What's this...? Not slash? Pfft. I'll have a Hobohodo/Edgeworth fic up in a few days. Can't live without the stuff, you know. :)

Knock knock knock.

The door was simple and unassuming. Her knocks were hollow against the painted metal, and though her palms were sweaty, she squared her shoulders and pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. Everything in her world was shaded pink, and though they actually mattered very little in detecting the results of Luminol testing, the glasses, quite frankly, made her feel important.

When there was no answer, she sighed in irritation and placed her hands on her hips, mumbling to herself. The point to her mission, a small bag containing a golden hair, was tucked safely in her pocket, and she could hear it crinkle a bit as she shoved her thumbs into the pockets of her lab coat. She hadn't wanted to come here, to face him again, but it was honing in on 7pm and this was the last step to wrapping up her investigation for the day.

She lifted a hand to knock once more, but her eyebrows rose as the door handle turned gently. A quiet click sounded through the air before crystal blue eyes peeked out at her from behind the frame.

"Hello, sir," she couldn't help but bite down on the word, "I've brought some new—"

"Ah! Fraulëin, how nice it is to see you again." The door swung wide to reveal Prosecutor Klavier, smiling broadly. "Please, if you will." With a sweep of his hand, he motioned for her to enter.

"I don't really have much time to stick around, I'm afraid." She pulled the minute evidence bag from its hiding place and presented it. "I've only come to bring you some new evidence."

"Time is but a subjective persona in our lives, Fraulëin. Take a moment to relax once in a while."

Her nose twitched a bit at the scent of his cologne perfuming the room as she stepped inside, annoyed. She wanted to go home.

The prosecutor sat in a large leather chair and retrieved an acoustic guitar from where it had been propped against his desk. It was quite handsome, though she loathed admitting it; the finish was a deep red with black filigree curling up the sides. If the man had nothing else (like humility, for example), at least good taste was on his side. He spun the chair slowly until he faced her, then, and slid into an easy grin. "Have I played for you, yet?"

"…No."

"Ah, well perhaps we should remedy this, ja?" As irritating as Klavier could be, she did think that his light German accent was a bit…cute. His fingers comfortably settled over the frets, and soon a mournful melody floated through the air. She realized that it was probably one of the very few moments that music wasn't deafeningly loud in the room, and as he played, she listened, intrigued.

When he paused, she shuffled her feet uncomfortably against the carpet and glanced at the wall behind the rock legend. "Mr. Gavin, I really must be going—"

"Have you ever played the guitar, Fraulëin Detective?"

She blinked. "Um, me?"

He chuckled. "Yes, you."

"No. To be honest, I've never even held one." She swept the hair out of her eyes and smirked. "Science doesn't leave much time for things like music."

Instead of the easy-going laugh that pissed her off so frequently, she saw instead a dark change before her. The prosecutor's eyes grew sad. "What a shame. To miss out on the beauty held within these curves, the passion within the strings… Would you like to try?"

"T-try? On your guitar?" The idea was preposterous. Not only was it no doubt an extremely expensive instrument, but she hated his guts.

At least, that's what she told herself.

"Are you shy?" His little grin was back again. He propped the guitar against his desk once more and dusted his knees needlessly. "Why don't you close the door? This room is quite soundproof. Your melodies will fall upon the ears of no one but myself."

Not like he's a famous rock star or anything…She attempted to protest, but frankly, she was just too tired. The door swung soundlessly upon its hinges and with the same click that she heard earlier, shut. As she turned, she removed her lab coat and hung it on the door knob.

"You might consider removing your glasses. It will help you to see the frets more easily, I think." He was still reclined comfortably in his leather chair, hands resting on his thighs. She blushed a bit as she noticed his thumbs brushing lightly against the fabric of his pants, and upon further inspection of his outfit, she realized that he wasn't wearing any shoes. "Come, take a seat."

It didn't take a forensic investigator to realize that there was but one seat in the room, and someone's butt was already in it. "Um, where?"

The prosecutor patted his thighs cheerfully. "Why, here, Fraulëin. It is the best spot for learning such a beautiful instrument, I'm afraid."

As hard as she fought it, a blush still rose to her cheeks, and she was thankful that she still had her glasses sitting firmly in front of her eyes. Inching over, she reminded herself that she thought he was a pretentious asshole and not, in fact, a rather charming, attractive man.

One final pat against purple suede sealed the deal, and soon she was seated awkwardly on a very warm lap. Comforted in the knowledge that her back was to him, she removed her glasses and set them on the desk in front of her. Delicate fingers wrapped around her waist and tugged her backwards, squaring her against a muscular body, and she cursed herself for the squeak that escaped her lips. The hair on the back of her neck stood as the prosecutor leaned against her, surely on purpose, to reach his guitar and place it across their legs.

"Your hand, if I may be so bold?"

She placed her hand into his awaiting palm, and she wondered if he could tell that she was trying not to tremble. Sometimes she really felt like she was 16 all over again.

He curled his fingers around hers and placed them on the strings, maneuvering them into an awkward position across the frets. Once he was satisfied, he removed his hand and left hers alone in a sea of steel and mahogany. "Now, press firmly in those spots on the strings, and strum."

"With my hand?"

He chuckled, and the quaking from his body sent electric through hers. She knew this was a bad idea. "With your hand."

As it turned out, pressing the strings down took much more effort than she thought, and her first strum was tinny and made her teeth hurt. She sighed in irritation and attempted to get up. "This isn't going to work, I'm a scientific investigator, not a rock star. I have places to be--"

An arm snaked around her waist, keeping her from going anywhere. "Try again, Fraulëin investigator. Press a bit harder. I know you can do it."

It was strange, hearing those words. They weren't ones to meet her ears very often.

Attempting to replicate the locations he had shown her (and being dutifully corrected), she pressed down on the strings as hard as she could. Strumming this time produced a slow, harmonic chord.

"Not so bad, ja? That's called a "G" chord."

She let go of the guitar and frowned at her fingertips. Four straight indentations glared back at her, red and angry. "It makes my fingers hurt."

"Ah, you'll tend to have that when you're starting out. With practice, your hands will soon be as conditioned as my own." Slender ivory fingers were presented to her for inspection. She grasped them immediately, curiosity always taking the best of her, and ran her own fingers along his skin. It was surprisingly (or perhaps not, given his vanity, she grumbled mentally) soft…until she felt his fingertips.

"They're so calloused!" She poked at them, intent on discovering what they had to offer.

"Ja. It helps with the pain, though I cannot feel much with them anymore."

He captured her hand gently and brought it across her body, over her right shoulder. She frowned, wondering what this had to do with guitar playing and awkwardly juggling the instrument when a fragile kiss was placed upon her index fingertip.

Followed by an equally gentle kiss on each of the rest.

Her heart began to thunder in her chest, and she wondered briefly if he could feel it against his own.

"Is that any better?" He hadn't let go of her hand yet.

"Ah, y-yes, they do feel better…" It figures that her crushes would move from a poor, kind-hearted attorney to a prosecuting rock star. How on earth was she supposed to know what to do in this situation?

A sultry laugh escaped the blond man, and he released her hand only to place the guitar back onto the floor. As he was doing so, she faltered for something—anything—to say, to retort, to lash out with and defend her pounding heart and flipping stomach. Coming up blank in her shock, however, she simply allowed herself to be rotated until she could tuck her legs underneath the arm rests.

And then, she was facing him.

There was a moment of silence as they observed each other: one simply looking, the other searching for an opportunity to bolt. He reached up and tucked a small lock of hair behind her ear, keeping his touch light, enjoying the way her eyes darted back and forth.

"Nerves don't become you, fraulëin."

"And long hair doesn't become you, er—" She chewed her lip thoughtfully, irritated that her taunt was interrupted—"Err Gavin?"

He laughed. "Close enough. And I rather like my long hair…is it so bad?" She noticed that he was pouting a bit from the jab.

Feeling bold, she smirked and curled her fingers in a few of the golden strands draped over his shoulder. "It makes you look old. Scientifically speaking, longer hair on males adds years."

Another rumbling laugh came forth from the prosecutor and he cupped her chin, smiling at her. "Is that so? Next you'll be telling me I look like my brother."

"Hmph! As if you'd ever look like that stiff old nutcase—" She cut herself off, realizing that not only had she just insulted his very esteemed brother, but she had also not-so-subtly complimented his appearance.

He didn't seem to mind, however, as he simply smiled at her once more—he was always smiling—and chuckled.

And then he kissed her.

It was…graceful and sweet, like she had imagined it to be. She was too stunned to reciprocate, really, but she didn't pull away as their lips parted. She opened her eyes and gazed at him suspiciously. "What…?"

"I…like you, Ema Skye." He leaned back into an easy sprawl and placed his hands on her thighs.

"You like me?" She cocked her head at him. "That's…it? What about the hoards of women after you? You could have anyone you want."

"Well, I want you. Is that okay, fraulëin detective?" He grinned at her. "Or am I not…scientific enough?"

She folded her arms at him. "Scientifically speaking, Herr Prosecutor, I…" Her fingers tugged at his hair a bit, and she sighed. "Well, frankly, I could use a damned break from speaking scientifically."

The guitar, silent and patient, waited against the desk as neither detective nor prosecutor needed words—or music—to communicate any further.