As I breathed and lived and laughed, I found,

That those, to whom I am forever bound,

Hold a power over my wretched life,

As sharp as the edge of a hunter's knife.

.'.

The trial had been over for over eight hours now; it was past midnight and the moonlight shone through the glass wall of the office, its silver beam bouncing off a trashcan blackened by smoke where a cocoon replica had recently been burned onto a framed picture of a young boy band staring at the camera. A crack in the glass distorted the smiles on their jubilant faces. Sheets of paper and books littered the ground so that the floor was barely visible. A charred guitar lay atop them hewn in two, the pieces separated by an axe. All the wall mounted flat screens that always displayed details of cases were now dark and devoid of information. One of the case displays for the guitars on the wall was smashed and all the floor lights which usually enhanced and drew attention to the instruments were off, prevented from shining any light in the darkness. And among this room of chaos sat a young prosecutor in his black chair strumming the guitar in his lap as he stared out at the stars without really seeing them. Klavier's mind was numb. It had been for a long while now. He kept replaying the trial over and over in his head but it generated no feeling in him besides heightening the iciness that seemed to have encased his thoughts. It was as if everything had frozen over and he was stranded in limbo, unable to find his way out.

He had watched, with conflicted emotions, his best friend since childhood put on the witness stand like some common criminal and accused of impossible things; smuggling, blackmail… and murder. As if this were not enough, Klavier had been forced to watch his oldest friend change from the righteous detective to a criminal mastermind whose wit, intellect and years of involvement with the law had almost helped him escape punishment. It was as though, ever since Lamiroir's statement, someone had been tracing the cold metal of a knife up and down Klavier's spine, pressing harder and harder into his skin until it stopped midway and plunged into his back. And he had turned around to find that the culprit was his best friend. Daryan's fall from grace had been as painful for Klavier as it had for his friend. He had seen the madness that seemed to overcome Daryan Crescend as he tried to press Machi into keeping quiet about his involvement. There had been no words strong enough to convey the disgust Klavier had felt at that moment, unable to comprehend the demon that had possessed Daryan. For a second, Klavier had been sure that it was not his good friend on the stand but a doppelganger.

It just didn't make sense.

They had joined together to fight crime — Daryan as a Detective and Klavier as a Prosecutor. Both having been orphaned at a young age by criminals, they had a lot in common but there was one thing that had bonded them in a fierce way — their hatred for criminals and their desire for justice. Also sharing a love of music, they had created a harmony between the two interests in order to fight against crime in the only way they could as adolescents. Until they could fight in a more effective manner that is. However, when Daryan made detective and Klavier prosecutor, they had decided to continue releasing their music in a bid to raise awareness of the crime that surrounded society and they had assumed it was their unwavering belief that had led to so many successful hits. They had been a team, always, in law enforcement and in their music. They had respected each other and understood each other… or so Klavier had thought.

He had been replaying the events of the trial in his mind over and over and he could not find a reason for the insanity that had gripped Daryan. That was not the boy Klavier had befriended. That was not the adolescent Klavier had shared plans with. That was not the man Klavier had rocked with. That man was unknown to him. That Daryan… was a stranger to him. He could not understand him.

And this infuriated him.

Daryan had had everything — he had looks, money, fame, success in, not one, but two careers. Women fell at his feet, co-workers looked up to him and friends cared about him. Why had he done it? Klavier could think of no other reason than a desire for money which made no sense because Daryan was swimming in it — more was coming in every day. And so his crime was all the more senseless, all the more unbelievable — he had forced Klavier to watch as he was led from the courtroom, his hands bound by the very handcuffs he had been placing on others for years. He had force-fed Klavier a bitter dose of betrayal.

He threw the guitar in his lap across the room while letting out an anguished roar. Why? Why, why, WHY? After all their years together, all their dreams and fulfilment of those ambitions, why had he done this? Why had he thrown dirt on their friendship, why had he sullied everything they had accomplished? Did he not stop to think of the consequences of his actions? Did the selfish bastard not realise what he would be doing to his friends? The Gavinners had been more than just a rock band — that's what they had established, Daryan and he. They had privately joked, calling themselves the 'Soldiers of Justice', because the band had been a symbol of hope and a fight against crime. It had been a message to the masses — that crime was still being battled. That they hadn't given up. And what they had spent a decade building, and almost as long accomplishing, Daryan had destroyed within days.

All over a bloody piece of cocoon.

Damned Borginians. If they had never made such a fuss about those stupid cocoons, Daryan wouldn't have had to smuggle nor murder anyone and Klavier would still have his best friend by his side…

And this is exactly how the criminal mindset is born — resent and rebel against the law for trying to keep people safe… You are accusing an entire race for the mistake of one man. A man who used his authority, used you and a 14 year old child for his irrational crime. He did not give a damn who he hurt. What if that cocoon had been discovered in your guitar? Daryan had not cared the jeopardy he put anyone in, not even you…

"Mr Gavin?"

He lifted his head from his hands, his eyes closing in protest at the harsh light spilling in around the figure who stood in the doorway.

"Who's that?" he asked, his voice somewhat harsh. He didn't care — the fact that someone was coming into his office despite the late hour was bad enough but the blinding light was just adding insult to injury.

"It's Ema Skye."

His jaw clenched and had his eyes not already been half-shut, they would have narrowed. The good Fräulein better have a very good reason for coming to see me…

"Yes?" He said in a coolly.

"Can I come in?" she asked and Klavier's anger almost abated at the timid tone of her voice. Almost.

"Yes," he said curtly. "But close the door behind you, please. I have a raging headache."

She complied quietly before turning back to him. His eyes had adjusted to the dark of his office a long time ago and, with the aid of the moonlight streaming in from behind and reflecting off her, he could see her perfectly fine. She, however, was clearly having a difficult time. His eyes fixed on her, he watched her as she stood still until she could see enough to look about her. The expression on her face changed from wariness to shock as she surveyed the mess he had created over the last 8 hours.

"It is a mess, no?" he said, fake amusement lacing his voice.

She sniffed. "It's always a mess."

He blinked for a moment at the bluntness of her response before letting out a bark of a laugh. For some odd reason, he had expected her to tiptoe around him… Obviously, that was not happening. His laugh died as suddenly as it had come and he didn't respond, choosing instead to continue watching her as she observed the 'mess'. He didn't offer her a seat — he wasn't feeling very gracious. After all, the little she-devil had gone behind his back and consorted with the enemy. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad had she told him and the Defense — but she hadn't. She had intentionally left out important details such as Lamiroir's attack and the little fragments of deception choosing instead to tell Apollo Justice — all of which had ultimately led to Daryan's arrest. And after all that, she had boldly come into his office when, by all accounts, she should be at home leaving him alone.

No, Klavier wasn't feeling very gracious at all.

"Is that an axe!" Ema's voice cut into his thoughts, disbelievingly.

He eyed the weapon on the ground. "Ja."

"Tell me you didn't hack at your own guitar with it." Ema said staring at him.

"I thought I heard ein mouse inside it." He didn't expect her to believe him — stupid questions spawned stupid answers, that was all.

Ema opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind as she glanced down at the dismal remains of his instrument. After a moment, she spoke again; "Where did you get that axe from? It looks familiar…" Her voice trailed off and she sank to the ground her hands skimming the wooden handle and the blade before returning her shocked gaze to Klavier. "This is —"

" — the murder weapon from the State vs McReady case, ja." Klavier finished. "I could not find anything else," he lied thoroughly enjoying the expression on her face. Tampered evidence was her worst nightmare. "I dislike mice." He wanted to laugh. He didn't know whether the horror in her eyes was because he might have ruined the evidence or the thought that he might have chased a poor mouse with the intention of butchering it. Whatever it might have been, though, the lie was worth it; she looked ready to explode.

Surprisingly, she didn't. Instead, she pulled out a pair of latex gloves and after slipping them onto her hands, proceeded to pull out a bag in which she placed the axe. Klavier watched interestedly while she moved to place the thoroughly wrapped axe in the corner behind the doorway, dropping her bag next to it. She began to rummage through the mess, he assumed, to find any other evidence that might need protecting from him. There was nothing else but Klavier did not tell her so. Instead, he enjoyed the sight of her frustrated attempts to identify objects in the dark. She was picking up papers and putting them in a pile on one of the speakers in the room and piling up books on the other. She picked up the scattered folders off the floor and…

"Fräulein, what are you doing?" Klavier's voice rang out sharply. Ema was either too absorbed to hear him or simply ignored him as she continued rearranging the folders in her lap, crouching on the ground. He stared at her, bewildered, for several minutes as she picked up all the documents and stowed them away in the filing cabinet beside him. If he wasn't mistaken (and he was sure he wasn't), she was… cleaning up his office. He was about to speak again when she walked out of his office swiftly leaving him staring after her not caring about the bright light pouring in. He was wondering if the good detective had lost her mind when she stalked back in, a broom in her hand and a determined look on her face. She marched to the cabinet he kept his guitars in and began sweeping the broken glass into one corner.

Klavier inwardly exploded.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded in a barely controlled voice. Her calm response only angered him further.

"You're going to hurt yourself on the glass. I'm cleaning this up."

Hurt? She was worried about him getting hurt now? Where was her concern when she had ran off to Justice and handed him all the evidence he needed to incriminate Daryan? Where had her concern been when he asked her if there had been any new evidence and she had lied?

"Stop cleaning," he commanded, rising from his chair. She looked at him, disturbed by the sudden coldness in his voice. His back was to the window and his face was bathed in shadows. She couldn't see his expression but the stillness of his body made her apprehensive. He suddenly seemed so much taller than usual, so much darker… so much stronger.

"If I don't clean this no one will. I'm not — "

"Go home," he cut across her.

"But — "

"I said," Klavier's voice was dangerously low. "Go home."

She stared at him for a moment and he saw the look of confusion in her gaze before she lowered her eyes and nodded. She gently placed the broom against the wall. Klavier turned his back on her, unable to look at the woman either out of guilt or resentment — he didn't know and he didn't care. He looked at his reflection in the glass window and, upon seeing it, admired the detective for not running away from him sooner; he looked thunderous, ready to take his anger out in anyway on anyone…

Chink. Whack. Thud.

A yelp.

He spun around to find Ema Skye on her knees, clutching her hands, rocking back and forth.

Klavier moved with lightening speed. He was by her side in an instant and was horrified to hear the sound of glass beneath his boots; she had landed right in the middle of it. He leant down next to her and glanced into her face which was twisted with pain. As he followed her gaze to her hands, he was dismayed to find blood oozing from both of them. In one fluid movement, he slipped his hands under her and lifted her into his arms. Her eyes flew his as he carried her across the room and laid her into his chair before turning the lamplight on his desk on. He took her hands in his inspecting them for any glass that might have lodged itself into her skin and although he found no trace of any, he theorized that there could still be some.

"We need to take you to the hospital," he said, worriedly. "There might — "

"It's okay. My wound's clean," Ema interrupted. "I don't need the hospital. There's — "

"How can you know — "

"I studied to be a scientific investigator," Ema said calmly. "I failed but that doesn't mean I know nothing. It's fine. There's a first aid kit in my bag. Could you bring it over please?" Klavier stared at her uncertainly, still sure that the hospital was the right way to go. "It's okay," Ema said again. "Please."

Klavier nodded wordlessly and retrieved her bag from where she had put it. He opened the bag gingerly, feeling as though he was invading her privacy — which was absurd as she was the one who had asked him to do this. Trying to keep this in mind, he rifled through her things until he found a small package with the symbol of a green square and a white cross. He pulled it out and walked back to the young woman who was obviously trying to keep from getting any blood on his chair. She held out a hand to take it from him but he shook his head placing the kit onto the table and opening it.

"Do not be ludicrous, Fräulein. I will do it."

"That's not necessary," Ema began but he wasn't listening. He was pulling out a roll of dressing, bandages and a bottle of solution to clean wounds. Taking them into his hands, he crouched down beside Ema and motioned for her to hold out her hand.

"Really, I can do this myself," she protested.

"Fräulein," was all he said but the tone of his voice said the rest. She quietly did as he asked and got to work. He wiped her wound clean and saw a large gash running across the palm of her hand which he went on to dress and bandage. Gently pulling her hand forward and going to work on it, Klavier finally broke the silence; "How did you fall?"

Ema didn't answer straight away. "I don't suppose heels are the best footwear when there are shards of glass making the surface uneven and slippery."

Klavier glanced at her feet as a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "No, Fräulein. I would have to agree with you there."

"In my defence," Ema said quickly. "I didn't know I would be trudging through glass today."

"True," Klavier said as he disposed of the blood soaked cotton pad and picked up another to clean away the rest; she had several shallow cuts just above her wrist. Klavier was insanely grateful that there was no damage to her wrist. "But Fräulein, you are a detective are you not?"

"Yes…" she said, her voice suspicious and he ducked his head to hide the growing smile on his face.

"So you should always wear sensible footwear. You never know when you might be engaged in a deadly chase, ja?"

Ema didn't answer and he risked a glance at her face. She was staring at the window and there was no hint of a pout on her lips. He wondered if she had even heard him. He didn't speak until he was finished bandaging her hand and said, "There." She looked at her bandaged hands then and mumbled a thanks.

"Do not thank me, Fräulein Skye." He said shaking his head lowering his eyes to the floor. "I should be thanking you for what you offered to do tonight. And I must apologise for the way I spoke to you. It was harsh." He paused. "It has been a… long day."

"You're angry with me aren't you?" She asked and the sadness in her voice made his eyes snap back up to hers. He was not a liar and he especially would not lie to make someone feel better when he was in a mood such as this. But the way her eyes silently pleaded him… He knew that he had no reason to be angry at her. If she had bought him the evidence instead of taking it to his opponent, what would he have done? He couldn't have turned a blind eye to it — he would have done what the Defense had done. In fact, she had spared him the mental anguish of having to decide what to do with the evidence. The guilt at betraying his friend and his everlasting sense of duty had battled within him during the trial for a short while and he could still feel the after-effects. What would it have done to him if he had had more time to decide? Nothing, except make the conclusion that much harder to bear — because, in the end, he would have still chosen the path of justice.

"Nein," he sighed heavily shaking his head. "I am not angry with you. I am angry with him."

Ema leaned forward until her face was level with his. "If you need to talk…" She left the sentence unfinished and he smiled bitterly.

"Danke, Fräulein," he said. "I am…" At that moment, however, he happened to glance to the side and caught sight of her leg; it was bloodied and ripped at the knee. "Mein Gott!" he exclaimed and she followed his gaze.

"Oh," She sounded almost irritated rather than concerned. "Pass me the sal — "

But Klavier wasn't listening to her. He was wetting a cotton pad with more solution; "Pull up your — "

"I can do — "

"Fräulein, pull up your — "

"I told you I — "

"Fräulein!" He said. "Please, do as I say." Ema sighed and pulled up her trousers until her knee was bare and Klavier jumped on the wound immediately. It was deep too and he made sure there was no glass lodged here either. Once satisfied, he began to clean it gently so as not to hurt her and was impressed when she did not make a sound. He tried to ignore the softness of her skin and the flawlessly milky colour of her skin. It took all his control to remain focused on his task but this proved difficult — his mind was caught up in fantasies of his lips running across her skin down to her ankles as his fingers danced across the back of her…

"Ach!" He had to focus! This wasn't helping his concentration…

"What's wrong?" Ema asked and he shook his head mumbling, "Nothing, nothing…"

He finished the task as quickly as he could all the while focusing the rest of his energy on not thinking about… aboutthat. Except by not thinking about it, he was thinking about it.

What was wrong with him?

He jumped up and took a step back, straining to keep a smile on his face. "Da sind Sie ja!"

"What?" She said and he was amused to hear the Ema Skye trademark grump back in her voice.

"It means there you are, Fräulein." He translated and she nodded pulling the leg of her trousers back down over her leg. He turned around quickly so he wouldn't get caught up in another fantasy and placed the bottle of solution, bandages and dressing back into the kit he had taken them out from. He zipped the bag shut and turned around to hand it to her but was taken aback to find her standing so close. She was still pulling at her trousers wincing with every curse she muttered and he smiled. Until she straightened and glanced up at him.

And he was lost.

Her green eyes were wide, sparkling like emeralds in the dim light, encased in a perfect, heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her lips were parted. They were red and full and the contrast against the creamy whiteness of her skin was triggering sparks in his stomach, his mind and body screaming at him to pull her into his arms and kiss her until the world ended. Part of him knew it was madness — Klavier Gavin never lost control of himself. To do so now, especially with a woman who could (and probably would) easily reject him, would be an excruciating embarrassment. Even as he thought this though, he stepped closer to the detective and his hand reached out to her face. He ran a thumb across her cheek and, to his delight, she did not pull away; her eyes closed. Her skin was like fresh silk — untouched, undamaged and soft in all its glory. He took another step forward until they were touching. The warmth of her body turned that spark into a blazing inferno that spread through him like wildfire. His hand circled around the back of her neck and he leant in slowly until there were inches left between their lips. He could feel her breath on his own and the scent of strawberries and chocolate was a pleasant combination. He moved closer until there were millimetres left between their mouths and he paused, giving her the chance to pull away, to say no. It would drive him insane and test the very limits of his control but he was a gentleman. So he waited, his eyes on hers which remained closed and the dark lashes resting against her skin only pushed him further. Still she didn't move away. One more glance at her lips, sweetly parted for him, inviting him in, and Klavier moved in to seal them with his…