Archive of Our Own

Despite what seems to be an increasingly popular belief, Kim enjoys his new position at Precinct 41, and he enjoys his partnership with Harrier Du Bois. They work well together, Harry bounces off of his comments like a firecracker, and Kim provides him a tether to keep him grounded. Together, they have managed to earn Harry the right to keep working in the field, rather than restraining him to a desk. It is for the best, anyway. Kim has seen the way he has to write their reports, pulling and pushing at every single item at his desk until Kim has to physically remove any distractions from his line of sight. He is a man of action. It is okay to acknowledge that.

But recently, it seems the rest of their office has forgotten that Kim is also a detective in his own right. While he does not solve anything with the near destructive efficiency that Harry does, he can certainly tell when something is… off. A few weeks into his new position at Precinct 41 he begins to notice the air changing. They were all happy to have him, eager for a fresh breath of air in an office haunted too often by the sins of the past. Judit left a potted plant at his desk the very first day, a testament to the idea that something new could grow here, between the unrepaired cracks of the old silk mill. He knows he is welcome here, that has never been the issue. Kim feels it, when the energy of the space changes. He feels it in the furtive glances thrown his way, the strange twiddling of thumbs and the hushed whispers between colleagues. It is difficult to tell if this strangeness has infected Harry too, or if whatever oddities possess that particular man are simply par for the course.

It begins, as things surprisingly often do, with Cuno. Kim’s own apprehension aside, it warms his bones in a lovely way to watch the way Harry ensures that Cuno does not ever wind up in the same way that he did. Kim watches above his glasses as the two of them interact, the way Cuno flaunts his new title of junior officer with a pride that can only be rivaled by Harry’s own. They’ve both been sober since Martinaise, something that Kim had not entirely expected. Prejudice is as hard to unlearn as any other bad habit, and he likes to believe that it is never the first thing that comes to mind that counts, but always the second. The reaction you have to the standards society has thrust upon you. So he is first surprised at their continued sobriety, the ways in which Harry guides Cuno past the sinkholes that most officers fall into during their first few years. Then, surprising him even further, he feels a tender sense of joy. Picking at his heart strings in a way he thought he had long grown out of.

It becomes normal for Kim to handle Harry, with gentle and steady hands, and for Harry to use that to guide Cuno further. Soon enough, Kim no longer flinches at Cuno’s double-digit-decibel shouts, or the way his too large boots (gifted by Harry, though it was Kim who spotted them in a pawn shop) echo throughout the office every morning.

What is not normal, however, is the way Cuno one day starts to stare. To gawk, to peer at Kim with uncensored interest. Kim manages to ignore it for the first half hour. Then, when he glances up, Cuno scurries. As though he has been caught doing something he was not supposed to. Has he? Kim wonders, and continues to write his incident report.

“Detective,” he calls out, as Harry is about to barrel straight past his desk after the boy. The taller man freezes, nearly tumbles over and onto the floor, and he only barely catches his bearings. Then he turns to Kim, with that big, ridiculous grin that seems to be reserved for him alone.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“...Last I checked, it was not . ” 

Harry seems to wrestle with the best response to that, before he comes to the decision that whatever options were presented to him were terrible. He leans upon Kim’s desk, in a way that is somehow endearing of a fully grown man. That, too, has become somewhat of a problem recently. Every time the thought occurs to Kim, the thought that Harry is soft around his edges, that he smiles in a rather appealing way, that his hand on Kim’s shoulder is a comforting presence… Kim cuts that particular growth off at its root, lest it blossom into something unseemly. They are colleagues. Friends, even. To step beyond that boundary would require not stars, not constellations, but galaxies to align in their favor.

Harry looks at him, in that strange way of his. As though he heard everything. Eyes gleaming with interest.

“I was only going to say that you might want to tell Cuno to… refrain from your particular style of investigation.” 

Now he frowns, brows furrowing thoughtfully. Kim can see it in his eyes, the way a dozen different questions flash in his mind, before being resolved as his synapses blink and flare. Whatever answers he manages to conjure, they do not seem to aid him very much. “...Okay?”

Great job. A perfectly inoffensive response. He can practically see Harry hitting himself. Kim taps his pen against his notepad.

“I am only suggesting this because he seems to take after you rather indiscriminately. If I didn’t know any better…” And there is a suggestion, there, that he certainly does not know any better. “I would think he is conducting his own little independent investigations. The same way that you do.”

The gears turn. And they turn. Harry seems rather caught off guard, and it is only then that Kim realizes this might not be as independent of an investigation as he had previously thought. Perhaps it is his previous experiences with juveniles that made him think Cuno was acting out a personal crusade. Kim’s brows furrow, and Harry seems to sweat, just a little bit. He looks over at Cuno, his face a mosaic of different moods and expressions. Then, he hums thoughtfully, a rumbling little sound in the back of his throat.

“It won’t happen again,” Harry mutters, and he isn’t angry, no. This is something else, Kim gets the strange sense that Harry is… nervous. Before Kim can comment on it, before he can attempt to practice a bit of that can-opening Harry is so good at, the other man stumbles off toward Cuno, exclaiming something or other about decorum. It takes all of Kim’s strength to not chuckle when he hears the shouted “ CUNO DOESN’T FUCK WITH DECORUM, CUNO DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS!” in reply. 

So, Harry knows what Cuno is up to. That is interesting indeed. 

He watches the two of them squabble with an amused little look on his face. He wonders distantly if the precinct was ever this lively, or lively in such a good way. Of course, with Harry it never could have been quiet. This is different, though. This is light, peeking in through tattered curtains. This is fauna, returning to old resting grounds. Judit passes Kim, and on the way she gives him a look, a look filled with mirth and joy, before she moves to stand at Jean Vicquemare’s desk.

That, too, is a somewhat recent development. Jean is still critical of Harry, unsure if his words hold as much weight as they did after the tribunal. But recently Kim has seen his eyes soften a little, seen the way he tightens and loosens the grip on his pen in thought as he watches Harry bounce around the office. He seems to be expecting a fallout, a final, nuclear collision. For Harry to finally crack for good, in the grandest breakdown yet. And it doesn’t happen. Kim can tell that Jean does not know what to do with that information.

Kim does not expect him to heal in a day, a week, or a month. But he sees it happening. Slowly, yet steadily. Jean no longer snaps at Harry the moment they run into each other. Once or twice, he has even seen them hold a full conversation, without an ounce of vitriol. That is how you patch the deepest of wounds. With care, time, and patience. These things cannot be rushed. 

How strange it is, to interact with people like this. It is not as if Kim has never been part of something resembling a community. He was on friendly terms with everyone in his own precinct. Still, this feels somewhat different. Like he has been pulled eagerly into the masses, eased into this group of mishaps like he fits just right. The final piece in a rather oddly shaped puzzle. Perhaps it’s not so bad, to not just exist in the peripheral of other people. To be thought of, considered. To be real, in a tangible way.

When he goes home that night, he has this weird ache in his chest. He hangs his jacket up on the wall, goes through the motions of winding down and getting ready for the night. It is… strange. He has never been one to desire companionship. Preferred it, sure. Enjoyed it, even on the best of days. But he is a survivor, through and through, and he has rallied through the coming and goings of companions with a barely wavering grace. Now he pours hot water into his cup and briefly glances to the cupboard, as though he considered getting a second one out. As though there was lingering company to speak of. Perhaps this thing, this sudden familiarity he has developed from his new position at the precinct has tainted his comfort in solitude. 

The sudden appeal of companionship, of people who exist in your space so comfortably… 

Kim closes his eyes, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. This is a mystery for another time.

↞↠

For a few days, Kim does not experience anything as strange. He and Harry start a new investigation, one that wraps up far quicker than the one in Martinaise. They navigate their way through this new partnership, fragile in its shape but boundless in its potential. It is strange to be this attached to someone again. To feel as though he won’t ever go back to being alone. That is a dangerous thought to have even outside the RCM. It would take only a stray bullet, a mission gone wrong for the thread to be severed. For either one of them to be entirely and utterly alone, again. He thinks about it, of course he thinks about it. But for a man who has hit rock bottom, Harry’s optimism seems boundless whenever Kim is involved. As though he is a few chapters further than Kim in the story of their lives, as though he has read ahead and seen the ending and he does not mind it one bit. So Kim puts his trust in that. That even if Kim is uncertain, Harrier Du Bois is certainly not, and that must count for something or other.

In the evenings, Kim drives him home, ensuring that Harry is not tempted to heal his wounds in the only way he has known how. Instead, they play Suzerainty, and Harry consistently finds new ways of not winning the game while simultaneously… winning at everything he attempts.

“Last I checked,” Kim comments one evening, when they are sitting together at Harry’s kitchen table. He examines the box to be sure. “Educational reform was not a requirement for victory in this game.”

“It’s not,” Harry agrees. He is smiling again, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. Just another thing that Kim has come to like about him. Harry always sticks to his guns, in a way that would be blatantly stupid if it was not in equal measures admirable. It does not matter how the chips fall, if it is a matter of life and death or a few réal. He does not waver, once he has found a sturdy foundation upon which to stand. So what does it matter, if he never wins. With this feverishly positive outlook, he never really loses either. 

“Fair enough.”

He clears away the game while Harry stands at the window, staring out at the city in that way he sometimes does, eyes glazing over with thoughts as deep as the ocean. When he gets like this, Kim has learned to leave him to it, until he concludes his pondering with a final exhale. Otherwise, the thought will continue, one way or another. Harry always finds a way to circle back, if he does not get the closure of an idea well thought out. ‘Well’, as in ‘thorough’, mind you. Not ever as in ‘sensible’. 

Now he continues to stare for another few minutes, so Kim clears away their cups, begins to turn the lights off in the other rooms. Only when he is done with this, when all the mundane tasks he can find are done with, he turns to the detective.

“Khm,” Kim clears his throat gently, and Harry blinks like there was just a knock on the door to his mind. He turns to the other man, a sheepish grin playing at his lips.

“Sorry.” And that’s always it isn’t it. He’s always so sorry. “I was somewhere else.”

“And where were you, detective, if you don’t mind?”

Now his smile turns downward, a little anxious, and he begins to fret with his hands like he has somewhere he needs to be. He never has anywhere he needs to be. Kim would know about it. Finally, he coughs lightly, putting his elbow up under the guise of politeness. In reality, he seems to be hiding his face. Hiding all the little quirks that tug at his skin when there’s something on his mind. All the hints that allow Kim to read him. There’s a deafening silence as he weighs his options.

“I was wondering if maybe I could…” 

More shuffling. Kim’s eyebrows quirk up, a little perplexed. Recently, Harry has lost whatever few boundaries he has left when it comes to Kim. Whatever questions he might have about the homo-sexual underground have been laid upon Kim with reckless abandon. A bit more than usual, actually. To think he suddenly has reservations about asking anything at all of his partner has Kim frowning just a bit, leaning against the kitchen table.

It takes a moment before he musters up the courage.

“The last few days, being at home has been hard. The whole… staying sober thing. It’s a bit rough. I thought maybe if I crashed on your couch… or the floor. I could take the floor, honestly—”

“Detective.”

“Yes?”

Oh. He’s looking at Kim with wide eyes, now, stiff as a board with the expectation that this is it, that this is just too much to ask. Which is ridiculous, in the grand scheme of things. Kim would have taken a bullet for him. This is nothing. Kim feels an amused smile tug at his expression, and he only tries to maintain it because Harry could so easily take it the wrong way. It has happened before, that this investigative machine of a man has so severely understood the human condition. It will probably happen again, too.

So Kim turns on his heel, toward the bedroom. “I’ll get you some spare sheets from the couch.”

And that is it. Now Harry is a strange yet welcome part of his night time routine. The world does not implode at the presence of another in his otherwise lonely life. He helps turn off the lights, helps Kim clear away all his papers and things. Kim finds a spare toothbrush stored away under the sink, from a time where he was far bolder. Harry takes it like it is the most precious gift in the world. If, when Harry leaves tomorrow, the toothbrush remains in the cup, tucked beside Kim’s own… that’s no one’s business but his.

In the morning, Kim finds that Harry snores. Kim is an early bird out of necessity, but Harry seems to have discarded that concept entirely. Kim allows him to sleep on as he steeps a pot of coffee for the two of them. He gets dressed and cleaned up, while the man on his couch remains delightfully undisturbed. Not really unexpected. Kim did not peg him as the type to wake up easily. Harry does not stir for a while longer, until Kim has to carefully kick at the corner of the couch. He would let him sleep in, if they did not both have a full time job. Harry only huffs in annoyance, at first, rolling over and nearly falling off the couch. It is far too small for him. Kim does not entertain the thought that he could have given him another alternative.

“Detective.  If you prefer to come to work looking like you never left, that is fine by me. However, if you don’t, you might want to, as the kids say, ‘haul ass’.” 

Harry squints, opening one eye to stare at Kim. “Who told you they say that?”

“I have my sources.”

Finally, Harry does sit up, throwing the blanket off with a groan. “I don’t think your sources are good, Kim.”

Kim only hums a laugh into his coffee cup, walking back to the kitchen. He hears Harry pad away toward the hallway, then stop for a couple of seconds. Before he has the time to consider it, before he ever opens his mouth, Kim calls after him:

“There was an unspoken implication that yes, you can borrow the shower.”

…Another beat of silence, and then he hears Harry open the bathroom door. Kim exhales a laugh at the sound. For a man who is at times impossible to understand, he is also excessively easy. It’s a fun little mix. Never boring. Once the shower turns on, Kim evaluates their options for breakfast, deciding after a beat that he clearly does not ever shop for two. Even for one , his cupboards have been draining somewhat, recently, with him working too often to remember to restock. He sighs, closing the cupboard door. They could pick something up on the way.

And they do. Harry is ecstatic about it, as he is about most mundane things. He tries to get Kim to race him to the precinct door, and Kim relents, finally, though he still only walks calmly after Harry as he bounds across the parking lot. 

It’s pleasant. This strange mundanity. It feels like something he could get used to. What a dangerous thought that is.

↞↠

Kim had not thought it would be an issue that the two of them came to work together. Really, they frequently leave together. This isn’t that much of a difference. Maybe it’s the fact that Harry’s clothes are the same as yesterday’s, though, well. It would hardly be the first time, now would it. He cannot see what is so strange about it that Jean Vicquemare himself would carefully skulk up to the side of his desk, eyeing him with trepidation. 

Kim allows him to stand there for a minute, if only because it is a little funny. Does that make him a bad person?

“Can I help you?” 

Jean recoils like he has been struck. He looks around the office like what he is about to say is a secret. Clearly, it is only a secret to one particular man. Kim notices at the same time as Jean that Harry has disappeared. From the looks of things, he has taken Cuno out for some reason or other. Enrichment, probably. A walk, or something. To play catch. Kim realizes quickly that this train of thought is more resemblant of how to take care of a dog. Then again, the difference is fairly small.

“Yes, well, actually… Can I help you? ”

Kim looks at him with eyes that must scream befuddlement, because Jean hurriedly tries to find a different way of phrasing it. Jean came to his desk, not the other way around. If Kim wanted help, he surely could have already asked for it. This makes no sense, so far.

“It’s been some time since you joined the precinct, you know. And everyone is happy to have you! Really. So don’t… well, I hope you don’t think it is just because of Harry that you’re here, we’d love to—”

“Hold on.” Kim does not like to interrupt people, really. But this is heading down some sort of highway at speeds way too high for him, especially when he has no clue what is going on. “I do not think I ever had the impression that I was here just for his sake, no. Did I give you that idea?”

“No!” But he is looking at Kim with some level of confusion, like they were previously speaking in the same language, and it has steadily declined to a bi-lingual sort of… soup. “I just want you to know that, if you felt your partnership was a bit… one-sided— He is hard to work with! I know, believe me, you know that I know that— This isn’t going anywhere sensible, is it.”

“Forgive me the indiscretion, but no. It really isn’t.”

And that is when Judit barrels into the conversation with wide eyes.

“ Jean, ” she hisses. Oh. This is another one of those things he does not get. Like how Cuno and Harry were definitely keeping something from him. This is the same thing, if not literally, then… Wait. Is it literally the same thing? Is this turning into the world’s longest joke that he is not in on? “I said they had it handled.”

“But do they, though? He gets like that, you know, he fucking charges into these things and he doesn’t think of whether the other—”

“They are grown, Jean! I am sure that there’s, well. That consent is in the picture, no?” 

Kim must be making one hell of a face, because the two of them freeze up like a blizzard just hit, staring at him like they’ve both been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. He does not immediately speak, only lets his eyes flicker between the two like he is expecting some piece of context. There is none. Not a crumb. 

“I… get the sense that you know something I don’t.”

And now their eyes widen further. Like that thought had not occurred to them, but now that it has, they have just spilled all of their cards onto his desk without a modicum of thought involved. Judit takes charge first, pulling at Jean’s arm with a strength that Kim was not aware she possessed, though he is not at all surprised.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding. A huge one. We won’t involve ourselves in business that is not ours, lieutenant. I am so sorry.” 

And then she is pulling her partner away, muttering something to him that is far too low for Kim to hear, perhaps by design. He is replying in a far louder tone, though any word Kim catches only makes him more confused. He sits there at his desk for a few moments, pondering the situation with his pen at his lips, before the door to the office opens.

Cuno and Harry are back, and Cuno is telling Harry something with huge, animated expressions. Something about their outing, regarding cars and arrests and pigs. Kim had somewhat thought Cuno would stop calling them that when he joined the force. At least he is persistent. Harry is listening, oh, he is listening , nodding along as though it is the only thing in this world that matters. It seems to surprise Cuno somewhat, to be taken so seriously. 

They are about to pass Kim’s desk, but instead, Harry wheels back around, placing something on his desk. Harry seems like he is about to say something, and Kim looks up at him long enough that he does not have time to see what the item is. Not before Cuno feels he has some sort of say in this situation.

“He’s gonna hate it!” Cuno interjects, voice shrill with the gravity of this apparent situation. “Cuno told you so! He’ll hate it!”

Kim doesn’t even know what it is, until he glances down at his desk, where he finally spots—

Huh. It is… a keychain. Not what he had expected. Kim picks it up by the ring, letting it dangle in front of him as he examines it.  It is a model aerostatic, no, it is more specific. It is a model of the Harnankur, the vanished interisolary commercial liner. Due to its size it is obviously not a very accurate replica of the real thing, though Kim gets the sense that it is because he’d notice the small errors that Harry chose to get it. He knows that Kim used to dream of flying something like this. Granted, sure, Kim wanted to become a pilot for other purposes than to go missing in the pale , but that’s not the point of it. The point is that Harry saw something like this, and decided Kim had to have it. 

He glances up, and Harry is beet red. Aflame. An absolute root vegetable of a man. 

“Where did you get this?”

“Cuno stole it !” The way it is declared, Cuno is very proud of that. Kim… not as much, and Harry knows this, so he raises his arms in defense.

“No,” he disagrees. Harry is shaking his head. “We found it on the way. Cuno says we stole it—”

“ Cuno stole it! The pig had nothing to do with it! Nothing!”

“That Cuno stole it because it was… technically at the scene?”

“At the scene…” Kim pales a little. “Of a crime?”

“Yeah!” Again with the glowing pride at actions which certainly should evoke shame. Kim frowns, but Harry is quick to come to his defense again.

“Technically is pushing it. I swear it was unrelated, and the owner definitely will not miss it. At all.”

He seems rather sure of that. Which gives Kim the distinct feeling that the owner is incredibly dead. Horribly so, even. He gives Harry a look that is meant to be somewhat reprimanding… but it isn’t quite sticking. Because this was thoughtful. This required not only for Harry to think of him, but to do it so visibly that Cuno noticed it. Because Cuno is taking the honors with such conviction that it must have been for Kim from the start. 

After a bit of contemplation, Kim sighs. “I won’t keep it on my keys, I think. But I might put it on the shelf at home. Thank you.”

He does not tack a detective on at the end, lest Cuno actually fly off the handle in a rage. He stole it. It was his glory alone. Harry just had the idea, of course. Kim huffs a laugh, and tucks the keychain into his pocket. Then he moves to continue his work. Only to realize that the two of them are still standing there.

“Did you… need something else?” 

Cuno gives a resounding “Yeah!” at the same time as Harry determinedly calls out “No.”

They all pause. The tension between the three of them is sharp enough to cut, as they try to determine how to handle the standstill. Finally, it is Cuno that seems to decide he has the floor, because he gives a rather valiant try at continuing.

“The pig wanted—”

Whatever impulsive thought fell into Harry’s head at that moment wins, because he immediately slaps a hand over Cuno’s mouth. When Cuno tries to struggle past it, Harry wrestles an arm around his little weight to pick him up entirely.

“Sorry.” He says.

Cuno is squealing, now, muffled protests that will never be heard.

“So sorry,” Harry repeats, wincing, as he moves to take Cuno out of the office. Out, Kim notices. Whatever Cuno wanted to say, Harry is making sure it does not enter this space. He is dragging Cuno out the door, to the surprise of just about every person in the entire office. Kim finds it only marginally strange, until he turns to see Judit and Jean looking equally guilty.

So they are all in on it. Whatever ‘it’ is. And Kim is apparently not meant to be privy to this information. It just gets stranger.

↞↠

They’re tucking into a takeout container each when Kim pauses, looking over at Harry. Harry seems none the wiser to this, content to pick at his own food with purpose. Kim has found that on some days, the detective will devour his meal like it is the last he will ever get, like he is a starving hound at the end of the very world. Other days, like this one, he has decided he wants to divide his food up into sections, and only ever eat one at a time. Such as vegetables, and then protein, and then… At this point, his structure tends to falter, because Harry is a lot of things, but he is not particularly good at organization. 

Kim watches him like a zoo animal. It is better than any other entertainment.

“What are you hiding?” Kim asks it in the same tone of voice you would ask the time, and Harry promptly chokes on a green bean. He only feels a little bad about it. He pats Harry on the back a few times as he gets his breath back.

And then, with all the authority of a wet rag, Harry says: “Nothing?”

“As far as good attempts go… I’d give that one about a seven.”

“Out of ten?” Harry looks a little hopeful.

“Out of a hundred. Try again, detective. And try harder.”

Harry only shoves more food in his mouth to avoid the question. Which would be fine, honestly, Kim knows when it is best to pull away and to stop trying. But this is… This seems to involve him, in some kind of way. And he is a little afraid that it is bad, that everyone around him is behaving strangely because he is the problem. That hurts, just a little bit. So he takes another bite of his own food, and ponders it for a little.

Then, before he can say anything further, Harry gets there first.

“It’s stupid,” he says. “It’s me. I’m being stupid. And I’ll get over it. It’s not your fault, I promise.”

“First of all,” Kim declares, pointing his food accusingly at Harry. “Stop doing that. Knowing what I’m thinking. I know you were doing it.”

From Harry’s sheepish expression, he is right.

“Secondly… What are you getting over?”

“It,” Harry says, like that is all there is. It is absolutely not. And he will not fool Kim like he does everyone else, where he brushes things off like they do not matter and people just agree. Kim shakes his head.

“I do not know what ‘it’ is, and you know that I do not know.”

“This whole sentence structure is becoming a bit much, Kim.”

“I know it is. Don’t stall.” 

“I am very good at stalling. Some would call me the stall-master, really, if you ask, they’d tell you, I am—”

Kim puts his food down, and stares. Stares in the way that he knows makes Harry stop, makes him freeze up and hesitate to keep speaking. As far as authority goes, they both know who wins, each and every time. Finally, Harry seems to shrink under his gaze, putting his own food down on the table and clearing his throat.

“The case in Martinaise made me… figure out a lot of things. Beyond, you know, my first name.” He chuckles nervously. “And I tried to tell Cuno, don’t ask why I went to Cuno , he can be very persuasive!”

“Can he?” Kim asks, with a bit of mirth in his eyes. 

“You don’t know him like I do.” And Kim is very thankful for that. He would prefer to never know Cuno the way Harry knows Cuno. He can barely tolerate the kid for more than half an hour. “Well, I told Cuno, and now he’s climbing the walls about it, more than me, I mean.”

“And you told Jean, too?”

Harry blinks. Thinks, for a moment, and seems to decide that no, he did not. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I had a very disheveled Lieutenant Vicquemare at my desk this morning.” 

Harry’s eyes widen. “You did?” 

“Mm,” Kim agrees, nodding easily. “And whatever you and Cuno have been discussing recently, he seemed to be well aware.”

There is a beat of silence, where Harry stares at him from the other side of the couch. Then he swallows, biting his cheek in anxious thought before he speaks again.

“And you still don’t… know?”

“ No, detective. I still do not know, because all of you keep talking about it like that. And before you try to brush it off, please remember that I can choose to make you sleep on the floor rather than on the couch tonight.”

Harry seems about to protest that, before he stills. “...What?”

“What?” Kim replies. He has no idea what they’re both confused about, now.

“I wasn’t expecting… I thought you’d send me home today.”

And Kim pauses. Because really, it isn’t self-evident that Harry will be staying over every night, now. He has a house. Kim had just assumed so, for some reason. That Harry was more comfortable within the safe walls of Kim’s abode, than at his own home, where the remnants of the past stain the walls like cigarettes would.

“Well. If you would like, I could drive you home. But the offer is never rescinded, Harry. You’re welcome here whenever you’d like.”

And Kim does not even notice that the topic has changed, that Harry is getting away scot free from the conversation. What matters now is that he looks unsure, shrugging as though either option is good for him. Kim knows that isn’t quite true. So he gets up. Puts his own food away for later. An RCM officer’s salary is not hefty enough that he can afford to throw away leftovers. Then he gets the sheets back out for Harry, silent as he offers them. 

The routine begins anew. Harry notices the toothbrush still sitting in the cup, because he always does notice these things. They get ready for bed in comfortable silence, though there is an undertone, now. A tension, running between them like live wires. Kim cannot tell what it is, but it’s there , and it is somewhat annoying to be the only one who cannot tell what it is.

When they sleep, now, Kim lies awake for another hour, listening to the quiet exhales of Harry in the other room. He does not dwell on the fact that the wishes he could feel them, too.

↞↠

It all comes to a head the next afternoon, when several of them have gotten together for lunch at the office. Judit tugs teasingly at Harry’s jacket, and Kim comments, rather innocently, that Harry had to pick up a new set of clothes because he spent the night at Kim’s again.

Judging by the sudden silence in the room, this was not an innocent comment whatsoever. 

Judit pauses, blinking owlishly at his words.

Jean spills half of his coffee down his own shirt. 

Cuno, bless him and his complete lack of filter, is the only one to actually say something. When he does, he sounds positively triumphant.

“You told Cuno there was nothing going on! You thought you could lie to the Cuno, pig! But Cuno always finds out! Always!”

And what in the world is that supposed to mean? Kim pauses, leveling Cuno with a questioning stare. Cuno seems to pay it no mind, mostly because Harry is immediately standing up. One of these days Kim needs to tell Harry that grabbing Cuno whenever he says something is going to become less and less acceptable the older he gets. So now he kicks a leg out, blocking Harry from the fastest path toward the kid.

“Cuno always finds out, does he?”

Harry looks down at him as he speaks, face pale with horror. In his peripheral, he can see Jean and Judit watching this happen like it is the most riveting chapter of a book they’ve ever read. It is not particularly subtle. Well. Kim could have had more tact, sure, he could have gone about this in the gentle way, the careful way. But none of them granted him the same kindness. So fuck it. They’re doing this in the middle of the office.

Kim turns to Cuno.

“What did you find out?”

“ No —” Harry begins, but Cuno loves to talk. It has to be his very favorite thing. At least after he got sober.

In hindsight, this could have gone much worse. Luckily it was only the five of them, the rest of the precinct having left to find their lunches elsewhere. Despite whatever prejudices might linger at the edges of their vision, these people are all well meaning. It could have been a lot worse. Still, Kim will regret the way he went about this for the rest of his life, even if he had just about no other choice. If only because of how worried Harry looks, once the words leave Cuno’s mouth. 

“That the pig likes you! That he gets all doey-eyed whenever you talk! And Cuno said that you’d get together, but the pig said no! ” 

…What?

When it clicks in Kim’s head, he nearly passes out. Not out of shock, no, but from how obvious it was in hindsight. Cuno’s odd stares. The way Jean gave him what might now be considered a reverse shovel-talk? The way Judit said there was consent involved? Kim has always been good at subtlety, especially in regards to his own preferences. This was not subtle. This was a gunshot, and Kim still managed to miss it whizzing past his fucking head.

It takes him nearly a minute before he realizes that he has not spoken. And that must look awful to Harry. 

Wait. They’ve been showing up to work together. With breakfast.  

He might be dense. All this time, Kim has considered himself rather intelligent. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he has been this stupid the entire time.

And he still isn’t speaking. Harry looks like he is about to find his escape through the nearest window. That can’t happen. 

“Right,” Kim says, forcing his voice to stay steady. And then, because it is the only way to retain both of their dignities, Kim looks at harry. “You can’t lie to Cuno, detective.”

The wheels turn in Harry’s head. Excessively slow, yes, but they turn. And when he finally realizes the implication, that Kim is running with the idea that they have just been in a rather private relationship this whole time and not that Kim just found out Harry is gay and that he likes him all in the same minute… he exhales a sigh of relief.

“Nothing gets past you,” he agrees, and Cuno is triumphantly pumping his fist.

Judit and Jean slump in their chairs. Jean seems like he is about to ask something, but stops the moment Mack and Chester come bursting through the doors, hollering something about someone they saw on the way to a food truck earlier. That is telling. That is the pleasant surprise about this all.

This entire time, Jean and Judit have known. Even if they got nearly every detail wrong, they have gone off the assumption that Kim is fundamentally different, that his preferences lean in a direction which is not often seen as preferable, in this day and age…

“We won’t involve ourselves in business that is not ours, lieutenant.”

And they have, in their own way, shown that they are on his side. That whatever this situation is, it in no way impacts his work here at the precinct. That even if he is different, in some ways… he still belongs. He still has a place here. That makes him quiet. Makes him stare at his lunch with quiet reverence.

He will untangle his feelings about this later. For now, he knows that they are warm, and they are unexpected, buried deep inside his chest.

“We can talk about this later,” Kim mutters to Harry, and Harry looks petrified until he spots the smile in the corner of Kim’s mouth. Amused. Kind. Hopeful.

The rest of the day passes normally. Kim and Harry wind up on patrol at the end of the day, as there is not currently a case occupying their minds. Harry returns somewhat to himself, making comments and cracking jokes that have Kim laughing softly, shaking his head with a fondness that suddenly seems natural, seems real in a new way.

He can’t keep pretending he hasn’t thought of it. More times than he hasn’t, honestly, when Harry is involved. His presence at Kim’s side is comfortable in a way that he would never trade away. He has seen just about every side there is to Harry, both the good and the bad, and the absolutely harrowing. This has done nothing to deter him from wanting more. From patching Harry up after the tribunal, from transferring to his damn precinct. Kim is in deep, has been for longer than he probably knows. He just happened to learn to swim in the volatile waters that are Harrier Du Bois. The further away from land he gets, the more he finds that he might like it. 

When the day ends, Harry hovers at the door as the others huddle out for the evening. Kim takes his time, finishing his reports with the utmost accuracy. He isn’t stalling, he swears. He’s just preparing. For what? 

For something new, he supposes. That is always a little frightening. Then again. Harry was new to him, rather recently. That has been turning out well.

He meets Harry at the door, twirling his keys with one finger.

“Don’t look at me like I am leading you to the gallows.”

“You could be,” Harry declares, and Kim shakes his head.

They descend the stairs together, waving goodbye when they run into a few officers on the way. Kim sees the way they tilt their head up in a new, fragile kind of respect. It seems, suddenly, people are seeing the Harry of old again. He has some color back in his cheeks, nowadays. Kim makes sure his beard and hair are properly trimmed, too. He looks healthier, a little more fond of this thing called living. It suits him. He may never be the man he used to be, before despair dragged him all the way down. But if Kim has anything to say about it, he will never be the man he became again, either. Something different, instead. New things upon new things. Perhaps it will do them all some good.

↞↠

“If you had just talked to me,” Kim says, as they approach his apartment again. He tries to sound stern, but he is chuckling a little at it now. It is ridiculous, the lengths Harry went to to ensure Kim would not know. As though Kim’s reaction could ever be volatile. As though, even in the worst of times, he would ever treat Harry without the respect that he is due. Harry stares at him with a flustered little look in his eyes, waving his hand so it nearly hits the window.

“I can’t do that. Have you heard me talk? It’s a catastrophe,” he declares, and the pressure he puts on the very last ‘p’ has Kim laughing more.

“Not always, detective. Just sometimes.”

“Most of the time.”

“I would say it’s half-and-half, actually.”

Harry trails after Kim as they get out of the car, climbing the steps to his apartment. He trails after him up to the right floor, stands furtively behind him as he fiddles with the keys. All the way inside, and Kim manages to get his shoes and jacket off before he sees Harry still standing in the hallway, door wide open, glancing this way and that like a lost dog.

Oh, how does he handle this situation? Now that they’re here, and things are different, and Kim has been meant to address the elephant in the room for half of the day? There is no manual for this. Something in the back of his head is calling out that fraternization within the RCM isn’t exactly appreciated , but then another part of his head is reminding him that liking men is also not appreciated, so perhaps the RCM’s regulations can take a hike, for once.

All of this thinking is not helping Harry. Kim tilts his head, smiling in a way he hopes is encouraging.

“I hope you don’t plan to stand there all evening. You’re letting a draft in.”

And this works, in a way, because Harry does close the door and step further inside. Then, he hesitates with his shoes. Kim is about to bodily drag him all the way into the apartment, because he is patient, so patient, but it is hard to be kind and gentle with Harry when he will not even sit down on the damn couch.

“I assure you, detective, this will not turn out as harrowing as you seem to think.”

Harry makes a face at that, a clear you don’t know that , but he does toe his shoes off. Kim leads him into the kitchen, sits him down at the table because he doesn’t know how to do this, at his age. Doesn’t know how to handle anything other than rough hands and quick decisions. This is, to the both of them, uncharted territory. He fills a glass of water for himself, then for Harry, because Harry never asks for the things he wants. That’s how they got here in the first place.

When he sits down across from him, he raises his brow in anticipation. 

Harry does not speak, because he has no damn clue what to say. Kim can tell. Normally, his eyes flicker in thought as he receives input from the council he likes to keep in his head. Now he is blanking entirely, a series of failed attempts at coherent thought. Kim has a sip of his own water, before he puts his hands on the table. 

“...When you asked me in Martinaise—”

“Yeah,” Harry says, attempting to cut that piece of dialogue off before it can go any further. No dice, unfortunately.

“About the homo-sexual underground—”

“Yeah. I know where you’re going with this, I get it—”

“Sorry, I am just trying to get an idea of how far this goes. Was that—”

Harry has put his head in his hands. “ Yes , I fucked up, because I was kind of obsessed with the idea that that was an option, and I didn’t—”

“You didn’t know if I…”

“Kim, you’re killing me.”

“I know,” Kim agrees, thoroughly amused. Because it is amusing. It is hilarious, it is delightful. Now that he is past the initial worry, the initial anxiety at the very idea of companionship in such an intimate way… it is wonderful, in a way, to imagine it. To sit at this table with Harry every day, pick him apart at the seams and watch him pick Kim apart in turn. They are not two halves of a whole, Kim would never render himself unfulfilled without another. However… Perhaps Harry adds something. A splash of color, to what has been an otherwise rather monochrome existence. 

There is a quiet, as Harry tries and fails to come up with something to say. As Kim ponders where he wants this to go. He controls this narrative, and whatever path he chooses, he knows Harry will take it. He would not ever force Kim into a decision such as this. In fact, that is what he has been trying to avoid this entire time. It is admirable, in some way, that Harry would go so far to retain Kim’s own sense of normalcy. That he would sooner drown in his own mind than make Kim take the burden of his feelings. It is also completely stupid , but it is admirable in some way. 

Shockingly, what holds Kim back the most is this: Has he earned the right to a soft interim? To a moment of peace in a life that has never really been peaceful? Can he truly accept that for a while (not forever, a member of the RCM does never get to rest forever) this could be his? Two toothbrushes in the bathroom. Extra pillows in the bed. Two cups on the table in the mornings? Has he truly worked hard enough to deserve it?

Then again, who has the right to tell him he hasn’t?

“Fuck it,” he says, smiling softly. “I guess we’re doing this.”

Harry clearly has not been a part of any of this contemplation, because he blinks like he just stared at the sun for too long. “What are we doing?”

“I suppose it doesn’t change much, really. You spend most of your time here, as is, so it’s only a matter of logistics—”

“Logistics—”

“I guess I would be concerned about privacy, you’re not the subtlest man I have ever met, but based on this afternoon I think—”

“Kim, Kim, Kim,” Harry pleads now, reaching his hands across the table. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Kim says, slowing down. “Well. We’re together now, no?”

“...” Harry looks like Kim just walked on water. “Are we?”

“Unless you have objections. Do you?”

“ No, ” Harry says, and he sounds so offended. The very notion seems absurd to him. But then he shakes his head a little, frowns like he still needs some time to catch up. With all that running he does, it’s a surprise his head can’t always be as quick. There’s probably a board room meeting in there. “Is it that easy?”

“I don’t see why not.” Kim shrugs. “I am too old for the dramatics, Harry.”

“Yeah, well, but… I don’t know. Do you even like me?”

He… had not considered that it was not obvious. Kim levels Harry with a stare. Kim does not drive just anyone home every evening. He certainly does not let just anyone stay in his apartment for days on end. All that he does for Harry, he had somewhat assumed was tangible in a way that left no question. Then again, he should never put ‘assume’ and ‘Harry’ in the same sentence, not ever. So he sighs fondly, shaking his head, then blinks when Harry takes that as an actual no.

Kim supposes there should be no room for doubt, anymore. He stands up, walks around the table to where Harry is sitting, looking a little small now.

“I thought with all of your deduction skills, you would have it figured out by now.”

Before Harry can argue with that, Kim kisses him. 

It is light, it is chaste, Kim pulls away before Harry has any time to react. But it is real. Real enough that Harry looks like he is about to pass out where he is sitting. Kim is nearly worried he actually broke him, that this was the last straw. Kissing a man was just too much for the already fraying detective, and it has sent him over the deep end. Harry finally blinks, heaving a breath to obtain all the oxygen he just missed out on for a second. 

Kim does not expect his response. “Can you do that again?”

He bursts out laughing. He can’t help it. Harry looks fraught at the response, but Kim cannot stop the way it bubbles up in his chest, spilling out like a fountain of ludicrous happiness. It’s ridiculous. Kim feels like a teenager, giddy over a schoolyard crush. Finally, once the chuckling has stopped, he laces his fingers with Harry’s, leaning against the table as he speaks.

“I could, yes. If that is what you want. But we need dinner. Like responsible adults.”

“No we don’t,” Harry says, a bit too quick. Kim promptly ignores him.

“We still have some of what we ordered from last night, right?” He stands back up, though Harry follows, now, protesting even as Kim gets the boxes from the fridge, pulling at his shoulder with urgency. Kim obliges him only a few times, though he finds that wow, the fact that he has to stand a little on his toes to kiss Harry is appealing in ways he had never considered. They eat in the living room, Kim stretches his legs out across Harry’s lap. Harry only adjusts slightly to make it more comfortable for the both of them, before he goes on a tirade about a new tactic for Suzerainty, one that Kim knows will not work. He points this out, and Harry only grumbles a reply about the philosophy of it all mattering more than the rules. 

The evening eases into the night, and it does not get any stranger. Not any less comfortable. In fact, they seem to fall into a rhythm now, where touches become more acceptable. Kim leans over to pick a piece of rice out of Harry’s beard, at one point, and Harry only grins, in a disbelieving sort of way. When they clean up, Harry grabs Kim by the hips to move him out of the way in the kitchen, and Kim only retaliates with a gentle whack because Harry did it to get to his cigarettes. 

It is simple. It is easy. Like riding a bike after years and years. You always fall back into it, in the end. When they get ready for bed that night, Kim stops Harry halfway to the couch, and pulls him to the bedroom, instead. Like it was where he was meant to be all along, an arm slung across Kim’s waist, the rumble of his snores lulling him into a deep sleep. All the sounds of the world feel far away, quieted by the warmth and safety of their little bubble.

Perhaps it’s alright, to take hold of the things you want to keep. They both need to learn to do it more often.