A/N Er… sorry… that was an unforgivably long wait… Partially because of the trip I took, partially because school has begun, partially because my parents are back, and partially because of… well, reviews. I'm not blaming you guys because the last chapter wasn't great so to speak (meaning the trial part) but I need your help! Feedback—constructive criticism. I've had to figure out how to improve the stuff myself! Which is what I'm supposed to do, but suggestions would be nice. So after thinking it through, I've decided it's mainly because of it's slow-pace? Sorry, it's my first time venturing into the romance genre and I'm not that well-versed yet at writing it. So, I hope this chapter satisfies!

Chapter Four: And So It Begins

It was strange.

The door to her office had been barely opened by anyone other than her since the beginning of work. She had a lot of extra Snackoo packets lying around. Her blood pressure was dropping.

To paraphrase, Ema Skye was not being pestered by a certain man. A certain prosecutor. A certain rock star prosecutor. A certain rock star prosecutor glimmerous fop.

And there is only one rock star prosecutor glimmerous fop in the building, or indeed in the whole state. (Or the whole continent. Scratch that—I mean the world.)

Klavier Gavin.

Not to say that Ema Skye was complaining. She could now stop buying so many packs of snacks, because previously she would waste approximately one packet a day on the fop, and that was on a good day. And it wasn't like Gavin was unbearably upset over the Daryan case—not broken down or depressed; after all, he was still taking cases… which was why she was here pouring over a case file.

Wait, why am I even worrying about the fop? I should be focusing on this autopsy report.

So she began to actually read the documents that lay splayed on her desk, resisting the urge to just push it over to her 'out' pile—before realizing that she had finished the report and had spent the past five minutes in a absent-minded reverie. And though Ema probably wasn't going to get a prize for diligence any time soon, this wasn't a usual thing, nor was it a good thing. And if she were slacking off, it would be spent in personal time with her Snackoos.

Ema got up, sighing, and with the manila folder tucked under her arm, she trudged to the Prosecutor Offices. The 12th floor… not to see Mr Edgeworth, though. With each level she ascended, the usual feeling of annoyance was replaced by a much more potent, unfamiliar one. Apprehension.

And for what was perhaps the first time, she hesitated. Outside his office door. Should she barge in as usual? Pretend that nothing was wrong? Or should she actually… knock?

What's with all this drama? It's just Gavin. She paused for a moment, then raised her fist to knock.

"Come in."

Ema eased the door open slowly as her breath caught and tripped over her quickening heart. That tone… even his voice… unfamiliarity coursed through her—cold and clipped, not a sign of the irritating character that she had come to know. But as she entered, there was a note of regret hanging in the air—perhaps he was regretting his frosty manner.

"Gavin," she said by way of greeting, unable to defer from the norm despite her state of mind.

Klavier looked surprised. "Fräulein detective? It was you who knocked?"

Ema couldn't decide if that was a genuine question or a jibe. "Who else?" she snapped.

"It was rather surprising." The prosecutor leaned forward. "Well, to what may I owe this pleasant visit? Missing me?"

It was all wrong.

The smile, the smirk, the glimmer.

It was all empty.

It was all meaningless.

Ema found herself backing up; just a step, before she caught herself. A worry worked its way up to her eyebrows before she could restrain it.

"Just the case files, Gavin," she managed.

"Are you sure there's nothing more?" Another smile as he took the documents.

Stop that. "Ha ha, very funny. As usual, I find your humor riveting."

"I can hardly expect otherwise. I am a rather enchanting fellow." Another smile as he placed them on his desk.

Stop it. "Don't flatter yourself. Or I suppose you could spend your life in denial. Yeah, that wouldn't be too bad."

"Such harsh words! I am injured." Another smile as he placed his hand on his heart in a mock gesture.

Just stop. "So something actually managed to penetrate that thick skull of yours?"

"Really, fräulein, rudimentary manners should be observed. It is only befitting of such a pretty face, ja?" Another smile as he leaned back on his desk.

Please, just stop. "Tch! Shut it, Gavin."

"Ach! Another bullet to my heart!" Another smile as he lazily got back up.

"Stop it!"

The banter ground to an earsplitting halt.

"S-sorry?"

It was the first time Ema heard Klavier stutter or stumble over his words. Perhaps her unexpected words combined with whatever look she was wearing on her face had caused it.

Slightly mortified, the detective was determined to plough on. "Just stop it!" Whenever Klavier smiled, even at his delinquent fans, it was sincere. Even his smirks were all sincere. He was a performer; but still, everything—his love for music, his expressions, his drive for the truth—it was all true, not faked.

And now it was all wrong.

"Stop what?" Klavier asked, with an odd look on his face as his eyes scanned Ema's countenance.

"Pretending." Succinct. It summed it all up. "You walk around with a stupid smirk on your face all day—but at least it's genuine! And now here you are, just smiling pleasantly at me—" Ema felt a bit sick at what 'smiling pleasantly' reminded her of; or who it reminded her of. "—and I can see it's all a mask! I can tell it's not real!"

"And is everything you do… sincere? Every expression? I can assure you that there is no human being like that. But besides that, what are you basing this on?"

The way he was looking at her, it made her think that he was thinking, You're trying to pull an Apollo, aren't you? Yet, his expression had a single crack in it, a long line down his defense. "What am I basing it on? It's staring me right in my face!"

Klavier shrugged. "This certainly would not hold up in a court of any kind. But I can see logic will not prevail against you. In that case, why does it even matter?"

"What—"

"It is not as if you would care about this sort of thing, especially concerning me."

Ema found herself silent, and hating herself for it. It wasn't just his words—it was the tone, his biting tone that silenced her and pierced her painfully. She ground her teeth and Klavier watched her with an unfathomable expression, flickering through a thousand different emotions—coldness, worry, regret, determination…

She couldn't decide if her heart was racing or still—if she was angry or sad—if she was choking on her words or on the silence—

Then as Ema swallowed, Klavier's expression seemed to soften; his eyes cast slightly downwards, his stance a more relaxed one, the heaving of his chest slowly easing.

"Fräulein…"

But Ema had already made up her mind. It may have been cliché, in the way that the protagonist always walks away when a lifeline is thrown to her, but she stood by her decision, all too aware that it was either the best possible or worst possible move she could make.

The door closed.

Klavier stood there like a fool, listening to Ema's footsteps slowly die away.

"Scheiße."

Had he really been so transparent? All day, the prosecutor put on an act, an act so impenetrable that it almost seemed real to even himself. And no one had called him out, not even a hint of worry crossed their faces—all but the fräulein detective.

Was it a bluff? Or had she really seen something? Was he (unconsciously) simply being an overdramatic fop consumed with angst? Klavier ran through their encounter in his mind.

It probably was his tone of voice when she had first knocked—not that he'd ever dreamed it would be her at the door. He had been cold then, but quickly warmed up when he reminded himself to just act as he usually would seem.

When she'd entered… yes, there was confusion. It disappeared; just for a split second. Then the minute he opened his mouth again, it returned. Then it melted into something else, one of the rare emotions that he, as an expert of reading faces, couldn't identify.

Klavier stood very still for a moment, wondering what he should do. Then the choice suddenly was made clear, obvious even. He couldn't let her mull in her own rampant thoughts, and it was surely time to pay a visit.

Ema put her feet up on her desk, a practice she usually detested because the fop sometimes did it and if her desk were evidence in a case, it would be contaminated, harder to isolate leads of any importance.

Okay, actually thinking the reasons through made it sound stupid and unprofessional, but still…

She was thankful of having escaped Gavin, now being sure that it had been the right choice—if only because he hadn't even had the chance to give her any more paperwork. In any case, chances were he wouldn't come down to the precinct and drop by her cubicle. And Ema had decided that she was not going to waste this free time pondering on things best left un-pondered. Cough cough, a certain person's unassailable foppishness.

MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH

That's right, a break was best spent snacking.

The door opened.

Ema's back was facing the entrance, so she couldn't see who it was, but whoever it was didn't knock.

All the detectives knocked. Hapless defense attorneys knocked. Police officers knocked. The Chief didn't.

It had to be the Chief of Police.

Ema didn't turn around, feeling a tingle on the back of her neck.

It had to be the Chief.

She pretended to feel around in her pack of Snackoos.

It had to be the Chief—it couldn't be anyone else. La la la, I'm not listening, brain! It's the Chief!

…It's not the Chief.

There was no use in staring at her shoes any longer, so she scrunched up her eyes for a second, shaking her head as if dispelling the repellant feeling that radiated through her body, and spun the chair around as she lifted her legs off her desk.

Klavier Gavin stood clad in purple and black, lounging against a wall conscientiously. A languid smile spread over his face when he saw Ema's tight, hostile expression.

"Ah, mein liebe."

"No German, you fop."

"I could always translate."

The look on his face made Ema wary. Did she really want to know what the fop just said? "I can understand German just fine," she lied. A stupid lie, but she couldn't think of anything else to say—and Gavin's expression was just too smug to let slide.

"Oh? Then why have you always asked me to revert to English?"

Ema hoped that Gavin would ignore her previous claim, her idiotic, unthinking assertion that she could understand German. "You shouldn't speak German… when you're in, I don't know, America!"

"Then how have you come by the language?"

"I, er, went to Europe… oh right, to pursue my studies in forensic science!" It was the truth, after all.

"Very well. Then I suppose you have no objection to me conversing in German with you?"

It was the last thing Ema wanted, but she couldn't back down now. Oh wait, she could but then the humiliation would be just too much, though she knew that it would be much worse later on. "Er, nein…?"

"Gut!" Gavin grinned cheerily.

Oh shit. Not good. I suppose that meant 'good', right…?

"Gavin!" A voice from down the hallway.

He glanced through the door at the person calling him. "I shall be right there." He turned back to her. Ema added 'Funny German Words Alert' to her list of red light warnings. "Auf Wiedersehen, liebling."

Okay, I understood that… maybe I'll do okay…? "Right, er… 'Off Vee-dur-zen'," she said, a bit too late as she tried to mimic his parting words.

A flash of pearly-whites.

Just a few days earlier, she wouldn't have participated in such a ridiculous game, but now she was more careful (and even more careful not to think why she was being careful)—though admittedly, some awkwardness was lost in the banter. And he had seemed more genuine—or maybe he had just gotten better.

Damn, that's the problem. How are you supposed to tell when something's real or not? How are you supposed to know when someone's lying? Evidence? What evidence?

Ema gritted her teeth together, jerking her head to one side sharply as she swallowed, hard, with frustration.

"Ema?"

She looked up, slowly.

A spiky-haired boy (sorry, I meant man) and an aspiring magician stood at her open doorway.

"Apollo? Trucy? What are you guys doing here?"

"Trucy just dragged me along," the attorney said with a bit of a useless shrug.

"Ema! Have you seen Mr Gavin?"

"The fop?" Ema chose to ignore Apollo's eye-roll. "Yes, unfortunately. Why does fate have to make that man, of all people, my boss? Mr Edgeworth would have been nice. Very nice. Even Payne!"

"Well, he is an international rock star. Maybe you should be thankful?" Apollo reluctantly intervened.

"Yeah! I bet you could sell his autograph for like, 100 bucks!" Trucy added.

MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH

"Er, Ema?"

MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH

"Hellloooo? Emaaaa?"

MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH

"Alright, alright. I guess we'll have to go straight to the point."

"Please." Ema had had enough conversation about that ridiculous glimmerous fop.

This irritated attitude was her usual one, but now for different reasons. It wasn't an avoidance of his infuriating, flirtatious manner; now, it was something different, a detestable, chocking feeling that left her unsatisfied and inexplicably annoyed.

Damn. When did he hold so much influence over me? When his attitude changes, mine does too? Why does it matter what he acts like?

"Do you want to come for a party?" Trucy asked, thankfully interrupting her dangerous thoughts.

"…Party…?"

"Yup! To celebrate… er… the Borginian National Day!"

"We're not in Borginia."

"There'll be Snacko—"

"I'm in."

The very mention of Snackoos drove a nagging thought out of Ema's mind—What are those guys planning?

"Yes, fräulein?"

"Do you want to come, Mr Gavin?"

"Come? Whatever for?"

"A party!"

"When and where will it be held?"

"At the Wright Anything Agency, on the Borginian National Day."

"…"

"Sorry, Prosecutor Gavin… Trucy's been restless."

"Ema's coming!"

"Hm… I suppose I will come."

As the duo departed, a tall tanned German took out a small calendar. He looked at it for a moment, then scratched out IMP. : 10.30 meeting on Ellen case with Chief.

It could wait.

"Didn't you say that meeting was one you couldn't miss?"

Klavier turned to the man beside him. "It is quite important… but I could always postpone it."

"Heh heh heh… That's quite funny."

"I am not even going to ask why."

"Because you already know it." The man gave a grin. "Just a few seconds ago, weren't you impressing upon me how important the meeting was? And how I shouldn't skip it?"

"Ach! I am the one who is to cross-examine, not you."

"Both you and I know that's no defense to what I just said… but I'll let it slide. Because I already know why this party's so enthralling."

Klavier sensed that the man was planning something, just as the defense attorney and magician had been.

"So may I join you?"

A/N Shorter chapter than usual, but I wanted to get this out quick and to know your reactions. The plot is finally starting, after all. Not a deep, dark one—but after writing this, I realized how much I would rather write a more angsty/comfort fic. Maybe after I finish this fic I'll start on a serious one and use this as practice. Which means this one won't be that long—probably not past 10 chapters. This was written with less editing and with a different style, so I'm not sure how it turned out. I value constructive criticism a lot!