Chapter Text
Harry rattles around wrenching people open all day, like he did the first time they went through all this, and Kim follows him, feeling static in his mind. He knows he could carve out a shortcut, give Harry the answers, but each time he tries-- Cuno’s shed behind the Whirling can get us into the docks , or you sold your gun and drove your Kineema into the water --no sound comes out of his mouth, just exhales.
He’s beginning to get the feeling that whatever is happening to him isn’t real, or is just in his mind, despite how real it feels. Either that, or it is real, and some higher power means it all to be for Harry. A test of some kind, or a punishment for the man he was before he erased himself. Kim isn’t sure he likes that explanation, especially since it feels like one that Harry would come up with.
When they go to sell Kim’s hoarded hubcaps so Harry will have somewhere to sleep, it stings less than it did the first time, but Kim feels slightly more resentment and slightly less pity. He knows he’s essentially dealing with an overgrown newborn--an overgrown newborn he’s fond of, to be clear, but the point stands--but he still swallows bitterness over the fact that he has to give his own stupid cool indulgence up for a man who didn’t even remember what réal are.
When they leave the pawn shop, unlike the first time through, Harry grabs a handful of the shoulder of Kim’s jacket to stop him walking back to the Whirling, and says “Thank you.”
“You’re, ah…you’re welcome,” Kim says, squinting briefly in bewilderment, first at Harry’s hand, then his wide, earnest eyes. “You needed the help. It wouldn’t be right for you to sleep outside in the cold.”
“Because I’m an officer of the RCM?” Harry asks.
“Because you’re human,” Kim answers. “Let’s go pay Garte.”
“He doesn’t like me,” Harry states, so incredibly obviously Kim almost laughs out loud.
“He certainly does not.” Kim nods once, then inclines his head towards the Whirling. “Shall we?”
“Do you like me?” Harry asks, and Kim’s neck and face muscles stiffen at the question, holding him perfectly rigid. This is his usual response to being forced into emotional situations. He’s not one for sentimentality. He hasn’t had a lot of practice.
“Yes,” Kim says. “I do.”
“Do you think--whoever else knew me…do you think they like me?” Harry asks. Kim pauses for a moment.
“I’m not sure,” Kim says. “I, ah, I don’t think I can answer for people I don’t know.”
“They hate me,” Harry says, like he’s absolutely certain of it.
“Neither of us know that,” Kim says, firmly. “Let’s go inside, please. It’s cold out here.”
*
They stand on the balcony of the Whirling together, and Kim pulls out his one cigarette of the day from the pack in his pocket and puts it between his lips, waiting a moment to light it--part of his way of exerting power over what he lets have power over him. Part of the ritual.
When he lights it, he feels Harry staring at him like a lost dog. He doesn’t offer Harry a cigarette. Harry can ask if he wants it so bad, but something seems to keep him from doing so, despite the intent and mildly pathetic staring. Kim recognizes the expression from dim-lit windowless underground bars--wanting something so badly and not being brave enough or not knowing how to ask. Wanting someone to still like you after you ask them for something.
He didn’t notice the first time around how invested Harry seems to be in Kim’s opinion of him. Kim supposes it makes sense. He’s the only person Harry knows--the only one showing him patience and kindness, at least. Kim’s last partner had looked at him like that as well.
Kim shrugs self-consciously and looks away from Harry, exhaling into the Martinaise streetlights. He closes his eyes for just a moment, and behind them sees Harry’s tie floating by the water lock. He sighs, opens his eyes, and takes another drag.
“I’m trying,” Harry says, part desperate, part apologetic.
Kim looks at him. Meets his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I know now how it feels to wake up and to not fully understand the rules of the world around you.”
Harry takes that statement completely in stride and says “I don’t know for a fact that I can’t fly.”
“You can’t. Please don’t attempt to,” Kim says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My point is, I understand you’re trying, Lieutenant. I am trying as well. I appreciate both of our efforts.”
“I think I do too,” Harry says.
“Good to hear,” Kim says.
“When that happens--when you wake up and everything you knew is gone--does it come back?” Harry asks.
“Do you want it to?”
“No.”
“Good,” Kim says. “Because I don’t know. I am new to not understanding my reality. I wish I could tell you.”
“That’s alright,” Harry says. “We’ll figure it out.” Harry says ‘we’ in a way that Kim’s not entirely sure means the two of them, but he isn’t sure what else it could mean.
Kim hums affirmatively in the absence of knowing what to say and takes another drag. “Is there anything you’ve been doing to make sense of everything? Some way of keeping yourself grounded in all this?"
He’s asking more out of curiosity to hear Harry’s answer than anything else. His whole life, Kim has known how to keep himself grounded. It’s saved him before and he’s sure it will continue to.
“I’m not,” Harry says. “I’m letting it sweep me away.”
Kim blinks, a little startled by the honesty. “May I ask why?”
“Clearly that’s what I was going for when I got myself into this.” Harry shrugs. “Why not commit to something?”
“What exactly does that mean to you, Lieutenant?” Kim asks, a little sharply, concerned by Harry’s phrasing. He’d had to handle a lot of would-be jumpers in his time as a juvenile officer. He feels the trauma in his lungs, like he’s inhaling it again with the smoke. He drops the cigarette almost without realizing and tries to stub it out like nothing happened.
He can’t handle this. If Harry is…this is not his job, and not what he signed up for when he came to Martinaise and he is taking it with all of the grace he can manage. He likes Harry. That doesn’t stop it from being a burden.
“Just--I meant I won’t fight it. Whatever the universe wants from me,” Harry says, and that’s...reassuring, somehow, from Harry.
“I admire the mindset of the approach,” Kim says. “I hope it works out for you.”
“Thank you,” Harry says.
“I believe I should go to bed soon,” Kim says. “We have a lot to do tomorrow. I suggest you try to sleep as well.”
“Alright,” Harry says. “Goodnight, Kim.”
“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” Kim says, nodding politely and holding the door open to let Harry back into the Whirling. He waits for Harry to go inside his room and shut the door before going to his own room. As soon as he’s alone, the exhaustion sets all the way into his bones and he has to sit down for a long moment, before eventually lying down.
He falls asleep without doing any of the paperwork or even notetaking he meant to. As he drifts off he thinks fuck it .