The Truth of truths:
The walls are white brick, lined and stacked against each other. Laminated flooring matched its color, and if she blocks out the fact that her hands are secured behind her back, Elizaveta can imagine that she is in a hospital right now. But the approaching black boots that pull her eyes from the ground reminds her that she is indeed in jail. The officer walks past her without so much as a glance, focused on the envelope in his hand. Elizaveta doesn't protest when she is led to the holding station. She stays silent, eyes downcast, with her hair shielding her from seeing anyone or visa versa, as a female warden forcefully and unnecessarily pushes her forward.
When they come to a stop, Elizaveta doesn't look up, but can see the door before her is gray, and judging by the way the officer grunts as she pulls it open, it's quite heavy.
"You've got ten minutes, Hedevary," she informs with a bored sort of arrogance, removing the brunette's handcuffs and pushing Elizaveta forward, closing the door behind her. Then and only then did the Hungarian look up to see several booths, separated by gray dividers and a black chair at each one. She is the only inmate in there, and on the other side of the thick glass, Vash is glaring at her, holding a phone receiver to his ear and pointing at her. Elizaveta takes a tentative step forward, going to the booth where her friend is. She sits, a blank mask carefully plastered on her face, and exhales as she grabs the phone. Since she knows the Swiss man so well, Elizaveta holds it a few inches away from her ear for her hearing's sake just as the detective goes on his rant.
"Mind telling what the hell it is you're trying to pull here?" Vash yells, and his face is already red from exertion, though he'd just spoken the one sentence.
Elizaveta clenches her jaw and looks at him. "I didn't do anything."
The detective tsks in obvious disbelief. "Obstruction of justice is a crime, punishable by up to five years in prison. If you're not doing anything, then I sure as hell would like to know how you've classified your actions. You're interfering with a federal crime case."
"I didn't know he wasn't supposed to leave." She defends her actions with a stiff lip and hard eyes.
Vash snorts and bangs in fist on the counter. "Ignorance is not an excuse. Beilschmidt removed his house arrest bracelet while you were there and you didn't report him the police!"
"I didn't know!" Elizaveta raises her voice, and the officer from before comes in immediately. Vash holds up his hand to stop the warden from taking the Hungarian away.
He sighs wearily and rubs at his eyes. "I can't get you out of this one, Liz. You better pray that the judge is one that still honors your father's name."
Elizaveta wants to protest that she needs no such help, but wisely keeps silent on that subject. Instead she asks, "When do I see him?"
"Tomorrow," Vash states and looks at her hard. "Your court hearing is tomorrow at 9. They'll set your bail then, which I'm sure will be easy to pay."
She nods to this but lets him continue. "When you get out, and I know you will, please just let me do my job and handle this case."
"You mean convict Gil," she corrects in a not so friendly tone. "Vash, he's innocent, I know he is."
"It's not about convicting Beilschmidt! It's about a family who lost a loved one and bringing justice by finding whoever did it." He reaches down then, digging around for something before slapping a very familiar imagine against the glass. "Who is this? We found the folder on him in your car." The Swiss detective demands and Elizaveta is face to face with the image of a curly-haired Spaniard.
She sits back in her chair and averts her eyes from the photo. She knows who it is, but a warning is ringing in her ears: don't tell them anything. Gilbert said that weeks ago, and Elizaveta has refrained from saying anything since then but…how can she tell what she doesn't know? Whatever connection Gilbert and Antonio have—or had, is still a mystery. The only thing she knows is his name and that her boyfriend is missing. Anything could have happened to him and this man may possibly know what. But she doesn't know, and worries her bottom lip with her teeth while debating on revealing the man's name.
It could save him, Elizaveta thinks. It could put him in danger, she worries. It could reassure her if Vash could find Antonio, but ease her conscience if she does it herself. But what harm could come from the both of them searching? Gilbert is innocent, that much is sure, and maybe, just maybe, this is the key to proving it. The Hungarian takes a breath and prays a silent but quick prayer of forgiveness for breaking her oath of silence before looking obliquely at the picture again.
"His name is Antonio, and he and Gil used to be friends." Elizaveta says without hesitation. "But that's all I know."
Vash withdraws the picture from the glass but not his frown. "Why are you looking for him?"
Elizaveta opens her mouth but closes it quickly and thinks. She was going to say 'to find Gil' but the words seem incriminating, so she reformulates the sentence. "To find the truth."
Vash sighs then and scratches the back of his blond head. His face shows the worries from years working with the force. His eyes are tired, when they aren't pointed in a glare, and lips are thinner when they aren't turned down in a scowl. It's the face of a man who's seen way too much to be so young.
He speaks in German this time, and it's an effort to be more personal. "And if you don't like the truth you find?"
"But what if I'm right, Vash?"
"What if you're wrong?"
She isn't. She knows it.
A/N: Ah, Elizaveta is in freaking jail! I mean, seriously, you can't help anybody while you're in jail!
