Disclaimer: I don't own Ace Attorney.

A/N: Written for the PW Kink Meme. Minor revamp from what was originally posted. Trigger warnings for self harm.

-x-

Some Velvet Morning

-x-

Seclusion.

My heart beat is in my ears and the heavy sound of static scatters amongst its outskirts. My sleeves are rolled up to my elbows, the water in front of me is threatening to spill out of its basin. The last time I did this was at the end of last April. Too many emotions, too many things to focus on. I had to turn it off somehow, my mind wouldn't shut up. Numb, I had to become numb.

The process is methodical, betraying my obstreperous thoughts. It's simple. Pin back my sleeves, dim down the lights; lock myself into the tightest corner I can find. Shy away from the world at large and surround myself in a world that is entirely my own. Slip my fingers along the grooves of freshly broken metal. Press it against my skin. Don't try to feel anymore, don't try to think anymore. It stopped hurting a long time ago and honestly, sometimes I'm not entirely sure it even helps me anymore.

Blood bubbles to the surface along the angry lines of red that decorate my already marred skin. Sliding down and congealing to create one thick and heavy riveting line of ruby red. This is how I know that I am alive. I indulge in the moment, not moving to clean up the mess that I've made of my body. My mind stops racing, my breathing slows.

There are so many facets to this sick coping device that I've come to understand. It's not just the macabre comfort that I gain from the dull throb of my pulse against my injuries. Neither is it seeing my life force ebb away through the narrow slits I make in my skin.

It started when I was fifteen and over the years, it's evolved into something more. In the beginning, I was less daring. Shallow cuts along the insides of my wrists that would lightly scab over. No one could tell what I'd done or what had happened. They would disappear as quickly as they had formed. It would only be a few months later that I was breaking razors apart to get to their blades. It was simple. Slide a lighter over the cheap plastic surface to warm it up and make it malleable. Use a pair of pliers to squeeze it together and break it apart. Out pops the razor for you to hide and use at your discretion.

It wasn't long before I began pressing harder. I remember the first time I drew blood. The disassociation was so strong back then that I couldn't believe what I was doing to myself. This wasn't me. This was someone else. I had to be someone else watching these things occur.

The more I bled, the longer the scars would take to heal. In the moment of mounting frustration, nothing matters anymore. The dull satisfaction washes over you in an instant you are drunk on this mental high. Eventually, you will slide a pad thick with hydrogen peroxide over your wounds, relishing in the stinging pain that grazes over then. The sizzling sound of your cells dying as they try to clot and heal you. No, you want to leave those wounds bare and open to the world.

Let the pain pour out a little bit more. The guilt, the inadequacies, the lack of control, the voices in your head screaming at you day in and day out that you're not good enough for anything. It halts the thoughts of suicide just a little bit longer, keeps them at bay so you can function a little bit better. Eventually, the wounds need to be dressed. Swath what you can in gauze if it's especially bad—and don't forget the antibacterial cream. Although, that's probably the last thing you have on your mind.

The Xacto knife clattered noisily to the bathroom floor as I let it slip from my grasp and I pressed my head against the cool wall behind me. Two, four, eight … sixteen hot, angry lines to cover the already fading scars beneath them I sat there listening to everything fade out around me. Eventually, I careen to the left, my body fanning out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. My buzzing thoughts come to a halt and there is nothing. Just pure, sweet, untainted abysmal bliss. In the aftermath, nothing matters. It stops. It's almost as if you put yourself on restart. Everything goes back to being normal and you can bring yourself to live again...

...Only if it is for a little while.

-x-

I pulled myself together long enough to go see Vera with Trucy the next morning. She was alive; she was going to be okay. Albeit, the events that preceded her departure into the outside world were less than desirable, they granted her with a new start. A chance to change tragedy into a personal triumph. We weren't able to stay for long, though. She was still relatively fatigued and the doctors were adamant on telling us that she needed time to rest. Trucy remains unperturbed and slips her hands into Vera's just as we leave and tells her that we'll be back first thing in the morning to see her again.

For a moment, something is normal.

-x-

That night, I'm alone in my apartment again.

I dropped Trucy back off at the office after taking her to Eldoon's for some noodles. I suppose some company would have been nice … but I just want to be alone. As I always do. As I need to be.

The lights are off and there's a mountain of paperwork that needs to be filled. But, the panic is rising up within my chest again, tight and constricting. It grapples with my lungs and prevents me from breathing. I pace the corridor from the living room to my bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth. There are nothing but the screams of my unsettled mind and the perpetual thrumming at my temples to keep me company.

Somehow, the pressure becomes too much and I enter the bathroom once again. Even though I'm alone, I shut the door behind me and press my back against it. Straight, tall, rigid. Confined and contained. Trying to keep myself locked in. I can't let this seep out into the world out there. It has to stay hidden.

The mess from last night is still there. …I had fallen asleep in here last night; face pressed into the scraggly red shower rug and curled up in a ball, trying to shy away from the world. I hadn't bothered to clean it up as I was getting ready this morning. I picked up the knife from where I left it on the floor turned on the faucet to fill the basin with water. I plugged the sink and dropped the knife into the water to remove the caked on blood from its smooth, metal surface. I splashed some water onto my face before turning off the tap. I close my eyes, pressing a towel to my weary eyes. The steady trickle of water droplets slowly fade into the distance.

I'm fifteen again. Back pressed up against the dilapidated door frame with my hands in my head, praying for all of it to fucking stop already. Something happened again, I can't remember what, but the door has finally stopped rattling. He's finally stopped pounding, stopped screaming at me. I can hear her voice calling him from beyond the kitchen and he screams something back. No good, worthless piece of shit. My mind is swirling with thoughts.

I finally stop trembling enough to make my way over to my red messenger bag, propped up at the foot of my bed. I pause as my eyes are drawn to the edge of the bed. The gap between the mattress and box spring. I stuck a steak knife in-between the crevice about a month ago for … I can't remember the reason. Oddly enough, it makes me feel safe. Knowing it's there, ready for me to use when I need it. …Not this time though. I don't need something as drastic for tonight.

I fumble around in my bag for my eyeglasses case. Pressing down slightly the inner casing pops out of the plastic molding and reveals the small crevice from which I retrieve what I need. It pops into my hand, glinting barely in the dim light. I rise and tuck myself into the space between my nightstand and bed. My hand slides across my skin as it tugs at the fabric of my shirt and pulls back my sleeves to reveal the maze of red and purpling lines underneath.

One line, doubles … four … eight … sixteen …

…Sixteen … eight … four … two …one…

My cell phone rings.

I pull myself away from my memories and set the towel down on the rack next to the sink. Who in the world could possibly be calling for me? Mr. Wright? No, not like he needed much from me these days. And besides, it was almost seven in the evening. What in the world would he be calling for? …Not that he was known for being the most accommodating person as of late … what about Trucy? No, her show at the Wonder Bar would be wrapping up right about now. I turned down the dark hallway and headed for my bedroom. My phone is vibrating and ringing incessantly in the front pocket of my vest. I part the fabric and pull it out to look at the number flashing on the screen.

…It's …Klavier.

-x-

We met up at some seedy sports bar downtown. For a Saturday, it's a pretty sparse scene. It was obvious he didn't want to draw attention to either of us. The media attention had yet to die down and I knew they were going to be relentless for the next few weeks or so. Better to be safe than sorry. Honestly, I was more surprised that I was hearing from him so soon after yesterday's trial. He had all but disappeared without a word to anyone.

Anyway, I don't drink. Well, it's rare that I do. But, if I do choose to indulge in the finer—I use that term loosely—points of adulthood, I'm partial to a glass of red wine very now and then. That's all. However, wine in a place such as this …would have gotten me more stares than we needed right now, so I settled on a simple beer. Klavier, however, was sitting across from me downing a heavy mix of Jack Daniels and coke.

He still had his sunglasses on. How in the world could he see anything in here? He hadn't said much to me on the way over here. He had barely said anything at all during our conversation on the phone. He just said he wanted to get out… needed to get out and he wanted me to come with him. Me. Me of all people.

Eventually, he took his shades off and set them down on the table in front of him. It didn't look like he got much sleep last night. His eyes were weary and he seemed to be struggling to keep them open. With a quick fluff of his bangs and a heavy sigh, he pushed his drink off to the side and looked up at me. One of the waitresses is quick to take away his empty glass and set a new one down in its place. He thanks her and then turns to me and begins to speak, "Ack. I … must apologize for the hastiness of my plans tonight."

I glance down at my beer and shook my head, "I wasn't doing much."

"Ah …" Klavier mused, crossing his arms over his chest and sliding back into his seat. How uncharacteristic of him to be at a loss for words. I could tell he was thinking about something, he just seemed unable to articulate himself at the present moment.

I doubt I could be of much help, either.

"Forehead …" That irritating name slips from his lips, but he shook his head and corrected himself a minute later, "No, Apollo. I…"

"Why did you bring me out here tonight?" I asked, cutting right to the chase. Despite everything, I wasn't entirely in the mood to sit here in the middle of Los Angeles at some random bar having Klavier fumble over his words for the entire night. I had my own demons to deal with and I was hardly looking to placate another's.

I felt my bracelet begin to tighten significantly on my wrist, not a surprise. Would Klavier just relax and tell me what he wanted so I could go home? Why in the world had I agreed to come out tonight in the first place? Maybe I thought … maybe I thought if I wasn't alone, my thoughts wouldn't take me back to that place again as they had last night. My eyes focused and everything was razor sharp. I couldn't hear anything. My eyes were burning from the clarity of everything.

You're the only one … that understands this mess …

His eyes would shift and he fiddled with one of his rings. There was something else there, something that he wasn't saying. I blinked again, but the tension was still there. Was he going to continue? He was still fiddling with his ring, but he seemed to be looking at me now. I closed my eyes when I felt the bracelet let up off my wrist and returned to its normal size.

"Is something wrong?" Klavier asked.

I waved my hand at him, rubbing at my eyes, "Continue."

"I just needed to get out. Get away." Klavier replied, "…You understand, ja?"

"...Needed to get out, huh?"

"To get away from things I'd rather not think about right now." He replied, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to sigh.

I shrugged my shoulders, taking a sip of my beer. It tasted like dirt, "You can say his name, you know. It won't kill you." Bad choice of words, Justice.

Klavier looked slightly taken aback by my brash outburst and laughed a bit sardonically, "Leave it to you to not beat around the bush."

I shrugged my shoulders, "I never intend to." I replied, "But, if you are, Gavin, then I'd rather much be at home right now—"

"No, stay." Klavier replied, leaning forward on the table, "I don't … " He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink, "I will … I mean… "

I don't want to be alone.

I looked up at the window, away from Klavier's stammering, "Understand that we did what was expected of us. Partial trickery, partial truth, it doesn't really matter in the end. We were all pawns in his game of chess and he played it well … they played us well."

"I suppose you are referring to Herr Wright?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" I asked, looking at Klavier. "This whole mess started seven years ago, and since then, the two of them have been going back and forth to this point in the present. It was inevitable for someone to get hurt in the crossfire. …Multiple people to get hurt in the crossfire."

Klavier seemed to be considering what I had just said, "You know, Apollo … I find it hard to find the real source of blame for all of this. If Kristoph hadn't been turned away by Zak Gramarye in favor for Herr Wright …" He shook his head, "…No, that's a terrible excuse."

"He wouldn't have killed all those people." I muttered, taking another swig of my beer, "You can say it. It's nothing we haven't figured out already."

Klavier cleared his throat as he sipped his drink, "I'd rather not think about it."

"But, it's the truth." I snapped, "Isn't that what we should always be concerned with? Finding the truth?"

A frown slowly marred his features, "Apollo." My name was a warning.

"I mean, that's what you always concerned yourself. And when you found it, you couldn't deal with it. Is that what you want to say?" He was silent so I continued, "…It's because the truth laid someone out—someone you cared deeply for—as a murderer. Someone you idealized and thought the world of. Someone you always relied on to guide you when things were rough. That person became the complete antithesis of every little thing that you thought."

I didn't care how much I'd stepped out of line at that moment. There were too many people to name, not enough that could be saved. How many people would they have to destroy before we finally ended up at this point? How many lives had been lost in these last seven years? Destroyed to the point of irreparable proportions.

Why was I caught up in this? Why did I have to be? Who was truly to blame for all the suffering of these past seven years? What were the answers I was supposed to be looking for? What was I suppose to salvage from the mess that had been made in this short amount of time? I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about this. It's not supposed to be like this.

Klavier titled his head back, "All is lost, isn't it?"

"How should I know?"

Klavier laughed again, but there was no humor in his voice. He shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief, "Kristoph, on death row. Daryan, refusing to acknowledge my existence … and the Gavinners … a dismal future at best. I'm sure there's more that I'm forgetting, ja? It's just one big domino effect. One long line of small, white dotted squares that gradually get bigger and topple over one another. The velocity increases, so fast does it change to blinding white that you can't see it anymore. There's nothing you can do about it. You allow it to ride out, speeding on, unable to do anything more."

I didn't have time for cryptic statements. This was too much.

"It all started with that stupid … if I hadn't been so foolish when I was seventeen, none of this would have happened. But, no, I believed in Kristoph. Never thought my brother would steer me wrong. Never thought that he'd bring me into his own little web of lies and deceit." He swallowed hard, "Do you know, Apollo? Do you know how long I had that horrible weight drowning in my heart? How long I had waited to hear the truth? To find out what I had done had been some horrible mistake all construed by my brother … my very own flesh and blood … just for the sake of petty revenge?" He slammed his fist on the back of the booth, "Do you have any idea what it's like, Apollo?"

"You're not the only injured party in this mess, Klavier."

"…Are you listening to yourself?" He pleaded with me, "I never said that I was. I'm simply asking you to empathize with me for one minute instead of getting lost in your own thoughts, thinking that you've been the only one that's been hurt by any of this. Herr Wright's lost attorney badge and Fräulein's loss of her father. The murder at the Borscht Bowl Club … the Misham's … there's a common thread pulling this all together. And at the head of it all lies Kristoph." Klavier sighed, "But, he can't hurt us anymore. Yet, he's left … a long string of deceit and pain that we are now left to fix." He looked up at me, "And as much as you don't want to think about it, Apollo, you're going to have to deal with it just as the rest of us will."

"No, I don't." I muttered under my breath low enough so that Klavier couldn't catch what I said, but saw my lips moving. I tore my eyes away from his and surveyed the bar for a minute. The bathrooms were just behind our booth.

I wound a tight hand around the top of my left arm and gripped at it tightly. I winced slightly feeling the throbbing of my scars underneath the fabric of my shirt. I closed my eyes, resisting the panic that was rising in my chest. I shouldn't have come out tonight. I shouldn't … I need to numb myself. I don't want to think about these things anymore. I didn't want to feel this. I didn't want to think about this.

"Apollo?"

With a shaking breath I rose from the table and barely met Klavier's eyes.

"I'll be back."

-x-

I locked the door behind me and glanced at the lone light bulb swaying overhead as it flickered on. Conveniently for me, it was a single stall bathroom. My head was killing me. I reached behind me, fumbling with the lock to the door and then slowly sunk down to sit down on the gritty and grimy floor. I reached into the inside of my right boot and slipped my finger into my sock. It wasn't long before I found the cool metal that was steadily being warmed by my skin. Call me stupid, I call it resourceful.

I honestly shouldn't be doing this in a place like this, but the panic was beginning to become unbearable. Nothing would quell it but this, I knew that much. My hand was riddled with fatigue as I brought it up to settle on my sleeve and sighed as I slid the fabric toward my shoulder to expose the skin beneath. I began parting the tape fastened to the bandage I had wrapped around my arm and let it hang loosely for awhile. I'd need to rewrap this when I was done. The wounds from last night looked faded in the dingy light swaying overhead. I could still feel them screaming out at me every time I moved my arm. Stop, stop doing this to yourself. I can't. I won't.

I flicked the blade around.

All I saw was red.

-x-

When I come back to the booth, I announce that I'm ready to go home. Our conversation, rendezvous … whatever you want to call this is finished.I can't take this anymore. Klavier seems to be expecting it, since he is quick to comply with my demands and rises to his feet. He pays the tab... says it's the least he can do.

…Klavier doesn't call me again.

-x-

It's starting to become a slippery slope.

Vera's finally out of the hospital. I've been around to see her when Trucy drags me to the Misham's studio. Can't say I know the full extent of how well she's readjusting to being on her on. She seems to be taking things in stride and listening to whatever help and advice we can give. I suppose … that's what me and the Wright's are here for. To aid in the transitioning process … though I don't know how much good I'll be in that respect.

I've also seen Ema once or twice in passing. With no new cases coming in, there was no reason for me to run into her on a constant. Honestly, I just needed to be in court again. But, I was falling further away from it as the days went by. My mind—and body—were becoming so restless that I'd settle for any type of work at this point. I didn't care if involved cleaning the office or refilling old paperwork. I needed to distract my mind with something, anything.

Eventually, Mr. Wright tasks me with sorting through some of his old casework that's improperly filed. That only lasts but so long and I'm finished within a little under a week. I take to cleaning the office next. Between Mr. Wright's general laziness and the hectic mess of Trucy's schedule, nothing really ever stays in order or balance in this place. I use it to distract me so I don't have to think about anything else.

The vacancy of my mind has yet to reach my eyes, I know that much. Give it another few weeks or so and I know I would break down further than I already have. But keeping up appearances is everything, and no one has to know that I'm losing it on the inside. I've dealt with keeping everything to myself for my entire life, why should I break the cycle now?

The days fall in and out at the same pace. The same thing all the time. The slow thrum of time presses into my temples and suffocates me of meaning, draining me of purpose in life. The month ends and a new one begins. Things haven't changed. The same sense of heavy apathy burdens my mood. A never ending throb echoes beneath my skin and hushes itself within the crevices of silent scars. For once, I welcomed the change in the weather as the temperatures began their steady decline.

One day Trucy tells me, "…You've changed, Polly."

I tell her she's imagining things.

I don't even care to realize that it's a stupid lie.

I still come to the office daily, more out of habit than actually looking for any new cases to take. It's usually empty on most days. Mr. Wright is out at the courts supervising the growth of the Jurist System and Trucy is either off at schools and doing shows at the Wonder Bar. The weekends tend to be more lively, if by a little bit.

…But then it hits me again … and I start sleeping more than I'm eating. I can't bring myself to do anything else. The times that I harm myself become more sporadic. Either the urge hasn't arisen, or I'm too tired to do it. It's too much of an effort to even force myself out of bed in the morning. When do you think I have the time to drive a knife into my arm?

I knew something was going to happen after I woke from one afternoon nap to find Trucy hovering over me, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. I know I've done nothing to assuage her ever present concern in the past few weeks. She's come to consider me to be like the older sibling she never had. It's no surprise that her reaction would be what it is. It's also no surprise that my façade was fading. Yet, this time around I couldn't go about self destructing as I usually did. …I've become involved with this odd makeshift family that I suppose I should call my own. …And I knew they weren't going to leave something like this alone.

-x-

I've been banned from the office until further notice.

…Well, Trucy kept calling it an extended vacation. Her words, not Mr. Wright's. No, he essentially banned me—told me that he didn't me to come in everyday. Actually, he didn't want me to come in at all. If I was just going to use the office as my second bedroom and sleep all day, I was better off just staying home. Also, being that there were no new cases coming through, it made no sense for me to spend long periods at the office as I often. The conversation was brief, but the truth lied in the idle banter that followed his previous chiding. That's where the true undertones were masked.

What did he tell me? "Get some sleep okay?"

I know there's something wrong with you that you're not telling us.

And from me, more lies of course. "I'm fine."

...More than you know. And don't you dare try to find out.

-x-

No, I know I'm losing touch with reality.

There's no other explanation for the sheer amount of mental hell that I find myself lapsing into as the week progresses. Being away from the office is doing me more harm than good at the moment. Actually, being alone is driving me insane. I fell asleep on the bathroom floor again last night, knife still wrapped around my sick and weary fingers, the ground sticky beneath my back.

I'm laying spread eagle on the bathroom floor, dead eyes counting the grooves in the bathroom ceiling. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm tired, I'm so damn tired. I'm in a permanent daze, fading in and out of consciousness. I don't know which way is up or down anymore. My head hurts, a dull throb that pulls me toward some dimension of sanity. Something that reminds me that I'm still tangible, that I'm not imagining what's happening to me right now. How many days have passed? How long have I been laying here?

I don't know what day it is anymore. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

Short days, long nights. It's always dark.

…My arms are on fire.

…And the phone …won't ….stop …ringing…

…Is it December yet?

-x-

I hear church bells ringing. Somewhere, a holy hymn is being written. Sing to me the hell of your broken hallelujah.

-x-

The heavy smell of antiseptic is attached to my olfactory bulb and the squeaking of rubber soles on linoleum permanently fastens to my ears. It hurts. Fatigue has worked its way beneath my muscles, pulling tightly across my bones in a long dormant sleep that I could barely awake from. The tapping of light at my heavy lids, each second growing more unbearable than the last.

I'm eighteen. A freshman in college. It's the week before finals.

…I was careless … I … need stitches.

A nurse is moving her lips in rapid succession above me. She's assessing the damage I've done to myself this time and clicking her tongue in disapproval at the myriad of scars and bruising that line both of my arms. It's unprofessional making your patient feeling even more disgust and contempt for themselves. They already get enough of the shaming, the guilt … and berating …

…And the undeniable feelings of worthlessness …

The crude, sharp voice screaming at you that you're not good enough. You will never good enough. Everything that you do will never be enough. What do you do?

You shut off your mind and make an effort to steel your heart. Press a razor to your skin so you have something else to focus on. Inadequacy flows from your mind like an ebbing river, washed away and swallowed by the dull sensation of pain. That ever present throb of your heartbeat pulsing hard and steady beneath your skin. It takes over, numbs you and makes you calm. You can breathe.

But when it fades … you manage to slip through the cracks, trying to hold on with cold and weary hands. Eyes dry, mouth agape. The silence kills your ears as you're left with nothing but your own pressing thoughts.

…And … and … and …

-x-

There's a knock at the door.

I've had this dream before.

I pull myself away from my bed, stumbling to my feet and grounding the palms of my hands into my eyes. I realize that it's dusk. I've spent yet another day sleeping its entirety away. The pounding on the door doesn't subside as I push myself upright and brace myself against the doorway of my bedroom. Everything is fuzzy … and it hurts. And I'm tired. I'm so damn tired. I can't trust my senses. I'm off kilter; everything is what it shouldn't be.

The door bell rings once … twice …

I don't bother to check who it is as I grasp the knob to open the front door. Part of me tells myself this is another hallucination. This isn't reality … this hasn't been reality. Another dream, another nightmare. It wouldn't be the first; it certainly won't be the last. But when I open the door, prepared to stand before the long winding corridor that will ultimately lead me into even more infinite darkness, I feel myself freeze.

This wasn't a dream.

"…Apollo?"

His blue eyes were wide, shifting all over the place. He first looked at me, taking in my haggard appearance. Then he glanced to the disarray of the living room behind him. Paperwork strewn all over the place, empty plates of food I'd barely picked at and the litter of sheets draped about the floor. He opened his mouth as if to stay something but stopped as he looked at me again. His eyes lowered again, moving from my face … down … down… right to my upper arms. My arms were burning … he saw the scars. He was staring at my scars.

I immediately reach back to slam the door in his face but a heavy riot boot steps into the doorframe and prevents me from closing it. It isn't any surprise that Klavier managed to overpower me and force the door back open. If I couldn't force him out, I'd shut myself in. What was he doing here? Trucy? Mr. Wright? Was he the one that had been calling me all this time?

He called my name again just as I closed the door to the bathroom and locked it. No one was supposed to know … no one is supposed to see this. No one was supposed to find out … no one … I can't have anyone know. They'll put me under a god damn 5150 again and I can't have that. It already happened before and I don't—

"Apollo."

"Don't." I began, shaking my head, "Leave, Klavier."

He sighed and I heard something thump on the opposite side of the door, "I stopped by the agency this afternoon because there was something … that's recently come to my attention that I had to speak with you about." He paused, "But, then I found out from your distraught little Fräulein that Herr Wright had put you on a leave of sorts and you haven't been to the office in two and a half weeks. The red flags went up when she told me you haven't had any contact with her or Herr Wright since they last saw you."

"I said to leave."

He remained unperturbed, "So I told her I'd come check on you, Apollo …" I heard the doorknob clicking slightly. He must have stopped when he realized it was locked, "…What's happened to you since I last saw you? What… why … why didn't you let someone know that you couldn't handle—"

"And who's to say that I can't?"

"Are you listening to yourself right now?" I could hear the anger seeping into his voice, "Look at the state of this apartment, Apollo. …Look …" His voice lowered, "Look at yourself. What you've done … what you're doing—"

I folded into myself, ducking my head between my knees and bringing my arms over to cover my head to mute out the sound of his voice. He had no right to tell me anything about how I was trying to cope with any of this.

"…Why didn't you talk to me that night?" He asked, "I would have been more than willing to listen—"

"Because I can deal with this on my own!" I shouted back at the door, "…I did it when I was younger … I can do it now."

"Those scars tell lies, Apollo. And they're telling me the exact opposite of what you intend." Klavier murmured. He sighed heavily and I heard him fiddling with the doorknob again, "...Can you please open the door?"

"…No."

"...Then …can you find it in yourself to talk to me?" Klavier asked. There seemed to be some underlying desperation in his voice.

"A couple of months ago ... present day … what does it matter? I didn't want to talk to you then and I don't want to do it now, Klavier." I seethed, "What makes you think that things are going to change?"

"So … you want me to go back to Fräulein with news of your self destruction and deprecation? I'm sure if she and Herr Wright did become involved it would undoubtedly become even more intrusive than you would ever want …" Klavier mused, "There's still time to let them know and—"

"Don't fucking bring them into this!" That was enough to get me to my feet, unlock the door and yank the door open. "Don't you dare bring them into this mess! No one has to know about this, Klavier! Why the hell can't you get it through your head that I've been like this for longer than any of you have ever known?" I braced myself against the doorframe, "I've harbored this … these illnesses … and I've dealt with them in any way possible to silence them …"

"…This isn't the right way to go about things, Apollo."

"It's my way."

Klavier sighed heavily, "And tell me, how well has it been working for you?"

I turned away from him, "…"

"It dulls the pain but it doesn't take it away." Klavier filled in the words for me where I had fallen short, "You need professional help for this matter."

"…They lie. Never help." I replied, turning back to look at him. He raised an eyebrow as if waiting for me to elaborate, "…I don't ever want to go back there. Please don't make me go back there…" My hands were starting to shake, I was beginning to slip.

He shook his head, "Apollo …I can't leave you like this."

"It would be better for me … and you … if you left, Gavin."

Silence lapsed between us. Klavier's thumbs were weighing so heavily into the fabric of his pockets, I thought they would rip. This was a nightmare. If only I hadn't opened that stupid door … just slept through his persistent knocks as I had all those telephone calls. Drowned myself in the sweet release of sleep for a little longer. I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be corned as I was right now. I could keep living this lie, this hell I had been swallowed into. If only … if fucking only…

"I can't do that."

"You can't help me." I countered.

Klavier just wasn't taking no for an answer. "Apollo." He began, "…Apollo, look at me. I want you to listen to me. Please. Try to process what I'm trying to get across to you." He inhaled and exhaled deeply, "…Last month, we took on a case that held tremendous weight for every one of us."

I didn't really know what to say. I had nothing to say.

"…Seven years. Seven YEARS, Apollo. Do you know how much time that ends up fanning out to? I was in my late teens when all of this happened and I'm on my way to my mid twenties. That's how much time has passed to get us to this very point." Klavier's shoulders were heaving with some unspoken anguish, "And for you to sit around for the last month acting as if this is just your problem to deal with … it pains me to realize just how little you understand about what's happened here."

"…"

"You have nothing to say?"

I don't know what to say. "…I don't … I don't know what to do anymore …"

"…Apollo. Please."

I shook my head, "It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. When I stepped into the courtroom for the first time last April … and the outcome that occurred as a result of that chance encounter… it wasn't supposed to be this way. I never … " I pounded my fist against the wall, "It's not supposed to be like this, Klavier… it's not …

"Apollo."

"And I can't change it. I can't … I can't, I can't, I can't …"

Klavier reaching out to grip my shoulders and shake me until he brought me back to reality again. I didn't have it in me to fight anymore. I couldn't talk anymore. I was drained, fatigued, at the end of my rope. I couldn't … I didn't want to admit it, but I couldn't keep going on like this. I had to let someone in. I didn't want to … but I had to.

"I can't keep doing this." I began, fighting to pull away from him. I don't want to keep living in this lie. What little stability I've tried to establish for myself was just a cover up for what was lying underneath. "I can't keep trying to pull myself together. It … it doesn't … I don't work like other people, Klavier. I can't just pull myself together and go on about my life like everyone else does." I shrugged his other hand away with a sharp nudge of my shoulder, "I'm not wired that way."

"And you don't have to be, Apollo, but … this isn't going to solve anything, ja?" His eyes trailed down to my arms again, "…You weren't clear earlier, but have you ever seen anyone for this?"

I shrugged, lowering my gaze from his, "Nothing that needs to be mentioned right now." I sighed, feeling more defeated by the minute. He wasn't going to leave until he got his way, I knew that much. I glanced at Klavier and then shook my head, "…Because nothing you say will fix any of this."

How hard was he going to try?

He averted his eyes from me as I walked by him and headed for the living room. I picked up a stray blanket from the floor and wrapped it around my shoulders as I went to go sit down on the couch and rest my head on the arm rest. I expected Klavier to follow me into the living room but he disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him clinking around for a minute, the slow running of water and the beeping of the microwave.

When I opened my eyes, he was hovering over me with two steaming mugs balanced in his hands. Klavier leaned forward and extended an arm to me. He was smiling, "Its hot chocolate."

I sighed loudly, turning away from him and in toward the couch, "You just don't stop."

I heard the sound of the mug meeting the surface of the wooden coffee table and then the sofa dipped down by my feet. I heard the loud thud of something heavy hitting the floor. He must have been taking his boots off, "I saw you didn't have tea. I figured it would be the next best thing," He replied.

"Making yourself at home?"

"Forehead, you keep telling me to leave …" Klavier replied lowly, "But I honestly think you're relieved that someone is here."

I rolled my eyes at him, "You're delusional."

"How long have you been doing it, Apollo?" Klavier started abruptly.

"Klavier—"

"Just talk to me, Apollo." Klavier replied, "…Whatever you say stays between the two of us."

I closed my eyes and sighed. My bracelet hadn't reacted to anything. …He was telling me the truth. I turned over on the couch and stared at the steam rising from the mug, "About seven years. It started a few months after my fifteenth birthday." I muttered into the arm rest, "It isn't something I do on a constant. Just … when the thoughts won't stop."

"Thoughts?" Klavier questioned.

"Things that I can't control." I was short with him. I wasn't going to elaborate any further.

"And have you ever gotten help for it?"

I reigned in the urge to yell at him about bringing up that question again. "…I was a freshman in college… it was finals and I couldn't deal with all the stress." I replied, "I had to get stitches. A week later I was right back in the hospital under the order of a 5150. That's when they diagnosed me."

"A 5150, Apollo?" Klavier asked in disbelief, "It was that bad?"

"Yes." I replied, gripping the blanket and pulling it over my shoulders as it had started to slip, "I wasn't kept there for long, though. They released me and gave me some meds. I never took them. I just resorted back to my old standby." I closed my eyes, "It's not a constant thing, Klavier. I can deal with it … but when an extreme amount of stress or pressure starts to sink in …"

"…That last trial is what did you in this time around." Klavier mused to himself, "…Isn't it?"

"It hasn't been this bad in a long time." I replied, pushing myself up into a sitting position, "I thought I could handle it when it started. I've always been able to. That one time in college was the first and only time I've ever slipped up."

"Why?"

"What?" I asked, looking up at him.

"What happened?"

I bit my lip and looked down as I adjusted the blanket around my shoulders, "There … was a lot of pressure I put on myself to succeed." I began, fiddling with a stray thread, "It's always been that way, though. Looking for some way …" … Looking for some way to prove myself. That I wasn't disposable and easily as discarded as others always thought I was. My biological mother, my foster parents, the orphanage … everyone.

"Looking for some way to …?" Klavier questioned, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

I shook my head, "That doesn't matter …" I began, "Getting older meant that everything couldn't be swept under the rug, never to be dealt with again. I needed something else. So that's when I turned to the more self destructive alternative." I sighed, "Which is why things are the way they are now."

"But they don't have to be, Apollo." Klavier set his mug down on the coffee table and cleared his throat, "…Since we last met I wanted to give you space. You seemed uncomfortable while we were at the bar that night … so I thought it was best that I didn't have any contact with you. I've done a bit of thinking…"

"Hm?" I reached forward for the mug and balanced it in the space between my knees.

"We've all lost a lot … but who's to say that we haven't gained something in return?" Klavier asked, turning to look at me. "Maybe in some way we're all supposed to benefit from this somehow, ja?"

I sipped at the hot chocolate and sighed heavily, "But how?"

"That's something I haven't figured out yet, but I'm sure it'll come, Forehead." Klavier grinned cheekily. Always a smile even when the situation was at its worse. "As for you … it comes with reestablishing order … some type of balance in your life. You can lean on us … others when you find it's too much, ja?"

I shook my head, "I can't promise that I'll never do again."

"That would be selfish to ask you to do something you're not prepared for." Klavier began, "I'm just asking you to reach out when it gets to be too much. To talk before you … hurt yourself in some way."

I held the mug poised before my lips, "…And you don't want me to still see someone?"

"You've made it clear that you have an aversion to them…" Klavier began, "So we'll just … you can start with me. …Then maybe move on to Fräulein and Herr Wright if you feel comfortable enough."

"…Klavier." I began, taking another sip of the hot chocolate, "…Just …just don't make me regret this, all right? Can you promise me that?"

He doesn't say anything and the false smile he uses for generally everything and everyone falls from his face. His eyes are stern but they don't betray his true emotions. I can't read them but I know he's trying to tell me something. An unspoken promise. I finish the rest of my hot chocolate, feeling oddly subdued. I don't feel like talking anymore. But … it's not a bad feeling for once. It's a mixture of emotions.

…Someone finally knows …

I can't do it anymore, can I?

How much longer could I have carried on before I …

…Hm.

Klavier takes the mugs away and tells me to go to sleep if I'm feeling tired. A yawn prevents the beginning of my argument. He's smiling again … says he'll be there when I wake up. Maybe … we can talk some more when I wake up? Have I eaten? No? Well, he'll order something … and … he'll stay the night. No, I don't have a say in the matter.

…Actually, he says he's going to be staying with me for a little while. Oh, don't make that face, Forehead. Again with the Forehead. Was that an objection? We're not in the court room. Oh, and stop frowning. You'll get wrinkles. Yes … yes, you are frowning … don't pretend like you're not … okay.

I'll be here when you wake up. Don't worry.

Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry.

You'll be okay…

…We'll all be okay.

It'll. Be. Okay.

-x-

Silver glints, falls from my hand.

I don't know where it went, nor am I seeking it.

When I wake up in the morning, the disillusion is finally broken.