Disclaimer: I do not own Phoenix Wright. It is the property of Capcom; I merely borrow the characters for my own amusement. In addition, Guitar Hero remains the property of Nintendo and does not belong to me.

--

Heartburn

“C’mon, Gavin, I’m sick of practicing!”

“Cut the whining, Daryan. You call that playing? A few grade-schoolers who play only Guitar Hero could have done better! We start again, from the top.”

“We’ve been doing this for hours!”

“Then you’d better hope we get it right this time, ja?”

“...ck you, Gavin…”

“Not even in your dreams, Daryan. Let’s do this! Achtung!”

--

If there is anything Klavier Gavin respects, it’s another professional, with the confidence and proficiency to match. He likes nothing more than seeing someone excel at their chosen art, just as he perfects his, but—

If there is one thing that Klavier Gavin respects – and likes even more – is the passion to meet profession. The enthusiasm one holds for their job is more important to him than the expertise they possess—the heart is infinitely more important than proficiency in his eyes because, while a person can make up for lost practice with renewed efforts, heart, once lost, is lost forever.

And even though a wise man once told him to remember “where the heart lies”, he thinks that even though he’ll never forget – even if he tried – he may lose some of it, irrevocably, irretrievably.

He doesn’t think that he will ever misplace his talent for music, or even courtroom debate. Klavier knows that what he stands to lose is the heart behind his very being, and that realization is what suffers him most.

--

Klavier sometimes sees Criminal Affairs as his second home. He dozes in the office as often as at home, and he spends as much time, if not more, than he does at home.

(Home. Such an abstract concept, and so useless when shared only with oneself.)

He often sees his subordinates, scurrying about to his bidding, and his eyes constantly alight upon one detective in particular—the detective whom he finds increasingly puzzling.

Detective Skye is discreetly looked after by the senior members of the police force, and for all her grumpy nature and snippy retorts, appears well-liked by her colleagues. Sometimes, he wonders. He cannot fathom why such an irritable fraulëin, with no skill whatsoever to commend her, should be so welcomed.

Klavier looks at Detective Ema Skye, and he sees the woman who failed her forensics exam, who constantly bungles any and all attempts at doing her job. He thinks that he should be disgusted, and begin searching for the next opportunity (that will inevitably come) to fire her. In such times, as he approaches her from across the room, he remembers.

He looks at her sparkling eyes, the nearly childish excitement, and he remembers why she remains an irreplaceable member of his task force.

Klavier looks at Detective Ema Skye, and he sees the woman whose enthusiasms flare as expansive as her namesake, he witnesses the heart that drives the being within—marvels at the woman whose passion strikes flame with merely the air about her, renders him speechless, wraps about him the life she holds so abundantly.

Before long, her heart draws him in, and shows him how frail, chill-brittle his own has become.

--

Ema isn’t good at much, even that which she loves, but she still goes about her tasks with a double-minded intensity, Snackoo bag in hand. Despite her ceaseless griping, she tackles the problem at hand with a gusto (born perhaps of ill-humor and distraction) that in the end gets the job done, however poorly.

(Her mind is constantly on science, but that is understandable, as it is Ema.)

Ema brings her all, her formidable complaints, her unabated love of science, what meager skill she possesses, and he finds himself respecting that.

Klavier observes her with the fraction of his attention that seems more and more often off-task, and he thinks he remembers a time when his passion, his heart was no less fiery than hers.

And he finds himself beckoned ever closer, to the inferno he thinks just might ignite his own—in salutary, admiring response.

--

Ema Skye is all heart, and nearly no proficiency, and he can perhaps find it in him to fire her—

He thinks that he can maybe fire her if he can stop being near her first.

(Which, he admits to himself, he can’t.)

And so he continues braving her barbed insults, her thinly veiled suggestions for him get lost—he swallows the slight irritation he feels when her eyes darken from euphoria to impatience at the mere sight of him.

--

“Prosecutor Gavin.” A polite greeting that meant with equal respect, Get lost, Glimmer-boy.

“Fraulëin Detective.” A charming smile that appeared unfazed by her open hostility.

Not a chance, Fraulëin.

--

It’s the heart that counts, and Ema has so much of it that he begins to realize that she’s taken what’s left of his.