Chapter Text
The regular buzz has return to Jamrock’s precinct 41 after the eventful case in Martinaise but now with an additional asset that their own officer managed to miraculously recruit. Lieutenant Kitsuragi has moved here just two months ago and already feels somewhat at home. As could be expected the job is hard and stressful but, damn, it feels like he was born for it. The C-Wing, where he decided to join despite other opportunities, is grateful for him. He's capable, keeps his cool under pressure and commands respect among colleagues and civilians. Most importantly; he works well with Harry, who was relieved that the RCM haven’t completely written him off, cut their loses and just replaced him with the new detective.
It seemed that Kim, just by his presence, was able to steer the chaotic energy of lieutenant Du Bois into something efficient. While Kim was laser-focused on the heart of the task and took responsibility for the structure and scheduleing of their investigations Harry would run around the crime scenes like a maniac “Jamrock Shuffle” style not missing a seemingly most tangential clue and making weird connections. Lieutenant Kitsuragi learned to generally trust his partner's instincts, stopping him only when he stepped over from eccentric, unlikely but plausible ideas into totally absurd. Kim's no-nonsense, straight to the point (Still not always 100% by the book.) approach complemented Harry's chaotic ways putting his thinking at least partially back into the box. Being interviewed or questioned by them was an otherworldly experience. Tamed instinct, ordered chaos like a storm focused into a... coppernado. The whole precinct could not have been more glad to have welcomed Lt. Kitsuragi.
They have just finished a particularly stressful case both him and Harry where instrumental in solving, earning them a brief respite. The core of their task force felt like celebrating, they are talking by the coffee corner, discussing drinks. Kim participates in the conversation in only the barest of ways, glancing at the desk to his right. He understands that Harry is, by technicality, invited to the outing, yet no one else is willing to address him directly or even brave a look towards him. He just sits there trying very hard to look very busy with some documents, seemingly making notes (As if he ever did that.) The conversation ends. They establish that they going to have drinks at the nearby bar this evening. Harry is still nose deep in some folder and no one waits for his answer.
Kim approaches his desk now seeing plainly that what was supposed to be interpreted as making notes was just slowly covering a piece of paper in blue ink. Few already fully painted sheets lay scattered abut the desk. A pen adorned with a green monkey’s head is starting to look like it would need ink refilled soon. Kim knows that the talk with Harry falls on him. He was a fan of leaving unnecessary thing unsaid but in this particular case he would have asked even without his sense of duty.
"Are You going to go?"
"What?" Harry asks as he wakes from the self-inflicted trance. "No! I don't know. Maybe?"
It all falls out of him as one quick sentence. Kim continues calmly, without hesitation.
"We don't have to go or we can go but we don't have to drink.
Harry managed to avoid a drink after their memorable first case. Kept it under control till now but a stressful week and growing workload didn't help. People talking about getting hammered, letting off some steam had been an even bigger strain on him. He would be as eager as them some time ago but now he realizes he just makes them uncomfortable. Kim's concern makes him feel even worse.
"Don't let me spoil your evening." He looks at him from his doodles and musters a smile then decides suddenly "I'm not going but you have fun."
That last sentence is said very firmly, signaling an end to this conversation as Harry intently stares at some reports, obviously not reading them yet nodding his head thoughtfully at the paper. Kim's not sure if it is supposed to fool anybody or be an obvious mockery but he knows undoubtedly that it's a sign that this talk is over. He picks up on his partners discomfort and backs off.
For Kim it wouldn't be a sacrifice to stay with Harry. He doesn’t feel like he needs that drink right now. He can manage without it. He always could calm himself in other ways. Like tinkering with his MC but Harry wasn't listening anymore. The macho police environment expects them to like it, to require it even. Funny. He thinks to himself. The peer pressure among the adults. He recognized it in kids when he was a juvie officer and it became so obvious to him that the same people who scoff at teenagers for how easily manipulated they are often are subject to the same desire to fit in. The manipulation techniques are just different, more subtle, often self-inflicted. This attitude can easily exasperate alcohol problems. Of course no one wants Harry to drink NOW but it would have been indirectly encouraged in the past. By colleagues, cop culture, quips, jokes... the Consequences still linger on Harry's face and obviously, in his mind. Kim takes his eyes of his tired visage, a bit saddened.
"Right. Ok. Just... take care of yourself."
Harry doesn’t see the lieutenants face although he suspects there is concern there. He doesn’t look up and responds only with prolonged "mmmmhm". Kim is not convinced that everything is fine but he believes that nothing wouldn't be gained by pushing now. He looks around the room and his eyes meet Judith’s sympathetic gaze. He just sends her a little nod and a mirthless half-smile before returning to his desk. A small load of documents waits there for him but otherwise his work station is kept ordered and neat. At least compared to Harry’s. It's mostly hidden with overabundance of tacky colorful 'disco' bauble. Al least, it was fortunate that he didn't try to use the questionable yellow mug he found in the trash during their case as a pencil holder... Kim wouldn't be at all surprised if some of the 'collection' was just useless junk gathered from crime scene trashcans from all over the city. Harry probably had no heart to throw things away after they where proven not to be evidence, still seeing some value in the useless junk as Kim decided to see in him at his lowest.
It was close to end of the shift. Harry has long stopped trying get any work done as it did nothing to stop the dark thoughts from trickling down his brain. Halfheartedly pretending to be busy was the most he felt capable of. It was a bad day. A kind of a day that couple months ago would not only ended with a bottle but also, more then likely, began with one. His house was mercifully clear of anything to drown himself in on a morning like that. He made sure of that. Until last night the workload and insomnia kept nightmares at bay, just drizzling at the back of his head. The case finished and he finally had a night's sleep but it wasn’t a good kind. Today the dreams, finally having a time to settle, came back with a force of a thunderstorm. They have left him more mentally fatigued than any case ever could. He regrets ever closing his eyes.
The talks he pretended not to hear still affected him immensely. Kim's concern made him feel like shit at the moment but a quiet thought that somebody cares carried him through the rest of the workday. He watches everybody leave. Kim, trying not to show his worry, nods as a goodbye and finally he is alone. At that very moment comes a sudden realization: That didn't help. He feels stupid that, for a moment, he thought that it might. In the silence of the office as the last steps grow quiet, a venomous, dreadful string of thoughts finally surface in his brain.
[NOBODY LOVES AN ALCOHOLIC, HARRY...]
"Shit... " He whispers to himself already feeling too drained of volition to stop it.
[NOBODY LIKES YOU HARRY. THEY LIKE A DRINK, SURE BUT DO NOT KID YOURSELF. THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU. THEY DON'T WANT TO AND THEY HOPE THEY'LL NEVER TO HAVE TO. YOU'RE A DRUNK. YOU'RE SICK AND SAD. NOBODY LIKES A REMINDER OF A REAL POWER OF WHAT THIS SUBSTANCE CAN DO. WHAT IT REALLY IS. IT'S POISON BUT THEY WANT TO ENJOY IT AND PRETEND THAT THEY CAN NEVER BE YOU, THAT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE. IT'S ALL YOU. YOU'RE JUST BROKEN.]
He covers his head with his hands and tries to wait it out. He suspects it won't be easy. The voice won't just tire itself out. Doubt and fear never have to sleep.
[THEY JUST WANT TO DISTORT THEIR REALITY IN PEACE AND YOU'RE BUMMING THEM OUT, MAN. YOU'RE A BAD OMEN, A GRIM SHADOW OF A POSSIBLE FUTURE. THAT'S WHY THERE'S NO PITY FOR YOU, JUST RESENTMENT.]
He's unable to halt the negativity flowing through him. Sitting here doesn’t help.
[IT'S GOOD THAT YOU ARE HERE ALONE. THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE. EVERYONE WOULD BE PAINFULLY AWARE OF YOUR PRESENCE, PRETENDING NOT TO BE AFFECTED BY IT. IT WOULDN'T MATTER EVEN IF, BY SOME MIRACLE, YOU DIDN'T DRINK. AN ALCOHOLIC, SOBER OR NOT, IS ALWAYS GOING TO RUIN THEIR FUN, MAKE THE BOOZE TASTE SOUR, GIVING IT AM AFTERTASTE OF REGRET BY JUST EXISTING IN THEIR PROXIMITY.]
Harry started to hastily pack his things, desperate to keep busy but the thoughts in his head are still pouring down mercilessly.
[OH, AND HERE COMES THE JEALOUSY. THEY GET TO HAVE FUN BUT YOU ARE PAST THAT. YOU PARTIED YOUR SHARE. IT'S EITHER BURNING SOBRIETY OR DRUNK OBLIVION FROM NOW ON. NOTHING IN BETWEEN. THERE'S NO WAY TO HAVE FUN WITH YOU ANYMORE. NO PARTY FOR YOU!]
Go home... just go home... Harry thinks to himself unsure what that would even accomplish.
[THERE IS NO ESCAPE. THIS IS WHAT YOU WILL BE TILL THE REST OF YOUR SORRY DAYS. UNLESS YOU GIVE UP AND FUCKING DIE YOU'LL BE ALWAYS ON A LOOKOUT. CARRYING THE INVISIBLE DISEASE. BORING AND PITIFUL. THIS IS ALL THAT YOU ARE.]
Harry doesn't remember his way home. He just somehow found himself in front of his door, trembling hands searching for a key. He is unsure if there is any solace behind that door but maybe bringing the fight to a known territory will give him advantage or maybe bad memories will come back and let the despair will finally win? It doesn't matter. He’s out of ideas. Harry unlocks the door, opens them and slams them shut abruptly as if he hoped that the sinking feeling won't be able to follow. It doesn't work.
[ARE THEY HAVING FUN NOW AS YOU STRUGGLE ALONE? NO DOUBT ALL OF THEM ARE DRINKING MERRILY AND THEY ARE LOVING IT BUT NOBODY LOVES AN ALCOHOLIC. THEY PROBABLY COULD BARELY STAND YOU SOBER! YOU CAN BARELY STAND YOURSELF. THIS UNRELENTING MISERY, THEY FEEL YOU DESERVE IT. SHIT, YOU PROBABLY DO. YOU WORKED FOR IT!]
Harry plops on his couch, dangerous concepts start to circle in his head. A drink... A drink would help. Maybe it would shut this thing up.
[OOH, PARTY BOY! YOU BLEW OF YOUR COLLEAGUES, YOUR FRIENDS, BECAUSE YOUR ALCOHOL PROBLEM, JUST TO PARTY ALONE... THIS IS SAD, OH SO POETICALLY PITIFUL! AT LEAST THERE'S NO ONE TO JUDGE WHILE YOU TRASH THE PLACE. IT'S YOURS! GO WILD! YOU DON'T HAVE TO SPOIL THEIR FUN, JUST DESTROY YOURSELF!]
Harry resists. He shouldn't listen to the voice, but maybe it will be easier to give up. He genuinely doesn't know. Right now he's so tired, so susceptible to the negativity, so fragile. With so many things he have forgotten, he is saddened, that he remembers a way from his house to the nearest store with cheap booze. It's burned deep into his mind. A trip he probably made hundreds of times. He is already making that journey in his head. He's leaving the building, turning left, but in this vision some people stand in his way. They don't block the path, but they look at him sadly, with concern and... care maybe? He is surprised, that there are still any. He grasps that thought, he pulls it, by a thread clumsy and holds it closely. This might not be much, but it seems enough to momentary anchor him to the couch, stop the rough stream of thought from pulling him down and drowning. There are some, who trust him, who would be disappointed and disheartened if he failed. He did a good job on the case, helped people... he is going to endure at least for today. Tomorrow is a day off work; a surprisingly scary thought. He will have to watch himself but for now he feels spent, as he curls on his couch still in his coat, not believing he would get to sleep but still feeling a little better.
Negative voice quiets behind a surprise of the bit of the conviction that Harry managed to squeeze out from somewhere deep inside him. He still feels like a sad sack of shit alone and tired but bit calmer now. I deserve to just sleep. He’s not sure he does but he needs to. He has to stop feeling so sorry about everything. Maybe, just maybe, he has been punished enough. His guilt, his getting drunk and dying wouldn't help anyone. Harry tiredly lifts his hand, as if holding a wine glass. Here’s to hopping that I will wake up tomorrow and not fuck everything up. He makes a mock toast to nobody and loosens his grip, letting the imaginary glass drop to the floor. A thought that he actually wants to live and see thing get better takes him by surprise. He might still have something to give. He rests, shaking himself awake as he feels dream's ghostly grubby hands try to take a hold of his brain again. He finally looses the stream of his own consciousness and drifts into shallow sleep. It might not exactly feel like a victory but he survived a day.