147 Keep The Faith

Mother, mother tell your children
That their time has just begun
I have suffered for my anger
There are wars that can’t be won

Father, father please believe me
I am laying down my guns
I am broken like an arrow
Forgive me
Forgive your wayward son

Everybody needs somebody to love
(mother, mother)
Everybody needs somebody to hate
(please believe me)
Everybody’s bitching
’cause they can’t get enough
And it’s hard to hold on
When there’s no one to lean on

Faith: you know you’re gonna live thru the rain
Lord you got to keep the faith
Faith: don’t let your love turn to hate
Right now we got to
Keep the faith
Keep the faith
Keep the faith
Lord we got to keep the faith

Tell me baby when I hurt you
Do you keep it all inside
Do you tell me al’s forgiven
And just hide behind your pride

Everybody needs somebody to love
(mother, father)
Everybody needs somebody to hate
(please don’t leave me)
Everybody’s bleeding
’cause the times are tough
Well it’s hard to be strong
When there’s no one to dream on

Faith: you know you’re gonna live thru the rain
Lord you got to keep the faith
Now you know is not too late
Oh you got to keep the faith
Faith: don’t let your love turn to hate
Right now we got to
Keep the faith
Keep the faith
Keep the faith
Lord we got to keep the faith

Walking in the footsteps
Of society’s lies
I don’t like what I see no more
Sometimes I wish that I was blind
Sometimes I wait forever

To stand out in the rain
So no one sees me cryin’
Trying to wash away the pain
Mother, father

There’s things I’ve done I can’t erase
Every night we fall from grace

It’s hard with the world in yours face
Trying to hold on, trying to hold on

Faith: you know you’re gonna live thru the rain
Lord you got to keep the faith
Faith: don’t let your love turn to hate
Right now we got to keep the faith
Faith: now it’s not too late
Try to hold on, trying to hold on
Keep the faith

Phoenix Wright
Hickfield Clinic
June 15, 2026, 8:00 AM

To Phoenix’s pain-lacerated, medication-induced brain, the enigmatic world of miraculous, life-saving hospitals, with their mechanical, often robot-like staff and mysterious resuscitating equipment was the equivalent of being on a planet with little gravity. His mind simply couldn’t grasp the mechanisms of how it worked, nor could he be at ease in surroundings of such unfamiliarity from the norm, in a place that was not only where he had now twice nearly faced death, but also was the very last place on earth he wanted to be.

What was he doing here anyway? Flashbacks and fragmented memories from the night before, like assorted jigsaw puzzle pieces, fuzzily resurfaced, but he couldn’t seem to piece anything together to form a proper picture. Just how serious was his condition for him to have been hospitalized? He couldn’t figure it out, because aside from a little bit of tenderness in his skull and slight discomfort in his ankle, which had now settled to a dull throb compared to the searing all-over body agony he hazily recollected from last night, he felt perfectly fine.

As he was lying back in his bed, contemplating how much trouble or pain he’d risk being in if he were to swing his legs over the side right now and attempt to get up, a pretty young nurse walked in. She sported a short, black bob-hairstyle under her white nurse cap along with an overly solemn countenance. She paused by the sink to wash her hands, seeming to be lost entirely in worrying thoughts before she turned to him, her face softening into a shy, gentle smile as she admiringly set dark doe eyes on her newest ward for the first time.

Despite his sloppy attire, the patient appeared to be in his early 30s and was handsome; darkly alluring; a strange and slightly awkward combination between the bad boy and sleazy guy-next-door type. It was almost impossible to tell the sort of physique he had beneath the ill-fitting baggy T-shirt and loose joggers, but he had sharp, attractive features; a finely chiseled jaw, well-defined cheekbones, soft-looking, full lips, and remarkably unlined, lightly tanned skin, which surprised her, because it didn’t seem to suit his careless appearance and slight stubble.

Actually, his entire face didn’t suit his disheveled outfit. Not that it looked bad per se; rather, it seemed to betray his otherwise comely visage, like a geisha who was forced out of her kimono and into common everyday garbs. The only other thing the nurse couldn’t grasp was that ridiculous-looking beanie on the guy’s head, which read Papa. She certainly hoped it was all part of the design, otherwise, its implications were just borderline disturbing. Then again, it wasn’t any of her business.

Overall, there was a sad beauty about him; an underlying gentle meekness originating from his tentative body language and bashful, hesitant smile, as he saw she was still studying him.

Slightly embarrassed to have been caught in the unprofessional act of unabashedly ogling him, the nurse hurriedly introduced herself as Karin Jenson and nervously began babbling how she was still getting used to working at The Hickfield Clinic, as she’d finally decided to remove herself from the proverbial thumb of her stifling grandmother, hospital director Bonnie Young.

“I heard you suffered quite the blow to the head! Trust me, I can certainly relate to sinciput trauma!” She joked nervously, feeling her cheeks warming as he continued to regard her quizzically, as though she were mad. “When I opted to no longer work under grandmother at The Dye-Young Clinic, where I recently transferred from, I not only escaped her oppressive nature but the chronic thwonks to the head of her constantly abusive cane! Amazingly, I haven’t had any long-term damage to my noggin!”

The patient smiled awkwardly but didn’t appear to know how to respond, making Karin realize perhaps her gran had done more damage to her skull than she’d initially thought, seeing as how she was endlessly prattling like a numskull, instead of the professional RN that she was!  Not to mention the fact she was now blushing like a schoolgirl too, simply because her patient happened to be a hunk!

Also, she belatedly acknowledged that perhaps it was in poor taste to make head trauma jokes to a man who’d only recently soared 30 feet and crashed head-first into a telephone pole!

“Anyway, enough about me!” Karin exclaimed, before hastily asking the bedridden man if he remembered what had brought him to the hospital the night before. She listened to his confused mumblings about barely having any recollection of anything while taking his pulse, feeling his skin, and pinching the nail beds of his fingers and toes. Occasionally she would ask a pointed question but other than that the chatter was no different from when the pianist went to get his morning paper from the newsvendor at the stand and morphed into pure professional mode.

The nurse fussed with the call bell, tying it around the bed frame within his reach, and tidied around the room as she gave him a summary, assuming full professional mode now. She raised the head of the bed and stated that breakfast was coming soon. Then, po-faced once more, she washed her hands, jotted down some notes on the chart, which she placed in a folder outside the door, and she was gone.

So this is my only semi-automaton nurse du jour, huh? I think I rather preferred her in adorably nervous chatterbox mode! The DILF sighed and rolled toward his bedside table, feeling a surge of gratitude upon spotting his notebook, which he surmised his thoughtful daughter had brought last night when he had been admitted. Oh well. I’ve had worse. At least this one tried to be nice!

Phoenix spent several moments amusing himself by completing the Pink Princess and Steel Samurai drawings he’d begun of both Maya and Edgeworth. It was something he’d been secretly doing off and on for the past seven years while honing his latent art skills from school. He found it oddly cathartic, sketching two of his favorite people in the entire world as the fictional action heroes they so loved. At last, he ran out of further artistic inspiration, after he’d nearly laughed himself silly by doodling the diabolical Kristoph Gavin as The Evil Magistrate getting speared by the children’s action hero.

He figured since he had done his drawings for the day and fueled his creative soul in that sense, he might as well finish his reports for Maya, since he had quite a bit of time to kill. A glance to the other side of his bed showed that Trucy had also somehow hauled in every single children’s action show he owned since there was a huge pile of DVDs next to the television set in his bedroom.

That’s strange. There’s an awful lot of them here, most of which I don’t recognize from my home collection! Did I really have that many of them compiled over time?!

He honestly couldn’t recall his ex’s gifts stockpiling this large of a DVD accumulation over the years, but considering the state of his injury-infused, drug-riddled mind, the pianist figured his memory was capricious at best and shrugged mentally.

Where to begin? He had quite the selection to choose from. Frowning, he reached for the one at the top of the stack, momentarily oblivious to the sheet of paper that had been perched atop it, which went fluttering to the ground, unnoticed. 

The Steel Samurai, The Nickel Samurai, The Pink Princess, The Zappy Samurai: Electric Bugaboo…  

Every single one of these lighthearted episodes would be an agonizing reminder of his former lover, who, 24 hours from now, would be a blushing bride.

Try as he might to not be wistful about the fact that he would not be the groom awaiting Maya at the other end of the altar, his treacherous mind insisted on tormenting him with delightful daydreams based on could-have-beens of yesteryear.

Closing his eyes, Phoenix allowed himself to just briefly indulge himself in the impossible dream.

Just the slightest nudge from his imagination and he was soaring amongst the clouds, off into a world of fantasy. His daydreams were almost as wild as his night dreams, his creativity seamlessly sewing together different aspects of his subconscious. The party in his brain was wild enough to make even a Monty Python seam bland and predictable. He sometimes wished he could offer the others a window into his mind, then they would be able to join him in his flights of the fanciful and the ridiculous. Were he ever to harness it, to write it down, he would be hailed as a creative genius.

But for now, he was that pitiful ex-boyfriend who couldn’t seem to let it go and move on from his unfeasible flights of fancy when what he should have been doing was focusing on his recovery.

Or his reports. Anything to kill some time and distract his newly wounded broken heart and battered mind, so he could forget what day it was. Perhaps he could focus on his other artistic skills.

Hmmm, I see Trucy brought my keyboard as well. Maybe I can practice that little ditty I was working on…  

Casting a cautious glance at the door, then around the room, to ensure there was nobody there, Phoenix began quietly singing along the lyrics as he began his rusty but still recognizable rendition of the 3 Doors Down song.

A hundred days have made me older
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face
A thousand lies have made me colder
And I don’t think I can look at this the same

But all the miles that separate
Disappear now when I’m dreaming of your face

I’m here without you, baby
But you’re still on my lonely mind
I think about you, baby
And I dream about you all the time
I’m here without you, baby

But you’re still with me in my dreams
And tonight it’s only you and me, yeah…

The miles just keep rollin’
As the people leave their way to say hello
I’ve heard this life is overrated
But I hope that it gets better as we go, oh, yeah, yeah…

The startling, unforeseen sound of the Steel Samurai ringtone coming from his phone at first made him think his daydreams about Maya had become so surreal, Phoenix was certain he was hearing things, including the one thing that would always remind him of her the most.

Blinking with surprise, Phoenix set aside his instrument and answered the cell stashed in his night table drawer just before it stopped ringing.

“Hello?”

Apollo Justice
Apollo’s Apartment
June 15, 2026, 8:25 AM

“As long as we draw breath, the Wheel of Fate turns…Spinning big crimes and little crimes together. And when the Wheel stops…You die.”

As he always did when mentally strained and unable to think properly, Apollo pulled out his violin, Melodia della Luce di Stelle – Melody of the Star Light; the second of only two things that he’d been left with by his family.

The instrument was very finely crafted. The unknown wood was made mostly faded cream, with a marbling of amber-colored chestnut, and though polished, there was something about the material itself that seemed to faintly shimmer if the light hit it just right. Even the strings were strange. Unlike the wood, the strings almost always shimmered under brightness, regardless of the lighting. They gave off the faintest of blue hues but became more obvious in the moonlight. Starting at the neck, the strings were the color of the midday sky and as they went down, they darkened, at some point even reaching a lovely shade of sapphire, until at the base they were deep and beautiful midnight, and the sheen was spread out more so that the mass of threads would give the appearance of a star-filled sky.

Engraved in the wood on the front was the constellation for Libra, the lines forming the ropes that held up the scales framing the sound-hollowed area. The brighter stars were slightly larger 6-point bevel stars, while the not-as-bright-but-still-very-bright stars were slightly smaller 5-point and 4-point bevel stars. On the back of Luce di Stelle was the constellation for Virgo; its design going along the same fashion.

The starry patterns on the inherited instrument had been what had initially sparked his interest in astronomy, leading to him meeting Clay in school. Of course, they’d been interested in totally different fields of the subject. Apollo himself was more enthused by the lore and mythos behind it all, whereas the darker-haired boy had cared more for the erudition knowledge, which made sense, considering his dream of becoming an astronaut.

They’d start just being interested in the stars together, then as they grew older and figured out what they wanted to do with their lives, Clay wanted to know more about the actual science of space. Meanwhile, since the law had nothing to do with astronomy, Apollo was free to enjoy the more romantic and mythological interest in the stars.

Presently, as adults, the stars were little more than the source of a few playful fights between the pair. However, once middle school and social hierarchies and cliques began to form around things like interests and popularity, things changed. Or at least, they did for a bit.

One day, Apollo and Clay had gotten into an explosive fight over whether astronomy was “stupid or not.” It’d lasted only a week, but they had truly been genuinely pissed at each other and refused to speak that whole time. They’d even separately joined extracurricular activities, the band, and astronomy club, in which they became preeminent members, but it was only a week apart before the separated brothers from other mothers had started missing each other.

Apollo had zero regrets about the events that had occurred. The dumbass status quo needed a good kick in the pants anyway. 

He may have been a band geek, but he’d been scrappy as hell. He’d busted the noses of quite a few bullies, his own and of those he’d seen picking on defenseless kids who were unable to stick up for themselves. It had ended up with countless visits to the principal’s office, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It’d been a small price to pay really, now that he looked back at it.

Now that he was older, Apollo found whenever he couldn’t quite cope with his tumultuous emotions, he found it was more productive to let his hands do the talking differently now, and inspire the calming solace within him that his Chords Of Steel could not. Ergo, he’d let his violin soothe him, allowing the music he’d play to reveal to him his own inner quarrels. He started off putting out a few somber notes, and the melody would soon unravel itself into something more haunting and sorrowful.

Over the years, whenever he was feeling out of sorts, conflicted, or particularly stressed, his go-to song to play was “Ghost Lullaby” by Angela Miller.

At that moment, he closed his eyes; no longer needing the guidance of sight for his now expert fingers to play. A faded image appeared in his mind.

A crib with bars that seemed to extend far past the norm, perhaps all the way to the ceiling. The long strokes of the strings seemed to emphasize a feeling of isolation…  

Christ, he was feeling so desperately lonely and lost, even more so since that fateful trial!

Behind the crib were fast-moving scenes that were much too blurred for him to fully comprehend their true meaning, yet despite this, he felt a plethora of emotions mixing within him. Low and mournful was the song being played. It echoed against the hollow pit deep in his chest, and as the tempo picked up, a fire blazed in Apollo’s heart. It was a sad sort of rage with undertones of inadequacy from ghosts of memories past.

Why was it that he’d never been good enough? No matter how hard he tried to find a family, it never worked out. From what he’d been told, there’d actually been numerous attempts to adopt him when he was still an infant and even on into his elementary years, but each time something happened.  It was either his unbelievably loud voice or something about his bracelet and eyes. People were afraid of him. That knowledge more than stung; it freaking hurt like freaking hell!

Like it was his fault that his strange, mystical bracelet could be removed by nobody but himself? Or that his eyes “flashed like gold-amber flames” at times when it was least expected? Of course, he knew now that this hadn’t simply been the ravings of crazy people and it had happened whenever his bracelet squeezed his wrist. All his life, previous caretakers used to nervously complain about Apollo’s eyes, which only briefly flashed that strange amber-gold color on a sporadic, albeit, alarming basis. It had sounded so ridiculously far-fetched that he’d simply scoffed and figured it was only a trick of the light, so he’d simply ignored the assertions.

He’d finally realized this frequently cited trepidation had been valid, not long after getting home from the Shadi Smith murder case. God, his wrist had hurt afterward; his eyes had even been sore; all his senses were screaming at him to point out all the countless inconsistencies during that trial, although at the time he’d had no idea about the physical manifestations of his perceptions gave his outward appearance. That fateful day, thanks to a conveniently placed mirrored surface and a sleazy shyster of a landlord named Uben Hadd, he’d, at last, realized the justification of the accusations.

The duplicitous borderline slumlord of both sketchy name and character had dared to proclaim he’d never received Apollo’s apartment rent for May!  However, in the act of catching the filthy lie in action, Apollo had caught something out of the corner of his eye, reflected in the swindling sonofabitch’s dark sunglasses.

As he confronted the lying fiend on his deception attempt, he’d found himself staring into a pair of glowing amber suns, their light almost supernatural in appearance. Gobsmacked, he was silenced as the orbs slowly dimmed back down into their regular hazel-brown color as the horrified Hadd had shakily choked that he must have been mistaken, and that Apollo could take his sweet time paying the June’s rent if need be! Then he’d fled like a bat out of hell, mumbling something barely coherent along the lines of:  “Dear God, save me from that demon-horned creature with the eyes of Satan!”

I guess I should be grateful for that extended rental reprieve my allegedly terrifying eyes gave that suddenly religious nincompoop! The horn-fringed young man lamented to himself now. Considering I’m jobless and have no earthly idea how I’m going to make this month’s rent… and we’re already halfway through it…

He was sharply jolted out of his reverie by the sound of his best friend’s voice drifting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Apollo, you got anything to eat?” Clay asked, his head already buried within the confines of the depressingly near-empty refrigerator. “Yeesh! Not even a crumb to feed a mouse! When are you going to buy some chow?” The astronaut slammed the door shut with a grunt of disappointment and then began scavenging the kitchen cupboards. “Jeez! Dude, you trying to give Old Mother Hubbard’s bare cupboards a run for their money?”

Goddammit, Clay! Way to throw off my groove, all because you couldn’t keep mum just for five lousy minutes for me to find my inner sanctum!

“Number one, I haven’t had a job in two months, so the next time I want to eat, I’ll probably need to visit the food bank since edible fare costs extra!” Apollo scowled at the visibly amused spaceman over the top of his violin, severely irked at being disturbed from his attempted musical immersion. “And number two, when are you ever going to put a lid on that bottomless pit that is your stomach? We just went out for breakfast half an hour ago! Remember, you paid, because my sorry behind is so broke, at this point I probably would have to save up to be poor?!”

“I should’ve followed your example and had the ham and cheese omelette instead of that stack of pancakes – carbs tend to go right through me,” Clay acknowledged ruefully, having gone back for a second scourge in the fridge and triumphantly holding up a slightly dried-up apple. He scrutinized it for a moment, then shrugged, polished it on his shirt, and bit into it. “Can I help it if I’m a growing boy?”

“We’re 22, Clay,” Apollo informed him wryly. “We’re both done growing – keep eating like this and eventually that metabolism of yours will catch up to you, and the only way you’ll be increasing in size is sideways!” He shook his head despairingly as his friend rummaged back in his cupboards and pulled out a packet of animal crackers. “Hold it! That was going to be my lunch!”

“Sorry, man! Don’t worry, I’ll give you a couple of bucks so you can go and buy some real groceries,” his visitor offered through a mouthful of cookies, grinning sheepishly. “This job situation, or rather, lack thereof, isn’t going to solve itself you know. You can’t keep living on your savings forever! How’s the job hunt going?”

“About as well as you could expect,” Apollo groaned, giving up on resuming his violin playing and flopping down next to his friend on the couch. “No law office in town wants to hire a rookie lawyer whose sole trial experience included putting his own boss’s head in the noose! It doesn’t help at all that the law office I worked for was run by the now nefarious Kristoph Gavin! My name may as well be mud!”

“Total bummer, dude.” The other boy rubbed his bandaged nose. “I can tell you’re still feeling the aftereffects of that whole case.”

“It was…an eye-opening experience I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.” Apollo looked away. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

“I can imagine.” Clay faced his friend, his mocha gaze sympathetic. “But I wish you would stop keeping everything in and just talk to me. Was it really that bad, finally getting to meet your idol, Phoenix Wright?”

Bad? Do you mean before or after I gave his deceitfully deserving mug an uppercut, and he barely even staggered from the impact, making it seem as though it were the equivalent of a fly being brushed off by a horse’s tail? And then all he did was calmly and unaffectedly just tell me next time, hit him harder?! Sonofabitch! Hearing him say that was a blow to my ego that was tenfold worse than any punch I could have delivered – damn that man to hell!

Apollo swallowed back the lump in his throat brought on by the painful memory, still unwilling to divulge one of the most shattering disappointments of his entire life, not even to the person he was closest to in the world.

“It’s hard to explain, Clay.” There was a contemplative frown on his face as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know how to say it. Mr. Wright… Let’s just say he’s not exactly what I hoped for.”

“Well, seven years really changes a man, Apollo,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention, a single moment was all it took for him to lose everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. You said you’d wait forever, right? Just give him time to climb back up again.”

Apollo ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He didn’t expect anyone to understand what he was going through; the conflicting emotions swirling in his chest.

Clay wasn’t the one to see Phoenix Wright since his fall from grace; hadn’t been there to first-hand witness that unassuming smile curled around his lips, and unshakable darkness looming behind a pair of midnight blue eyes that no longer sparkled, but were hollow and longed for a past as distant and impossible as a dream. It was that very same inscrutable smile the former lawyer had maintained when he’d shattered Apollo’s rose-colored glasses in one fell swoop, without even blinking.

The glazed-over eyes and empty smile of his former idol continued to haunt the rookie attorney well into his unconscious. There was barely any trace of his hero left and whatever remained was hardly enough to be chalked up even as cautious optimism or anything hopeful in the slightest.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Phoenix Wright – the old Phoenix – the justice champion from the media who had signed his autograph in the book Clay had given him for his birthday. Yet that memory seemed more like a mirage and just seeing what his long-time idol had become, a mere shell of his former self, made Apollo wonder if the Ace Attorney he’d idolized as a young boy had even existed, or merely been a figment of his imagination. His hero was getting further and further away from him, and the pain of Phoenix’s sorry state, coupled with the lingering ache he’d caused Apollo since that trial, continued to make him feel as morose and lost as a lone ship adrift at sea.

“That’s the problem – I don’t think he wants to climb back up! Heck, I don’t even know what he does or what he’s been doing for a living!” The agitated attorney slammed his fist onto the coffee table; shaking his head. “I don’t know, Clay… I don’t know if I can go on believing in someone who obviously doesn’t even believe in himself, or what he once stood for.”

What else am I supposed to think, considering he shamelessly told me, without a hint of remorse whatsoever, that he used forged evidence?!

Clay fell silent, unsure of what to make of his friend’s cynical disposition. Hearing Apollo speak like this; giving up on his idol after years of persistent devotion – it was like the universe had flipped onto its vertical axis and everything was upside down. The abrupt turnaround was almost preposterous.

In the past, he’d lectured the Phoenix Wright fanboy, time and time again, about the dangers of such blind faith and near worship of a man he didn’t truly know. But now that Apollo finally appeared to have taken heed to his well-intended advice, Clay felt absolutely morose, and more than anything in the world, he longed to eat his own words in light of his best friend’s sorrow.

“Hey, don’t say that,” he admonished mildly as he reached out to squeeze Apollo’s arm. “You know, meeting your idol is pretty awesome. Not many people get to do that for their whole lives!”

The red attorney remembered the unceremonious elation he’d felt when Kristoph Gavin had told him the Phoenix Wright had specifically asked for his legal representation at that trial – and how incredible it’d felt to know someone he’d revered so much had a such strong belief in his rookie capabilities. A small smile played upon his lips at the memory.

Seeing his friend had brightened somewhat, Clay pushed on.

“When Phoenix Wright first got disbarred, you told me that more than anything in the world, you wanted to believe in his innocence – and I bet you all the stars in the galaxy you were one of the few out there who gave him that benefit of the doubt! I don’t quite know what happened to make you suddenly be so pessimistic, but I wish there was something I could say to make you turn around your way of thinking and give him at least some of that unconditional trust again.”

The Chords of Steel enthusiast regarded his dialogue partner sadly, his momentary recollected happiness deflating like a balloon.

If only he knew…

“I saw the trial on TV, you know.” Those normally impish dark eyes were now earnest. “I have reason to believe your skewered outlook on your idol has something to do with that sudden piece of evidence that you won the trial with, which seemed to have come out of nowhere. I can’t help but wonder if this new skepticism has anything to do with your questioning of its validity or origins.”

Astounded, Apollo gaped at his chum with wide eyes, completely in awe at just how well Clay Terran knew him.

“Look, there are a few things I’ve learned in life, Apollo,” he said gently. “There are always two sides to every story, and some things aren’t always what they seem, so they cannot just be taken at face value. You’re an attorney, and a good one. But you’re not judge and jury. I want you to think, really and truly think, about what it must be like being Phoenix Wright, a man who up until two months ago, you believed in your heart of hearts, was an innocent man, of great ethics and morals who was wrongfully accused.”

“But Clay…” Apollo protested. “You don’t understand –”

The other boy raised a hand, halting the interruption.

“Hear me out. My point is: imagine living seven whole years in darkness. Nowhere to run. No one to trust. Out of options, save the will to survive, because survival is your only option.” Clay looked him straight in the eye. “Sometimes good people do questionable things. It doesn’t always make them excusable, but it might be for different reasons than you think. And you have to wonder if you were ever in their position if you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

The greenhorn closed his eyes and mulled this over. Had he been too hard on his old hero? Was there more to that bloody Ace than Mr. Wright had let on? Like the fact he’d only decided to confess to being the perpetrator when Apollo had informed him he’d gotten it from a mysterious magician, who just happened to be the former lawyer’s daughter?

“That man needs support, Apollo. Your support. You just need to continue believing in him, so he will find the strength and confidence to believe in himself again. Don’t give up.”

Apollo had never felt so torn. He wanted to consider that there could be some validity to his best friend’s words. He really and truly did. However, he couldn’t help but fear his explosive reaction at the time had ruined things beyond repair.

“But – what good will that do now, after how things were left between Mr. Wright and me?” He asked miserably. “He offered me a job once, but surely it no longer stands? What if I’ve burned that bridge forever?”

“Then it just wasn’t meant to be! But don’t jump to the worst-case conclusion just yet!” Clay urged. “Find out if that proposal still stands to work for Phoenix Wright and for the love of God, cast aside your doubts, and take the damn job offer if it does!”

“Well, if you say so…” the rookie began hesitantly. “I think I still have his card somewhere…”

“Then call the man! Mostly because you can’t use your good looks to pay your bills!” The dark-haired brunet flashed a cheeky grin, the same one that still made girls’ hearts flutter. “After all you’re not me!”

“Put aside my doubts?” Apollo scratched his head uncertainly. “I dunno man…”

“Stop being such a pessimist and have faith that your circumstances will turn themselves around! Just don’t give up on your legal aspirations because of this one setback!” Clay punched a fist into his palm. “Apollo, you are the most doggedly persistent and resourceful person I’ve ever known, and no matter what happens, no matter how bleak things might look for you right now, I need you to keep on believing that you’re going to be fine!”

The Clarion of Revelations nodded slowly, feeling a thin ray of hope slowly emerging within him as he looked into that dear face, which was beaming encouragingly at him.

“Say it, Apollo!” The visor-wearing man shouted, making the lawyer jump slightly upon hearing the unanticipated loud outburst. “You’re fine!”

“OK!” The corners of his mouth slowly inched upward, and for the first time in ages, Apollo almost felt like his old self again. He stood up, clenched his fists in determination, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Because my name’s Apollo Justice and I’m fine!”

“Now that’s the frog-mouthed Apollo I know and love!” The dark-haired boy rubbed his nose and smiled. “In four-stereo decibel, full living color! Glad to have you back!”

“You know you’re the amazeballs, right?” The horn-haired lawyer beamed at his pal, suddenly feeling a million times better.

“You know you’re just saying that because it’s true, don’t you?” Spaceman smirked back, his impish eyes dancing.

Their moment of shared joviality was temporarily interrupted as the attorney’s cell began to ring.

“I wonder who that could be?”

“Maybe it’s fate!” Clay joked. “The call of destiny!”

The astronaut watched as his friend picked up the phone and noted his smiling expression suddenly turn into one of complete shock as Apollo heard the voice on the other end of the line, his jaw completely dropping open as he stammered a largely garbled series of “ahhs” and “ums” and “sure” for a couple of minutes before hanging up.

“What was that all about?” Clay wanted to know, noting the confounded hazel stare. “Who was that who just called?”

Clearly still in a daze, the glassy-eyed Apollo heavily flopped back against the sofa cushions.

“That …was fate.”

A/N: Thanks for the awesome violin description and the notion of Polly’s demon-glowing eyes, Akoiya!

Bon Jovi- Keep the Faith (chapter quote)
3 Doors Down – Here Without You