Chapter Text
The old man sits motionless, staring at the space between two officers of the RCM, eyes trailing at a patch of swaying maybells. His mind is completely elsewhere. Occasionally his fingers would twitch, the blackened nails grimy with earth and soot. The fire pit has long turned to ash during the interrogation. You stand beside your partner, Harrier Du Bois, looking as if he would fall at the barest of touch. Blood still trails behind him in droplets, wetting and drying on his flair-cut disco pants.
“Detective?” You whisper, not trusting your voice in the quiet of the islet.
“Yeah?” Harry doesn’t turn to you.
Instead, he’s still staring out into the horizon where the sea meets the sky, beyond the stillness of the reeds where it once housed a nest of a three-meter-tall phasmid. The lieutenant is probably waiting for it, you think. That maybe if the two of you wait long enough, just for a minute or two, it might crawl back onto shore. Its spindly thin legs folding and unfolding, the spine-tingling sounds of its high-pitched chirps, the sheer miracle of discovering it again. Your gloved hand wanders to the pockets of your bomber jacket, finding the photo still tucked safely within. It’s real, you tell yourself.
Gently, you pat Harry’s back. “We should return to the mainland soon. It’s getting dark.”
Harry finally looks at you. Green-grey eyes brighter than you have ever seen throughout your temporary partnership. For that one moment, the traces of sadness that constantly lingers in his vision are replaced with child-like wonderment. You stand there like a statue, not knowing what to say to him. What was there to say? That you’re happy he has pulled through with the case. That you’re proud he has made it this far without a bottle of Commodore Red in his hand. That you’re the biggest idiot alive for feeling so helpless when he smiles at you like he does now.
Harry winces before you could get a word out. A shooting pain forces him back to reality. His wounded leg must be on fire right now and you curse yourself for letting him push himself to this degree.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here. M’tired of standing up, anyways.” He tries to speak through the pain but his words come out in a rush.
You urge him to lean against you, making sure his wounded leg bears the least amount of weight. He clutches to you like an anchor as the both of you make your slow crawl back to the borrowed boat. Harry glances back at the old man, muttering something you did not catch. You choose to be silent with him and Harry doesn't seem to be his talkative self, only limping as fast as he can manage.
By the time you have reached the upper level of the fortress, Harry is out of steam. You can't ignore the pained hiss that leaves him every time he plants his foot down. You suspect the painkillers are wearing off and the pain will only get worse from there. You force him to stop by the worn-down bed.
“Detective, I insist you rest on the bed for a while. I can keep watch.” Harry doesn’t untangle from you.
He shakes his head in obvious defiance, eyes wider than usual, tinged with dread as he looks down at the sunken mattress before him. You search his eyes and find only fear. That same glimmer you saw before, vanished as soon as it came.
“Is there something the matter, Harry?”
You don’t often say his name. Once it slipped out of you when he beckoned you to dance with him among the dizzying lights of the church. His green snake skin shoes winked at you in the dark. You didn’t catch yourself fast enough before cracks of a smile showed on your usually stoic face. You say his name now because you hope he can trust you as much as you trust him.
“I’m…I’m scared.” His voice soft, barely above a whisper. Embarrassed that he’s even confessing this to you.
“Of what?” You won’t judge him and he knows it.
“What I’m going to see when I close my eyes. When I fall asleep, eventually.”
He finally lets go of you. Suddenly, your hands feel empty and cold without him. He stands next to the bed, refusing to even sit down like some petulant child. You don’t want to force him but this is for his sake. So, you try again.
“I’ll be right beside you when you sleep.”
Your gloved hand finds his arm again, hoping the touch will convince him. Or comfort him. Or maybe, you’re grasping for any excuse to hold him again.
Something behind his eyes breaks, like a voice in his head, is asking him to listen to you. He sighs quietly and surrenders to the softness of the bed. Harry doesn’t complain much after that. In fact, you can see how his body melts when he finally lays his head down on the pillows. His eyes immediately droop from exhaustion but he stubbornly keeps them open. He’s afraid still.
You recall passing by an old chair in the corner of the room. Swiftly, you place it near the corner of the bed where Harry still lies. You sit down, not entirely facing him but close enough that he won’t feel afraid. Of the nightmare or whatever he finds when he goes under. You will have his back, that much you're certain.
The silence engulfs the both of you. The waves of the sea outside make for pleasant white noise.
“Kim…” he calls out to you. Timid at first.
You stop flipping through your notes to look at him. His green-grey eyes are lidded but staring softly at you. As if you’re the only thing keeping him from drifting off altogether. His long brown hair spread against the pillow like some sea creature. You wonder how they would feel against your fingertips.
“Yes?” You set down your notebook in your lap.
“Do you think I should just…walk into the sea? Leave everything.” Harry’s sounds so far away. An ocean away. Like he’s already leaving you behind.
“Why would you?” You ask him, a hint of worry somewhere in your voice.
“I don’t really know. It’s just a….feeling, y’know? Like there’s someone out there. Waiting for me.”
“Who?”
Harry's face contorts into a pained smile. It's laughable to him. Being so amnesic that he forgets all fundamental concepts of this world and yet he can't escape whatever is chasing him from the past.
“I wish I knew. Whoever they are.” He curls in on himself.
You don’t have the answers to these things. Especially when it involves some deep-rooted trauma of his previous life before Martinaese. You’re bad at this, Kitsuragi. Don’t say anything you’ll regret.
‘He’s being vulnerable with you. It’s only fair if you were the same with him.’ A tiny voice somewhere in the back of your head speaks out before it’s drowned by the sounds of the waves.
“I’d prefer if you stay, Harry.”
You rub at your gloved fingers, trying to fight off the urge to shut up and never speak of this ever again. About how you feel or why it’s getting harder to look him in the eyes. You reign back your iron-clad composure, stiffening your back.
“You’re an amazing detective. You’re…incredible in your own way. I’d be disappointed to see you leave. Believe it or not, I like being with you.”
Harry is silent when you’ve stopped talking. Suddenly, you’re terrified that you’ve said too much. You’ve definitely said too much, Kitsuragi. The urge to apologize overtakes you but he cuts you off before you can stumble through your words.
“Then, I won’t leave you, Kim.” He means it. You don’t doubt it for a second.
He'll follow you into death again if it comes down to that. It's hard to react to his sincerity when half the time you're blinded by it all. By him. You look away instead, eyes trailing on the incoherent handwriting of your notes instead. Hard facts regarding the case, names, addresses, clues and sometimes small observations on Harry throughout your time with him. You notice your lists of tasks lined together, all of them crossed out neatly with red ink. A final note you have written unconsciously at the bottom.
CASE SOLVED. REPORT BACK TO STATION.
A pit opens in your stomach when the realization hits. Your fingers instantly itch for a smoke. You turn to Harry and without much thought, you call out to him.
“Harry…” There it is again. His name slips pass your lips like water from a leaky faucet.
“Mhm..?” He's almost asleep. You shouldn't have called out to him.
“N-Nothing. Please, go back to sleep. I shouldn't have interrupted you.” You feel as though you would be more useful to him if you were to stand next to the chugging generator. He needs to heal and you need to shut up.
Just like that, he’s fast asleep, curled on his side with his back facing you. You snap close your loyal blue notebook and store it back inside your jacket. You slump heavily against the chair as the sudden aches in your joints and head reminds you of your own roughed-up state.
You can’t explain away the tangled mess you feel for Harry so you tell yourself that you’re just bone tired from the whole case. It’s the concussion or the trauma or something in between. You should be happy that this whole thing is nearly over. You’ll report back to Alice, hand in the paperwork by the end of the week and call it a day. Congratulations exchanged between your colleagues at 57 and you’ll be back in that tiny apartment you call home.
You most likely won’t see him again.
‘Is that a bad thing?’ you ask yourself. Waiting for that small voice in your head to give you answers but it never came. You turn to see him on the bed. Harry had turned over to lay on his back while you were deep in thought. He’s much quieter now, peaceful even. Far from the groaning bloodied mess back in his hotel room. He looked so sad back then. Sadder than any drunk you’ve ever encountered in your life. Mumbling something about apricots and radios.
You’re rooting for him now to get better. Climb out from the ruins and return to something hopeful. He’s been nothing but kind to you in more ways than you least expect it.
You sit patiently by Harry’s side until he wakes half an hour later.
////
This standoff is a bit dramatic but ultimately inevitable on Harry’s part. You stand by his side, back rigid and eyes sharp as you proceed to become a spectator between his partner Jean Vicquemare and Harry himself. Meanwhile, the other two officers seem content to let the whole scene play out. You share the same sentiment.
Harry being Harry, fumbles and miraculously makes a case for himself. Despite failing to catch his found badge and deflecting very hard about the fact he drove his MC into the sea, he’s giving everything to stay on the team.
He’s even admitted so far as to avoid drinking entirely on the case which barely made a difference to Jean as he scoffs at the statement. It takes all your composure and mental strength not to snap back. The onslaught of petty insults from Jean was childish at worst. It’s not really in your character to judge but there’s only so much patience you have in your body. Its bitterness, anger and betrayal all rolled into one. It’s not really your place to intervene.
Satellite Officer Jean turns to you. “Well, Lieutenant? You’ve been working with him for a week. What can you say about him.” You find no irony in his voice. He genuinely wants to know.
You told them everything as plainly and honestly as you could. As if you’re back at your station, giving a presentation to your colleagues on a recent case. You admitted that Harry was troublesome at the start and you can see a flash of shame in his’s eyes. You didn’t linger long on that fact and proceeded to list down his multiple breakthroughs during the whole ordeal.
This was not praising for the sake of convincing his team to take Harry back, you can’t deny the thrill of running alongside him on the coast. The small victory of cracking open the Hardie Boy’s facade, the pieces of a puzzle you get to experience being placed together when he’s spilling theories at you. The kindness he’s shown to the people of Martinaese.
You won’t get to feel this way again.
You emphasize that Harry’s been sober throughout the week and made sure they all know. You slipped in the fact that Harry gave a heartfelt performance when he sang on stage. Your ears feel warm from the memory alone. You never had a song dedicated to you in the forty-plus years of your meagre existence. How is this relevant to the case? You don’t really care and felt compelled to let them know.
You smile as you say this and turn to Harry beside you. He’s giving you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and full.
You tell them about the phasmid. As soon as they saw the photo in your hands, you knew Harry had won. Special Consultant Trant Heidelstam ecstatic about the discovery and its future prospects for the Precinct's reputation. You nod at the fact. Any newspaper company within Jamrock Central would kill to have a story like this on their front cover.
Jean reluctantly admits that he’s impressed and you can tell he’s downplaying his amazement at the photograph. Patrol Officer Judit congratulated Harry and you on the spot. You learn more new things about Harry. He’s not a Madre lacky by any stretch. He had his heart broken by a woman named Dora a few years back. He was a gym teacher in Couron before he entered the force.
Something took over you at that moment. A switch flipped in your head. “Harry, it explains everything! The running around. The jumping. The bicep girth. Your inexplicable facial hair.”
Harry’s eyes widen at you. “My girth?”
Suddenly, you’re dumbly aware of what you just said. You can feel the heat rising to your ears, the mortification and embarrassment settling in your chest. If you were a lesser man, you would have fumbled on your words and clammed up like an oyster. But you don’t because you’re Kim Kitsuragi and you face any situation with a deadpan stare. You’re quick enough to distract the other that you’ve mentioned Harry’s bicep girth. Thankfully, it seems like the three of them didn’t think much of that comment other than Harry.
You feel a gust of wind coming from the sea, ruffling your hair and sending shivers down your spine. It’s getting cold in the fishing village.
Harry turns to you. “Lieutenant Kitsuragi, what will you do now?”
You have your mind set on going back to your station. The report that needs to be painstakingly typed on your worn-down typewriter. Then, you’d want to have a word with your captain. You say all these things and he simply nods. There’s a moment of silence that stretches a bit too long between you two. He wants to say something. You’re standing there, waiting. The struggle behind his eyes so utterly transparent that only you could see.
“Good luck with your report.”
There’s not much for you to say. You’ve said everything, done everything, explored every inch of this story to its final ending. Now it’s time to pack up.
Just like that?
Jean, with all his bitterness towards Harry, cares for his partner even in the end. You can see a faint smile on his lips as he takes Harry by the waist, helping him walk towards their waiting MC. The other two officers have already disappeared into the front passenger seat. Harry stops at the open door of the vehicle and looks back at you. His tightening hand on the car's door. He’s smiling at you again, sadder this time and gives you a small wave. A goodbye. You tighten your lips and swallow.
The engine of the Coupris roars to life, smoke sputtering from the exhaust pipe.
You’re alone in the fishing village, standing there like a pillar of salt, waiting to be washed away by the waves. You replay that one second of memory in your mind. The moment Harry hesitates and you wonder what was he about to say. It could have been nothing at all, only you’re trying so hard to dream up the things you can’t have. You recall the words he said to you back on that islet. It was never meant as a promise anyways so you had no right to feel this pathetic.
He doesn't need you.
The pack of Astras in your grip feels like it’s taunting you. You loathe the feeling even more. You don’t break the rules you set for yourself but just this once, only today. You need it more than anything else.
You light up the second cigarette of the day and breathe in the cold.
You should really head back now.