It was spartan, and didn't have much of a personal touch to it. He said he was going out – probably to get her food, so she took a chance to wander. It felt strange, unnatural even, to be in his home although she was secretly glad he didn't have much to garnish it with. There were no photographs, no decorations, nothing remotely warm or comfy about the place. It was an ice block. Even the armchairs and couch looked positively rock-hard. Laurel moved her bag back to the spare room, regretting she'd refused his offer of the spare room – for heaven's sake she needed privacy! The view was incredible – perhaps the only thing she admired about his apartment. For years on end she'd lived in places with no windows – from prison to her dingy apartment on the Citadel Wards to Omega.

The sky was quite unbelievably blue, but if she stared hard at it, she felt like she was home, if only briefly. Laurel found herself wandering upstairs, curious enough. She was desperately hoping he had a bathtub. One of the rooms was probably his bedroom – which she avoided. Would it be as plain as everything else? Thankfully she found the bathroom – as spacious as everything else in the apartment. The bathtub wasn't a tub, more like an inbuilt pool in the middle of the room but it was perfectly sized. She was rootling through his cupboards when she heard the front door downstairs open. Startled, she ended up banging her hand on the shelf she was searching through and knocked a glass jar to the floor.

"Shit," she cursed, seeing the jar had broken into half a dozen fragments. "For fuck's sake…Why does the bloody thing have to break into a bazillion pieces?" He was suddenly by the door.

"Your language hasn't improved, has it?" Marik said, his mandibles spread wide, showing her that he was possibly amused. Laurel couldn't help but shriek in response as soon as he'd spoken – he'd come up those stairs so silently.

"I'm s-sorry," she muttered, trying to sweep up the remains of whatever she'd broken. He nodded his head towards the kitchen. I feel like a goddamn schoolgirl, she thought.

"I will clean it up later. You need to see what I've got you for dinner." His words made her wince with apprehension – this was a turian, who once had her tortured. A turian who was her enemy during the war…and she was now in his apartment after what seemed like a series of considerable coincidences. Why was life so intent on pulling her back towards him?

"Your choice seemed rather bland so I found something along the same lines but different," he said when they went back down to the kitchen. "Stroganoff, but a variation of the original recipe as I found. This is with the pasta 'tagliatelle' and mushroom. Have you cooked this before?" Marik told her, as she looked at what was spread on the kitchen counters.

"I, um, no," she said, speechless. He'd bought all the ingredients. The garlic, the butter, the salt and pepper, the stock….

"Do you like the ingredients?" he said. She didn't fail to notice that he seemed in his element, having lost that previous awkwardness.

"Er, yes, it sounds delicious," she stammered. He drew his gaze onto her properly this time.

"Are you being frank with me?" he asked her, his tone changing slightly. "Because I will not cook it if you will not eat it."

"I just…I don't cook. I mostly eat take-out or go out to eat. Or if I do it's frozen and not fresh." He looked aghast at her comment.

"Maybe that will change," he said, more softly this time, sensing her uneasiness.

She fidgeted and faffed while he cooked their respective dinners, side by side on the large electric hob. Whatever he was cooking for himself smelt delicious. It mixed with the smells of her own cooking, so much that it had her drooling and feeling faint with hunger by the time he'd finished. She nearly moved to the couch to eat her dinner, but saw he'd set the table up. Laurel was so hungry she could forget her discomfort, although it was still unnerving to be sat opposite him while eating. She occasionally saw him look up to watch her eat – probably more interested to see her approval of his cooking – rather than watching how a human masticates. She knew she was unladylike – elbows on the table, stuffing her mouth full, her mouth occasionally open while chewing.

"Probably the best meal I've had in a while," she said, her mouth full. She was just desperate to break the silence. His own food, the smell mixed with hers, smelt pleasant, but didn't look very pleasant. She thought she saw a hint of a smirk on his face.

"You don't have to lay it on thick," he said.

"No, I mean it. I eat nothing but noodle soup or takeaway," she smiled.


The first night she was restless, which was to be expected. In a turian's apartment, in his spare room's bed. The sheets, too thin for her liking, smelt strange and unwelcoming. Unlike her own place, his apartment was eerily quiet, the walls thick enough to block out the Citadel traffic. But then she remembered they were in the Presidium. It was also unbearably warm for her, and she'd soaked the bed's sheets when she woke halfway through the night. She'd gone to bed before him, and hadn't changed out of her cargo pants and camisole. What was she afraid of? She didn't know. Even lighting the room and trying to read didn't put her mind at rest. Laurel ended up in the living room, the television on mute. Some inane asari film. Usually if she failed to sleep, reading or drinking tea would help. She found herself pouring through his kitchen cupboards, coming away with nothing but envy. Just how did it make sense that he was exceptionally good at cooking? She'd even held off going to the bathroom until it became near unbearable.

By the morning, he'd found her sprawled across the couch. Her eyes flickered open when she heard him creak across the floorboards, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw him holding a hot drink.

"Good morning," he greeted her, taking a sip of his drink. There was dried drool on the side of her cheek and an ache behind her eyes.

"Hi," she grumbled in reply, wiping sleep from her eyes roughly. While she attempted to wake herself up he placed a mug on the coffee table in front of where she sat.

"What is that?" she said upon seeing it. He settled himself down on the armchair opposite her. He was wearing some sort of dressing gown, and she could see the bare, defined muscles of his lower legs and part of his upper chest. His talons were also uncovered. She didn't think she'd see this much of turian skin beforehand.

"You're welcome," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "And it's tea. The leafy substance you humans like to drink copious amounts of." This almost made her laugh.

"What are you drinking?" she asked him. He pondered for a moment.

"Something similar to your coffee. It wakes me up." She pulled a tight little smile and sipped her tea, hoping it was awful. Bloody delicious, like warm honey and ginger soothing my throat. Damn him.

"What do you usually do in the morning?" he asked her. She found this an odd question.

"I, um, sleep. Most of my shifts are late night." A headache was beginning to develop in the crest of her skull, a tender, slow ache that threatened to turn into a migraine. She knew she probably looked awful; rings under her eyes, sweat-soaked clothes and hair probably the size of a raven's nest.

"I normally buy the groceries in the morning before work," he said to her. "Would you like breakfast?"

"I don't normally have breakfast," she admitted. Why was he so unnerving with his questions? Laurel had never seen or heard him this polite. He looked positively shocked at her response, however.

"If you are to work today you need breakfast," he said, already taking out a frying pan. While he made her breakfast, she quickly showered. It felt strange to be stripping off and standing in his large shower cubicle, letting the hot water drizzle down her body. His towels were surprisingly fluffy and warm as she took one off the rack. Slipping on a fresh plaid shirt and cargo pants, she moved back downstairs to the smell of something glorious. Her hair was damp and wet the shoulders of her shirt, and the hot air of the apartment coupled with her earlier shower made her cheeks sing with heat.

"Protein scramble," he said, putting her plate of food onto the island counter in his kitchen. It smelt incredible – and tasted even better.

"Thanks," she said after she'd finished the meal. He gave her a small nod. He was dressed in his C-Sec uniform, the dressing gown now gone.

"I might call in sick to work today," Laurel told him sheepishly when they had finished tidying in silence. She did this quite often, not feeling guilty about it in the slightest. Yet mentioning it in front of Marik made her feel cheap and foolish.

"A good idea. You do seem unwell," he said, pausing in front of the entrance door. His tone was unreadable.

"When will it be safe to return to my apartment?" she asked. "I appreciate you offering me a night's sleep here, but I don't want to burden you. Besides, I've just…I've got other things to do." Laurel avoided meeting his eyes during the last part of the sentence, feeling like she couldn't. His yellow-eyed gaze had always seemed so penetrating, as if he could read her thoughts.

"You are hardly a burden. As you can see the flat is spacious enough and I'll be at work until this evening. It's not advisable to return for another day or so."

His tone had been less friendly this time round. With that, he left without saying goodbye to her. She didn't know what to make of him – or, indeed, this situation. After the shower and hearty breakfast, she did seem to feel better. It felt extremely strange to be in his apartment while he wasn't there. She dived into her duffel bag to take out her studying but her mind wandered too far. She ended up investigating his house, fingering the various art displays on the wall (probably expensive) thinking it was the only decorative thing in the place. She daringly peered into his bedroom, feeling intrusive but unable to stop herself. His large bed took up most of the room, but the large windows faced onto the greenery of the Presidium.

Laurel walked further, hoping to see some semblance of personality, but all she can see are the neat straight lines of the wall, his bed, and the neatly aligned sheets. A small data-pad was on his bedside table, but no mugs. No piles of clothes on the floor or pieces of paper littered, no hairdryers to trip you up or empty ready-meal packets to groan at. What she could see however, was a very lonely man. It seemed with his alcoholism gone and his job with C-Sec his life had recently picked up since the last time she saw him – perhaps the lack of alcohol explained his more pleasant manners. As lonely as she, with her ruined life, her lack of friends or family. The only friends she'd made had left or moved on. Her eyes moved back to his bed, thinking it was too large for just one person. Did he ever have somebody? Did turians marry? Whoever might've shared that bed was probably more put together than she could ever be.


Pavra had this annoying smirk that she wouldn't get rid of all day.

"Fancy you inviting that snot-nosed human to your place. You cook her a meal?" Marik was sat at his desk, reading up on the human embassy break-in.

"Two meals, actually," he replied, trying to keep any emotion out of his tone. "She admits she's hopeless at cooking, and I one-hundred percent believe her." Pavra sat on the desk next to him, which nearly made him shudder with disapproval. He did not like her soft, somewhat relaxed attitude in this place at the best of times. She peered at him inquisitively.

"Or you couldn't wait to cook her that meal! You haven't had a woman in…? How long now?" Pavra teased him. He had to give her some credit. Unlike everyone else, she wasn't deterred by his title, rank or stern nature.

"A long time," he finished for her. "But this isn't a woman, this is a human, Pavra." He tried typing up additional notes for the case, desperately hoping his partner would eventually leave him be today.

"A human woman, Marik! I'm surprised, to be honest. It was no secret that you, like most of the others up high, hated humans."

"It was our business to be wary and distrustful of humans, and it would do you well to keep it up. Especially since organisations like Cerberus have begun to rear their ugly heads," he snapped, becoming irritable now. Pavra was headstrong, but she was also young and unformed. Being pleasant enough to humans was fine, but to be overly friendly? To enter, as she was implying, a relationship was utterly unthinkable. Not to mention disgraceful.

"I don't think you believe that anymore," Pavra said, getting up from the desk. She left the room before he could retort. When the day ended, he felt the usual ache at the back of his cowl and in his joints. Stern years of military training, as well as war, had worn him significantly. Engrossed in his thoughts as he walked up to his skycar, he didn't notice a figure approach him.

"General Marik, sir." Marik nearly jumped. Judging by his uniform, it looked like this turian was a member of the military, nearly as high as he'd been. The turian saluted him, much to his surprise.

"What brings you here, Commander-?"

"Isarian, sir. A military dinner. You have been formally invited." Marik couldn't help but inwardly sigh. It had been a long time since he'd been to one of these, but back in the day they were as stiff, boring and drab each rare time he'd been to one. Turians were not one for frivolous celebration, especially military at that, but when they did happen it was an offence to refuse such an invitation. These events were also either overdone or underdone. Marik looked at the invitation on his omni-tool after Isarian had left. Next week. An opera. Great. He'd have to rent formal wear for this.


She was curled up on his armchair, faced away from him when he got home. This surprised him; he presumed she would be out doing something in order to avoid him. The apartment felt cold to him – she must've found someway to turn the heating off. How…devious of her. Humans weren't tall like turians but they were tall enough, and he found it somewhat fascinating she could curl her legs under her like that all on one chair. She had a large sweater on, one that covered her hands as she was holding something large, rectangular and heavy looking in her hands. He saw illustrations, of a species he presumed might be native to Earth. Such illustrations with their careful lines and swirling patterns of colour and delicacy; how talented these humans can be. He couldn't imagine humans creating such painstaking work with their own hands, not without the use of a machine at least. These creatures had large, spread and fingered wings.

"Good evening," he said. She flinched, having not heard him come in.

"Oh, er, hi," she replied, slapping her tome shut.

"I thought you'd be out," he said. "I understand you study?" Her large eyes were wide and somewhat thoughtful as she gazed at him.

"How'd you know I was studying?" she queried. He paused and moved to make a drink, indicating whether she'd like one too. Her nod was small.

"Your C-Sec record," he replied, pouring the drinks out and handing one glass to her.

"Oh, yeah. I don't know if I'm gonna…continue with it," she said, somewhat sheepishly. He felt surprised.

"Why?" he asked. Laurel paused for a moment, looking upwards in thought. It looked like she was trying to find the right words.

"It's not…. Well, it's not me," she said.

"You're struggling with the work?"

"Yes, and no. It's…I don't know how to explain it to you, it's complicated." He perhaps thought that maybe it was, or maybe she was touching on something painful and didn't want to talk about it. She took a sip of the tea he made for her and closed her eyes.

"I want to work…as a scientist back on Earth," she told him. Perhaps the warm tea changed her mind. She looked so comfortable in his armchair, with her legs curled up under her. Her coiled hair had grown since he'd last seen her, reaching her shoulders.

"You don't have the qualifications?" He moved to sit down opposite her on the couch. "I thought as a tech in the Alliance you'd have certain qualifications."

"Engineering? God no. Biology is what I'm learning," she said, pulling her lips into a smile. He'd realised as he watched her that she'd hardly ever smiled – not in front of him anyway.

"I see," he said. "So you don't have aspirations to become a doctor?"

"No," Laurel replied. "I want to be an ornithologist." He didn't know the term and she seemed keen to explain anyway.

"I'm studying animal biology. Ornithology is a branch of zoology that studies birds."

"The species in your illustrated book?" he said, pointing to the heavy tome on her lap, meeting her sudden concentrated gaze.

"Actually, your own species have a lot in common with the avian species on Earth. It's like your species had the dinosaurs, but instead of adapting into modern birds the archaeopteryx morphed into the turian," she said, sudden excitement in her voice. This made him feel immediately uncomfortable, but he kept his mouth shut as she kept babbling on.

"The archaeopteryx, a fossil, is defined as the missing link between the dinosaurs and birds. Instead of feathers, due to your atmosphere you developed a hard carapace…." Her cheeks and neck had swollen to a gammon colour as she talked. His aggravation came out of nowhere.

"It's not very pleasant to be compared with non-sentient species from your planet," he remarked, cutting her off. Laurel stopped gesticulating with her hands. If anything, her cheeks became pinker and her eyes wider.

"I wasn't, I-"

"Charming as your enthusiasm is," he said while getting up, leaving his hot drink. "You know nothing about our species. Much as I know nothing of yours."

She looked decidedly affronted.

"Marik, I was making observations. Surely knowing about each other is a good thing." She had got up too, obviously not comfortable with him towering over her seat.

"No, it isn't," he snapped. She folded her arms and looked at the floor, embarrassed.

"They are not 'dumb', not even in the slightest. They are considered to be very intelligent," she said, her voice wavering.

"Intelligent? Compared to what? What you humans define as 'intelligent' through your carefully aligned categories?"

"You're unbelievable," she snapped. "I'm trying to get along with you. Yet it's so obvious you still hate humans. Why did you invite me into your house then?" He hadn't noticed how close they were standing.

"Your species have a fatal flaw. And that is arrogance. What do you hope to gain by studying these creatures?"

"A life," she said. "I want to reclaim what I've lost. To help conserve these species on my home planet. Where humans, by the way, are doing a grand job of wrecking the planet. You know how many species we've wiped out over the last hundred years? Over nine thousand. That might not seem much, but to me, it's far more important than trying to establish something in the galaxy." This didn't provoke a further reaction from him. He saw her large, blue-grey eyes fill with those pathetic human tears as she turned away from him sharply. Laurel left the tea and book and grabbed a small bag by the front door. Swinging it onto her shoulder, she promptly left. Marik continued to stand there, trying not to feel shame. He felt right at first. She was just as entitled as the rest of those humans. He wouldn't be her test subject in her studies.


If Laurel had returned that night, it must've been well after he'd gone to bed. When he woke the next morning, she was probably still in the spare room. She did work night shifts, after all. He felt no need to check, even if she'd spent the whole night elsewhere. By the time he arrived at work, her sister Anise Carter was there in the waiting room. Her face was pinched and the long formal dress she wore made her skin look pale and washed out. Her hair was pulled tight behind her head.

"Carter," he said, upon entering the station. She stood up immediately.

"Has the report been filed? I heard my sister has also suffered a break-in and assault."

"Your report has, I can transfer a copy to your omni-tool. As for your sister, we're still gathering witness information," he replied, taking out his pass card and swiping it through the machine. He held the door open and motioned her in first. It didn't take long for him to transfer the report to her omni-tool, but he was slightly perplexed by her presence.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I want you on this case. I want you to investigate it," she asserted. "The same for my sister."

"You were told to wait for further information on the investigation," he said tersely, already irritable. "You want to talk to the detective branch, then you'll need the C-Sec CI Department. I'm not part of that branch. I can give you the address, it's not far from here-"

"Won't be necessary," she interrupted. "You seem the only competent officer around here. The Alliance are no help, and your guys at the CID are useless." Her self-important entitlement made him wonder how she got to such a prominent position.

"There's not much we can go on at the moment. It would help the case if you stated what it was that the assailant stole , however," was his reply. An uncomfortable look fell over her face and she folded her arms.

"It's…it's information that could harm my reputation, but also the…" His gaze hardened as he stood there unwavering. This didn't affect her, however, and she swallowed her words.

"It seems there's a lot you haven't told us," he said. "If and when you decide to do so, contact the CID. Despite your accusations, their case completion rate is currently ninety-eight percent. We won't be able to prosecute unless there is enough sufficient evidence."

"I'm aware of that," she said. "I want the attacker caught, and I want the information back. Have the samples from the lab come back yet?" He shook his head.

"We will call you when we need you, Ms. Carter," was all he told her before he motioned her out the door. There was something about the meeting that rattled him slightly. Were the two break-ins and assaults connected between the sisters? Anise Carter was hiding something.


It was evening number four inside Marik's apartment. She had a couple of hours before her night shift started, yet all her work was spread out around her in the spare room. She lacked the energy for this night's shift, even though it was shift three out of seven. Laurel had made it a priority to avoid Marik since their small disagreement, mostly because he'd deeply upset her, more so than she liked. Beforehand, all he'd done was invoke past trauma and sincere anger, but what felt like accusation of her studies, her precious goals, was now personal. How could he turn from pleasant one minute to cruel the next?

You're the same, the alternate voice and the devil's advocate spoke in the back of her mind. She'd hardly given him any sort of friendliness. He'd been at work an extra couple of hours, perhaps in the hope he'd avoid her. Stupidly, she hadn't made any dinner and her stomach twisted with hunger. There was no point in studying, not now the words were blurring into each other on the pages, her eyes drooping. The night shifts if anything were good at first, they catered to her night owl tendencies. They helped with the news about her mum; she was busy at night and slept until she woke up to eat before heading out again. Now that the job felt more difficult as the days went by, her mind went to wander again. She fingered a hand through her messy hair, struggling to pull her fingers through the damned curls. The front door sounded, making her freeze.

"Come on, Laurel," she muttered to herself. She wasn't going to hide in this room like a stubborn teenager.

If he was going to ignore her, then fine. At least they'd be even. When the door bleeped open, she saw he was already in the kitchen making something. It smelt delicious, although she wasn't sure if it was of human or turian origin. He was still in his C-Sec uniform without the top half of the armour. It was a contrasting blue and black against his mushroom-brown plated skin. The black long-sleeved top that the officers wore underneath their armour was certainly slim-fitting, she thought. The more she looked at parts of his body, the more she could see the slight avian similarities. Laurel could see the defined hood of his carapace, weaved strength of his arm muscles and the ribbed nodules where upper and lower arms met.

"Hi," she tried.

"Hello. Have you eaten?" he asked, without turning round. Steam from the hobs rose and puffed round his head.

"No, but you don't have to go out to get something. I'll probably get something on the way to work." He was silent as she shook the pan where the food sizzled loudly beneath him. She moved closer, not sure why she was doing it, towards the counter to try to see what he was cooking. He briefly glanced up at her when she did get closer, but he seemed unreadable.

"Your sister approached me at work," he said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the food. Laurel braced herself for perhaps another quarrel.

"There is something she is not telling us. Withholding information can be an offence in certain circumstances, but it's certainly not helping the investigation. She will not tell us what the information was that the assailant stole, and why. We cannot go much further without knowing what the motivation was for the attack. There was no trace of the assailant at her office. Do you know anything about your sister?"

Laurel shrugged.

"I honestly can't tell you," she replied. "We haven't been close since we lived with our parents, back when we were teens. She didn't talk to me after my sentence. Had nothing to do with me for years, until recently. I didn't even know she was married. Ian Carter or someone who works in shipping? I find it odd that she would withhold information. All I know now is that she's got a massive pole wedged up her arse, so high it's sticking out her mouth." She saw his mandibles twitch, ever so slightly. He quickly served up the dinner, one plate for her.

"You're not having anything?" she asked, surprised. He shook his head in silence, but guided her to the table all the same. His formality never failed to shock her.

"I'm sorry for how I acted the other night. It was unacceptably rude," he said when she'd stuffed four or five bites into her ravenous mouth. Seafood ramen and Christ it was about the most delicious fucking thing she'd ever eaten. Sea bass and mussels in a spicy broth with noodles…. Her cheeks ached with the taste of it. He must have prepared this before, seeing as he'd whipped it up in no time at all.

"I'm sorry too," she replied. Marik looked perturbed.

"For what?"

"For that time in the police station…you'd been so polite and I reacted badly. There was a reason for that, though." She had a burning at the back of her eyes. She had to stop before the dam opened and the waters flowed through uncontrollably.

"There is much that I need to be sorry for…" he murmured.

"Pardon?" He looked away from her. His voice had been so quiet she hadn't heard him properly.

"How is your dinner?" he said instead.

"It's probably the most enjoyable meal I've ever had," she smiled. The serious gaze in his mostly impassive face gave way to brief, untold intensity. He said nothing in return, but continued to watch her carefully. A familiar heat began spreading up her neck towards her jaw. She couldn't bear being watched while eating a somewhat messy meal with the broth dribbling down her chin. It was those eyes of his, the small yellow orbs amongst a sea of black that made up his outer eye socket. There was a question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue.

"Why'd you ask me to stay here?" she blurted. "We…it was bad on Illium. I'm not gonna deny I acted hostile towards you." She heard his intake of breath. Am I just a petulant child to him?

"Laurel," he began, making her pause. "I don't want to reflect on the past. I used to do that when I was still drinking and…it never helped me."

"You're somehow always helping me…you stitched my hand up," Laurel continued, holding out her hand. There was a butterfly pattern of stitches on the inside of her palm. His eyes widened in surprise, looking as if he was holding the urge to touch her hand and see it closer.

"It didn't heal?" He was aghast.

"It did," she confirmed. "But human skin tends to scar like this. Especially if the injury was severe." She saw his eyes stay on her hands as she held her chopsticks.

"Your fingers…why didn't they heal?" Swallowing painfully, she set her gaze straight on him.

"I…I was in that cell for a long time. Your soldiers broke most of my fingers…bones need to be aligned correctly so they don't heal crookedly." She looked back down at her food and continued to eat silently.

"Why didn't the Alliance medics re-align them?" he asked.

"They'd already partly healed by the time they got to me. I was arrested so quickly…the doctors weren't too interested in mending them properly and I wasn't their best patient anyway. I put up a lot of fuss. Probably because I knew I was going to prison…for the rest of my life!" The plates at the top of his brow drew together like a frown, his hooded eyes suddenly looking much sharper and smaller.

"They mistreated you?" he said.

"No," she was quick to answer. "I was vilified beyond reason though, I had the media to thank for that. The war had been bloody and short, but people afterwards thought me a terrorist. And who could blame 'em? I apparently killed hundreds of turians and my own crew."

"Your own crew?" he asked, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Laurel nodded, spooning in the last mouthful of broth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, knowing this unnerved him. Clearly her parents hadn't taught her good table manners, or perhaps she'd knowingly forgotten them. She drew in a large breath.

"Jensen was our superior outta the four of us," she began. "I was the bomb disposal expert, but we were all tech professionals. The Alliance earlier in the war had sent out a nuclear warhead probe. Realising their mistake towards the end of the war, they sent us out to disarm it. Jensen was a bigoted prick though. He was smart and knew what he was doing. The bomb could be deactivated from a remote control setup, but you had to be outside in an enviro-suit. It'd gone smoothly until I was out there, trying to work the controls. For some reason they'd malfunctioned, so I went back inside to get Jonesy, our other crewmember to gimmie a hand. The thing was, this piece of tech was an older prototype I'd relied on for years. Jensen came out with a new prototype, bragging that it was faster, better…of course it wasn't. He'd tampered with the bomb beforehand, and this was the control to rig it to blow." A dark look crossed Marik's face as she'd told him her story. A prickle of fear ghosted over her skin, pulling her ugly hands under the table hiding them from his prying eyes.

"So what happened then? How'd he set you up?"

"We argued about the tech and to prove my point I snatched it off him. I attempted to use it, but everything about it was off from the start when I was out in the enviro-suit. The controls didn't match up and the signal wasn't channelling through my comm –instructions to guide me, especially at a distance."

"It seems overly cumbersome for such a device," Marik remarked coldly.

"It needs to be remotely disarmed for many reasons I don't have or want time to explain. The bomb was already rigged to set off at a specific time and date, although I'm not sure who the dunce was that decided it. Anyway, I'd unwillingly set off the bomb. I'd twenty seconds to get the fuck into the ship. I'd met Jensen in the airlock, screaming at him to move it. The ship, thank God was already moving, but the pistol was in his hand and he had blood all over his face."

"How did you cut off the turian supply lines? Many suffered because of that," he bit out. She could sense his anger returning.

"He killed our two other crew members. Held me at gunpoint until we got to Shanxi. The ship was already damaged from the explosion of the bomb, despite the quick getaway. I somehow got the gun off him, but we fought until he broke my upper arm. He then told me to shoot down the supply lines, which were housed in these large containers…so I did. Because I felt confident that I'd turn him in…I felt it was inconsequential so close to the end of the war, but I'd been stupid. The ship crashed, with us barely alive. He knocked me out, stashed me in a collapsed building and incriminated me. Made sure all the evidence pointed towards me."

It didn't fill her with anger like it used to, it now just left an unspeakable sadness in her. It had wrecked her life and it could've been easily avoided, or at least partially. Marik had torn his gaze from her, looking deeply into some corner of the room.

"It was unfortunate that you met Jensen again on Illium," he said. For some reason he couldn't quite look at her in the eye now. They were both quiet for a few minutes, deep in thought.

"How were you convicted?" he asked.

"I'd pleaded not guilty, but every single piece of evidence went against me. The jury decided that I was guilty. I'd made a mistake, which played into Jensen's hands and how could the defence excuse that? He rigged the controls to malfunction. He made sure each piece of evidence was available on the ship, and he 'safely' crashed it near where you found me so it all added up," she replied, without emotion in her voice. "The black box, of course, was gone from the ship. He blamed me for its disappearance. The defence obviously used that as a biggie in their case, but it didn't fall through. Not to the jury. Not to the judge."

"Untrained civilians to give a verdict on a stranger based on what is said in that court….Perhaps I can understand it now but at times I find the human criminal justice system unusual."

"Back then I felt some responsibility for it; anger at myself for being duped by Jensen, and tremendous guilt for Jonesy and Kalen, our other two crewmembers who were murdered. For being overconfident and stupid…I had literally set off the bomb, even if I hadn't meant to! What person could deny that?" He shifted in his seat, and she knew this had made him awkward.

"I served the time but it's ruined my life. It's all well and good having goals but I've got a fat black marker on my professional record. That's why I ended up on Omega, they accepted someone like me," she spat out.

"And your family?"

"Didn't support me but that was to be expected. My father was high in the military and my step-mum was his equal in every sense of the word. My sisters just followed him and Emma like lost puppies." She saw his facial expression change. This one she could read now; confusion.

"Step. Mum?" he repeated the word disjointedly. She nearly smiled.

"Not my biological mum," she replied, pursing her lips.

"What about your real mother, then?" Laurel looked away from him again and felt that phantom pain in her chest.

"Um…she supported me wholeheartedly. But that was to be expected. She was my best friend."

"Was?" he asked. Goddamn him, her mind cried. She pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes to stop that familiar burning.

"She died two years ago, Anise told me." She pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth, anything to make the burning behind her eyes and the tensing of her jaw stop.

" Cwondae," she heard him say what felt like minutes and minutes later. She frowned in response, not understanding.

"Did that not translate?" he asked her. She shook her head in reply.

"It…er…it's hard to explain. It's a non-patronising way to express turian sympathies for loss. It is…derived from an ancient word."

"What ancient word?" she asked, curious and quite frankly, humbled.

"Again…difficult to explain and might get lost in translation," was his reply. Laurel was now uncomfortable in a way she hadn't felt around him before. Her body felt warm, too warm, now that she'd exposed her vulnerable self to his gaze. She immediately felt embarrassed, now that she'd told him such a personal thing, in such close detail. Laurel stood up, taking the bowl she'd eaten from.

"Thanks for the dinner," she said, walking quickly towards the kitchen.

"Laurel…" he began, getting up after her. She tried to ignore him, putting her dirty utensils in the washer. Please don't make me feel like this, she thought.

"Laurel, please," he said quietly. Tears slipped out of her eyes as she slowly loaded the washer.

"Look, I've got things to do and C-Sec must've finished in my place by now-"

"I don't want you staying there," he said. She lifted herself back up, frowning at him, despite the tears on her face.

"What, you just gonna hold me here?" she said mockingly. "I can't eat you out of house and home."

"Er, I didn't…I meant-I think it's still not safe."

"How do you know that?"

"I just…I just have a gut feeling," he said sheepishly. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She didn't say much else, loading the rest of the dishes away and walked silently back to her room. An hour later, she started her usual night shift. His apartment, once more, felt lonely again.