Work Text:
They're one hell of a pair. There's a trick – watch the hands.
Here we have satellite-officer Chester Mclaine. "Satellite" means sputnik, it means his partner has a strong gravitational field – it depends on Torson's mass, and Torson sure has some mass in him. Chester Mclaine has already reached steady orbit a couple years ago.
They fit like puzzle pieces, but also like comic characters from the last page of a newspaper – a comic to separate some stale jokes from a crossword. Everything is fun and simple in those. There's a big one, a small one. Strong and weak. Honest and sly. Only, when you reach "stupid and smart", it all falls apart – if Chester were such a genius, he won't be a satellite.
Reading glasses look funny on Torson's face, that's why he only puts them on at home, when reading news to his mom. He has a reputation, an image, a role, and that's why he's silent before, after, and during shoving his fists into people's faces. He could talk about Mazovian theory, actually. He just doesn't.
Chester's not that smart, and he's not a better detective. He's a slippery type. Sneaky. Unpleasant – freckled, scrawny, laughs at his own shitty jokes. His jacket sleeves are too long for him, and trouser legs too short. The fact that there's a human fucking wall just slightly behind him at all times doesn't help.
He and Mack throw people off. No human can-openers, of course, but still good – surprise, Kitsuragi just realized yesterday that they also have a method.
If you don't work at the 41st, you don't work at the 41st. He and Mack do. They work good. And a lot.
Mornings after his six-hour sleep, Chester is pulled from under his blanket by a gravitational field. "Satellite" means sputnik, a tin can with antennas all over it that takes photos of Elysium from far, far up, through the ether and the Pale. All satellites run on solar winds, kebabs, buttered toast and coffee.
He takes photos of the crime scene from not that far up and without a camera, through the ether and the Pale still. Snap. It's all in his head now.
Mack tiptoes around the body with the gentleness of a samarian elephant. His feet are dancing carefully between the blotches of brown-red.
They're one hell of a pair. An iconic duo. But the thing is, the trick is, they work.
Just watch the hands – and you'll see how it's done.