As far as the elder Gavin was concerned, talking sense into two men aimed at each other's throats was throwing one's self into the fight. Words were weapons in the world of law; surely the boy was not so moronic to believe otherwise. But it seemed Klavier had no intention of listening. The prosecutor broke away from his grasp and disappeared, leaving Kristoph to resist the sudden, intense urge to slap a hand across the forehead. Fine. A stupid child was a stupid child. If he died, well, that would be his mistake. Kristoph could simply gather up the pipes and the papers and spend a relaxing evening in his own room, sibling-free.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy. No, Klavier was alive, with an unconscious body in tow. Said body soon found himself at Kristoph's feet, an obtrusion appearing suspiciously like out of a horror-comedy mix.

The former desire escalated. Killing Klavier had to be condoned at this point.

Kristoph narrowed his eyes a fraction of an inch. Whether the man was deliberating or merely feeling murderous, the fact was up for discretion. "Please." He cleared a throat. "Explain to me the following: when you promised me you wouldn't 'throw' yourself into 'anything', was dragging back an unconscious man the exception?"

Blue eyes fell to the body on the floor. "Furthermore," he quietly continued, "what possessed you to believe moving an individual with one or possibly more fractured ribs would be a sound idea?" The gaze returned to the younger blond. "Finally. What are two medically untrained men supposed to accomplish in this situation?"

A pause. "You have a minute."