"Forlornly; this is not what I was expecting from the saviors of our galaxy, Urdnot Wrex. The most cheerful event you've related to me was the possibility of an interspecies romance on a medical station, and I was raised to find that, with hesitant honesty; disturbing."

"You wanted to hear about 'heroes,' right? Well, we're not finished yet, Derby. I'm saving the best for last. What do you know about C-Sec?"

"Apprehensive; I do not know much. They are the law, I obey the law. I have not encountered them for any criminal activity."

"Hmm, sounds dull. They might be the law, but the line they walk is as rigid as an asari escort, and as straight as the Citadel archways. Do you follow me, Derby?"

"Insulted, but drunkenly ambivalent; of course, you are suggesting that they are crooked, and they bend the rules."

"The ones willing to get the desired results will bend the rules, for their version of the greater good. But there are others, many of them nowadays, who find it's easier to break them. Scum who'd rather send you up to face the executioner on false charges than risk losing that false sense of security. Garrus and I, we've come to share a hatred for people like that. Difference is, I'm a known criminal and he's a cop. You can trust him."

*~~*~~*
CITADEL
RESIDENTIAL SECTION
SECTOR 4-AHS-012
Nestor Shades Apartment Complex
*~~*~~*

"Maddy!" Harkin cried, sitting upright and reaching his hand out.

Nothing was there. Just the darkness of his apartment, pierced by a strong light that seared his eyes for a moment, and lanced pain through his drug-addled skull for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, his eyes adjusted.

The blue glow of the vid-screen cast shadows across the small, one room apartment. The sliding-door to his left was splotched with ink-black patches of darkness, as were the coffee table between him and the vid-screen, and the fold-out couch he was currently sitting on.

Must've passed out, Harkin thought groggily, wiping his hand across his face. He realized then that not all of the wetness dampening his features was perspiration; he was crying, and had been for some time.

"Fuck." He growled, standing up and stumbling into the kitchen alcove, forcing his legs, which felt just as hung over as his head, to carry him to the sink.

Harkin reached for the faucet but couldn't locate it. Flipped on the light switch next to the fridge.

"Ah, jeez-shit!" He screwed his eyes shut from the horrible, blinding light of the twenty watt bulb above him.

Again, when the pain faded with the promise to return later with more strength, Harkin peeked his eyes open and looked into the sink.

Cold, reflective steel on the sides, rusted faucet with a silver button and a temperature slide on the rim.

The drain was hidden under a quivering, half eaten slice of pizza and the glass shards of about three or four broken beer bottles, their generic labels illegible under a thick film of vomit that layered the entire bottom of the sink.

A black midori beetle scuttled out from under the chunk of pizza. It continued to shake, but Harkin ignored the infestation and pressed the silver button on the top of the sink.

The faucet sputtered and shot to life, blasting water into the metallic bowl. Bulky, silver dollar-sized beetles scurried out left and right from underneath the battered food, seeking shelter outside of the sink. The vomit began to speckle his dirty white t-shirt. Harkin busied himself pooling the water into his hands and washing the mixture of tears and sweat that had caked on his face.

Something snapped and crackled behind him.

Harkin whipped around.

A grey alarm clock on the cheap, oak knock-off table beside the bed blinked red digits.

An electronic voice then emitted: "It is now…nine…pm."

He shuddered, laughing. "Yeah, thanks."

The radio switched from alarm to a broadcasting channel. "-unconfirmed reports that, just moments ago, the class twelve frigate 'Nightingale', supposed to have been carrying volus ambassador Din Korlak, veered off course near a salarian checkpoint outside of the-"

"Off," Harkin crowed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting. The radio clicked, and went silent.

"Fuck Din Korlak…" he muttered, "volus prick." He turned back to the sink, but a flurry of motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention. The beetles, at least a dozen of them, had found a dry spot on the fridge.

They were scrubbing themselves, rubbing their legs together or sweeping their antennae across the silver circular brand that had been stapled onto the fridge. Sirta.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Unbelievable; can a man not get a moment's peace to himself?" Harkin growled, shutting the sink off and walking out of the alcove, taking care to switch the light off behind him on the off-chance that the night caller was female.

The apartment was dark once more, save for the light of the vid-screen.

"Hello?" Harkin called.

"C-Sec, open up."

"Go fuck yourself," Harkin stated, but he slid his palm across the electronic entry lock all the same.

The door slid open with a hiss. Garrus Vakarian stood on the other side.

"Garrus," Harkin cried, throwing his arms wide in mock affection before quickly dropping them, "I stand by my earlier statement. Go fuck yourself."

"Why thank you, Officer Harkin, I can't tell you how much I've missed your cheerful personality."

"Yeah, yeah" Harkin agreed knowingly, taking a step back from the door, "can't tell me something if it's not true, can you?"

Garrus nodded, stepping inside the threshold, the door wooshing shut behind him. "Exactly."

Harkin stepped around the coffee table and sat on the couch, throwing his hands across the cushions to his side. He stared at Garrus questioningly. "So, to what do I owe the distinct pleasure of a visit from a media hog like you, Vakarian?"

Garrus didn't respond, instead squatting down in front of the coffee table and examining the paraphernalia scattered across its surface. Some green and white pills off to the left, various shades of brown powder dusting the middle with several ashtrays bordering the right containing the remains of both regular cigarettes and the burnt scraps of illegal papers Harkin had rolled himself.

Harkin raised one leg and swept it across the table absently, the pills, powders and papers falling to the floor. Some of the powder swept up into the air and swirled in the light coming from the vid-screen.

"If you're here to gloat about your lucky break, you can save it. I'm not interested in some bullshit 'save the world' cause you've taken up."

"Of course," Garrus smiled at him, like a teacher to an unruly child, refusing to be angered, "why should you be thankful; that would be ridiculous." His eyes scoured the apartment until they landed on the not-oak table beside the couch, then flicked back to Harkin.

"Damn right it would. The way I see it, you and that red-headed little bitch-whore you been running around the galaxy with brought that shit-storm to the Citadel-"

Garrus reached down to the floor and picked up one of the ashtrays.

"-cause you'd gotten yourself in so much trouble that you finally needed the Alliance to bail your skinny turian ass out."

Garrus hefted the ashtray in his hands a few times, his eyes sliding from it to Harkin.

Harkin frowned, tensing his muscles.

Garrus chuckled, tossing the ashtray lightly onto Harkin's stomach. "Yes, you're right, of course. I did need the Alliance's help. Me and that, that red-headed…what was it?"

Harkin didn't relax completely. "What?"

The turian sighed and shook his head with a smile, sitting on the coffee table. "Never mind. Anyway, that's not why I came by, Harkin. I'd never seek praise from you; that's just trying to grind water from a stone." He spotted an unlit cigarette on the floor, beside Harkin's leg, and he snatched it up carefully, pinching it between two claws.

He placed the cigarette into the side of his mouth and stared at Harkin expectantly.

"Oh," Harkin blinked and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing his lighter. He handed it to Garrus, who inspected it with what appeared to mild curiosity. It was a metal Palaven lighter, square and silver-plated with an inscription on the bottom, a flip-top and a roller. Garrus lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip burning orange for about five seconds.

Garrus blew out a stream of smoke with a grin. "I'd forgotten how much fun that is. We never really thanked you humans for such a pleasurable past-time, did we? And completely harmless…to us, anyway."

Harkin was silent, unsure of what to say.

Garrus clapped him on the leg. "That's what's so funny about humans. The shortest lifespan of any sentient species this side of the galaxy, and you're all looking for addictive ways to kill yourselves faster."

Harkin grumbled, exasperated. "Cut to the chase, Vakarian."

The turian twisted the lighter through his fingers. "I quit the force officially today. The Alliance wants me back on the Normandy full time; as a…civilian consultant, of sorts."

Harkin chuckled. "Always took you for a quitter, Garrus. If you couldn't find a suitable way to make the case, you'd drop it."

Garrus laughed with him. "Yes, yes, I am a quitter. But you, no one could ever be so bold as to throw that word your way, could they, Harkin?"

He stood up, taking another deep drag from the cigarette. "Sure, I might have been willing to step on a few toes to get a conviction I knew was right, and torture, killing? Well, I never had a problem with that. I like killing, actually. It's satisfying, because the person at the end of the gun always had one of their own, right?"

"Right," Harkin nodded, uneasy.

"But, I suppose I'm even a quitter when it comes to killing sometimes. My father, he was like you, in a way. Not a quitter, never a quitter. Always working meticulously at every little detail to get things done just right. For him, the details were already there, he just had to find them. For you? The details were tools to use to your advantage, and if you had to make some up along the way, wasn't it worth it? As long as someone ended up in a jail cell to fill your quota."

Harkin's face darkened. He sat up. "Now wait just a minute you son-of-a-bitch, I-"

"Me," Garrus paced between the table and the vid-screen, walking through wafts of his own cigarette smoke. "I'm a big picture kind of guy. I was never one for the details. Like this lighter." He waved it in front of Harkin, "wasn't this evidence at one point? The Sodermeyer case, twelve or thirteen years into your career, the arsonist targeting volus families in the lower sector. Look, it still has his name inscribed on the bottom. You thank your God that you found this, don't you, with his name and fingerprints on it?"

Garrus leaned across the table, leering at Harkin. He spoke softly, menacingly. "Cause as how I remember it, you didn't have a case until it popped up."

Harkin, furious, moved to strike, fist raised and shoulder pumping.

Garrus moved faster, backing away and to the side, grabbing Harkin by the arm and twisting it behind his back.

The human squealed in pain, kicking his leg out and smashing the coffee table.

"They were all like that for a good long while, weren't they, Harkin?" Garrus whispered frantically in his ear, "Cases made easy by forced confessions, missing witnesses for the defendants; beautiful, young asari and human girls with black eyes willing to say anything to get a dirty, rotten, piece-of-shit like you a rock-solid conviction!"

He threw Harkin bodily across the room. His stomach slammed into the wood island that separated the kitchen alcove from the living room. Harkin's chest heaved and arms flailed with the impact, dirty dishes and pans flying into the kitchen and crashing into the walls, breaking or denting on the linoleum below.

Harkin dry-heaved on the island, his stomach empty but kicking, forcing up spittle and bits and pieces of bile through his nose and mouth. He slid off the island top, his legs giving away, his right arm scrabbling for purchase but finding only a butcher block to drag down with him as he fell to his knees on the living room floor.

"And today, Harkin?" Garrus crooned, walking slowly through the darkness away from the vid-screen, towards the fallen officer. "Today I found out about your greatest trick yet. You're coming back to the force! Three more years and a full pension, guaranteed!"

"I-I earned that!" Harkin sputtered gruffly between hacking fits on his hands and knees. "The suspension was bullshit!" He was still holding onto the block with one hand.

"Stand up." Garrus demanded, all humor having left his voice.

"Why?"

"Stand up!"

Harkin quickly pulled a knife from the butcher's block. "Fuck yourself, Vakar-"

He was cut off by Garrus' foot kicking swiftly into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs and throwing his body back into the counter.

Harkin struggled to breathe, glaring furiously up at Garrus, the knife shaking, gripped tightly in his hand. "You-you're right," he quaked, rasping through gritted teeth, "I'm back on the force because I know people. People who would kill you, Vakarian. People who will kill you, you walking… dead… FUCK!"

Garrus squatted down in front of the man as he gasped for air, his eyes daring Harkin to wield the blade.

"I'm off the force, Harkin. I'm off the force and on the Normandy, and that red-headed bitch-whore you hate so much is a better trump card than any scum politician you've managed to blackmail into your pocket over the last two worthless decades of your pathetic, low-life existence. I could kill you, Harkin, and walk away clean."

Harkin swept the knife forward. Garrus didn't move, didn't flinch. What was left of the cigarette he held in his mouth was just as still.

The blade missed his throat by a foot, and the momentum carried Harkin onto his back.

Garrus stared at him, waiting. Then he scoffed in disgust, stood, walked to the door of the apartment and wordlessly pressed the button to exit.

The door slid open once more.

Harkin watched Garrus step outside. With what strength he had left, he laughed.

"You're a liar, Vakarian."

Garrus paused. He took the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. Stubbed it out under his heel. He nodded. "You're right, Harkin. I did lie."

He glanced to either side of the hallway outside of Harkin's apartment and seemed satisfied. Then he stepped back inside. "I'm never a quitter when it comes to killing someone worthy of it."

He closed the door behind him.