A/N: This is my pathetic answer to a prompt. I figured I might as well share this. After all, it's not as bad as other prompts I filled anonymously. Certain ones I want to be distanced from. Anyway, so the story is behind a cut as usual.

Oh and yes, I believe a disclaimer is needed as the story is actually based on a true event. Aside from most of the dialogue, this is how the events played out. I still have nightmares about that stupid Tigger band-aid.

Oh and I don't own anything other than the memory. ;

PROMPT: I call for blood.
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want anyone to die, but some kind of horribly messy, non-fatal wound would satisfy my suddenly bloodthirsty slant on things. And I want it P/E or K/A.

I want one member of the pairing (preferably Phoenix or Apollo) to hurt themselves, but be basically just like "Oh shoot, this'll be tough to clean up" while their significant other either hyperventilates, overreacts, or goes into St. John's Ambulence/ER mode.

Basically, I just want to see either Edgeworth or Klavier react poorly to the sight of blood. Losing composure is a must.

'Tis Just a Flesh Wound

"Shit." I cursed under my breath. I hurt myself but I could ignore it.

It wound on my hand; it bled profusely but it didn't bother me, in fact, I hadn't even noticed the blood. Getting the skin of my hand caught between the frame of the computer and the case lid that I was replacing hurt a lot more. I had noticed the skin getting caught. After all, who wouldn't notice a little piece of loose skin hanging off their hand?

"Herr Forehead, is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just dropped a screw." A little white lie wouldn't hurt.

I shrugged it off; it didn't hurt and a little blood didn't bother me. Klavier had asked me to fixed his computer; an old decrepit thing that was best suited for the heap of mangled computer parts at the recycling plant. But like his 'hog', he was attached to the computer, despite being several years old. The hard drive threatened to give out and the fan kept failing.

I resigned myself to doing this again and again. I had just fixed the computer two days. This would make it the fourth time I had repaired it this month. I would have thought that a rock star should be able to afford a new machine, unless he's spending it on another guitar. Perish the thought of actually replacing something that needs it.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up a couple of screws I left on the table, then the screw driver. One of the screws fell out of my hand. Reaching to the floor, some blood fell onto the carpet as I picked up the screw. It was then that I noticed that I was bleeding.

Using my tongue I licked the blood away, noticing the blood on the floor. "I'll get that when I'm done here." I muttered under my breath. It would be difficult to get out of beige carpet; at least it was just a little.

There was a rather surprised yelp from behind me. "You're bleeding!"

I ignored the comment and went back to my task, but immediately got distracted by Klavier who had grabbed my hand. He appeared to be quite discomforted by the sight of blood.

"Yeah, I am. Can I finish this?" I asked almost impatiently.

"Nein!! Not until we fix this! You're bleeding!"

A panicked Klavier was not something I was used to. In fact, I found it to be rather unnerving.

"Oh and I got some on the floor. It'll be hard to clean up. You have a good carpet cleaner, right?"

"Who cares about the...it's floor! It...it's just a floor! Y-you hurt your...yourself fixing m-m-m-m-my...computer! My poor, poor Herr..."

"It's ok, Mr Gavin."

"Nein! It's not! It happened b-because of... Here, I can make it better!"

I wanted to retch. A little blood never bothered me and it was sending Klavier into a tizzy. I would hate to see what would happen if he was the first one upon a crime scene. No wonder he always came along later.

I opened my mouth to object but instead no sound came out as I was met with a wall of incoherent blathering.

My worst dream came true... my chords of steel betrayed me! I found myself unable to protest against his panic induced state. I would have tried to assure him it was all right but he wasn't listening to me. He was in his own little world (a place I most certainly didn't want to be, even in my worst nightmare!)

Before I could open myself, having thought of a great retort, I found myself being sat down on the edge of a tub. He moved quickly, that much was obvious.

He had taken a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the medicine cabinet and began to clean the wound. The rubbing alcohol stung more than the bleeding itself ever did. The cure was worse than the disease. How could this possibly be good for me?

"Ow! Damnit, Mr Gavin, is there really any point in wasting that on this tiny wound?"

He looked up at me, his gazed fixed steadily on mine. He held my 'wounded' hand in his. He said nothing as he reached, taking a band-aid. He placed it over the cut he had cleaned. I blanched at the sight of the band-aid he had taken from a small tin container of band-aids.

"Objection!"

"Is there a problem, Herr Forehead?"

I wanted to smack him. Of course there was a problem. He had put a Tigger band-aid on my cut; whatever happened to using plain light tan coloured band-aid? I held up the hand with the offending item on it.

I sighed and pointedly asked, "why did you put a Tigger band-aid on me?"

"I could've used Piglet, ja? However, for you, mein liebes, only Tigger." He replied, taking the hand I held up.

I couldn't win! Either way, I was getting a cartoon band-aid and I wouldn't hear the end of it from Trucy.