They didn't meet face-to-face until a month later. Matthew was tidying up the papers on his desk from his last session with an inmate who was only trying to snake through the system, and not actually change, when he happened to look up, and glance through the steel wire-enforced window, to see a guard who he hadn't yet met escorting a 'familiar' blonde up the hall, towards his office.

No, it seemed that he had the order was leading the guard. But, it wasn't in a sort of forceful, 'I must prove my worth and show you just how tough I can be' sort of way. No, it was something far more... dare he even think it? ... graceful. Almost like it were a dance, and, though there was no music or precise steps that Matthew could see, and the guard were a willing (if unwitting) participant in it.

He allowed himself a faint quirk of a smile before turning back from the window, to appear busy and pre-occupied when the duo reached his door; Something he had learned rather quickly from the first day was best to be, otherwise other work could, and would, be assigned to him. Not that he had minded helping out that much, it was just that, after spending ten hours a day delving into the minds of all sorts of miscreants, retreating home to the couch, something delicious, and a bloody sport were a really welcome way to unwind.

It was because of this mentality that Matthew had actually found himself absorbed in reviewing the case notes from his previous session, making last-minute amendments to the chicken scratch that served as his own personal form of shorthand. When it came, the guard's sharp, impatient rap of knuckles against the door startled the Canadian, enough that he let one of his papers - a list of those that he would be seeing, today - flutter to the ground, without so much as a second thought for it, as he went to answer the door.

Merely a formality, an illusion of privacy, as Matthew knew very well that the guard had the keys to open his door; When Gilbert wasn't away on some suspicious made-up holiday that everyone knew was just a cover for his hangover, the Prussian had made it a habit of harassing the newly-appointed psychiatrist - often barging in, declaring his awesome to the dumbstruck Canadian and sniggering prisoner, before slamming the door and whistling an obnoxious bar tune that was readily heard throughout most of the complex.

It was an obscure form of luck that today, said Prussian was off celebrating 'I'm Awesome Week; National Holiday of Prussia', "32065. Your Seven o'clock," The guard said mechanically as Matthew held open the door, and the Frenchman was pushed in. "Be back in an hour." And before Matthew had even uttered a 'Thank you, see you then,' the guard was already halfway down the hall; obviously happy to be rid of this particular prisoner.

Curious. The Frenchman hadn't even said one word, and already Matthew had something to remember to note for later.