The Precinct:
"It's hard to believe you're caught up in all of this, Ms. Hedervary." Detective Zwingli says and hands her a cup of coffee.
Elizaveta takes and answers curtly, "Don't patronize me, Vash."
She sips tentatively but eyes the blond apprehensively over the rim of the plastic cup. He holds his coffee in his hands but doesn't drink it. Instead, Vash frowns and places a hand on his hip.
"Do you have any idea how serious this case is, Elizaveta?" he inquires and his brows furrow in what she assumes is irritation.
Elizaveta doesn't answer him right away. Instead, she drinks more coffee, as much as she can without burning her mouth. Gilbert gave her strict instructs, don't tell them anything, and she won't. Then, carefully, perhaps mockingly, she sits it down then looks at him. "He didn't do it."
Vash places both his coffee and hands on the metal table and leans on it across from her, "And how do you know this?"
"Simple," she answered with a rather bored arrogance, "Because I know Gilbert, he wouldn't do anything arrest worthy."
"Don't be stupid, Elizaveta," Vash is trying to keep calm but his facial expression gives away his impatience. "You don't know a damn thing about this criminal."
"Neither do you or anyone else for that matter." She shot back and he pushes himself off the table and paces for a moment.
Elizaveta glances about the small room, the mirror on the wall, she knows people are on the other side of it watching. She glares at in and resists the urge to point her middle finger at whoever is looking back.
"This isn't the time to play this rebellious rich kid game, Ms. Hedervary," Vash stresses her last name and her eyes cut to him in such away that it could be deemed threating, "Mr. Beilschmidt is facing felony charges and so will you if you don't tell us everything you know."
"I want my lawyer," the contempt in her voice matches the defiant look on in her eyes and the Hungarian woman crosses her arms. "I'm not saying anything without him."
Now it's Vash's turn to look wearily and he leans against the wall by the door. "You're only incriminating yourself by doing this, Liz."
"Ms. Hedervary," she corrects her long time family friend, "Mr. Zwingli and I'm not saying anything without a lawyer."
Her hands shake and the key scratches the already wore wooden. "Damn it," Elizaveta swears and stomps her foot in irritation as she tries to open the door to Gilbert's apartment yet again.
It isn't that she's nervous, quite the opposite actually. She's pissed, highly. After countless hours of interrogation, she'd lost count. They finally let her go and all she wanted was to go home and get in bed. Not the stately mansion home of her parents but that old mattress with its squeaky box spring in that one bedroom apartment with its tiny windows.
When the door finally opened, the trashed living room only reminds her of the travesty that took place today. Sighing, Elizaveta tosses the spare key onto the only upright end table. Everything aches, from her shoulders to her eyes. Despite herself, Elizaveta couldn't help but breakdown on her ride home. She cried from confusion and irritation. But mainly she cried for Gilbert because she knows he's innocent.
Murder. Vash claims taking a life is Gilbert's crime. It doesn't make sense, but judging by his series of question, Elizaveta was smart enough to know it was a serious situation. The entire process was tiring, so much in fact that she didn't even stop to get something to eat. She's hungry but bypasses the kitchen in favor of the bedroom.
Slowly Elizaveta removes her scarf, and almost mechanically takes of her jacket. Then come her snow boots until she is left in nothing but her negligées. At that point, she climbs into the bed. Though the heater has been running all day, the bed is cold. Somewhere, deep in her mind, Elizaveta wonders if it's because a body is missing from it. But it's a subconscious thought, every other part of her brain has shut down. The pillow across from her is Gilbert's. Her hand reaches out for it and pulls it close to her body. It smells like him, soap and cheap aftershave. Elizaveta rests her cheek against the white pillowcase and stares at the dingy white wall ahead.
Her eyes won't close and she's wide-awake. The heater ticks and whines in the background and that noise manages to keep the Hungarian sane. Gilbert got arrested today. He got arrested and she is a primary suspect in a crime she doesn't even know. It isn't like him.
Her fingers tighten around the cushion.
Sure, Gilbert drinks more than the average person. Yes, he's a bit rough around the edges. No, he isn't super rich and this apartment with its tiny windows and noisy amenities were crap but he would never.
The phone rings. Elizaveta takes her time with sitting up. The sheet falls away but she doesn't replace it. The number on the caller i.d. is foreign but she answers anyway. "Hello?"
"You have a collect call from Heta Police Department," she sits up straighter, "To accept this call, press one." Her finger holds the button down far longer than necessary and when the automated service keeps going, she angry jabs at it until she's connected.
"Hello, Liz?" Gilbert's voice comes through the receiver, breathless and worn.
Elizaveta covers her eyes. She is not about to cry again, "Gil, what's going on?"
"Did you call Ludwig?" he asks and she wants to scream at him.
"What? Gilbert, I just want to kn—"
His voice cuts through her statement. "Did or did you not call him like I told you?"
She does scream now, "Yes, I called him." Elizaveta exhales and releases a bit of frustration with it. "What's going on? Why did you get arrested?"
Gilbert pauses before answering. "The hell if I know. I didn't do anything."
"That's what I told Vash."
"Who?"
She throws her legs over the edge of the bed. "Vash, the detective."
"You didn't tell him anything, did you?" Gilbert's voice is deep and raspy by nature but when there is a certain twang in the back of his throat, Elizaveta knows that's when he's anxious or nervous.
"I shouldn't have anything to tell," she stresses, and then pauses, debating on whether or not to ask her next question. "The detective said they've been searching for you for weeks."
He snorts. "They have the wrong guy."
It's not that she doesn't believe she does whole-heartedly. But Elizaveta needs answers, and he's the only one that can give them to her. "We've stayed in your apartment for two and a half weeks." The statement is matter of fact and she holds her breath at the pauses he offers her.
"You don't believe me."
"That's not what I said," Elizaveta defends immediately.
"God, fucking hell, Liz I thought you of all people would be on my side." His voice has that twang to it again.
"I am on you're side," she says and means it. "I'm just confused and I need to know what's going on."
Gilbert raises his voice. "I'm innocent, that's what's going on."
"I know," Elizaveta raises hers just the same. "I just, it's all too much at one time."
She hears him sigh. "Wait for Ludwig. Don't do anything without him," she hears movement before he speaks again, "My times up."
"I love you," Elizaveta says quickly, "I do."
"I love you too, Liz." The telltale click lets her know he's hung up but she holds the phone to her ear for a few more seconds.
