SR2 time! Or rather that lovely space between SR2 and the Third.

V pushed open the doors to the police department and slapped her hands down on the receptionist's desk. "Hi. I'd like to make an appointment, please."

The woman gaped up at her. "…With?"

"The chief. That would be amazing."

She spent fifteen minutes handcuffed in a chair after that, her legs crossed and perched on the flimsy interrogation table.

It wasn't far off from what she expected.

The way the cops were hovering was annoying as hell, however, and she made of a game of trying to spook the one to her right. His hand kept going to his gun and she wished he'd make up his mind already.

She was in the process of trying to blow him a kiss when the door opened and Troy stepped in. The look of disapproval crossing his face was top-notch. On the other hand, he didn't seem surprised to see her at all, and she quickly assumed a more innocent position.

It sure was tough to make it plausible with her hands behind her back, and three cops ready to point their weapons at her head, though.

"Hey, Chief. Your welcome wagon could use a little work."

"Did you expect anything else?" he asked, folding his arms.

She let her eyes wander off to the side. "No…but I'm not exactly covered in weapons here."

Mr. Itchy Trigger Finger had a comment for that. "No guns, but three knives, sir."

"Man, you must really want that Christmas bonus," V muttered.

Troy sighed. "Get the cuffs off."

The cops surrounding her looked at each other then at him. "But, sir-"

"Remove them and step outside. I've got it from here."

"Sir, she's the-"

"Leader of the Saints. Yeah, I'm pretty damn aware of that," Troy snapped. "Now learn to take a fucking order and step outside."

They undid her handcuffs and left, leaving only the two of them in the blank, beige room. Troy made a motion to someone on the other side of the glass and sat down.

She rubbed her wrists and twisted the chair to the side to lean an arm on the back of it. With her hands now freed, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Got a light?" she asked, slipping one between her lips.

His rigid posture didn't relax one bit. "What do you want?"

"Okay, guess not." She pulled out her lighter and lit it, keeping her eyes on him. "We haven't exactly been big on social calls over the last few months or so, eh?"

"No."

"And the stint with Fuzz was kinda tacky. That didn't help, did it?"

"What do you want, V?" he asked again, his tone one-hundred percent cop. She wondered if she'd ever get used to that.

She inhaled and exhaled, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth. "I want to cooperate."

He placed his arms on his desk and leaned forward. "Cooperate?"

"Yeah, cooperate. I don't want to do this anymore. This weird tango with the cops. Johnny probably feels differently, but…he's Johnny. Nothing would make him happier than a department-sized weenie roast. No offense."

"None taken."

"Anyway, I know we've come to some sort of strange cease fire for a while now, but I want to make it official. Keep up with the proper documentation and all that. So, we'll pay you a certain amount a month, whatever that is we can go over no problem, and we'll continue to go about our daily lives. Simple, easy, works well for everyone."

Troy gave her a bitter smile. "You're talking about a consolation payment?"

She twirled the cigarette between her fingers and quirked the side of her mouth up. "A 'sorry for dealing with all of my shit' payment, actually. The department could use the money, and we could use the space."

"To go back to building and dealing?" Troy asked, skeptical as always.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know what we currently deal in right now, aside from the cleanest drugs on the market? Clothing lines. Bobbleheads. A fucking energy drink. Shaundi's going into TV. Gat speaks to children. Still don't know how Pierce managed to swing that, but that's another story. The point is, that you could almost count us as people. Not just bangers, but people."

"Normal functioning members of society?"

"Nah," V said, ignoring the sarcastic jibe, "but we're a part of the city now. Hell, even Ultor's decided that out of all the colors to hang, purple might not be so bad. So, what do you say?"

Troy removed his hat and ran a hand over his face. "You're a piece of work, V."

"Marble, or one step short of the local yard flamingo?"

"I don't even fucking know."

Lowering his hand, he met her eyes again and V began to tap her fingers on her thigh. She sighed and wished this wasn't as difficult as they were both making it. "This isn't an ultimatum."

"But I don't have a choice either. Not with Ultor on one end and you on the other."

"It's not-" She bit down on the inside of her cheek and took in a deep breath. "Don't look at it that way. I'm not asking you to make huge changes, got it? The money's just a little something to deal with damage control. The deal itself is to help cut down on everything else. I'll even try to ask Johnny to tone it down a little."

"You're fucking with me."

"Okay, so no kumbaya, but how about I come at this another way. Johnny loves problems that help him get his hands dirty. I do too. How many of those problems end up walking out the courthouse on a bad week? We'll take care of those things free of charge."

"As our own friendly neighborhood contract killers? I'll pass. We can handle it."

"No, you can't. You know what I enjoy more than anything? Giving someone exactly what they deserve." Maybe even twisting the knife a little as well. "Half the people who walk end up pulling the same shit that got them thrown in jail to begin with. I'm just saying that if something ends up happening to them, would it really be a bad thing?"

He refused to answer.

V remembered something he had said to her a long time ago, back when she'd started. How you couldn't hesitate when dealing with guys like that. They'd kill you, and remorse would be the last thing on their minds. The temptation to throw that statement back at him was unbearable. "Okay, so saying it out loud's a dealbreaker. Fine. The other thing's still on the table, though. What do you say?"

"No."

"As for the Johnny thing, maybe I can distract him with more time at the demolition derby, or build a catapault-wait, what?"

Troy shook his head slowly. "No deal."

He grabbed his hat and V watched him leave, stupefied by his dismissal. When the door closed behind him it opened seconds later, revealing Mr. Enthusiastic. He appeared smug, and she sneered at him. "I'm here to escort you out."

"Oh, joy," she said, standing up. "Lead the way."

He didn't re-cuff her, which was a shame because breaking his nose would've been satisfying. He did, however, escort her off of the property, and refused to leave until she was in her car and driving off down the street. Cranking up the volume, she blared the loudest rock music she could manage and flashed him the finger as she sped by.

When the station was not even a blink in her mirror, she killed the radio and hit the steering wheel with her hand. "Fuck. Should've known better," she muttered, irritated at the sting of disappointment still present.

It hadn't been her best idea, but she'd tried. At least she had that.

Her phone began ringing, and she pulled it out to check the ID. She couldn't resist the smile that followed. "Hey. It's because I came on a bit too strong with the justice talk, right?"

"You were damn near cheerful. Kinda puts people off," Troy said, probably holed up in his office. "Anyway, you want this to work?"

V nodded. "Hell yeah."

"Then I guess we've got a lot of shit to sort through, eh?"