A/N: I'm really sorry. This was supposed to be posted last week, but I got indecisive and rewrote portions of the chapter.


Shepard sat in the comm room, waiting for Garrus. John had arrived thirty minutes earlier, but he really had nothing to do anyway. Lie in his cabin, lie in this chair with his feet kicked up, it did not matter, not to him; if he wasn't in combat killing people, then he was useless.

What Garrus wanted to meet about, he wasn't sure; in the brief time they had spoken, the turian seemed agitated and nervous, almost like he was anticipating something dangerous, or probably, someone. It appeared to be something personal, but beyond that, Shepard could not tell.

The turian entered. His blue-black armor glistened under the light; it had clearly been cleaned recently, probably a habit from Garrus' time in the military. The turian again appeared agitated and uncomfortable.

"Shepard," the turian slurred, "thanks for taking the time." He took a seat opposite from the commander.

Shepard sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, giving his full attention. "Skip the pleasantries, what's this about?" Rude? Probably. Did Shepard care? No. However, he doubted the turian would care either. He assumed Garrus would prefer it that way; no need for bullshit or pleading or convincing; after all, that's what Shepard always preferred, just get it out of the way. It was an inhuman way of looking at the world. But there was irony in that view. When so much of personal interaction had been corrupted and mutated to climb the societal ladder, there was something strikingly fair and honest in putting your true self out there, even if it was rude.

The turian cleared his throat. "As you know, I worked as a cop for a number of years on the citadel."

Shepard nodded his head.

"I've worked on a lot of cases; murders, rapes, thefts, you name it, I've probably solved it. But there was one case I could never solve." His eyes were unfocused, almost as if he were in another world. Something was no doubt eating him up inside, quiet anger hidden beyond a stoic face. He was trying to remember what he wanted to say. "It was a Salarian Medical Doctor named Saleon."

Garrus waited for Shepard to tell him to continue, but the commander remained fixated right at him. So he continued with his story. "He was an expert in genetics and had been conducting research on the citadel."

Shepard snorted. It was beginning to seem that the high praise society gave its doctors was slowly but surely being rewritten. Instead of being remembered for saving people's lives, they seemed to be increasingly remembered for their brutality, the monsters they created, and for abusing people. Cerberus, Noveria, Saleon, and many others were unwittingly leading this charge.

"A person collapsed one day in the wards, holding their gut. I thought they were a drug mule…uhhh," Garrus tried finding words to explain police jargon to the commander, "transporting drugs they'd eaten that were wrapped in plastic. Usually, there aren't any problems; they sneak it through security and then retrieve them in a bathroom. But sometimes, they explode inside." Garrus exhaled deeply, angry with himself; if he'd only seen the signs sooner, acted faster, he could have prevented all this. "So I arrested him and sent him to the hospital."

"What they find?" Shepard asked halfheartedly, clearly uninterested. He didn't care for Garrus' tale. It was no doubt important to the officer, but Shepard already felt like he knew what this was building up to: tracking someone down, maybe killing them. It's the only thing anyone ever needed from him. To have a life defined by the taking of life was not the happiest.

"It wasn't drugs. They found extra organs growing inside him, some half-formed. Except Saleon's procedure hadn't been performed properly. Whatever gene's Saleon had changed in his experiment, he didn't do it right. In this patient, the organs' cells were rapidly dividing, forming tumors. I pressed him for more information, to tell me who did this and where I could find them. Eventually, when he found out he was going to die, he finally cracked. Saleon had been running an entire operation. He'd grow organs inside of poor, desperate people, harvest them, and then sell them on the black market to the richest scumbag who was about to die."

Shepard felt a pang in his gut, a small hint of emotion. He'd been poor once; he could have just as easily ended up in one of these gruesome procedures. People of means always wondered why the poor engaged in criminal activity; they would always tell them oh don't sell drugs, oh don't engage with the black market, oh don't listen to people who promise you things that are too good to be true. They should shut their mouth; until they've tasted desperate, they would never understand the lengths people would go to for a warm meal, or medicine for the most basic of illnesses. Some might say that the poor didn't have a choice, and Shepard could understand this view. However, he saw things a little differently; they did have a choice, it just wasn't the choice they wanted.

"He'd lied to them, telling them that it would pay well, that the procedure was safe, but it wasn't. At the end, he would give them next to nothing while he kept a bounty for himself; sometimes, the procedure would go wrong, and he would just leave the organs inside of his victims, just like this person."

Educated people always like to act like they are the most moral, as if years competing and trying to undercut each other in a classroom or lecture hall somehow imbued them with empathy. Lies. Everyone has the capacity to be a monster, it didn't matter who you were. All you needed was one little push. He knew his own; he wondered what had pushed Saleon; sometimes, he even wondered what had pushed Saren. Had anyone ever been able to leave the void?

"I'm assuming he got away?" There wouldn't be any other reason Garrus would bother bringing this up. The mention of this fact clearly hurt the turian. The fierce anger in Garrus' eyes was replaced by shame as he looked at the floor.

"Yes, I…I failed. I was too slow. By the time I'd gotten permission from C-Sec to search his place, he had already gotten on a private ship. He was fleeing the station, and there was only one way to stop him: I asked citadel control to shoot him down. They refused, said it risked too many lives if they missed. I argued that Saleon would just hurt more people in the future if we didn't stop him now. But I was denied, and he got away. Afterward, C-Sec forced me to close the case, as if nothing had happened, as if people hadn't died!" Garrus had started quietly, but as his story reached its conclusion, the force he gave to his words grew until he was basically yelling in anger.

Shepard had always been surprised by the turians decision to leave c-sec and join him. It was a death sentence, Garrus was better off sitting behind his desk at C-sec, protected on the citadel by the vast citadel fleet. However, as time went on, and Garrus ranted more and more with stories of corruption and abuse and bureaucratic inefficiencies, it became clear why Garrus made his decision. He believed that his purpose was justice, that he was supposed to stand up for the little guy that followed the rules. Yet everywhere he went, he found his hands shackled, and he became unable to do his job. Garrus thought here, aboard the Normandy, he would fulfill his purpose, unrestrained by rules. So far, he hadn't been disappointed.

"I don't have anything on this doctor, Garrus," Shepard stated, just so he made it clear that he wasn't hiding anything behind his spectre authority.

Garrus' left arm jumped to the omnitool on his right, pulling up the coordinates. "I don't need you to tell me where he is. I already know that. I came to ask if you could take me to him so I can end this."

Shepard shrugged. They didn't have any leads on Saren; they had nowhere urgent they needed to go. It couldn't hurt. "Give it to Joker, tell him to take us there."

The turian bared his teeth and mandibles in a fierce grin. He was being consumed by his anger and lust for revenge. Although, a crack appeared through the façade: "Thank you, Shepard."

John took a second to collect his thoughts. All this felt… familiar; different circumstances, same storyline. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked cryptically.

"I need to stop him, Shepard. If I don't, who will?" This wasn't a matter of want. Saleon had to be found, to learn that his crimes wouldn't go forever unpunished. Saleon needed to understand, and Garrus needed to believe, that justice was still real, that it hadn't been killed off by our decadence.

What pissed Garrus off was the fact that somebody was murdered. They were murdered and he couldn't arrest the person who did it, even though he was a c-sec officer. He'd failed, even though he'd promised that he would find the person responsible. Garrus had let Saleon escape into the galaxy, harming even more people for years on end. He truly believed he was a terrible cop, although for different reasons than his superiors always told him. He'd allowed countless people to be abused, harmed, and even killed; it was all his fault. No, it was the system's fault. They were the ones who stopped me. Unfortunately, generating excuses does little to console the dead; nobody cares about how you fucked up, only how you can fix it.

Garrus was certain about his mission: find Saleon. However, once he found the doctor, he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do.


The Normandy slowly approached Saleon's ship. It was a large cargo freighter, at least it seemed to be one from the outside. Its pilot had agreed to stop the ship; he knew he shouldn't, that they risked Saleon being discovered; but the alternative was trying to run away, which made them look guilty, then having their engines shot, then being boarded. Their only hope was that whoever boarded this ship would not find the labs.

Garrus stood at the airlock, assault rifle already in hand. He hadn't asked anyone to come with him. This was a personal matter, one he would take care of himself. Besides, they would just get in his way and prevent him from doing what needed to be done.

"Alright, the airlock is secure. You're clear to board, Garrus."

"Thanks," the turian mumbled. He was too concentrated on the task ahead of him to worry about thanking a crippled pilot. But one thing did catch his attention; heavy footsteps on the Normandy's deck. He turned around to face this person. The soldier was suited in his combat armor; its paint had been chipped, revealing the silver-gray metal underneath, and in some places, the armor plates had been dented. It was Shepard.

Garrus' mouth hung open for a second as he tried to form words. This was his mission; he didn't need anyone risking themselves for him. "Shepard, you're not healed yet," he stated, "you can't come." It was a true fact, but his intent was to prevent Shepard from going, not prevent him from harm.

Shepard couldn't tell if Garrus' excuse was bullshit or not. He didn't care. He was going with the turian, one way or another. There were a number of reasons. For starters, he didn't feel like sending one of his soldiers out there alone; that was asking for a tragedy. Secondly, Shepard was just straight up nosey; he wanted to see this Dr. Saleon for himself, to see Garrus' story with his own eyes. Most of all, Shepard was coming to make sure Garrus didn't do anything stupid. Besides the aches and pains he was in, he felt like stretching his muscles anyway. He'd had nothing to do recently, and was bored out of his mind.

"My ship, my rules. I'm going."

Garrus opened his mouth to respond, to say some argument to try and stop Shepard from coming with him. Except he stopped himself. It was fruitless. It was Shepard's ship, he was the commanding officer; he could do whatever he wanted, within reason; well, since he was also a spectre, it actually could be anything. Furthermore, Shepard was doing Garrus a favor; he didn't have to detour the Normandy from its course, or even let Garrus go on this mission. "Fine," he hissed, "but don't get in my way."

Shepard nodded his head, the red skull of his helmet nodding up and down as well, almost comically. The skull used to be bright red, like blood from a fresh kill. Now, like the rest of the custom paint job, it was slowly fading. The skull was now a darker red, almost like dried blood.

The airlock door opened. Garrus went through first with Shepard close behind. On the other side, they were met with a Batarian. Shepard's mood instantly soured looking at its four eyes and the disgusting folds of skin on its head. But he would keep himself in check, at least for now; it was Garrus' mission.

"Welcome. I'm Forvan Propkaral, a spice trader. How can I help you today?" It was fake, so fake. It hurt Shepard's ears. He hated when people just tried to butter you up so they could trick or take advantage of you.

"We're conducting routine searches of ships in the area. There have been reports of weapons smuggling."

The Batarian clasped his hands together, smiling warmly. "I have paperwork approved by port authorities as to the contents of my cargo. You don't need to worry."

It was so obvious that he was hiding something. "We're still searching this ship," Garrus stated.

The batarian's smile wavered, his eyes narrowed. He was getting ticked off and suspicious that the day he had feared had finally arrived. "Do you have a search warrant with you? This is flagrant discrimination against hardworking batarians. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

Shepard stepped forward, interjecting himself into the conversation with a loud, disheartened sigh. "Council spectre John Shepard. We don't need a warrant. Cooperate and this will be over quickly." John had no doubt that the Saleon Garrus was looking for was indeed here. Yes, it would all be over for anyone on this ship very soon.


They found him in the back of the ship, cowering under a lab table like a coward. The harsh lights of the room hurt his eyes. Vats filled with bubbling liquid lined the walls, each containing clumps of flesh hanging from wires and tubes. Shepard thought he saw some human organs; he recognized them because he had seen them scattered across the battlefield from exploded bodies; the sight brought back gruesome memories, but he was so used to it he didn't even flinch anymore.

"Dr. Heart, how are you?" Garrus mocked sarcastically. "It's been a long time. Too long, actually." He reached forward with one hand, grabbing Saleon's arm and dragging him out from under the table.

His legs shook with fear. His eyes were wide, as if Salarian eyes couldn't get any wider. He leaned away from Garrus, afraid. Garrus obliged and released his grip on Saleon's arm, causing the doctor to fall to the ground. The turian then proceeded to plant a kick into the Salarian's abdomen. "How's business been," Garrus asked, glee in his voice.

Saleon cried out in pain and tried to crawl away from his attacker. Garrus stomped down on his leg, painfully preventing him from moving. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Is this him, Garrus?" Shepard didn't exactly care about what happened to the Salarian. Dead, alive, or somewhere in between, it made no difference to him as long as it was the right person.

"This is Dr. Saleon alright."

"I don't know who that is!" the salarian screamed, only to be silenced by the butt of Garrus' assault rifle.

"Shut up!" Garrus roared, mandibles spread wide in anger.

Shepard saw what was happening; it felt familiar; he couldn't hold anything against the turian. "What now?" Shepard asked. He'd believed that Garrus would want to put the doctor in custody, send him to court, and let him rot in jail for the rest of his life. However, at the rate Garrus was going, that reality was quickly fading. Shepard didn't particularly care either way. People like Dr. Saleon had it coming to them for a long time.

"You're going to give me everything about your operation. Who you work for, who works for you. You're all going to pay." This wasn't justice; it was justice's corrupted brother, revenge. "Start talking," Garrus demanded.

Saleon remained silent. At least, until he felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of his head. He spat it all out, wailing like a little girl all the way. It's so funny how quickly stubborn denial turned into pleading and pleas for forgiveness when your life was at risk. People could live with who they pretended to be, yet they wouldn't die for who they pretended to be.

During Garrus' interrogation, Shepard walked around the lab. It was mostly cold metal, spartan in its furnishings, even the lone desk. Shepard approached it. Neat stacks of tablets were on top, no doubt sorted by some sort of category. Only one item stood out: a wooden picture frame. It showed Dr. Saleon and another person; he was shorter than Saleon, but his face was younger; in fact, it almost looked like a younger version of Dr. Saleon. Maybe it was his son? Shepard shrugged and walked away; it didn't matter to him. Just because you have a family doesn't mean you don't get to die.

Garrus attached the OSD drive to his belt. It contained all of Saleon's files, contacts, and whatnot. Saleon had no honor; he squealed when his life was on the line instead of keeping his promises of trust. People always show you who they really are, but only ever in their last moments; Shepard had seen people change demeanor faster than the blink of an eye; Saleon had been no exception. Now, he was begging, apologizing, trying to spin the story as if he had no choice but to do the things he had done. Yet Garrus didn't want to hear any of it.

Garrus shot him in the stomach, and Saleon crumpled to the floor, clutching the wound as green blood flowed out. "Wait, please…"

Shepard just stood and watched. He was witnessing a culmination of years of pent up anger. It felt familiar; the anger that blinded you; the catharsis from killing the object of your anger; the emptiness afterward, knowing that you just lost another part of yourself. Garrus had lived a life of service to others; as a soldier, as a cop, and now trying to hunt down Saren, his own kind; what he was about to do was unbefitting of him.

The turian closed in on his target. "This ends here and now. You won't get to hurt any more people!" The turian approached, his latest step landing tentatively as if he was suddenly unsure of what to do. Garrus Vakarian, in the back of his mind, vaguely knew that this wasn't justice, that this was murder.

"I don't, not anymore, I swear. I don't use people to grow the organs!" Saleon screamed as if it was some sort of vindication, pointing to the glass tanks that lined the walls. "I save lives now! Without my organs, thousands would die." Shepard snorted quietly to himself. What you did now never made up for your past. He knew that, and whether or not Saleon knew it, the doctor would find out for himself very soon.

"You think that excuses the things you've done, the lives you've taken!" Garrus roared. It was more likely than not that Saleon was telling the truth. His lab full of bloody instruments from years ago was now replaced with tissue vats. They hadn't found any people being stowed away as organ farms.

Saleon saw Garrus hesitate, saw the indecision in his eyes and the way his rifle inch by inch wavered to the ground, and decided to cash in his chips. "I have a family, a son."

"No, no you don't get to play this game," Garrus spat. He was suddenly disgusted with himself, at the fact that he was hesitating. Is this how he would avenge the dead? He raised his assault rifle to fire. Saleon was going to die, it didn't matter what family he had or if he was defenseless. He would suffer the same fate as all his victims.

Shepard watched the situation, watched Garrus struggle and fail to kill Saleon. He could tell Garrus was a good person. He might at times be cold and calculating, but he stood by a set of principles, a code. John didn't think Garrus was ready to flush it all down the drain. Once you stepped outside of your lines, you could never go back in. Once you broke your own rules, justifying it with some exception or another, there was no reason you wouldn't break them again in the future; you just needed to generate another excuse, another reason. It was all downhill from there. Garrus wouldn't leave here unless Saleon was dead. It's what Saleon deserved, and it's what Garrus wanted. Don't get it wrong, Garrus had killed before, but only when he had to, when he was being attacked or those who he protected were being attacked.

John didn't want to spread outward like a poison, even though it was inevitable; everything he touched, everyone he "associated" with (if you could say Shepard associated at all), was sooner or later corrupted just by being near him; and by corrupted I mean either dead or having witnessed enough violence to become numb to it. In his past, Shepard had killed, ordered people killed, ordered people to kill others; men and women had followed Shepard into combat, never to return; his soldiers had been forced to witness the most deplorable of actions.

Wrex, he was damaged from the start, like Shepard. There was nothing more to take away. John had heard the stories about the genophage and the centuries of war that followed. Wrex was a battle-hardened warrior and mercenary who got paid to kill people.

Liara had already been forced to watch her mother die by his hands. To know that even the kindest of people could become an unrecognizable monster scared her. Moreover, her sheltered life on the Asari homeworld had prepared her little for the harsh realities of the real world, the world away from academia or opulence. If anything, Liara had probably the worst dose. She'd been inside the commander's head; his thoughts were now swimming in there, slowly poisoning the well. She would never forget the memories of the things she had seen in there.

Ashley was haunted by Eden Prime, her thoughts filled with regret about what she could have done differently to save her friends, and anger slowly building against Saren, wanting to put the bullet in his head herself. She was a devout Christian. Each time, she would whisper prayers to god before combat. Eventually, she would discover that God was dead, that he wasn't coming to save her or those she prayed for. There was no heaven or hell, no cosmic justice. She had sold herself on a crumbling lie, one that eroded slightly each time a prayer wasn't answered.

The quarian had already lost her friends before she'd met Shepard; she was naïve and optimistic, yet day by day, each time she went with the team into combat, she'd lose a little bit of that optimism. Seeing people dying around you, for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, takes its toll. And let's not forget the way the galaxy was treating her; if she didn't leave here a hardened soldier, she would at the minimum take away that the rumors she'd heard on the fleet were true, that all species hated quarians.

Alenko would slowly and painfully learn that people don't change. His life had been almost as crappy as Shepard's: ripped away from his parents, basically tortured on a space station, and given implants that still caused him agony even today. Not even his hands were clean; after all, he'd let his emotions get the best of him, he killed to protect those that he had cared about before. Yet, despite all this, the man somehow maintained a positive outlook on life and had buried his demons. Maybe for now, he would keep his morals, but all it would take was the death of something he cared about to again awake the demon that he'd buried. And the problem about caring about life so much: each death that Alenko would watch, each life he'd failed to save, would eat at him until he realized morality didn't matter. Shepard could already see it in his eyes: the way he looked down in shame each time an innocent died; and in the way he would quietly scold himself after missions for not being fast enough.

And now the latest victim was Garrus Vakarian, who wanted to murder a person in cold blood. The slight glee in his eyes as he'd beaten the Salarian was unmistakable: he had been enjoying toying with someone who was about to die. That feeling, of being in control, of playing god with someone's life as their fate rested in your hands, it was intoxicating. It made you feel powerful, as if it made up for all the times when you had no control. And Shepard had given Garrus both the power and opportunity to do so.

Yes, Shepard would watch all these people crumble around him, just as he had. It took a certain mindset, a certain view of the world and its people, to do the "jobs" Shepard did. That's why the alliance chose him to do what others could not, to take the jobs that needed to be done but nobody wanted to do. Except now, Shepard had begrudgingly accepted a job, and this time, he'd somehow gotten others to willingly follow him straight into hell, metaphorically, and over time, literally.

Even though he was heartless, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He felt guilty because he was afraid he would take away the one thing his crew had that he did not: the fulfillment from doing something that they felt was important. They had somehow found purpose and clung to it, despite the harshness of the world. After missions, despite the sadness and fear they felt, they still somehow found a way to laugh and smile and enjoy life. Shepard was lost, a dead man inside. However, he would try his hardest to prevent his crew from becoming like him, even if they sometimes wanted to. Garrus would thank him one day, eventually; he would realize that the satisfaction from a completed task would fade, but the consequences never would. Garrus would be grateful, but Shepard wasn't after their thanks. He just hated himself so much he didn't want others to be like him.

"Garrus, wait!"

The turian was knocked out of his trance-like state. His eyes, which had been focused like lasers on the target he was about to fire at, became hazy as he tried searching for the sound. "Shepard," he growled through clenched teeth. He knew it was his mission, and he knew what needed to be done. Despite this, Shepard was still his commander and Garrus was still a soldier. You become accustomed to following the orders of your commanding officer when you've been fighting by their side for months. However, it didn't mean he liked stopping. "What is it?"

John approached Garrus until he was standing right in front of him, with the doctor crumpled on the floor between them. "You should go, leave this place, leave Saleon."

The turian was dumbstruck, shocked…the words were indescribable. He wasn't sure he had heard Shepard correctly. "That's not going to happen, Commander."

Shepard's hand pushed Garrus' rifle so it was no longer pointing at Saleon's body. "I'm trying to stop you from making a mistake. I don't believe you understand what you're about to do."

"Justice! For the lives he's taken, the people he's abused. He deserves to die for what he's done!" Garrus replied forcefully. Garrus was not looking for justice, not in the case of Saleon. Justice meant arresting Saleon and letting the courts do their work, even if the courts inevitably messed up and let Saleon out. No, Garrus was looking to kill the doctor. Shepard respected Garrus' privacy enough not to ask. It was probably complicated and messy, something Shepard didn't want to get himself involved in; after all, he was a soldier, not a therapy worker.

"Believe me, I know he does, but that doesn't mean you should do it."

Garrus pulled his rifle close to his body, shaking the commander's hand off of it. He didn't like having his weapon chained down. "What right do you have to tell me that? You, who blew up an entire building and killed over a hundred people on that asteroid, who slaughtered an entire Cerberus research facility all by himself. I have that right just as much as you do, commander!"

John gulped and hung his head in shame. He couldn't help but feel the least bit embarrassed at being called out, at being shown as hypocritical, but there was nothing he could do about it. After a moment, he took off his helmet. He wanted Garrus to see his face, to see the darkness that lay behind his eyes. "You don't think I know that? I relive my mistakes over and over again every morning, regretting the things I've done, wishing I could make it right, but I can't."

Shepard paused for a moment, allowing time to ensure that Garrus absorbed and processed every word. Shepard agreed that Saleon should die. The doctor had made a very lucrative living off the backs of the poor. However, deserving death and actually killing the person were very different thinks. What Garrus wanted to do, that was murder, not justice. John did not care about the fact that murder was occurring. John just wasn't sure Garrus would want to live with the burden afterward. "Maybe you'll feel good now after you murder him, but what of tomorrow when you look at yourself in the mirror, and that feeling fades. What are you going to tell yourself? You're not a murderer Garrus, don't become one. You've never had to carry the burden of knowing you've murdered a defenseless person; the guilt of having to take away someone's family member; you've never suffered the endless dreams where the faces of the dead haunted you. You don't want that." John backed off, retreating from Garrus. He wasn't going to get into a fight with the turian. "Please." It was like a plea from an innocent child. The helmet went back on, and Shepard stood at attention, now silent. At least he could say 'I tried.'


(9 hours post-mission)

Garrus was noticeably withdrawn from the rest of the crew. He was a little ticked, so he relegated himself to his favorite hobby: tinkering with the Mako. He didn't understand why Shepard had bothered stopping him. Although, Garrus knew that while his goal had been to kill Saleon, killing him was just a desire. He would have to learn to let it go and become content in the fact that he had solved this case. He was, after all, a cop; that's what he should strive for. Saleon was in custody or would be soon enough. Garrus would focus on helping Shepard take down Saren; whether he was happy or mad at Shepard, the galaxy remained at risk, and he wouldn't let a petty disagreement jeopardize the mission. However, it didn't mean he was happy about what happened today.

He put down his wrench and rolled out from under the Mako. He sat up and looked around him; there was nobody; everyone had probably already gone to bed while he had been engrossed in the vehicle. Well, more like directing his anger towards something productive. His eyes felt heavy, but he still didn't feel like sleeping. His thoughts were still occupied with the events of the day.

Garrus realized he was thirsty. He wished he had some turian whiskey to numb himself out, but that wasn't exactly on board the ship. He got to his feet and walked towards the elevator. At this time of night, it was almost comforting; there was no one to watch or judge you. It was just you, and you acted for yourself. It was lonely, but there was something special about it. He could vent his anger without being judged, without being questioned or asked about why he'd change the oil, replaced the brakes, tuned the transmission, realigned the axle, and the myriads of other fixes that were completely unneeded because the thing was already in tiptop shape.

The elevator opened to the second floor of the Normandy: the crew deck. He'd steal a drink from the mess. Was he supposed to? No. Did he care at this moment? No. He rounded the corner of the elevator. A figure was at the table, slumped over, their back facing him. It was the last person he wanted to see: Shepard. However, it appeared that he was sleeping. Why he wasn't in his nice, cushy cabin, Garrus couldn't tell.

He carefully tiptoed towards the supply cabinets, trying his best not to wake the commander. But his hopes were dashed.

"The dextro stuff is kept in the cabinets on the righthand side, if that's what you're looking for."

Garrus sighed rather loudly. He didn't fancy hearing the commander's voice, and he didn't want to turn and face him. But he would look just as guilty if he continued on as if he hadn't heard Shepard. "Thanks," he replied slowly, but his feet didn't move. He felt trapped. The freeness of being the only one awake had been dashed.

Garrus' behavior was not lost on the commander, and unlike most people, he had little respect for the feelings of others, partly out of ignorance and partly out of indifference. "Still mad?" The question was genuine, but it sounded more like a taunt than the sincere inquiry it was supposed to be.

Garrus clenched one of his hands into a fist and closed his eyes. Mad? No, he was way past that. He was enraged, he was just really good at controlling it; a decade of being shit on by c-sec officers tended to do that to you. Now, it seemed that Shepard was just as bad, tying his hands and stopping him from doing what needed to be done. But was that really true? The commander had only given advice, a warning for Garrus to heed; then he had stepped back and given Garrus the option. The turian realized the true extent of is pettiness. Shepard hadn't stopped him, he'd just given his opinion, an opinion that Garrus for better or worse had chosen to listen to. He hadn't killed Saleon.

No, no, no, he had the right to be mad. Instead of feeling guilty for killing Saleon, as Shepard had warned, Garrus was feeling guilty for letting him go. "Do you just ever fuck off?" he finally replied to Shepard's question.

Shepard sighed. He didn't care that the turian was mad at him. He didn't have friends and wasn't looking for them. "Usually, yes, I do."

Garrus turned to face the commander, eyes narrowed in anger. "Then why start now?" he asked accusingly.

"Because…because I'm scared. I'm scared that you would make the same mistakes I did." He looked down at the table. He couldn't bear to face Garrus. Images of the faces of the people he'd killed streamed through his mind's eye. It was far worse than just a mistake; these people amounted to more than a mistake; they branded him a cold-blooded murderer. It's what he was, and he hated it.

"You're the biggest fucking hypocrite I've ever seen, you know that?" Garrus pointed an accusatory finger at Shepard. "You're a lonely, sick fuck, and no wonder. It's cause you're full of shit."

"I know." He was full of shit, he was a fucked-up person, he was a hypocrite. There was no point in denying it. He knew what he was, so there was no point in trying to defend his ego because he had none. He assumed most people would expect him to beat their face in after those comments, but he didn't feel like doing that. Garrus had spoken the truth, albeit unwittingly; he wasn't trying to insult the commander. He was just trying to understand him, and he'd spoken out loud by accident.

At Shepard's unexpectedly tame response, Garrus wasn't sure what to say. In the silence that filled the room and ate up the time afterward, he realized what he had said and who he had sad it to: his commanding officer, which also just so happened to be one of the most temperamental and vicious people in existence. He lowered his arm and stopped pointing at Shepard. He tried to form words, but he wasn't sure what to say. "Shepard I… I didn't mean…"

"It's fine Garrus. You weren't far off." He got up to leave. He was feeling pretty crappy, as if him sitting at the table were a waste of space and resources that could go to someone more deserving. "I'll leave you alone." He had more important things to contemplate and sulk about other than being roasted by a turian.

Garrus felt mortified. This was how he was repaying Shepard for taking the Normandy off-course to find Saleon, by insulting him and kicking him out of the mess? "Shepard, wait. I'm sorry."

Shepard laughed remorsefully, a quiet chuckle that Garrus could barely hear. It was a sad laugh, although, it wasn't really a laugh. "Don't be. I'm not offended." He put his hands in his pockets. John was tired, he didn't feel like fighting. He cared so little about anything anymore, so it was no surprise that he cared so little about himself. He'd been treated like crap and insulted his whole life. They'd laugh and point at the dumb kid from the streets. At least Garrus had enough insight to acknowledge that Shepard was far more than just a dumb kid from the streets, that Shepard was something much, much more twisted and darker.

"I should be thanking you for helping me catch Saleon, not doing this." He was still pissed about what happened, but he knew that Shepard was only doing the best he could. He stopped Garrus because he was trying to help, not because he was trying to mess with him.

"I didn't become a soldier because I wanted thanks, Garrus. You're the one who found him, not me. And I'm the last person you want to take advice from. I should have kept my mouth shut." He was trained to kill, not think. He was starting to believe that getting himself involved in such a personal situation was a mistake. He should have just shut up.

"No, I'm the one who messed up. I let my anger blind me."

Shepard didn't feel like staying around, even though the turian was apparently trying to reverse course. He didn't like sitting or talking with people anyway. It's why he only ever came to the mess during the middle of the night, so he could pretend that he was a normal soldier that sat at this table, but at the same time, not have to face his troops. He could lead them to their deaths, but he was too shy, embarrassed, and frankly, scared, to eat a meal with them. He didn't want to lose them so badly he would prefer not to get to know them first. That way, they could never be lost. Although, that was just a personal fantasy. Sooner or later, he'd reach a point where he would feel the loss when one of them died. He'd have to try and forestall it for as long as possible. One could say that he didn't care, so that's why he was trying to leave. But maybe the inverse was true: he would care so much that he would rather disengage from them entirely to spare himself the pain. Apparently, he was beginning to care enough to protect them, at least from themselves.

John only had one thing to say before he left: "You may not agree with me. Next time, I won't try to stop you. Just know that I warned you: revenge is a disease; it will eat you alive until nothing is left. If you ever cross over, if you ever become like me, there are things in the darkness that will keep you from ever seeing the light of day again." Shepard lowered his head and turned to walk towards his cabin. He'd given Garrus a mouthful of words, and he'd left before Garrus had time to ask questions about any of it.

That was okay. Garrus could connect the dots. The turian was slowly realizing an oversight he had made. Shepard had been speaking from experience. Garrus had before mentioned all the things the commander had done while Garrus had served on the Normandy. Shepard had done all those horrible things, killed all those people out of personal vendetta's, and he looked no happier. It was probably true that the last thing anyone should do was take advice from the commander; however, if there was one case they should heed his advice in, it was on what Shepard did best: killing. He watched Shepard disappear into his room.