The C-Sec substation in the Tayseri docks was a rather unassuming place.

The station, a squat metal building painted the same shade of weathered grey as everything else near the docks, would've passed for just another set of freight offices if it weren't for the handful of patrol cars lined up out front. Situated along the perimeter of an enormous cargo yard, Nick imagined being stationed there wasn't one of C-Sec's more glamorous assignments.

The lower levels of Tayseri Ward were a series of sprawling industrial parks. Overflowing with factories and foundries that fed the Citadel's limitless hunger for goods and steel, the ward's skyline was broken by countless cooling towers and crane booms that rose like a forest of monoliths. Now, deep into the station's night, the district was quiet aside from the distant sounds of automatic cranes as they toiled, the noise of their work echoing through the dark canyons of stacked shipping containers.

Nickeli climbed out of the patrol car and stretched with a loud groan, wrinkling his nose. Despite the labyrinth of air scrubbers and filter systems hidden beneath streets and behind bulkheads, the smell of rust and industry hung in the air. The stench, acrid and stagnant, reminded him of the paper plant back home.

Glancing over to Garrus as the canopy closed, the turian nodded in the direction of the station's entrance, a short way from the landing platform where they had set down. Judging by the look on the detective's face, he'd also taken notice of the smell. The trip to the station had been made in silence, both of them too exhausted to hold any kind of conversation.

Nick followed the detective up a flight of metal stairs and through the station's front doors, entering a small waiting area ringed by a few vacant chairs and some potted plants that looked badly in need of watering. On the far side of the empty lobby, a C-Sec officer, a human woman, sat behind a broad reception desk looking rather bored. Glancing up from her console at the sound of the front doors swinging open, her eyes locked on Garrus.

"Detective Vakarian?" She asked, looking pleased when she got a nod. "Sergeant Bailey said to expect you. Your quarian is back in the detention area. Head to the interview room and I'll get somebody to bring her up."

The turian, by now standing directly in front of the desk grunted. "Thank you, Officer…?"

"Callahan." The woman answered. Turning a bit, she spoke into an intercom beside her console. "Santos,"

When there was no immediate reply, the officer scowled. Muttering a curse, she leaned toward the intercom, driving the button down with one finger. "Santos!"

Vakarian and the corpsman jumped, but there quickly came a scratchy reply from the other end that Nick couldn't quite make out, though 'Santos' sounded surprised and sheepishly apologetic.

"A couple of guys are here for the quarian in cell three. Bring her to the interview room, yeah?"

There came a garbled confirmation and the line went dead.

Glancing back up at the pair, Officer Callahan quirked her brow inquisitively at Garrus. The turian, still looking a bit startled, stammered out a question. "Uh, the interview room is…?"

She hitched a thumb toward a door off to the right of the front desk. "Through the door and down the hall. Silver door on your right, can't miss it. You'll need to check your weapons with Sergeant Tulan at the office back there before you go inside."

The detective quietly thanked her and headed into the back rooms, Nick following close behind.

The lock on the door gave a faint buzz as it disengaged, the sound enough to catch Tali's attention, but not enough to make her open her eyes.

She'd been put in the holding cell nearly three hours ago, and was lingering uneasily on the edge of sleep. Though rest evaded her, even sitting with her eyes closed and the cold metal wall at her back was a relief in itself. The quarian had spent most of the past week on the Citadel being hunted by Saren's agents, and her escape from Illium—the last real opportunity she'd had to rest—had been a sleepless, terrifying ordeal spent stowed away in a dark cargo hold. She was exhausted, in every sense of the word, and for the time being had come to appreciate the small things. Right now, one of those things was a hard bench in a C-Sec detention area.

Which wasn't to suggest the holding cell she'd been placed in was anywhere approaching pleasant.

The air lacked the cutting chill of the keeper tunnels, but she'd turned off her olfactory filters some time ago in an attempt to suppress the smell of sweat and stagnation, but the odor persisted, and she'd given up trying. At this point, it was just another thing to push to the back of her mind.

Despite her best attempts to avoid them, C-Sec had stopped her near the docks and in short order she'd been taken to a Customs facility. She'd spoofed her station identification after the attack in the alley in the hopes of throwing Saren's men off the scent, but instead it had gotten her put in a cell while they tried to verify her fake credentials. Tali had been cooperative, or at least had feigned to be, hoping against hope they'd write her off as just another pilgrim and release her.

The machinist had taken a gamble stashing her shotgun in the service tunnels to avoid drawing attention to herself and the officers had confiscated her knife and omni-tool, but she'd managed to keep a few holdouts by virtue of her suit's deceptively numerous pockets.

It had taken hardly five minutes to crack the lock with a spare omni-tool, but there were still a few more hours before the ship carrying quarian pilgrims made port, and she was hopeful the officers would chalk it up to a paperwork error and let her out before morning. As difficult as it had been evading the small army of mercenaries and bounty hunters after her, getting off the station with C-Sec looking for her would be next to impossible.

Tali sighed. The way her luck had been these past few days, it was apparent that her hopes that getting back to the Fleet would be as simple as getting on a ship and going home had been overly optimistic.

The door creaked slightly as it swung open, and there came a few heavy footfalls as someone slowly stepped inside.

They spoke, a deeper, abrupt tone she'd come to recognize as characteristic of humans. She'd been shouted at by enough alien voices over course of the past few weeks that she was starting to be able to discern between them. "Hey, wake up!"

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on the C-Sec officer who stood in the doorway. It was the male human that had escorted her inside initially, a tired and impatient look on his face. "Someone's here to see you. Let's go."

The station's interior, the medic noted, was as unremarkable as its exterior. A long, whitewashed corridor connected a few darkened offices, decorated with only the occasional bulletin board or notice attached to the wall with tape. Overhead, white fluorescent lamps hung at regular intervals, interrupted here and there by stained ceiling tiles.

They paused at a window where the watch commander, an old turian wearing dark green markings and sergeant's chevrons, greeted them. The pair checked in their weapons and Nick's fighting knife garnering a raised brow, though the sergeant took the sheathed blade without comment, placing it in a black bin along with Garrus' service weapon. Pushing a datapad across the counter, Vakarian spent the next few minutes signing the forms, pausing occasionally to rub at his eyes or mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "paperwork" under his breath.

Returning the completed forms, the old turian quickly signed-off on them and filed them away. Producing a keycard from beneath the desk, he handed it to the other turian and pointed the pair towards a silver door a little further down the hallway, Garrus offering his thanks as they departed.

Reaching the interview room, the detective briefly surveyed the small processing area just outside before moving to the door. Stooping slightly to peer through the door's narrow window, Garrus made a thoughtful sound. Glancing to the medic, he motioned inside with a jerk of his head.

Stepping aside to let Nickeli look through the small rectangular window, the medic gave an uncertain murmur, his nose nearly pressed to the glass.

Inside, a woman sat at a narrow silver table, leaned forward onto her elbows with both hands tucked closely to her body and her gaze lowered towards the floor. The quarian's dark grey environmental suit, covered in places with swathes of cloth, looked worn and dirty, and the deep purple of the fabric coverings appeared faded and washed-out under the harsh white lights. On her right arm, the pauldron and forearm guard she wore, made of metal or perhaps thick plastic, was scuffed and bore several deep gauges, as if it had been repeatedly scraped up against something without an opportunity to make repairs.

"Is it her?" The turian asked after a moment, though, by his tone, he must've already suspected the medic wouldn't have an answer for him.

The medic shrugged, but quickly spoke, realizing the turian might not understand the gesture. "I think so?"

It came across as more of a question than he may have intended, but Garrus didn't seem surprised at his uncertainty.

Instead, the detective gave a grunt, pressing the key card into Vandas' hand. "Well, go find out. I'm going to check Contraband and see what they took off of her when they brought her in."

With a nod to the departing officer, Nick pressed the keycard against the sensor beside the door, the lock disengaging with a faint buzz. The corpsman pushed the door open and stepped inside, though the quarian didn't react as he made his way to the table.

The interview room, brightly lit with banks of white fluorescent lights, had an air of cold sterility about it that felt disquieting in a way the corpsman couldn't quite put into words. The walls, made of featureless grey squares, were utterly bare, and the plain tile floor had been polished to a dull sheen.

Settling into the metal chair opposite her, Vandas quickly surveyed the room as if there may be some minute feature he'd overlooked, coming to the uncomfortable realization that the situation was a rather disquieting inversion of his own interrogation at the Irin Center.

"Miss nar Rayya?" He began cautiously.

The quarian seemed to flinch, her shoulders slackening.

"What do you want?" She demanded in a quiet voice, as if the words were some painful admission. There was an edge of defiance in her tone, but most of all she sounded tired. The woman looked up at him and scrutinized him. After a few moments, there was a flash of recognition and her eyes, a pair of bright dots behind her mask, widened. She spoke, sounding surprised. "You were in the alley."

Vandas simply nodded. "My name's Nick, I'm with the Alliance."

For a long few seconds there was silence as the quarian tried to marshal her words, visibly stunned by this new development. Shrinking back into her chair, her gaze fell once again and she began to slowly wring her hands in her lap.

Nickeli felt a sudden pang of sorrow, realizing how terribly small she looked under the glare of the interview room lights. When was the last time she'd gotten any sleep? Or had something to eat, for that matter? She'd been on the run from the geth and Saren's men for weeks now, and under one arm he spied a small square of material that wasn't as faded as the rest—a patch where she'd been shot.

Admittedly, the corpsman was quite impressed. Wounded, sleep-deprived, and probably half-starved, but the quarian had still managed to take down a pair of mercenaries in hand-to-hand combat and evade the small army hired to kill her.

Nickeli shook his head. If she'd been more pragmatic, she probably would've ditched the evidence a long time ago, or used it to barter for her life with Saren's men. But she hadn't—she'd spent the past week exhausted and scared half to death, but she'd kept the evidence and she'd kept running. Vandas wanted to believe that meant something. He wanted to believe that, despite everything, she'd been doing her damnedest to do the right thing.

Nick felt pity for the young woman, but with it came a swell of admiration.

"What do you want?" The engineer repeated, in a softer, less certain tone. Her initially hostility had peeled away, leaving only the defeat and exhaustion that lay beneath.

He was after the evidence.

They both knew that. He was too tired to feign otherwise, and she was too tired to feign believing the Alliance could want anything else from her. There were others after it too, and they'd been more than willing to kill her for it—as far as she knew, he might be too.

But her suspicion and his necessity didn't mean there wasn't a friendly way to go about this.

"When C-Sec picked you up, you were trying to board a ship. Where was it gonna' take you?"

"Home." It was barely a whisper.

"How long've ya' been gone?"

"A few months."

Nick grunted. "It seems like a lot longer, doesn't it?" The quarian gave a hesitant nod. "I know how it feels. The places are unfamiliar, the people all look at you like you don't belong, and ya' never really understand what you're doing there. Believe me, I know."

It was the truth—Nickeli's first deployment had been an almost alien experience. Looking out the armored windows of his MRAP across the sea of poppy fields that separated the hamlets in Helmand Province, he'd grounded himself in what was familiar—his fellow marines, his duty. It's how he'd kept it together in the difficult moments.

But she hadn't had that benefit. She'd probably been told all her life that the world could be a dangerous and ugly place, but now she was learning it, and Nick understood that was a hard lesson to go alone.

"Miss nar Rayya, I know you've been through a lot to get this far," The medic began. "But the evidence you have is vital to proving that Saren was behind the attack on Eden Prime. If you help me, my commander can turn it over to the embassy, and the embassy can put it in front of the Council. It would save a lot of lives."

The quarian glanced up, meeting his eye for an instant before her gaze wavered and she went back to staring at her lap.

Vandas bit his lip, mindful that there could be repercussions for what he was about to say. "I'll tell ya' what, if you're willing to come with us and present that evidence to the Council, I'll walk you to the boarding ramp personally—you can be on your way home by tomorrow, if you'd like."

It was a half-truth—as nice as it sounded and as much as he wanted it to be true, the fact was that the corpsman wasn't in a position to promise her anything. But, Shepard needed that evidence and, by extension, so did he. He didn't want to make a liar out of himself, but if that was what securing her cooperation necessitated, then that was just the way things had to be. He'd speak to Shepard about leveraging a hopefully grateful human ambassador to ensure a smooth departure for the quarian, but all of that hinged upon the evidence being the damning proof everyone seemed to hope it would be.

The quarian seemed to consider his proposal for a long few moments, glancing up to scrutinize the human sitting across from her.

Privately, Nick wondered what she saw—a trick? Her way off the station? Whatever it was, she answered him in a low voice. "Alright."

The corpsman offered a soft smile, but as he started to speak again there came a knock at the door behind him, and Garrus quickly stepped inside. He held a black bin in his hands, a datapad balanced precariously on top.

Looking first at Vandas and then to the quarian, he greeted her with a slight bow of the head. "I'm Detective Vakarian." He glanced briefly at the medic before continuing, "And I assume you're the quarian that Saren and I have been trying to catch up to?"

Nick heard a quiet gasp from across the table.

"No! Uh—I mean—not, as in, like, as a team!" The turian rapidly backpedaled, "But separately, like, both trying to..." The detective trailed off, setting the box down on the table beside Nick with a weary sigh. "I'm sorry, it's been a long week." He cleared his throat before trying again. "My name is Garrus Vakarian, I'm the detective assigned to investigate Saren and I've been looking for you for a while. After everything I've been hearing these past couple of days, I'mglad we found you alive."

For her part, the young woman had quickly gotten over her alarm, the corners of her eyes visibly curling upward to regard Garrus with a look of tired amusement and, Nickeli suspected, no small measure of agreement.

"Tali'Zorah nar Rayya." She said simply.

"It's nice to meet you. I hope my partner has explained the situation a bit?"

"Yes, and I've agreed to help."

The turian flashed a toothy grin, no doubt welcoming the bit of good news. "Good to hear."

At that, Vandas rose from his chair with a groan, stretching as he got to his feet. He jerked his head towards the door, the prospect of getting back to his bunk enough to bring a tired smile to his face. "Back to the Normandy, then?"

Garrus shook his head. "If we take her through the Academy, Pallin will have my hide when he finds out I didn't shelve this case, but I know someplace we can spend the night."

Pulling Nickeli's sheathed combat knife from the black bin, he tossed it to the medic before scooting it across to the quarian who quickly set about collecting her personal effects, tucking them in an array of pockets and pouches.

Glancing between the two and getting a nod from both, Garrus gestured toward the door. "Well, if we're ready, then?"

The flight took nearly an hour, down the length of Tayseri before using a skycar lane to cut across to another ward, their patrol car ill-suited for navigating the vacuum that lay beyond the Citadel's protective envelope.

There was a comfortable silence as the trio rode.

Garrus let the autopilot fly them, keeping one hand on the controls as much out of habit as anything else and tilting his head slightly when the radio occasionally squawked. Beside him, Nick sat with his arms folded across his chest, leaned against the window. He had started the trip staring out the window at the ward below, but he'd soon closed his eyes and slumped toward the door, a small patch of condensation on the glass advancing and retreating in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Tali was in the back seat, similarly leaned toward the window, and the detective at first believed she was asleep as well.

However, stealing a glance, he saw that she was still awake—gazing out the window with half-lidded eyes. Garrus considered trying to strike up a conversation, but realized that the young quarian was almost undoubtedly reflecting on the events of the past few days, and he decided to leave her in peace.

To a lesser extent, the trip gave him a bit of time to reflect, as well. His investigation into Saren was far from the senior detective's most gruesome assignment—there were a half a dozen cold cases in his desk drawer that would've turned his stomach as a rookie patrol office—but it almost certainly had the highest stakes. If Saren was leading an army of geth as the Alliance feared, then he was nothing short of an existential threat to the galaxy.

But the ugly truth of the matter was that his superiors had neither expected nor wanted him to find any evidence. His investigation was supposed to be a formality to placate both the Alliance in the wake of Eden Prime and the Hierarchy, which was howling in indignation that the humans were, as they saw it, going after one of the most decorated and accomplished soldiers to come out of turian space. Every step of the way the C-Sec officer had been mired in red tape, all the while being leaned on and later ordered by the Executor to close the case.

And so, he had... at least officially. If it came to light that he had rather unofficially joined Shepard's team and spent the past few days following up on leads, then he had no illusions he'd ever be assigned another case. C-Sec likely wouldn't fire him outright to avoid humiliating his father, instead they'd probably just stuff him in a cubicle and count down the days to his inevitable resignation.

Garrus snorted. On the one hand, bucking the red tape to go after a spectre was certainly a step up from chasing street-level dealers through the keeper tunnels, but on the other, he couldn't help but sense he might make a rather notorious appearance in a history textbook someday if it all went wrong.

The patrol car's console gave a loud chirp, the autopilot deactivating as they neared their destination and leaving the delicate task of landing to more skilled hands.

Banking the craft toward one of the enormous grey towers that dominated the wards, Garrus slowed as the car approached a landing bay. Deactivating the forward thrusters as he entered the garage, the turian maneuvered between a pair of parked aircars and set down with a heavy thunk.

In the passenger seat, Nick woke with a shout, jolting upright in his seat. Looking around, the medic took a few moments to reacquaint himself with the inside the patrol car, falling limply back into his chair. Realizing the turian was looking his direction, he mumbled an apology as the doors swung open, quickly climbing out.

With a shrug, Garrus exited as well, indicating for the quarian to follow with a slight jerk of his head. The corpsman, having collected himself, joined them, and the group stepped into an elevator situated to one side of the parking area.

A brief ride later, the pair got off half a dozen floors above the garage, stepping into a long, somewhat narrow hallway lined on both sides by doors. Nick and Tali quietly followed the detective a short distance down the corridor before he stopped at one of the doors, placing his palm against the sensor.

The door opened and the group quickly shuffled inside as the automatic lights turned on, finding themselves in the living area of a modest, if somewhat unfurnished, apartment. The living area held a cream-colored couch in the shape of an 'L' and a bare metal coffee table with a few datapads on top. Beyond the living area was a small kitchen with just enough room between the pantry door and the stove to take a single step in any direction. Off to the right side of the room, a doorway led back to the other parts of the small residence, most prominently a pair of bedrooms. The floors and kitchen were clean, though the bare walls and absence of any sort of decoration didn't make it feel like much of a home.

"So, is this some kind of C-Sec safehouse, Garrus?" Nickeli asked, venturing in a little past the entryway as he surveyed the room. "Well, I mean, it works, I guess."

"Actually, this is my apartment." The detective replied, unclipping his equipment belt and hanging it on a hook near the door. Vandas winced, looking as though he'd dropped something heavy on his foot. Not that Garrus took offense—he'd been painfully aware of the state of his home since the last time his sister had been on the Citadel, which had notably been both the first and last time she'd been to his place. Besides, they were all exhausted and after nearly panicking the quarian with his slip of the tongue at the station, it only seemed fair to let it slide. At any rate, the corpsman remained silent and offered only a meek smile, wisely keeping his mouth shut lest his boot find its way there a second time. "We can head out in the morning and meet Shepard at the embassy."

Morning. Garrus almost relished the word. Not because he was particularly excited to have to deal with the Council again, but because there'd be the chance to get some proper sleep without this case hanging over his head like it had been for the past week. Before that, however, there was the matter of sleeping arrangements that needed to be addressed.

"So, there are actually only two beds," Garrus stated, hitching his thumb in the direction of the bedrooms. "And one of them is mine,"

A silent pause followed as the two strangers exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Vandas quickly recovered, fervently shaking his head. "Couch." He answered simply, marching off in its direction to forestall any further debate on the matter.

At least it simplified things, Garrus decided, guiding Tali to the guest room. Turian homes were generally rather utilitarian, even if the detective's own approached spartan. Even so, the quarian, surveying the room's plain nightstand and neatly made bed, thanked him sincerely and he took his leave.

Retiring to his own bedroom, Garrus gave a deep sigh, exhausted but content. Collecting the handful of datapads scattered across his bed, he set them aside, reminding himself to clean up a bit before they left in the morning.

Working his way through the myriad of claps and buckles that kept his armor together, he began to pull off his hardsuit, stacking the pieces on the rugged black footlocker at the end of his bed. Finally, he removed his visor, setting it on the nightstand as he settled under the covers and turned off the lights, finally putting the long night to an end.