A/N: The Garrets? Maybe. The Vimes? I definitely don't own. I love him, but I can't write a good long fic, much less novels on him. Written for a little drabble request from Miss Cam on being unable to accept forgiveness.
"You are a dear, Captain Vimes, but surely a young man like you needs the money more than I do. Our Calvin looks in on his mum from time to time, you know. The constable may not have approved much of our Calvin's work, but silent impressionists do turn a decent penny." At least until Vetinari's men found them, and then they just turned over the scorpion pit.
Sam shook his head, pressing the bag back to her. It wasn't all that much, but his little black book was getting heavy enough that he didn't want to be weighed down by extra drinking money, too. "It's the least I could do, Mrs. Garret. You and Constable Garret deserve all that and more."
"We don't blame you, Captain," the older woman said gently. "You did everything you could to protect my husband."
"I don't know about that." He should have legged it back when Garret began to fall behind. The constable hadn't been the youngest on the force in a long time. He was going deaf, and probably hadn't realized that he'd rung his bell loud enough to ensure that all was not going to be well with him.
"As long as you know the important things, Captain Vimes," Mrs. Garret told him. "That includes the fact that you're always welcome here."
"Thank-you, ma'am. I may put that to the test some time." If he could stumble this far from the pubs, he might take her up on the offer.