to make sure Clay was in good hands, you know?"

"I do." Ema's voice softens. "But don't worry. You can trust Mr. Edgeworth. If he says that he's going to help, he'll really help. He won't do a half-assed job of it, and neither will the rest of us. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." Apollo smiles. "Thanks, Ema."

"Thank me by learning the difference between accuracy and precision, all right? Also maybe trying to unwind a little bit." Ema's voice is gently chastising. "The world isn't falling down around our ears for once. Let's enjoy it while we can."

"Sounds good." Apollo draws a deep breath, trying to let all the tension in his chest out with it. "Though if you don't mind my asking... who's DeBeste?"

XXX

DeBeste is apparently a big fan of instrumental music.

And also able to tolerate the constant interruptions that is Clay watching any kind of science fiction movie.

"There, right there, that is just so ridiculous!" Clay stabs a finger at the screen. "How is that even supposed to work at one-third gravity?"

"And the music there, so out of tone with the events! A soaring crescendo like that isn't needed for an action scene, it's for a discovery!" The prosecutor shakes his head. "Unless they are discovering that physics no longer works the way they thought it did?"

Clay snorts. "I wish this flick was intelligent enough for that to be the case. Oh, man, look at the guy in the background! He's not even trying anymore, he's just crawling around. Not that fluttering your arms makes it look like you're in lower gravity, not really, but at least that mook is trying desperately to sell it!"

"And the music is trying to sell us a different movie entirely. What, did the composer simply find a packet of Jane Skilliams scraps lying around and figured if they tacked them together they would form a coherent soundtrack? Oh!" The strange man bolts to his feet, every inch of him radiating startled energy, from his hair that is almost forming an exclamation mark to his rigid spine to his clicked-together heels. "Hello! You must be Apollo Justice. I'm Proselytizer—Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste. I don't believe we've had the pleasure, though I've heard a great deal about you."

Apollo nods, suspecting that saying he hadn't heard of Sebastian until Ema mentioned him would likely injure the man's pride. "Nice to meet you."

"If you're here, I should be going." Sebastian reaches out to take Clay's hand, shaking it profusely. "It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Terran. I wish you a speedy recovery, and will likely be seeing you again depending on scheduling."

"I look forward to it." Clay grins. "And maybe you can come out to a movie sometime with Apollo and I. I've only managed to get us kicked out of a theatre once, but it's always a fun time!"

The prosecutor blinks, and Apollo tries not to stare in incredulity at the man. Is he tearing up?

"I... thank you." Sebastian puts a hand to his heart, bowing his head. "Your offer means a great deal to me. I will definitely take you up on that sometime."

No one says anything more until Sebastian has left, and Apollo has deposited himself on the couch at Clay's side.

Clay's eyes stay on the television, though it's clear any interest he had in the movie has long evaporated. "Apollo... you have the most interesting friends."

Apollo opens his mouth to protest, and instead shrugs. "I think I just inherited a lot of them that way. Already weird."

Clay laughs. "That makes me feel a little better. Though I guess if it were something contagious from you, I would already have caught it a long time ago."

"What are you talking about?" Apollo can't quite suppress a grin. "You're the weirdest one of all, Clay."

XXX

Days roll into weeks, and despite there being constant adjustments to the schedule that Phoenix had made as cases and work schedules change, it works surprisingly well. Between Edgeworth, Ema, Gumshoe, Klavier, Sebastian, Blackquill, Trucy, Athena, Juniper, Phoenix, Apollo, and Clay's father, they manage to ensure Clay has someone there at all times to help him.

Not only that, they make sure everyone taking care of Clay has time to eat and sleep, as well.

It's still hard. It's still painful, watching Clay fight to do things that he's done as easily as breathing since they were kids—watching Clay struggle to breathe, sometimes, if he over-exerts himself.

But it's better than Apollo could have imagined, and he finds himself settling into his new routine easily.

Five weeks after Clay went home, Apollo walks into Clay's apartment to find both him and Athena crying.

Apollo can count on both hands the number of times he has seen Clay cry, and his mind immediately summons up a dozen horrible events that could have occurred.

"I'm fine." Clay scrubs a hand across his face, erasing the tear tracks but not the redness and the puffiness of his eyes. "It's okay, 'Pollo. No need to look so panicked."

"I didn't look panicked." Apollo tries to slow his breathing and his heart rate as he slips out of his shoes and heads over to the couch. "I was just trying to figure out what was going on."

"Just talking about families. The ones we've lost and the ones we still have." Athena smiles, reaching over to give Clay's hand a brief squeeze before standing and heading to the door. "I'll see you later, 'Pollo. Clay's got some good news to share with you."

Apollo raises one eyebrow as he studies Clay's face. "Good news?"

"Good news." Clay gathers one of the small pillows from the couch and lobs it at Apollo. "We do get that sometimes, you know. I went to my doctor's appointment today, and I am now allowed to lift up to eight pounds of weight—so small babies only when I am doing parade routes. I am also allowed to properly bathe, which is the best news I have heard in a long time. And... I don't need constant babysitting anymore. You are relieved of duty."

"You aren't a duty." Apollo gently lobs the pillow back at Clay, assuming that if he's able to lift eight pounds, a single pound of flying pillow won't be too hard on him. "It's been kind of fun, getting to hang out so much."

Clay gives a snort and shakes his head. "Watching me flail about and whine is not anyone's idea of fun. But if you haven't had your fill of it... I wouldn't mind having a cheerleader during some of my physical therapy. It sounds like it isn't going to be very fun. Especially if I am going to be an absolute idiot and set my sights on being able to get in a rocket again someday."

"Of course you're going to get into space!" Apollo knows that he's grinning like an idiot, but it's the first time Clay has actually said that's what he wants, reclaimed his dream, instead of hedging about what his future will bring. "And I'll be happy to help you with anything you want. Really."

"Down, wolverine." Clay chuckles as he holds the pillow to his chest, hugging it. "I believe you. And... thanks. For everything."

"No thanks needed. I know that you'd do the same thing for me, if I needed it." Apollo lets his smile fade, watching the way Clay hugs the pillow, the still-lingering signs of tears around his eyes. "If all you got today was good news... you and Athena..."

Clay shrugs, something he has only been able to do without pain for the last three or four days. "We've got a surprising amount of common ground with the Space Center. We... talked about a lot of things. About Aura. I'm really glad you guys took on her defense and got her a reduced sentence. She's not a danger to anyone, she just... she couldn't let her brother die without doing everything in her power to stop it."

"I know. That's why I defended her." Apollo shifts seats, settling down at Clay's side, hugging his own pillow. "She wanted justice, but that wasn't the way to go about it. I think we ended up getting a pretty decent deal for her, though. She'll be back building robots before you know it."

"I'll look forward to it." Clay's grin is forced, his eyes not quite meeting Apollo's.

"Clay—"

"I'm going to miss them."

They speak at the same time, and Apollo finds himself blinking as he tries to figure out what Clay might be referring to.

"Your family." Clay's face is bright red, and his eyes are sparkling again. "I'm going to miss them, Apollo."

"I'm an orphan, Clay." Apollo forces a laugh of his own. "I'm all there is in my family, and I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"You're—" Clay is rolling his eyes as he turns to face Apollo squarely, but his expression shifts as he studies Apollo, becoming more uncertain. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"It's kind of indisputable fact." Apollo shrugs, squeezing the pillow tightly. "But if you want me to pull out my records and show you what you already know—"

"For small creatures such as we the vastness is made bearable only through the power of love." Clay delivers the line in a soaring, trembling voice, and his eyes pin Apollo in place. "Do you remember that quote?"

"I remember it." Apollo remembers only a fraction of the quotes that Clay shared with him when they were younger, when Clay would find texts about space and the universe and regale Apollo with tale after tale of humanity's place among the stars. Of stardust and shining light, of hope and heroism, of futures and paradoxes and a hundred other concepts that Apollo never would have associated with history or science or astronomy if not for Clay. But that quote... he's never going to forget that quote. "I think you said it wrong, though. I think it's the vastness is bearable only through love."

"Which is close enough." Clay tosses the pillow in his hands at Apollo's head. "The universe is enormous, Justice. There are one hundred billion galaxies in the universe. There are something like seventy billion trillion stars contained in those galaxies. The closest star to us is over four years away when moving at the speed of light."

Apollo shivers, just as he has in the past, as much at the sheer giddy ecstasy in Clay's voice as he talks about something he clearly loves as at the unimaginable numbers that Clay is throwing around.

"In a universe so big, so wondrous and amazing and dwarfing to human beings, do you really think something as miniscule as a few extra matching strands of DNA means that much?"

"I think..." Apollo has to swallow, his voice thick with emotion. "I think we're getting into the same argument that you and Ema were having the other day. Does macro- or microscale matter more?"

"I think you're trying to dodge the question." One of Clay's hands grasps Apollo's shoulder, the other rapping Apollo's chin so that he raises his head to meet Clay's eyes. "And I think Ema would side with me on this. You have a family, Justice. You've been telling me about them for the last eighteen months, and I finally got to meet them, and they're fantastic. And I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss your crazy brothers and crazier sisters and weird but cool psychic aunts and I don't know if there actually are parental figures in your bizarre and wonderful family but Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth do a pretty good job holding it together and I'm going to miss them, too."

"What's all this about missing anyone?" Apollo blinks furiously, his own eyes suspiciously moist. "You do remember what you told me when we first found that quote, right?"

Now it is Clay's turn to look away, to blink.

"You said we were fine." Apollo grips both of Clay's arms. "You said we might be small—some of us more than others, and I still haven't forgotten or forgiven that—but that we were fine, because we had all the love that we could need to handle any vastness."

"Because we're family, too." Clay's mouth quirks into a small, genuine smile, and he wraps his arms around Apollo, holds him in the loosest embrace.

Apollo stays very still, afraid that if he moves he will hurt Clay, and after a second the warmth of the embrace starts to seep into him, to still the trembling. "We're family, too."

Clay pulls back, expression sheepish as he straightens Apollo's shirt. "And I guess it doesn't matter if you call them family or something else. Friends. Gang. Crew. Annoying people who will run to your side and save you anytime you need it. But I just... I really need to know that you know that you're not alone, 'Pollo. Not anywhere near to alone, with or without me. All these people who've been helping me out—they were here because of you. Because I'm important to you and you're important to them. And I think that's really amazing. Okay?"

"I get it." Apollo gives Clay's hand a gentle squeeze, because he does understand. He doesn't understand quite how and when, but sometime during his stay at the Wright Anything Agency, the people he works with became a little bit more than just coworkers. "And I'm really glad you like them."

"I love them." Clay settles back down into his couch cushion with a sigh. "A little too much. Hence why I'm a little sad that I probably won't get a chance to see most of them again."

"Says who?"

Clay raises his eyebrows. "It took you eighteen months and a stabbing to introduce me to Trucy."

Apollo shrugs. "If we're a family... well, a family has to have reunions, right? Where everyone catches up with everyone else? Where we get to meet the insane uncles who are off eating insects in the desert most of the time or something like that? I hear tell there's an Interpol agent with a looot of stories who ends up hanging around Edgeworth a lot."

"Oh really?" Clay seems to brighten a bit. "And what would a Wright Anything Agency reunion entail? Because I somehow suspect that it wouldn't just be sitting around eating hot dogs. Not that I don't like hot dogs."

"I'm not sure." Apollo shrugs. "You just focus on your physical therapy, and I'll let you know as soon as we have something organized."

XXX

Phoenix likes the idea of having 'family reunions' far more than Apollo is comfortable with. Apollo is actually a little bit scared, for the first few days after he tentatively brought up the idea of having parties with everyone who had helped take care of Clay, that he might have opened something like Pandora's box.

His fears are somewhat allayed by the first party, six weeks later. There is a distinct lack of fire, handcuffs, and corpses. There is an exceedingly eclectic collection of games lining one wall of Edgeworth's very impressive dining room, and more people than Apollo expected, but there is a definite lack of disaster, and that's really all he can ask for.

Apollo wanders from room to room, a glass of wine in his hand. He actually doesn't recognize everyone present. There is a girl with a key stuck through her ponytail chatting with Athena, Juniper, and Trucy, and from the way she is gesticulating, the story she's telling must be exciting. He'll have to have the others fill him in later. In the kitchen Maya is stealing a hamburger off a fresh tray that Gumshoe just finished cooking, watching with a smile while Pearly dangles off the Chief Prosecutor's arm, the young medium chattering a mile a minute. Apollo is fairly certain Maya is responsible for the Steel Samurai balloons currently filling the ceiling of the dining room, but not entirely certain. In the ballroom—ballroom, and if Apollo didn't like his job so much he'd start thinking he chose the wrong profession—Klavier is tinkering with his guitar, watching Clay, Juniper, and Sebastian get trounced by Ema at some kind of trivia game.

Clay looks up, his eyes bright, a grin like he wore before the whole Phantom incident started looking absolutely perfect on his face.

Apollo returns the grin, adjusting course to continue his meandering and see who else he can find.

Clay's right.

Apollo may not have a normal family, but he's got the best family, the best bulwark to hold against the vast emptiness of a world and a universe that often doesn't even seem to notice when people are being trampled.

He'll take his crazy mish-mash of siblings, aunts, and uncles over all the mothers and fathers in the world, and be glad to have their stars shining brightly even in the darkest times.