'I've always found twins interesting.'
Both children look up from the picture they're working on as their father's shoe leaves a dent in Emerson's neatly coloured grass and a mark across Erica' s latest made up animal. The crayons are still clasped between their fingers.
'Yes,' he says, squatting down to their level with a smile 'I like twins.'

***
They're outside the clinic, standing close, looking into the blackened windows. Emerson's panicing because this is illegal and Erica could get hurt but Erica just wants this thing out of her and a certain man out of her life.

'It was a girl,' she tells him afterwards, well, that's what she thinks.
They call her Caitlin, another little secret they mourn.

***
They move in with their aunt when their eldest sister moves back home with her baby son. Erica almost locks the door on the darkness and moves on, blossoming into the popular one at school who no one laughs at for spending all her time in the art rooms. Emerson works hard, but it's difficult when your name can be shortened to Emma and your hair is great for sticking things in. Erica slaps one of the tormentors round the face once and somehow it makes it better.
They still find it hard to sleep in separate beds.

***
Time moves forward and haze of careers, conventions and exhibitions whirs by with the odd murder thrown into the mix. They learn to sleep in different beds, in different houses, in different towns, in different countries.
Their father's just a dark smear now who they have to see on that unavoidable annual Christmas dinner.

***
'So when am I gonna meet your folks?' Mansell asks, reclining in his chair, skimming over the CCTV.
'Haven't you got more important things to be doing,' Emerson scowls back too quickly.

***
Their father gets ill that summer and their mum goes mad and books herself a luxury cruise. Their sisters make a schedule to make sure that at least one of them drops in each day to see him.
No one can make Wednesdays, but their father insists in a pathetic voice that he can manage.

***
The call comes from their sister Ellen.
'He took too many pills,' she sobs.

***

They're outside the church, standing close, ignoring the rest of the world as they try to find some grief and wet dry eyes.
'It was me,' Erica sputtered suddenly, staring straight ahead.
'What?' Emerson's eyes widened, turning to his sister.
'I did it,' she repeated, 'I gave him the pills. Oh God.'
He sighs, thinking of his job, about all those times they'd unburried someone's dark secrets and the way his demons were always trying to unlock the box containing his. Erica' s box always had the better lock.
'It's fine,' he tells her, slipping his hand into hers, 'it doesn't matter.'
She smiles, leaning her head against his shoulder as the procession makes its way into the church.
'I suppose we'd better look sad,' she grins as the hurst draws up.
'Remember to cry,' he tells her as they follow the crowd.
Somehow, they know they can face anything together.

'Kent, could I speak to you for a moment?' Chandler' s voice was unnaturally loud in the silent room, the air still stagnant and tense from the stressful case they'd been dealing with.

Kent lifted his eyes from his paper work and smiled briefly 'er, yes-I've um, got that file.'

Kent made his way across the incident room and Mansell and Riley couldn't help but raise their eyebrows at one another.

Without looking back, Kent entered Chandler's office and closed the door. Almost immediately Chandler set about pulling down the blinds, shutting out the grinning faces of their colleagues.

'What are you doing, sir?'

'Self medicating,' Chandler replied briefly then turned to Kent 'I thought we'd agreed on Joe.'

'But we're at work- sir,' Kent smiled wickedly.

It was all Joe needed to close the gap between then, leaning forward and locking their lips in a passionate kiss. Emerson's hands came up to rest just above Joe's waist, fingers tracing the expensive material of his shirt.

'Won't the others...' Emerson began but Joe silenced him with another kiss.

'They know already, or at least I hope they do or it proves we really are a hopeless team.'

Emerson smiled 'I'm surprised they haven't thrown a celebratory party yet. Feeling any better, sir?'

'Fine, just fine.' Joe smiled.

'Is everything all right?' Chandler stood in the doorway of his office looking out at the last remaining member of his team. Kent looked up, weary eyed and with a certain melancholy about him. ' You should be at home.'

'But your not, sir.' Kent fiddled with a pencil on his desk 'I just, um, wanted to make sure you were all right.' And I just want to be with you, his mind subconsciously added.

Chandler frowned and walked across the room, his hand moving to replace the abandoned pencil. 'Is there something troubling you, Kent?' He hated how rigid the question came out, how the only tone he seemed to achieve was that of a concerned teacher.

'It's nothing sir,' Kent gazed into the darkened screen of his computer 'it's just, I think there's something wrong with me.'

'I, um, see.'

'I just can't seem to be able to see other people happy.' Kent closed his eyes briefly 'like with Mansell and Erica. He's always got someone and so has she. She was always the one with all the friends when we were kids. I remember losing one of her party invites for her, just so she'd stay at home,' he sighed, guilt welling up inside him 'And then there was you and-'

Chandler looked up sharply and Kent looked down, tracing aimless circles on his desk.

'There was you and Morgan and I couldn't bear it. I don't know why, it just made me... there's something wrong with me...' he trailed off uncertainly and Chandler coughed nervously. Morgan was still a ghost in this department and the faint red streak around his wrist and the broken elastic band were the constant reminder of what he'd lost.

Kent knew that Chandler was uncomfortable but he couldn't stop now he'd started. He caught sight of his reflection in the computer screen and watched hollowly as it morphed into what he really was.

'Do you ever feel like there's something in you, something there making you the bad cop. There's something wrong with me, I can see it. Can't you see it?'

'No Kent, I can't.' Chandler tried his best to sound best to sound encouraging.

'That's because you don't look, because you haven't since Morgan. Maybe you can feel it.'

'I-'

'You can. It's becoming me, sir. I say these things that-' Kent stopped suddenly, a brief flash of anger passing across his face 'sorry sir, you don't want to hear this.'

'No, go on,' Chandler forced himself to say. He wanted to be able to say something reassuring but the words stuck to his tongue.

'Do you believe in demons sir?'

Chandler paused. Did he believed in demons? He had demons, that was for sure, but did he believe in them? They may have consumed him and dictated his actions but he blamed himself for those.

'Yes and no,' he finally answered and Kent's face fell so Chandler went on 'I've got... problems, and yes, they're demons, so to speak but they're part of me and I've learnt to live with them. I'm sure you know about my 'demons'. I can't do certain things because of them but I try,' he looked down awkwardly then remembered something 'someone once told me that the demons don't 'drive the machine', we do. You can't let these irrational thoughts get you down.'

'How do you win?' Kent inquired, sitting up suddenly.

Chandler smiled slightly 'by counting pins, changing my shirt, concentrating on the matter at hand. You have to find your own way.'

Kent nodded slowly, readjusting the pencils on his desk.

'Go home Kent, it's been a long day.'

'I will sir, and thank you. I don't mean to be any trouble.'

'You're not Kent, goodnight,' Chandler squeezed his shoulder before returning to his office.

'Goodnight, sir.' Kent smiled and left the incident room, feeling alive suddenly for the first time in a long while.