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As usual, Jake Marshall was slacking on his guardroom duties. When Ema walked into the room she found him leaning back in his chair with his spurred boots propped up on his desk, crossed over one another, with his cowboy hat tipped over his eyes. To complete the sleeping but alert cowboy look, he had his his hands laced together and resting on his stomach.
Even after the incident years ago, Jake remained lax in his monitoring duties. Ema couldn't fathom why the man even stayed with the department at all, other than the fact that he'd have to move out the copious amount of cowboy paraphernalia from the room—that would turn anyone off from quitting, she reasoned.
"Taking a little siesta, Officer Marshall?" Ema called out, striding past his station towards the evidence room door. He nodded without taking a look at her as she sidestepped the lasso snare laying on the floor.
"We ol' cowboys need to rest our eyes before leadin' the dogies to ranch."
She slid her ID card through the reader. "So… is that how they do it in Texas?" Ema asked, fully aware that the man wasn't from Texas. It seemed like the right thing to ask, however.
Jake brought up a hand to adjust his hat as the blinking green light went off above the door. "Sure do. You gotta be alert to stay ahead of the wolves, Bambina."
Whatever—or whomever—these theoretical wolves were, Ema didn't bother asking. He probably meant the higher-ups or something like that, though Ema wasn't sure how napping on the job counted as being alert or kept him ahead.
"Anyway, I have to go put some stuff in my locker." Ema held up a bag carrying several pieces of old evidence for his benefit—not that Jake saw it.
"Ah, right, Bambina: some hombre wandered his way into the wasteland not too long ago. Thought you should know."
"Thanks for the warning, Officer Marshall."
He shot a lazy, two-fingered salute in Ema's general direction and placed his hand on his stomach again, ready to resume his nap.
Ema stepped into the "wasteland" and let the door clank shut behind her. The evidence locker room brought back so many memories of that case; it gave her the chills. She hated how her sister was back then, how she was being used. Though these days Lana was a happily married mother, every now and then Ema would look back and shudder. If it hadn't been for Phoenix Wright (and Ema's forensic expertise), her big sister would be dead now.
As she neared her locker, Ema heard a clatter down the hallway followed by a familiar utterance of the word "Shit!"
She smirked despite herself. The man was always so eloquent.
He didn't seem to notice her, so Ema quickly opened her locker, finished her business, and tiptoed down the hall to where he was. From where she was, Ema could easily see that he was distracted, looking for something in his locker. Every time he dropped something—far too often, as far as she was concerned—brought another swear and a bend that allowed her a look at his ass. A skinny ass, his lankiness considered, but Ema found him attractive nonetheless.
As she pulled out a bag of Snackoos and munched, Daryan elbowed another piece of evidence onto the floor. He was having a hell of a time trying to find whatever it was he had filed away, Ema thought. She wondered if she ought to be concerned with his lack of coordination as well—was he developing some sort of dysfunction? Ema quickly mulled over the disorders she knew of where ataxia was a major symptom but came up empty. Daryan was fine otherwise.
"Need a little help?" Ema asked between munches. Daryan turned with a start, nearly jumping out of his skin in the process. Not that that was scientifically possible, of course.
"Shit, babe, you lookin' to off me so soon?"
"Am I in your will?"
Daryan turned back to his locker. "Not until you put a ring on my finger, lady."
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"You scientists and your gender roles."
"Would you like to be the girl sometime, then?"
"Been there, done that." Daryan huffed and slammed the evidence locker irritably, raking a hand through his hair. "Goddamn it, Gavin." Looking at Ema, he said, "If he wants evidence for a done deal then he's gonna have to come find it himself."
Ema grinned. "Make the fop do some legwork on his own? I like the sound of that." She smacked Daryan's hand away when he reached for a Snackoo without permission. She hated it when people did that. Didn't they know how many germs they would introduce into her bag?
"Whenever I get asked what I like in a girl, I say good looks. I'm gonna start answering with graciousness." Daryan pulled back his wounded hand and frowned at her. "What're you doing here, anyway? I don't see you with anything."
"I dropped it off already."
"And you're still hanging around?" A devious grin formed on his face as he made a slight gesture towards one dark corner of the evidence room. "Wanna quickie?"
Ema opened her mouth to reply with a resounding no; she shut it just as quickly, the pros and cons clashing in her head. On the one hand, she and Daryan hadn't had much time together for the past couple weeks thanks to paranoid international airports and several annoying, possibly related murder cases.
On the other hand, they were both on the clock…
It didn't take long to mull over. Ema tucked away her Snackoos, wiped her hands off on her lab coat, and grabbed Daryan by the arm.
"There's a blind spot over here," she explained, "I'd rather not have Officer Marshall spying on us."
"That geezer? He's probably sleeping anyway. And damn, babe, you're serious about this?"
Ema maneuvered Daryan into a position beneath one of the cameras that didn't pan downward. She smirked at him once she finished, pinching the glasses perched atop her head cockily. Might as well let her attitude do the talking for her.
"I knew I liked you for a reason," Daryan half-growled as he bent to pull Ema to him. She went easily, gripping the back of his head to help support herself.
The test tubes in her bag clinked together noisily when Daryan's hands roamed to her back and lower. Ema shrugged the strap from her shoulder and let it slide down her leg and onto the floor.
Daryan licked away a bit of crumbs from the corner of Ema's mouth. "It turns me on that those things make you taste like chocolate," he said between noisy, wet kisses, "just don't let 'em get you fat. You're hot just like this."
"Don't ruin the mood by talking," Ema warned. She tugged on his long hair, making him bend further so she was no longer on tiptoe. As she explored his open mouth with her tongue, Daryan's hands—oh, how Ema enjoyed those guitarist hands—busied themselves with her ass, massaging, tracing over the lines of her panties.
Soon enough Ema was awkwardly teetered on Daryan's thigh, rubbing herself on his leg as she palmed his groin. They were both out of breath, flushed with pounding pulses, lips glistening with shared saliva. (Normally Ema would have thought that gross and unsanitary, but such good kissers were hard to come by.)
The fact that they could be walked in on at any moment barely registered until they were.
"Detective Crescend, this is not the evidence I had asked for, is it?"
Daryan glared at him. Ema cleared her throat and kissed him one last time before reluctantly sliding from Daryan's thigh. "So much for that quickie," she said, retrieving her bag from the floor. "Back to work."
As Ema left, Daryan's eyes at her back, he remarked, "You know you're the one dude who never fails to leave me with a perpetual case of blueballs, right?"
Klavier clapped Daryan on the shoulder. "At least they match the uniform, ja?"
"Blow me, Gavin."
"How about you retrieve that evidence for me, first."