Apollo wakes up, blinking away the recurring nightmare he’s been having about Mr. Worm.
“Klav, can worms get depression?”
“Huh?” Klavier mumbles, still evidently half-asleep—in the few months that they’ve been dating, Apollo has found out that Klavier is not a morning person, and normally he would let him sleep in for an extra half-hour, but this is important. For the past week, he’s been having nightmares about Mr. Worm, in which he finds himself really inside the worm’s head, feeling isolated, lonely, and—scariest of all—resenting Apollo for ever picking him up off the sidewalk.
“I think Mr. Worm has depression. Or, I don’t know, separation anxiety or something.”
“Mm, why, schatzi?”
“It’s just his vibe. He’s not as extroverted as he usually is.”
Klavier rolls over, and Apollo smiles a little at the way he blinks in the sunlight and bunches up the duvet around his bare chest.
“Have you considered that that’s just how worms are?”
“I know him,” Apollo sighs. “He’s going through something. I wish he’d tell me. Or… you know, show me. ‘Cause he can’t talk.”
“Hold on,” Klavier takes his phone off the bedside charger. He searches for a moment, and then pulls up an article and starts to paraphrase it. “There’s some sort of gene— npr-1 , it’s called—and it controls whether worms are loners or if they stick in a group. So, like, a normal amount of the gene means that worms are fine on their own, but if it’s mutated, they don’t wanna go it alone to find food.”
“So… oh, Holy Mother, I’ve ruined his life!”
“Apollo, schatzi, my beloved huge-forehead-having boyfriend. He’s fine. We’ll just go and get him a friend.”
“Really?”
“Ja. He’ll be fine.”
“Alright,” Apollo says, getting out of bed. “But I want to take him to the vet, too. See if there’s anything they can do for him in the meantime. Maybe give him worm antidepressants.”
“Aren’t you forgetting that we have court today?”
“Well, yeah, but we both know that Mr. Pritt is guilty, so it’ll be done by lunch.”
“He’s your client,” Klavier laughs. “I love you.”
“I wouldn’t have taken the case if I knew he killed the guy!”
True to his word, Apollo takes the unconventional route of implicating his own client for the murder of which he was accused, but he relies a lot more on Klavier than he usually does—his mind is elsewhere, thinking of Mr. Worm, lying alone in his worm enclosure, the metaphorical sounds of Everybody Hurts playing over and over in his little worm mind.
Once Mr. Cole Pritt is declared guilty, he shoots daggers at the defense bench, but Apollo can’t bring himself to care; he takes Klavier’s hand the moment they’re outside the courthouse and, after a quick detour back to his apartment to pick up Mr. Worm, they enter the vet’s office.
The waiting room is full of more… traditional pets—dogs, cats, even the occasional turtle, but nobody else in here is holding a worm. It makes Apollo slightly self-conscious, but Klavier puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and whispers to him in German; even though Apollo doesn’t know what he’s saying, it always calms him down to hear Klavier’s voice.
When they’re called up to the receptionist, Apollo puts Mr. Worm’s carrier-case (which, essentially, is just a mason jar filled with soil) on the desk.
“I think my worm has depression,” he says.
And the receptionist laughs. “Do you realise how busy we are?” She says.
“Yes, ma’am,” Apollo replies. “But I’m being serious. Mr. Worm means a lot to me, and I want him to be healthy.”
“We’re not going to be able to do anything for that,” the receptionist replies. “Just go and pick up a new worm off the sidewalk if yours isn’t performing how you want. It’s a worm.”
“He’s my worm!” Apollo shouts. “And just because you don’t think he means anything, doesn’t mean that he’s worthless!”
“C’mon, schatzi,” Klavier says. “We’re obviously not going to get taken seriously here.”
Dejected, Apollo picks Mr. Worm’s carrier-case back up, following Klavier’s lead out of the vet’s office onto the road outside. He opens the mason jar and Mr. Worm perks up, as he always does whenever Apollo gets close—it’s the only thing that convinces him that Mr. Worm doesn’t hate his guts for ruining his peaceful worm life, and it’s a welcome sight right now.
They get a similar reception at the pet store, when they’re told by the cashier that they don’t sell singular worms, and Apollo is not ready to own a whole worm farm—especially because he’s worried that introducing a whole clew of worms might serve to worsen Mr. Worm’s depression, since he could get jealous of Apollo’s affection being spread between multiple worms.
When they return home, Apollo puts Mr. Worm back in his enclosure and flops onto the sofa, feeling like everything that happened post-court today has been a failure. Klavier sits next to him, opening Instagram on his phone and turning the screen towards his boyfriend.
“Look, schatzi, our blood drive selfie has gone viral.”
“Ugh,” Apollo rolls his eyes. “Your fans are ridiculous. I’m never doing that again.”
“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”
“To you. If you weren’t so pretty, I would have dumped your ass the moment you told me that we were going to a charity blood drive. I hate needles.”
“If I go, my fans usually turn up the day after. It boosts the blood stocks; don’t you think that’s a good cause, especially since they told you your blood type is super rare? Plus, that nurse seemed to really like you. She was hanging round you the entire time, batting her eyelashes.”
“What, Trudy?”
“You remember her name?! Oh, Herr Forehead, break my heart, why don’t you?”
“Give it up, you know I don’t like women anyway.”
“Well, she certainly liked you,” Klavier laughs. “I can see why. You’re perfect.”
“I’m just… some guy,” Apollo says. “And besides, I think I was focusing more on trying not to pass out.”
He feels a little better after dinner—although Klavier’s cooking usually leaves much to be desired, the one thing he can make perfectly every time is French onion soup, and he labours over it in the kitchen every time Apollo has a bad day. Dating Klavier Gavin is a lot different than what Apollo had expected—he’d thought it would be a whirlwind of red carpets and feeling inferior, but it’s… nice. Yeah, nice. Simple, actually—the real Klavier prefers nights-in to nights-out, and he always notices when Apollo is feeling sad or burned out even before Apollo’s bracelet reacts inwards.
As it hits 9pm, Klavier checks his phone again with a light laugh.
“The people want to see the worm, Herr Forehead.”
“What?”
“I’m going to Instagram Live him, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead. He might be depressed though, he’s just lying there.”
“Then come over here and stand by him, he loves you.”
Klavier points his phone at Mr. Worm’s enclosure.
Mr. Worm just lies there.
Dragging himself off the sofa, Apollo stands next to Klavier—behind the camera, because he’s still not at the point where he wants to know that hundreds of thousands of people are watching him live —and Mr. Worm perks up. As usual, he pokes his head completely out of the soil, and then his upper body too, wiggling around as if he’s doing some kind of dance; it’s his cute little worm way of saying I love you, Apollo, you’re a good worm father.
He feels slightly better when he goes to sleep. At the very least, he doesn’t have any more nightmares about Mr. Worm’s mental health.
Morning comes, and for once, Klavier is up before him. That’s just another thing he loves about his boyfriend—he will purposely set his alarm five minutes before Apollo’s on the morning after a bad day, just so that he can go and start making coffee to bring to him in bed. Things are looking up; he’s sipping coffee made just the way he likes it, Klavier is talking to him about the latest songs he’s dreamed up and his possible return to music after the embarrassment of his SoundCloud song, and Mr. Worm is going to get a friend today, even if Apollo has to pick one off the sidewalk himself.
So, when there’s a knock on the door, he actually answers it with a smile.
“Apollo Justice,” the detective says. “We are arresting you under suspicion of the murder of Ms. Reese Cepshonés. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.”
And the handcuffs click against his wrists.
Klavier only manages to catch the tail-end of the conversation taking place at Apollo’s front door, but the moment he hears someone reading the Miranda Rights, he bolts through to the doorway just in time to see Apollo being led away in handcuffs.
With the way Apollo looks back at him, Klavier knows he’s innocent.
Innocent, and terrified.
He barely manages to scramble out of his pyjamas and into the first clothes he can find—which don’t belong to him, but wearing Apollo’s shirt right now is the only comfort he has. With shaking hands gripping the handlebars of his motorbike, he rides right past the Detention Center, knowing all too well that the protocol won’t allow him to visit Apollo unless he’s his acting attorney, and ends up outside the Wright Anything Agency.
Trucy answers the door. Oh, god, Trucy —how is he going to tell her that her brother has been arrested for the murder of someone he doesn’t even know?
“Klavier!” Trucy beams. “Good morning! Dropping Polly off for work?”
“Not quite,” Klavier tries to smile. “May I come in? I need to speak to all of you.”
Trucy brightens her smile, and Klavier thinks that she’s a lot more like him than he would ever wish for a sixteen year old girl who’s already been through hell and back, but she dutifully opens the door and Klavier walks in to find Phoenix Wright and the newest hire, a woman Apollo has told him is called Athena, working on a case together.
If anything, it’s nice to see Mr. Wright in a suit. Klavier had meant to send him flowers when he heard that he got his badge back a month or so ago, but he’d stopped himself every time.
“Apollo has been arrested,” he says. May as well get it out before the words threaten to choke him.
“What?” Trucy says. “Polly? What for?!”
“Murder.”
Saying it out loud is too much for him. His legs buckle, and he just about makes it to the sofa before he feels like he’s about to cry—and he does not want to cry right here and now.
Surprisingly, though, it’s Mr. Wright who sits next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Klavier,” he says. “It’s obviously a mistake. A horrible one, but a mistake nonetheless.”
“Will you… will you defend him? I’ll pay whatever, I just—”
“Of course.”
“And I’ll be your co-counsel,” Athena says.
“Actually,” Mr. Wright tells her. “You already have a case you’re working on. Part of being a lawyer means that you can’t just give up on your clients, even if it’s hard. Even if it means you can’t defend Apollo.”
“Then call Maya! Ask Edgeworth! Mr. Wright, we need to—”
“Actually,” Klavier interrupts. “I was going to ask…”
Is he really doing this? Requesting to stand in court with Phoenix Wright again, only this time from the same side? Finally realising their mutual goal of reaching the truth without the shadow of manipulation over their heads? Would Mr. Wright even accept his help?
“...if I could be your co-counsel? I know it’s unconventional, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but I know Apollo and I know he isn’t guilty and I don’t think I could just stand on the sidelines when—”
“Klavier, calm down,” Mr. Wright says. “I’d be honoured.”
“Danke… danke…”
“And, for what it’s worth, I don’t want nothing to do with you. I think you’re a respectable prosecutor who fights for the truth, and the way I’ve caught Apollo talking about you on the phone to his best friend, you’re good to him. I’ve got nothing against you.”
“Even after…?”
“Even after everything, yes. You can let that go. It’s okay.”
“Danke… I mean, I really shouldn’t be bringing it up when we should be focusing on Apollo, but… danke.”
“Come on, kid. Let’s go to the Detention Center.”
It’s only been a few hours since he last saw Apollo, but in that time, he looks like he’s been through a million lifetimes of suffering. Klavier would never bring it up, but it’s obvious that he’s been crying, and when tries to smile and wave, his face falls instantly at the realisation that he’s still in handcuffs.
“Hey, Apollo,” Klavier says.
“Hey.”
“You’re going to be fine.”
“How am I going to defend myself if I don’t even know who I supposedly killed? They haven’t told me anything other than a name!”
“You’re not going to defend yourself,” Mr. Wright says. “Why would you think you had to?”
“Well, I mean, you were helping Athena with her case so I thought you’d both be busy…?”
“Athena can handle herself without a co-counsel, just this once.”
“You mean… you’re going to defend me?”
“I can’t exactly let my best toilet cleaner go to jail now, can I?” Mr. Wright jokes. “But seriously, we all know you didn’t do it. You’re not gonna go through this alone, Apollo.”
“T-Thank you,” Apollo says.
“Plus, I’ve got the best co-counsel ever.”
“I thought Athena already had a case?”
“Ach, you wound me,” Klavier smiles.
“Wait,” Apollo says. “You’re the co-counsel? But you’re a prosecutor?”
“Not for this trial, Herr Forehead.”
“So… I mean, I don’t think I can even give you any worthwhile information,” Apollo looks down, like he’s ashamed. “I’m sorry. I must be the worst client ever.”
“Nope,” Mr. Wright says. “That just means you’re innocent. Not that we ever doubted it.”
“Yeah,” Klavier smiles at his boyfriend. “You’re fine. We’re fine.”
He doesn’t believe it, though. Not that he’s doubting Apollo’s innocence, it’s just… well, it’s sad to see him like this, still in his pyjamas, hands fumbling with his bracelet.
“You’re Apollo Justice, and you’re fine!”
He says it before he even realises that he means to, but it elicits a small smile from Apollo, and somehow, it’s enough.
“Now,” he continues. “You can at least tell us the name of the victim, ja?”
Having Mr. Wright in his car is strange, to say the least. He’s unsure of what the protocol is—should he put music on the aux, or would that just be more awkward? As it is, he drives in silence, deciding whether he should put music on or start a conversation, but by the time they pull up outside the vet’s office, he still doesn’t know how to interact with the man whose career he ruined for seven years.
“Well, here we are,” Mr. Wright says. “We should go talk to Ema to kickstart our investigation.”
Klavier has no motivation to keep up his usually friendly banter with Ema Skye, but the moment she lays eyes on him, it’s evident that she isn’t going to extend the same courtesy to him just because his boyfriend is in custody.
“Mornin’, fop,” Ema says.
“Guten Morgen,” Klavier replies.
“Ema,” Mr. Wright cuts her off from whatever sarcastic response she was preparing. “Can you tell us everything about the case?”
“I mean, I’m not really supposed to.”
“You know Apollo isn’t guilty.”
“…Fine. You know who the victim is, at least?”
“Someone called Reese Cepshonés? Beyond that, though, we’re in the dark.”
“She’s the receptionist for this vet clinic. Got stabbed just after her shift ended yesterday, around 9pm or so. Right in that alleyway over there. And… it’s not looking good for Apollo, honestly.”
“What?” Klavier says.
“I wasn’t finished. The prosecution has a witness, CCTV, and there’s traces of blood at the crime scene that don’t belong to Ms. Cepshonés. They took a sample from Apollo at the Detention Center, and it’s a match.”
Klavier’s heart breaks, thinking of Apollo, alone in the Detention Center, incriminated for a crime he obviously didn’t commit, scared of needles and not too fond of blood, either.
“What about the murder weapon?” Mr. Wright asks.
“They found that at the scene. No prints that we could lift, but that won’t hold up in court since he could have been wearing gloves.”
“And the prosecution? Who’s taking the case?”
“Oh,” Ema smiles. “It’s Payne, so dismantle his evidence and it should be plain-sailing. He’s not exactly the scariest guy to go up against.”
It does calm Klavier down a little to hear that. But, even though he has no faith in Winston Payne as a prosecutor, his moral standing doesn’t exactly hold up; he’s not like Klavier, or Simon Blackquill, or Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth—he doesn’t value the truth as much as he values his own reputation.
“Thanks, Ema,” Mr. Wright says. “Can we investigate the scene?”
With their permission to investigate firmly secured, Klavier and Mr. Wright make their way to the alleyway in which Ms. Cepshonés was murdered. The body has been removed already, but certain pieces of evidence have been bagged up and kept at the scene; there’s a watch, which Klavier inspects through the plastic keeping it preserved.
“Hey, Mr. Wright,” he says.
“Phoenix.”
“Huh?”
“Phoenix. That’s my name. You’re allowed to use it, you know. Considering that we’re—”
That we’re what? Coworkers for a day? That we both got manipulated by my older brother?
“—friends.”
“R-Right,” Klavier says. “Well, look at this watch.”
Phoenix inspects it for a moment. “It’s broken.”
“Ja. At 9:06pm.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If we can connect this watch to the victim, and prove that it was broken at the time of death, then we… then we…”
“Oh,” Phoenix replies. It seems like he’s figured it out too. “Then we can verify the time of death on the autopsy report. Which means nothing if Apollo doesn’t have an alibi.”
“Can’t I be his alibi? I mean, I was at his place last night. All night.”
And then he cringes. He realises exactly how that statement must have come across. Thankfully, Phoenix doesn’t mention it.
“Not if you’re the co-counsel. You can’t exactly take the stand.”
“But I can’t not be the co-counsel. I have to defend him!”
“I know,” Phoenix says. “We’re just going to have to refute all the evidence against him.”
“Ja. We can do that.”
“Yeah, we can. We’ll be a good team.”
A good team. Klavier likes the sound of that.
He has a spare key to Apollo’s apartment. It’s strange being in here without him, but he knows that Apollo will only worry about Mikeko and Mr. Worm, so he wants to be able to go to the Detention Center one last time (before Apollo walks out a free man, he reassures himself) and tell him that everything is fine back at home. Filling Mikeko’s bowls and dropping some vegetable peels into Mr. Worm’s enclosure, Klavier sits on Apollo’s side of the sofa, brings his legs up to his chest, and cries. Only for a moment, but he needs to get his emotions out before he puts on his carefully constructed mask again.
Mr. Worm, on the other hand, has no concept of masking his emotions, and lies on the top of his soil like a little Victorian lady about to faint and die of unspecified fever.
“It’s okay, little guy,” Klavier scoops him up in a handful of soil and transfers him to his carrier-case. “We’re gonna get him out of there, me and you. Not that you’ll be much help. It’s the thought that counts though, Herr Worm.”
He packs up Apollo’s suit, alongside one of his own shirts and some pyjama pants, into a little bag, carrying Mr. Worm in his hand, and makes his way to his car.
Strapping Mr. Worm’s enclosure into the passenger seat, Klavier drives to the Detention Center.
When he sees Apollo again, he looks even worse than before. The handcuffs around his wrists have started to leave slightly red marks, and he’s obviously restless—when Klavier walks in, he’s pacing the room, but he practically runs to the chair when he sees the door open and sits there, his eyebrows turned down in expectant sadness, trying his best to smile.
“Hey, schatzi,” Klavier says. “Look who came to see you.”
Mr. Worm pokes his head out of the soil when Apollo taps on the Detention Center glass.
“Hey Mr. Worm. Hey baby man. Are you missing me? I’m sorry… yes I am, yes I am… I’m going to come home soon, I promise. You hang in there little guy, okay?” He looks at Klavier. “How has he been? How’s Mik? How are you?”
“We’re all fine. You don’t have to worry about a thing. We all just miss you. You’ll be home tomorrow, though.”
“You really think so? How’s the case looking?”
“Good! It’s looking good,” Klavier says.
Apollo sighs. He doesn’t even need to look down at his bracelet—Klavier knows that he can’t lie to him.
“Alright, it’s not great,” he continues. “But it’s not hopeless. I mean, you obviously didn’t do it, so there’ll have to be a flaw in the evidence somewhere. We’ll find it.”
“Are you sure about doing this? I mean, what if you get backlash from the Prosecutor’s Office for being the co-counsel to the defense?”
“I don’t care,” Klavier shrugs it off. “It’s you. How could I not do everything I can? I brought you some clothes, too. I thought you might feel better standing in court in your suit, even if you’re not behind the defense bench. Sorry… that was kind of insensitive.”
“No, it’s fine. You’re right.”
“And I brought you some pyjamas.”
Klavier holds up the clothes.
“Oh, Holy Mother,” Apollo puts his head in his hands, but he’s smiling. “As if being in the Detention Center isn’t hard enough, you’ve brought me a fucking Gavinners shirt to wear?”
“Ja, babe. Gotta rep your pride for your boyfriend, even here.”
“You’re insufferable. I love you.”
“I love you too. Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight? We’ll be fine tomorrow, I know it.”
“You know my bracelet tells me when you’re lying, right?”
“And it didn’t move a single inch when I told you I loved you, did it?” Klavier says, softly. “And I bet it won’t move when I tell you that I believe in you, too. I can’t promise the case will be easy, but I have faith in you. I hope that’s enough.”
“It is,” Apollo says, quietly.
Klavier arrives in the lobby before Phoenix does. He’s an hour early, actually, but he’d rather be three hours too soon than even a minute too late for Apollo; still, there’s not much to do other than drink the weak coffee provided and realise, twenty minutes after doing so, that it probably wasn’t the best idea when he’s already jittery.
Phoenix arrives, followed soon after by the bailiff, who leads Apollo into the lobby.
Christ, he looks terrible.
Well, not terrible. The lack of hair gel means that his usual spikes are absent, but Klavier has always liked him with his hair down and loose—no, Apollo looks as handsome as ever.
He just looks so, so sad.
But at least Klavier doesn’t have to see him from behind glass this time, and he can’t help it—he runs to him and wraps him in a hug, burying his face into Apollo’s shoulder.
“I missed you,” he sobs.
“Missed you too,” Apollo says. “Now let’s get this shitshow over with.”
It’s strange, seeing Apollo on the stand as the trial begins. He should be opposite Klavier, smirking as he bluffs his way to find the truth; he shouldn’t be looking down at the floor as the murder charges are read, and when Payne scoffs as Apollo pleads not guilty, Klavier wants to jump over the defense bench and rip his stupid toupée right off his head.
“Would the prosecution give its opening statement?” The judge asks. Payne smirks.
“The prosecution moves to charge Apollo Justice with the premeditated murder of Ms. Reese Cepshonés. Just before 9pm on the night of March 20th 2027, Mr. Justice waited outside the Hickfield Vet Clinic with a weapon, and once Ms. Cepshonés exited the building through the alleyway exit, Mr. Justice stabbed her once, fatally, in the chest. At some point in the ongoing struggle, Mr. Justice was injured, and ended up leaving his own blood at the crime scene.”
“Objection!” Klavier shouts.
“Objection to what?” Payne gloats.
Shit. Being a defense attorney isn’t at all like being a prosecutor. He isn’t the one presenting the case any more, he’s supposed to be poking holes in it, but when he looks over at Phoenix for guidance, his small nod shows everything that goes unsaid.
Bluff.
“Where’s your proof? Do you have a witness that proves Mr. Justice waited outside the clinic? Maybe some fingerprints on the murder weapon?”
“The prosecution would actually like to submit the CCTV footage,” Payne smirks. And, on the huge screen that drops down behind the witness stand, a video begins to play.
A very damning video.
It shows someone from behind, their hair very distinctively spiked up into two hair horns, wearing a large trench coat to obscure their frame, entering the alleyway with a knife in hand. Although the footage doesn’t capture the exact moment of the stabbing, Klavier knows that the alleyway only has one entrance, and after this person enters at 8:58pm, nobody else enters until the figure, carefully obscuring their face from the camera, leaves again at 9:11pm.
“As the court can see,” Payne says. “This clearly shows the defendant lying in wait in the alleyway.”
“Objection!” Phoenix says. “No, it doesn’t. At no point in that video is the defendant’s face seen.”
“He’s recognisable by hair and stature alone. Mr. Justice is rather short, isn’t he?”
“You’re smaller than he is!” Klavier shouts. “For all we know, it could be you in that footage!”
“Take a look at the hair. This is clearly the defendant’s… usual style.”
“Anyone can gel their hair,” Phoenix retorts. “It’s hardly conclusive.”
“I concede that the CCTV footage alone isn’t conclusive,” Payne says. “But the prosecution would like to present its witness.”
A lanky man, who looks like he’s made entirely out of shapes and distorted in some kind of photoshopping program, takes the stand.
“Would the witness state his name and occupation please?”
“Kurt Taken, janitor for the Hickfield Vet Clinic.”
“And Mr. Taken, could you tell the court what you witnessed on the day of March 20th?”
“I saw him,” Mr. Taken points at Apollo. “Arguing at the front desk with Ms. Cepshonés the afternoon before she died. He was angry, real angry actually. He must’a gone back and killed her before she could even react.”
“The prosecution, at this point, would like to submit the autopsy report for Ms. Reese Cepshonés.”
Klavier practically snatches up his copy. He scans each line, looking for anything he can use.
AUTOPSY REPORT OF MS. REESE CEPSHONÉS
DATE OF DEATH: 20TH MARCH 2027.
TIME OF DEATH: AROUND 9PM.
CAUSE OF DEATH: ONE STAB WOUND TO THE CHEST. INSTANT DEATH.
NO OTHER EXTERNAL OR INTERNAL INJURIES.
It all checks out. It’s exactly as the witness said, except he wasn’t there, so it has to be speculation. There has to be something. The broken watch matches the time of death. The date is correct. The cause of death is true, and the ‘instant death’ mention in the report matches exactly the witness’ speculation that Ms. Cepshonés didn’t have time to react.
Wait.
Didn’t have time to react.
“Objection!” Klavier shouts. And then, turning to Phoenix, he says the two words he’s felt, for eight years now, like he does not deserve to say. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Phoenix replies.
“Can you confirm, Mr. Taken, that you didn’t witness the actual murder?”
“Y-Yes? I just saw the argument in the afternoon. The motive, the prosecution said.”
“So I would be correct in assuming that your statement that Mr. Justice “killed her before she could even react” is speculation?”
“W-Well… yeah…”
“For the record, I agree with the witness. The autopsy report clearly corroborates that the victim died instantly.”
“Heh,” Payne laughs. “You’re not playing prosecutor today, Gavin. Forget which side of the bench you’re supposed to be on?”
“Not at all, Herr Toupée. It’s just… you haven’t noticed your own inconsistency, have you?”
“W-What inconsistency?”
“Recall your opening statement. You clearly stated that the presence of Mr. Justice’s blood at the crime scene indicated a struggle.”
“S-So what?”
“Ms. Cepshonés died instantly. She wouldn’t have been able to fight back, ja?”
“T-They could have… yeah… they could have struggled before she was stabbed,” Payne retorts. “And the defendant could have been injured then!”
Well, Klavier wasn’t expecting that one. He really thought he had Payne there.
“Actually,” Phoenix takes over, and Klavier realises that he hasn’t actually breathed in the past minute. Gripping onto the defense bench, he wonders how Apollo does this every day. “The very same autopsy report you’re holding now also indicates that no other injuries were present, external or internal. Not very indicative of a struggle, don’t you think?”
“W-Well… here!” Payne fumbles with his evidence for a moment before finding the watch. “The victim’s watch was broken. Surely that indicates a struggle!”
“Actually, if the watch were broken in a struggle, surely the victim’s wrist would show some sign of pre-mortem injury. As it stands, it’s only the watch face that’s broken. Most likely when the victim fell to the ground.”
“How can you prove that?”
“Well, can we call Detective Ema Skye to the stand?” Phoenix asks.
“Usually, the police act as witnesses for the prosecution,” the judge says.
“Her testimony will be the same regardless of who calls her. Unless the prosecution objects, on account of knowing that Detective Skye’s testimony will be damning to his argument that the watch was broken during a struggle?”
“The prosecution…” Payne says, scowling. “…Has no objection.”
As Ema takes the stand, Klavier feels the familiar thrill of a trial. But then he looks at Apollo, sitting there, staring at the ground, so strangely silent, and the only thing in Klavier’s chest is sadness— he should be the one objecting and bluffing. It just isn’t the same.
“Will the witness state her name and occupation?”
“Ema Skye. Detective, aspiring forensic scientist.”
“And your testimony, please?” Phoenix says.
“Well, if we’re talking about the watch, then yeah. It was most likely broken after death. When her body was found, her arm was twisted behind her back—not enough to cause the bone to break, but enough that her weight would have crushed the watch face.”
“There we go,” Klavier smirks. “Point made.”
“B-But still,” Payne is sweating now. “The bloodstain!”
“Yes, the bloodstain,” Klavier echoes. “Quite convenient, isn’t it? That Mr. Justice, well aware of the legal system and what evidence could convict a defendant, would not only leave a bloodstain behind when no struggle took place with the victim, but would also allow his most defining—and most easily replicable—feature to be caught on CCTV. It feels like a set-up.”
“You don’t have proof! Only one person entered that alleyway at the time of the murder, and the autopsy report and victim’s watch clearly corroborate that evidence to prove the time of death. It’s not like Mr. Justice has an alibi.”
An alibi. Oh, how easy that would make things. 9pm two nights ago, what were they doing? They’d watched The Bachelorette together, eaten French onion soup—Apollo had been sad about the vet not taking his pet worm seriously, so Klavier had cheered him up by…
Cheered him up by…
Documenting their evening on Instagram Live.
“Objection! Mr. Justice does have an alibi!”
“Huh?” Payne says.
“What?” Phoenix whispers.
Apollo looks at Klavier like he’s not really seeing Klavier. Like he doesn’t have any idea what his own alibi is.
Like Klavier is about to present forged evidence.
Like Klavier is Kristoph.
He pushes that thought aside and faces the judge.
“I only just remembered, but I have irrefutable proof that, at the time in question, on the night in question, Mr. Justice was with me.”
“Oh?”
“I was at his apartment, actually.”
“Oh?”
A chorus of excited whispers erupt in the gallery, and Klavier realises that he’s basically just outed, to the entire court and everyone watching, that he and Apollo are dating. He’s not exactly looking forward to the headlines tomorrow.
But that doesn’t matter.
“If I can present my Instagram profile as evidence,” Klavier says, taking his phone out and hooking it up to the court screen.
“Gen Z,” Payne mutters. “Always on them damn phones.”
Klavier pulls up his Instagram archive, where all of his live videos are saved for 30 days. He clicks on the most recent one, and the image of Mr. Worm wiggling around and dancing blares across the entire courtroom; while the live itself lasted for about ten minutes, Klavier thinks that showing the portion of time in which the murder took place is sufficient enough.
“Prosecutor… Defense Attorney Gavin?” The judge says. Klavier sharply inhales. He does not like that.
“Ach, just Klavier is fine,” he smiles. “I’m only acting as the co-counsel. I’m not about to change careers.”
“My apologies. Klavier, but… this is just a video of a worm.”
“Well… ja, but Apollo was behind the camera with me.”
“Pathetic,” Payne says. “You expect us to believe that?”
“He was! It’s his worm!”
“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly an alibi,” the judge says.
“But… but Herr Worm doesn’t dance like that for just anyone! He only does it for Apollo!”
“A likely story,” Payne says.
“But… it’s true! It really is!”
“And with no way to prove it, we only have your word. Which isn’t exactly admissible as evidence.”
“What if it could be proven?” Phoenix says.
“Huh?” Klavier says, looking back at Phoenix like he’s his lifeline.
“What if we could prove that the only person who could have been behind the camera was the defendant?”
“Well, then I suppose Mr. Justice would have a solid alibi,” the judge says. “But I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“I don’t think it is. The defense would like to request a recess while we prepare our witness.”
“I’m unsure what bluff you’re trying to pull, Mr. Wright, but I’ll allow it. Court is adjourned for fifteen minutes.”
Klavier paces the defense lobby. Apollo looks like he’s about to scream.
“Phoenix, that’s never going to work,” Klavier says, finally. “You can’t cross-examine the worm.”
“I cross-examined a parrot once.”
“Parrots can talk.”
“And worms can dance.”
“Mr. Worm is already going through a rough patch,” Apollo says. “What if the pressure of testifying has a negative impact on his mental health?”
“Apollo, schatzi, you’re on trial for murder here. And we need your alibi. All you have to do is stand in front of Herr Worm and we’ll prove to the court that you’re the only person he comes out of the soil for.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Do it for me?”
“Fine,” Apollo says. “But I’m not hopeful it’ll work. He’s depressed.”
“Believe in him, like I believe in you, ja?”
When court reconvenes, Phoenix sets Mr. Worm’s enclosure on the witness stand. Klavier wonders where the hell he gets his confidence from, because even with multiple Vogue interviews and hit singles under his belt, Klavier would never have the guts to set a worm on the witness stand with a straight face.
Phoenix Wright really is something else.
(Imagine what he could have done for innocent clients with seven more years under his belt.)
“Since the witness can’t speak, I’ll state his name for him. This is Mr. Worm, the defendant’s pet.”
“R-Right,” the judge says. “Mr. Worm, your testimony please?”
Phoenix stands in front of the worm enclosure.
Mr. Worm, looking even more depressed than his owner, lies listlessly, half-buried under the soil. The bailiff brings a small camera towards the enclosure, projecting a live-feed of Mr. Worm to the entire courtroom.
“See? No reaction,” Phoenix says. “Now, Klavier, you try.”
Klavier stands in front of Mr. Worm, silently begging the worm not to fuck this up for him. If anyone could hear his internal monologue right now—well, he’d be embarrassed, for sure.
“I’m sorry I wrote a diss track about you.”
“You really are a beautiful worm.”
“I’ll give you all the worm toys in the world if you just don’t dance for me. Dance for Apollo. He’s your real dad.”
Mr. Worm—beautiful, kind, forgiving Mr. Worm—doesn’t move an inch.
Phoenix invites Payne, then the judge, then the bailiff, then random members of the gallery to stand in front of Mr. Worm, and they all elicit the same reaction.
“Now, will the defendant please approach the stand?”
Apollo stands up, tossing a small smile Klavier’s way. He walks up to the witness stand, right up to Mr. Worm, and it only takes a second before Mr. Worm is raising his head, his upper body, swaying from side to side. If he had a little worm face, he’d be smiling.
As it stands, Klavier is smiling enough for the both of them.
“Well, this is certainly… evidence,” the judge says.
“I’m aware that it’s unconventional,” Phoenix says. “But look at it from an objective point of view. If Mr. Justice is the only person able to make Mr. Worm dance like this, then he must have been standing behind the camera at the time of the murder. He can’t be in two places at once, can he?”
The judge looks at Payne, who is gripping the bench; it looks like he’s about to pass out.
“I’m afraid that the court must accept the witness’… testimony as a credible alibi for the defendant.”
“B-But,” Payne protests. “The bloodstain!”
It hits Klavier. He runs back to his phone, pulling up his Instagram again.
“The bloodstain was planted!” He shouts. He opens the photo of himself and Apollo at the blood drive, triumphantly showing it to the court. “The day before the murder, the defendant and I went to donate blood together. It’s reasonable to think that someone could have used that to plant Mr. Justice’s blood at the crime scene.”
“Oh, come on,” Payne says. “Isn’t that a bit far-fetched? How can you even prove that the defendant donated blood? A… self-ey outside a blood donation center isn’t exactly proof.”
“There’s only one way to find out! Can we call one of the blood drive employees to the stand? I’ve got a… good feeling about this,” Klavier smiles. He has no idea where he’s going with this, but bluffing feels so good. So unlike Kristoph. So like Phoenix.
The judge dismisses court for the day, and Klavier stays behind to give the judge and bailiff the details of the blood drive that they went to. He tells them to ask for Trudy, knowing that if anyone is likely to testify in Apollo’s favour, it’ll be her, given how much of a shine she took to him.
With no more investigating to do, Phoenix heads straight home. Klavier, however, goes to the Detention Center, with Mr. Worm in his hand, to spend as much time as he can with Apollo.
“Sorry,” he says. “I thought we’d have you out of here today. Tomorrow, I promise.”
“You were amazing in there,” Apollo says.
“Danke, it was…”
“Oh, uh, I was actually talking to Mr. Worm. You were great too, though.”
“Do you want some time alone with the worm?” Klavier jokes.
He, somehow, isn’t surprised when Apollo nods.
Dutifully, he pushes Mr. Worm’s carrier-case towards the glass and leans back in his seat, satisfied to watch the way his boyfriend’s expression softens as he taps on the screen separating him and his worm.
“Hey, little guy,” Apollo says. “You were amazing. Proved my alibi and everything, you’re a smart little worm aren’t you? I love you. Yes I do! I love you! Your other dad isn’t so bad either, is he?” Apollo laughs.
“Hey, I never agreed to co-parent the worm.”
“Give it up, Klav. You love Mr. Worm as much as I do.”
Klavier remembers that, without the worm’s testimony, Apollo might have been found guilty today. “Ja,” he says. “Ja. I do.”
The next morning, Klavier feels more comfortable behind the defense bench than he did yesterday. Phoenix keeps giving him reassuring glances, but he’s ready to get straight into the trial—he’s got a wonderful feeling of sheer hope in his chest.
And then the witness takes the stand.
She’s still wearing her nurse uniform, with her hair tied back in a slick ponytail, and she looks nervous—which Klavier can understand; the courtroom isn’t exactly a comfortable place to be even for lawyers sometimes.
“Will the witness please state her name and occupation?” Phoenix asks.
“Uh… y-yes… o-of course,” she says. “I-I’m Trudy. I work at… t-the blood donation center.”
“Your full name, please,” the judge says. “If you don’t mind.”
“T-Trudy… Colette… Pritt.”
“And your testimony?” Phoenix says.
Klavier is silent. His mind is working overtime.
“W-Well… I really don’t know w-why I’ve been… asked t-to test-testify… I, uh… I didn’t take a donation from the d-defendant. At least… I don’t r-remember…”
“Bullshit!” Klavier says. “You spent the entire time chatting to him!”
“I-I’m s-sorry, sir… I t-think you’re m-mistaken…”
“Just… your testimony, please.”
“R-Right,” Trudy says. “Well… w-what day are we talking a-about?”
“The 19th. That’s when Apollo and I donated blood.”
“T-The 19th…” Trudy echoes. “It was just a n-normal day at work… I got the As… the Os… the usual… and then I went home at 5pm.”
Klavier thinks. There has to be something. There must be something.
Then he realises. Of course. Apollo is special.
Sure, he’s special to him. He’s special because he’s Apollo —he’s kind, and moral, and so, so good.
But he also has a very rare blood type. He remembers it because, at the time, Apollo had joked that it was his “some guy superpower”, the one thing that set him aside from everyone else; Klavier had been lost in his eyes at the time, and mumbled out a love-confession telling him that he’s already miles above everyone else in everything he does.
Right now, though, that isn’t the point.
“Just the As and the Os, you say?” Klavier asks.
“Some Bs…”
“Hmm. See, the defendant happens to have quite a rare blood type. He’s AB negative. You wouldn’t just forget something like that.”
“B-But n-nobody donated… AB negative…”
“Are you sure? We can always check the records. Bailiff, will you go and confirm with the blood donation center whether any AB negative blood was donated on the 19th?”
The bailiff nods, leaving the courtroom.
Trudy begins to tear at her hair with anxiety. And then it hits Klavier.
Her last name.
“Miss Pritt, would you mind telling me your father’s name?”
“M-My f-father’s… name?”
“Ja.”
“I… I don’t see how that relates t-to my… t-testimony?”
“Just humour me while we wait for the bailiff.”
“M-My father… my father’s… n-name… is Cole.”
“Hmm. Herr Cole Pritt. Familiar to the court, I’m sure, given that he was convicted of murder on the 20th March. The day of Ms. Cepshonés’ murder.”
“W-What?” Trudy says.
“It’s just interesting. Your father gets convicted of murder, and his own attorney helps to find the truth of his guilt. And then, on the very same day, that very same attorney is framed for murder.”
This is his moment. What his entire court career has been preparing him for.
What Elle Woods would want for him.
And wouldn't somebody who had, say, 30 perms before in their life be well aware of this rule, and if in fact you weren't washing your hair as I suspect you weren't because your curls are still intact, wouldn't you have heard the gunshot, and if in fact you had heard the gunshot Brooke Windham wouldn't have had time to hide the gun before you got downstairs. Which means you would have had to found Brooke Windham with a gun in her hand to make your story plausible, isn't that right?
The bailiff returns. “There was one donation made of AB negative blood on the 19th March,” he confirms.
“And wouldn’t somebody who works at a blood donation center surely remember such a rare blood type?” Klavier slams his hands on the bench. “And if in fact you did remember, which I suspect you did because you managed to list off every other blood type donated that day, wouldn’t you have been able to testify that the defendant did in fact donate blood on the 19th March? Which means that you would have to have a reason to intentionally obscure the truth, which is that the defendant did donate blood, which you then went back the day after to retrieve and plant at the crime scene after you murdered Ms. Cepshonés to frame the man who sent your father to jail, isn’t that right?”
“He was supposed to be his attorney!” Trudy shouts, pointing at Apollo. “He was supposed to find him not guilty! I don’t care that he’s innocent, he deserves to rot in jail like he condemned my father to do!”
“W-What?” Klavier says. A confession?
“I thought you were cool!” Trudy continues. “I bought all your albums! And then you write one shitty song about a worm because of this stupid defense attorney, and then you cancel your album plans because of some pathetic boyfriend and his fucked up worm, and then he gets my father sent to jail! I hate him! I hope he dies!”
A hush falls over the courtroom, followed almost immediately by an uproar. Klavier can barely hear, though, over the blood rushing in his ears, and it’s only when he feels confetti raining down on him that he realises the verdict has been passed.
Not guilty.
Apollo has been found not guilty.
Relieved, he turns to Phoenix and hugs him.
Apollo joins them at the defense bench, smiling like the weight on his shoulders has been completely lifted. It’s like Klavier is walking on air as he makes his way into the lobby, and then out of the courthouse doors, hand in hand with his boyfriend.
Still, he’s exhausted, and he’s betting that however tired he feels, Apollo feels ten times worse. They don’t even stop for Eldoon’s on the way back—they just go straight back to Apollo’s apartment, and the moment the door shuts behind them, Apollo collapses into bed.
“Klav,” he says, his voice strained. “Bring me Mr. Worm, please.”
Klavier can’t even protest. He doesn’t even care that he’s the one who got that verdict for Apollo, because fuck it, the worm helped, and if Apollo wants to curl up in bed and hold his pet worm’s enclosure as he sobs about the ordeal of the past few days, then Klavier—ever the loving boyfriend—isn’t going to deny him that.
Besides, the worm has grown on him, in a weird kind of way. When he looks at Apollo, who is cradling the worm’s mason jar, with Mikeko at his back, he feels like he’s finally got a family again.
A weird family, sure. Two men, a cat, Klavier’s dog, and their adopted worm with a potential mental health crisis, but a family nonetheless.