From the Parking Lot

—

Ema Skye,

Your enthusiasm for forensics is rather remarkable, but it is unfortunate for us to say that your recent forensics qualification test has demonstrated your lack of proficiency in the practice. It is required that all promising members to our department pass the test with—

The rest of the paper is torn with a newly added dirt impression of a G from the underside of his shoe.

(He didn't mean to step on it but it was just there on the ground.)

Klavier turns the paper in his hand, brow raised.

Someone dropped this—after violently tearing it to pieces and violently smashing it into a withering ball.

Ema Skye, huh?

The screech of car tires against the smooth pavement of the parking lot has Klavier drop the paper into one of the plastic bags in his hands.

(He'll think about it later.)

He continues his stroll to the elevators, mind heavy on the case he has spread out in a messy disarray on his desk up at his office.

Six years into the prosecuting business and the chief still insists on handing him the most mundane and long cases—not particularly hard, just cases that Herr Edgeworth wouldn't be caught dead wasting his time on.

(Not to mention, unlike Herr Edgworth, Klavier doesn't have his own personal Gumshoe to fill out paperwork and do footwork. Klavier knows that he's more than capable of handling it himself, but sometimes it's just all too much for him.)

Klavier raises his hand to his head and massages his temple with his fingers.

The trial is in a few days; he has to review transcripts of eyewitnesses, scrutinize and update the autopsy record, and examine the evidence submitted to the court— it'll be a long night indeed.

He hates footwork but long nights at the office requires sustenance—hence his trip to the convenience store and back.

Klavier takes another step and hears the crunch of paper under his foot.

Another one?

(Oh Gott, this can't be another one of Ema Skye's papers.)

Klavier swipes it from the floor—a nice G print as usual right over the half-finished homicide detective application.

(…it is.)

Messy fräulein, Klavier thinks to himself and he inspects the handwriting. Ema Skyeeuooquo—

The words scribble off into heavy scribbles carved into the paper. The application is beyond salvageable.

Messy fräulein and apparently an angry one too.

A clatter catches his attention.

When he turns, papers rustle and flutter towards him, blown by a wind somewhere from the dark turn of a corner.

Whether prosecuting or being a rock star, Klavier usually doesn't take detours when he knows he's pressed for time—

"—stupid, stupid—"

—but the soft hiccup from the corner has him walking toward it. A few more steps and Klavier sees pools of papers, crumpled and littering the floor with a fräulein sitting in the middle.

Ach, make that a messy and crying fräulein.

Time-pressed or not, Klavier could never turn away from a fräulein in distress.

Personal policy, you see.

"Guten abend," he says, voice light in the fragile silence.

Klavier gives a glance around the area before bending over to pick up the papers. Applications, general job information, and a home-made resume—all which were partly shredded with the remains sprinkled on the floor.

She hisses under her breath, choking on watery sobs and roughly scrubbing at her eyes.

Klavier smiles though she doesn't see it. "Your papers, fräulein."

"Go away."

Oh?

Curious, Klavier sits on his heels and stacks the papers in a neat (or attempted neat) pile in front of him. The forgotten plastic bags are pulled to his side. "Is something troubling you?"

She doesn't respond, only ducks her head lower, the rose-tinted lenses on her head slip down a fraction. There's a tremble in her shoulders as she buries her face into her hands.

The miss is trying her best not to cry—not that Klavier is fooled or anything.

Frustration is clear in the destroyed papers and the spilled contents of her pink purse. Though he partially wonders why. Empty glass tubes, finger printing powder, Luminol, not to mention she's wearing a worn-down lab coat—scientific, forensics.

Even a less capable man like Herr Gumshoe could deduce that she's been rejected from a job she's always wanted.

He opens his mouth to say something—"Don't worry about it, you'll pass next time." or "Don't be upset about being rejected. Forensics is quite the difficult field to pursue."—but neither of the phrases seemed tactical especially when he doesn't know her.

Klavier shuts his mouth.

For the first time in his life, he is literally speechless—or… maybe not.

"Es ist noch kein Meister vom Himmel gefallen," Klavier says, a small quirk in his lip. "Hm…what are the English words to it…?"

She lifts her face from her hands just a bit at his voice. Klaviers snaps his fingers, "Ah. No man was born a master, ja?"

Her eyes red and swollen. She glares at the paper stack, eyes becoming wet again.

"Nein, nein. Tears don't suit a fräulein such as yourself."

Klavier simpers before he glances down at his midnight snacks.

"Here." And he rummages through his assorted chips, soda, and cookies. He fishes out a clear plastic bag filled with chocolate biscuits. "I believe they call this comfort food…?"

She takes it with a swallowed sob in her throat. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she tears it apart, fingers trembling around the plastic.

The woman grabs a monstrous handful and shovels it into her mouth, breathing hard to chew and not sob—

Klavier holds in a sigh as he reaches a hand and pats her head.

She crunches loudly, breath tattered and broken.

"…Du wirst es verkraften—you will be all right."

—

He vaguely remembers what happened after that.

The fräulein had gathered her things and muttered a brisk apology. Klavier insisted that he walk her to her vehicle but the fräulein left with her papers close to her chest—

And Klavier was left with one less bag of his chocolate-covered snacks in his plastic bag.

—

Five months later…

—

"Here she is, sir," Gumshoe yells from the door, the loud beats from the stereo drown him out. Klavier barely hears him from his comfortable position on his armchair.

While skimming over the results of Kristoph's recent case, Klavier twists the knob to his sound board. The music reduces into humming background noise.

"Danke," he waves a hand to dismiss the gruffy detective.

The door closes with a loud click and he looks up from the manila folder.

Average looking woman, hair neat and falling down her shoulders, posture rigid. She is wearing a lab coat, straight and pressed—

Lab coat?

Klavier gives her another look-over and sees the rose-tinted lenses sitting on the top of her head. It jars a memory hidden away somewhere in his mind.

"Prosecutor Klavier Gavin," she says, voice flat and steely. The material of her lab coat in hand, she fidgets and stares at the corner of his (relatively) messy office.

"Guten morgen," Klavier nods, smile cordial as he lifts the folder to (pretend to) read the file. He half-glances at her. "To which fräulein detective do I have the pleasure to meet?"

(He recognizes the full lips and round, chestnut eyes—but just where did he see them before?)

"…Ema Skye." She bites her lips after she talks, head tilting away to the side, eyes glaring holes at the electric guitars sitting behind the glass.

Ema Skye.

Messy, crying fräulein in the parking lot on that particular day.

"Ach."

"Pardon?" She raises a brow at him, confusion and annoyance pulling the corner of her lip down.

He's too busy staring to properly form words.

Klavier blinks before he snaps the file shut and places it on his desk. He leans forward, elbows resting against stacks of papers scattered over the wooden surface. "Ah, Fräulein Skye, die freude ist mein—it is my pleasure to meet you. Klavier Gavin."

(She gives a disbelieving stare at his winning smile, and Klavier is pretty sure she doesn't remember him.)

Ema growls, and she pops a small little something into her mouth before she crunches it. "Right. Whatever."

Klavier can practically see the disinterest emanating from her as she chews with a crunch, crunch, crunch—

He shuffles the files on his desk and picks up the recent one. "Dann, since formalities have been exchanged, shall we get you started on your first assignment—?"

"Body found in People park. I know," she grumbles through a mouthful of food. Klavier pauses and gives her a glance, smile intact. "Just to make this clear, I don't like you and I hate working here, don't bother with the disgusting smile—"

Klavier blinks. "Oh ja? Then why work for me?" He smiles a bit at the cringe in her shoulder. "I am pretty sure that Herr Payne was in need of an assistant."

Ema turns red and her lips twist into a scowl. "Understand this one thing, Gavin."

She stomps close enough to the desk to snatch the folder from his hands. "If I had a choice, I'd choose anyone other than Payne or you. But I didn't and I rather work for you than that bumbling specimen. But don't get so full of yourself just because you've had Mr. Wright disbarred six years ago—"

He raises a brow, the name bringing an onslaught of not so pleasant memories.

"Ah, I did hear about Herr Wright having a few odd friends that begrudge me," he says coolly, lips dropping into a thin smile. "Surely, Fräulein Skye, Herr Wright was in the wrong at the Gramarye trial. I am but an honest prosecutor, ja?"

"Mr. Wright is incapable of stooping that low," Ema hisses. "He should not have been disbarred—!"

And a homicide detective should not be picking fights with their boss upon their first meeting, Klavier thinks as he brushes through his bangs.

"There were evidence and a witness," Klavier points out with a theatrical sigh. He moves a hand to drum the side of his armchair. "Es ist nicht alles Gold, was glänzt— All that glitters is not gold. Good men are not who they seem—"

Ka-tonk.

A cylindrical chocolate biscuit rebounds off his chest and bounces over his paper-covered desk.

She threw a snack at him.

Amusing.

(And quite cute but somewhat offending.)

Klavier looks up and sees her growling at him while munching, munching, munching food from a rather familiar label of snacks— "Y…You fop! Damn, glimmerous fop!"

Ema crams more biscuits into her mouth as she whirls around and storms out his office with the folder jammed in her purse.

Klavier laughs a bit and picks up the snack thrown at him earlier.

Chocolate-covered biscuits.

She remembered the food but not him.

He'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel the slightest bit of betrayal— after all, he was quite the gentleman five months ago and to be treated in such manner…

Klavier shrugs and leans back against his plush velvet armchair, rolling the snackoo between his fingers.

Barely twenty minutes upon meeting him, the Fräulein has already established a strong dislike and offending pet name for him.

He sighs again and tosses the snackoo into his mouth.

"Well—Aller Anfang ist schwer. All beginnings are difficult."

—

AN: My first Klema fic! :'D I wanted to write this to accompany a scribble I did a few days ago. I'm a bit…erp at writing but I hope this is okay. 8_ 8 Please leave a review! :'D

Scribble: kyunyo.()tumblr.()com/post/51217418446

*please remove the parentheses ~

EDIT: I may just continue this since AA Addict instilled a thought in my mind! :D Thank you so much for the wonderful ideas! I hope I can get to forming a plot for this!