Wow, I think I should probably apologise again for the tidal wave of typos in the last chapter that totally slipped my notice. Thankyou to everybody that reviewed, and with out any more ado, on with chapter two. (I so did not just write that).

The visitor's room in the detention centre was not a place Klavier was in a habit of frequenting. As a prosecutor, one of the many privileges afforded to him was the use of the interrogation rooms to question detainees. Today, however, he was a civilian, and so he was forced to queue for a brief time slot in front of a thick glass screen like all the other boring members of the public and harassed looking defence attorneys.

Just as he thought he could read no more leaflets with his face on the front endorsing the police, or just generally begging people to behave themselves, his name was called. Aware that he was required to uphold a certain public image, he sauntered across to the small yet imposing white door, appearing as unperturbed as his shaking nerves would allow. Klavier Gavin was afraid of nobody.

Few people were aware that he hadn't visited his brother since his first conviction, for the murder of 'Shadi Smith'. He was still so angry. Angry at his brother, and angry at himself. How could he have failed to notice his brothers slow decent into evil. But he knew there would be a time when he needed answers, and that time was now.

Klavier had met many people who had spent time in prison. Some of them looked weak and sickly, their spirits broken. Others looked hardened, roughened around the edges. Kristoph had not changed. He was still so coolly self confident, so imposing. All traces of the madness revealed in Vera's trial had vanished, hidden once again behind the presentable façade that was Kristoph Gavin. They hadn't even confiscated his nail polish.

"So, Klavier, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The truth." His response was blunt; he would waste no more breath on the man who had betrayed him, indirectly or not.

Kristoph chuckled, glasses glinting menacingly in the harsh, detention centre lights. Klavier had long believed his brother to be a different person when you couldn't see his eyes. He could lie with his eyes.

"How many times have I heard that?" Kristoph shook his head, gesturing vacantly. "Why did you do it Mr Gavin? Why did you kill my poor dear sweet so and so? Why don't you just relieve my boredom and tell me what is happening in the world."

Bemused, Klavier none the less began to talk. He described cases he had been taking, making sure to mention every guilty verdict. He talked about the Gavineers last tour, about the magic how he went to see on Trucy request. He recounted the party; his impromptu soaking and Apollo's love life. Remarkably, this bit seemed to interest Kristoph the most. Well, Apollo had been his junior. And Vera was his victim, so they were both connected to the ex-defence attorney. On the other hand, Kristoph couldn't exactly be described as a romantic.

The discussion couldn't bend Klavier from his purpose however. "You haven't answered my question. Why? Why did you do it?"

Kristoph's face twisted into a strange sort of grin. "Why so you think?" He leant closer to the glass, as Klavier involuntarily did the same. "I'm evil, Klavier." He laughed out loud at that.

"I cannot hide what I am."

Klavier turned, and left the room without a word. He refused to shudder in front of the brother he once looked up to. Sinking into the worn sofa in the waiting room, he put his head in his hands and fought back the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. A few deep breaths were all it took for his happy face to return. After all, he was a performer.

…

Spending an afternoon in the detention centre questioning petty crime suspects was not on the list of Ema's favourite things to do on a hot summer afternoon. It wasn't even close. In fact, it was probably on the list of things she really, really didn't want to do. Sometimes she hated her job. Still, the vending machine in the guards' office sold snackoo's, and she had got to be bad cop, so it wasn't all bad.

She had tossed a coin with Detective Gumshoe, recently returned from paternity leave after the birth of his second child, for threatening rights. She had won, so she spent the afternoon brow beating pick pockets, while the bumbling detective offered up sympathy rather unconvincingly. He had drawn the line at shoot the solicitor, much to the relief of the poor attorney, who still bore the markings from Ema's snack assault.

Interrogation was great for relieving stress, so much so that when she quite literally bumped into Klavier Gavin on the way out, it didn't seem all that annoying.

Klavier was dressed casually in a loose white shirt and blight jeans. Seeing him out of purple was quite shocking, and if you didn't know him (but who didn't?) you could quite easily mistake him for his brother. Mistake him for his brother.

Ema feigned surprise. "Mr Gavin! Do they usually allow you out of your cell like this?"

Confusion flooded his face, but Ema didn't allow him time to respond. "Have you seen your brother recently? I swear that clown gets more orange every time I see him. Mind you, you're looking fairly tangerine yourself. Bad fake tan job?"

Klavier bristled at the assault on his cosmetics, but tried to disguise it, and maintain the appearance of his brother. "I'll tell him you said that." He responded awkwardly.

Ema laughed. "Oh, do, he'll only complain about my incompetence as a detective."

"I don't think you're incompetent." Klavier responded dropping out of character.

Ema chose to ignore it. "Well, no, you wouldn't. It was my amazing science that led to you being revealed as Mishams murderer."

"But what about my- Klavier's prosecuting?"

She smirked. "Nothing without science."

Klavier pouted. "Was too!"

"Was not." Ema frowned. "Err; I think we got that the wrong way round."

They both looked embarrassed at their brief detour into childishness, Ema fidgeting on the spot, and Klavier examining his nails.

Ema broke the silence. "We never mention that again."

Klavier looked relieved. "Deal."

"Anyway, see you, fop." Ema sashayed out through the door, pausing to wave coyly at the stunned Klavier.

When he finally closed his mouth, it was several seconds before Klavier could speak again.

"……bitch!" His voice seemed to have acquired a whiny quality, and the pout had grown to diva-like proportions.

"She knew it was me? She knew it was me all along."

"She insulted the tan."

…

Morning in the prosecutors office had something of a routine to it All the prosecutors who weren't in court that day would gather to be assigned their cases, along with any detectives in the vicinity at the time.

That morning, Klavier was stretched idly across one of the larger sofas, chatting to an older detective who seemed to be a magnet for gossip, something Klavier would never admit to having a passion for. Ema was there too, leaning against a wall. Unsurprisingly, she was snacking. She never seemed to be talking to anyone, and only now did Klavier realise how lonely that must be. Mostly through an intrinsic sense of curiosity he had stolen her personnel file; she had little family, just a sister who was still in prison. He knew she ate lunch alone, lived by herself, and dined out with Wright and his family only occasionally. Not that he cared.

"……and do you know what I heard earlier?" With a start, Klavier broke from his reverie, to tune back into the conversation. "Apparently, Detective Skye is annoyed with you again."

Though it was a recurring event, this time it provoked Klavier to anger. Though she knew nothing of it, she had inadvertently rejected the olive branch he was going to offer, admittedly out of pity. All sympathy he had felt for her was swallowed up by his misplaced pride.

"And Klavier, if you could take the murder in Park Lane, with Detective Skye in charge of the initial investigation?" The chief prosecutor could have won the award for worst timing by a landslide. It was all too much for Klavier.

"Is there nothing else you could give me?" He spat.

Bewildered, the Chief Prosecutor fumbled his notes, unsure how to deal with the brief diversion from normality. Eventually, after leafing through entire files of messy scrawl, he shook his head, unsure of the irate prosecutor's reaction.

"Nothing? No insurance fraud? No tax evasion, no high treason? No copyright infringement? No dog-napping? Loitering? Panty snatching? Is there nothing you could give me where I wouldn't have to deal with her?"

The last word was practically a shout, and it was still echoing as he stormed from the room, door banging behind him. He left too soon to see the tears well in Ema's eyes; quickly dispersed by her good humour. He also missed the quaver in her voice as she explained it away with a joke.

"It must have been the one about the fake tan.

He definatly didn't know that as soon as she was safely in her own car, there was nothing to stop the tears flooding freely.