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In the dark, wet alleyway behind a ramen shop, Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare towers over you. He’s throwing his arms about and cursing furiously.
Moments ago, you lost your balance and had come slamming down onto the pavement. For the most part, you landed on your backside. But you also scraped your head on the brick wall of the establishment.
That isn’t what’s causing the drama. In the process, your jacket and sweater had crawled up your torso and exposed your stomach to the cold air… and Jean’s eyes. For a moment, he thought something was seriously wrong with you. He wanted to take you to the hospital.
You didn’t want to tell him the truth, but you didn’t need him fretting. Jokes on you, he still is.
“Just help me up, please.” You sigh. “No need to go into hysterics.”
“Hysterics?!” He bites back at you. “I’m fucking livid, Kitsuragi. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
This is precisely why. Because if anyone knew, you would be treated differently. They would tell you to go on leave before you needed to. They would put you on ‘light duty’ and they would get protective of you.
You can make those decisions for yourself. You’re a grown ass man.
“My personal life is of no concern to you or to this precinct.” You answer nonchalantly as you pull down your sweater. It’s fitting too tight against your abdomen, good thing it’s still jacket weather.
He still isn’t offering his hand, too busy being occupied by his frantic thoughts. That’s fine, you can get up on your own, even if you’re significantly heavier in the middle these days.
“The hell it isn’t. If we had been running from someone you would have been dead.” He exclaims.
You aren’t weak, you just slipped. The tread of your boots are wearing thin and the streets are filled with a gross combination of salt, rain, and snow. It could have happened to anyone. Besides, you still know how to shoot a gun.
Placing your gloved hands on the exterior of the building, you groan as you force yourself to stand. You give your belly a gentle pat for good measure. ‘ You’re okay ’ you say internally to the little creature inside of you.
“Let’s just continue the investigation. Forget this ever happened.” You adjust your glasses.
Upon standing, you realise the pain is more than you expected. It’s overwhelming. You’re almost always in pain these days, especially in your back. Now, it’s just everywhere.
“Ugh. No, Kim. You need to go home.” He groans, frustrated.
You wipe your dirty gloves on your cargo pants. “I’m fine, Officer. It’s just a preliminary inspection. I am perfectly capable of writing things down and I will continue to be.” You frown, putting emphasis on the last bit. He’s annoying you with his persistence.
And you are 98% confident that you will be okay. You are perfectly capable of doing your job. You have done this for two decades, nothing has changed. If you could continue your life after losing him , you can do anything.
He takes out a case of cigarettes from his pocket. It’s automatic. Then he glances at you, and puts them back. You haven’t touched the stuff since you had your suspicions. It would be bad for the baby.
“How far along are you?” He asks.
You wish he would stop talking like this. You just want to live your life normally. You’re not ready to start actually thinking about the thing inside you, or making any decisions.
Including whether or not you want to make those decisions alone.
“If you’re wondering if I am capable of doing my duties, the answer is yes.” You shoot him down. You don’t notice the blood trickling down the back of your neck, it mixes in with the rain. You just know your head hurts.
“Stop putting words into my mouth, that’s not why I’m asking.” He spits.
The two of you are as stubborn as oxes. This conversation isn’t going anywhere unless one of you calls in reinforcements. He knows this, and he knows he has the upper hand.
Jean sighs. “I’ll call Harry to come pick you up, you sit back down.” He says. It’s out of concern, but it feels like a threat.
God, no. Anything but that. You’re not ready to tell him. You’re not ready for your relationship with him, whatever it is, to end or change. You aren’t ready to get your heart broken, for him to abandon you. You aren’t ready to see him every day and pretend everything is okay when it isn’t.
Your eyes grow wide and you grab Jean’s arm tightly as he turns to walk away.
“Don’t you dare, Lieutenant.” You say between gritted teeth.
He frowns at you, baring his teeth back like an animal, until something clicks in his brain and he grows pale, his face slack. It doesn’t take impressive deduction skills to know why you’re reacting like that about Harrier Du Bois.
“It’s his , isn’t it?” He realises, voice as quiet as a mouse. Like the air got knocked out of him.
He’s judging you. He’s pitying you. You hate it, it makes you feel sick. Or… well something does.
A sudden wave of nausea hits you like a brick and you’re fortunate enough that you avoid throwing up on yourself or Jean.
“Damn, Kim.” He says, a little impressed by the velocity.
He rubs the middle of your back as you double over and vomit again. He’s done this many times before, except he doesn’t have to hold back your hair, and you don’t smell like booze.
“Alright, alright easy there. Eaaaasy.” He whispers softly. The man is surprisingly gentle in his comforts, despite being wildly hostile a few moments ago.
To be fair, it must have been quite a shock to him. You began your transition a long time ago, nobody knows.
You’re fine with it. You’ve accepted your body as it is and, now that you got rid of those pesky things off your chest, you’re actually quite satisfied by how things turned out, even if you still wish you had the physique and height of the man standing behind you.
Jean reminds you of him a little. But ever since the tribunal, you suppose everything has.
“Kim.” Jean’s deep voice stops your mind before it can hurt you any more. “I need to know how far along you are.”
You keep spitting bile out of your mouth. There is snot dripping from your nose. You feel disgusting.
“It’s been growing for two months now.” You finally confess, breathless. “I found out a few weeks ago.”
You started showing a little earlier than most people, being so thin. And you ignored it because…
Because you were in denial.
Hell, you’re in your forties. You did have some spotting earlier this year, but you decided that was menopause. And then there was the wetness but… you hadn’t been with anyone since he died and well, of course it was exciting.
None of this was supposed to happen. Perhaps it was a miracle. Perhaps it was a curse. You believe in neither of these things, but you can feel deep down in the depths of your mind; where you only feel and never think, that you love the child growing in your womb.
That is exactly why you shouldn’t keep it. Because you would make a horrible parent on your own. The thought makes you retch again.
When the nausea subsides and you’ve thoroughly reversed the trek your macaroni from this afternoon was taking (something you didn’t normally eat but now crave almost every second of the day), you’re exhausted. The constant pain and pressure is a lot to deal with.
Maybe Jean is right. Maybe it is time to take a break.
“We’ll both go back to the station. I need to get some dinner anyway.” He compromises, putting his hand in his coat pocket. He pulls out a wad of napkins from whatever diner he frequents and you gratefully take them and wipe your mouth.
“Okay.” You say, defeated. You just want to sit down.
Jean doesn’t help you walk but he does let you lead, following closely behind, just in case you fall again. You manage to walk out of the alleyway and down the street to the station vehicle without much trouble, though it’s hard to see when your glasses are being pelted with rain.
You both get in the doors and you chug a bottle of water like it’s the last thing you’ll ever taste, trying to get the acid out of your mouth. Jean doesn’t start the engine, he just sits there, waiting for you.
He still wants to talk. The Lieutenant turns towards you, with an elbow resting on the steering wheel. He begins with a dramatic, exhausted sigh.
“Look, I get it. You’re a tough guy and you probably don’t want anyone to know about your…” He makes a vague gesture towards your middle. He’s clearly uncomfortable saying what he wants to say. “But that’s going to be impossible when you start looking like a bloated twig.” He says. You notice that he talks with his hands a lot.
The rain pours down outside of the window behind him. You’re not good at making eye contact, especially when you feel like you’re being interrogated.
“It isn’t anyone’s business.” You repeat, crossing your arms defensively over your belly.
“I’m not telling you to make it anyone’s business. I’m saying you have people who care about you and you should trust us, nesse pas?” He raises his eyebrows.
You keep staring at nothing. “If I need help I will let you know.” You lie.
“I don’t think you will.” Jean says, voice stern. He sees right through you.
You lay back in your chair and almost moan at the relief you feel, now that you’re warming up, resting, and your mouth doesn’t taste like your stomach.
“You’re right. I wasn’t planning on telling you about this. Ever.” You admit.
“And how did you think that was going to go, dumbass?”
“I don’t know! But it’s not important to the investigation right now.” You put your fingers to your lips, craving a cigarette.
Try to get him back on track.
“You said you were hungry, let’s go. Maybe you can take Chester with you later. Or get Harry to dumpster dive for the missing body parts.” You suggest.
He turns the keys in the vehicle fully, and he starts driving, but it isn’t in the direction of the precinct.
“I’m taking you to the hospital.” He says over the purr of the engine.
Your eyes widen with fury. “No, the hell you’re not.” You try to grab the steering wheel.
The lieutenant slaps your hand away. “Look, I don’t care what you plan on doing with the…” he gestures to your body again “…but it can’t be good for you to have fallen like that.” He says. “I’m not going to force you to tell Harry or whatever. But you’re getting checked out.”
You could pull rank on him, but you won’t.
“Khm, Jean…” You clear your throat, a bit embarrassed at the immaturity of your actions just now. “I have an ultrasound tomorrow. I’ll bring it up then.”
It’s the truth. “There’s no sense in waiting over 8 hours in uncomfortable chairs to see someone when I’m going to be there in 10 hours anyway.” Plus, you just want to sleep in your bed. That is your greatest desire right now.
“Mmn… Your head is bleeding. You might need stitches.” Jean doesn’t know whether to believe you or not.
“Well, I have faith Gottlieb can patch me up.”
“He’s gone home.” Jean says, glancing at the clock on the dashboard.
The lieutenant steals another look at you before directing his eyes back towards the road. You can’t read his expression. You don’t know what it means, until he pulls into the driveway of a gas station to make a quick turnaround, and heads towards the precinct.
“Ugh, fine. I’ll do it. You better not be lying to me, dumbass.”
‘Dumbass’ must be his new term of endearment for you. It’s like when he calls Harry ‘shitkid’.
—
When you pull up to the precinct, you see Harry wave at you. He’s on his way home, waiting for a cab in the rain with an electric yellow umbrella. You smile, wave back, and pretend everything is okay.
The only reason you had gone with Vicquemare to the alley instead of your partner was because Harry had stayed behind to comfort a victim.
He could be a good dad, if you let him.
The gravel driveway makes crackling noises as the tires roll over it. Jean parks the vehicle in the back lot. His seatbelt unclicks. Again, he doesn’t move.
“Let’s wait until Harry’s gone. He’ll kill me if he sees I let you get hurt.” He jokes.
“Thanks.” You say, knowing the real reason. He just wants to avoid Harry entirely.
Things haven’t been quite as tense as they used to be, but the two still can’t be left alone in a room together, and Jean still looks at Harry with the same sadness as the first day you transferred and replaced him.
Once upon a time you thought he hated you, but he has assured you that isn’t the case. He thinks highly of you, respects you greatly, and believes you have helped Harry become the person he is today.
You can’t take any credit for his sobriety, or his change in demeanour. Yes, you have been there during the hellish nights where he was shaking with withdrawal. You have been there to watch him have breakdowns where he truly believes he is a monster and deserves to die. But the rest has all been him.
You love him. It scares you. You aren’t sure when that started, maybe it was the moment you laid eyes on each other. Maybe it was the day you were born.
“So… I take it you haven’t told him.” He says, craning his neck to keep an eye on any vehicles approaching the front of the building.
“I haven’t told anybody. As I said, I didn't even know myself until a few weeks ago. I got the confirmation during his birthday party.” You share.
The other man hums. “It must have been overwhelming, dealing with it all by yourself.” He sympathises.
A beat of silence. You don’t know what to say. Yes, it has been incredibly hard. No, you don’t want to make it easier.
“I know Harry isn’t responsible enough to seem like father material.” He starts up again. “But he would, I think. He would and could step up. You’ve seen him with kids, he’s great with them.”
“That isn’t my concern.” You sigh and shake your head.
“Then why so secretive?” Jean asks, bluntly.
You shift in your seat, back towards him. You focus on the rain, misting under the sodium lamps.
He isn’t going to get a response out of you.
Jean clearly itches for a cigarette. You do, too. Quitting was harder than you thought. You were addicted to the control that one cigarette gave you, not the nicotine itself. Jean, on the other hand, seems to have an oral fixation. You know this because he chews on pen caps, sucks on lozenges, and bites his fingernails.
He takes out a pack of gum and pops the white, square pieces out of the metallic packaging. He offers you a piece. You decline.
Jean rests his head back against the headrest and chews his gum. “Mon dieu, what a bastard.” He chuckles. “Until you came along, Harry wouldn’t shut up about Dora. Fucking Dora, all the time.”
You didn’t give in to turning around. You just listened.
“I never knew her. She severed his lungs and moved away far before I ever met the shitkid.” He explained. “Broke his soul. From what I understand, they both decided it was best for her to have an abortion when she got pregnant. Said it was because of his mental illness, financial issues... But then she cheated, got knocked up again, and kept that one.”
Was this a guilt trip? Is that really what they were doing now?
“He was… fucked. He was a fuck up. I loved him, and I tried so fucking hard to keep him alive, to put him back together every time he broke.” You could hear Jean sniff.
“But then he told me he didn’t care. He wanted to get worse and he wanted to die. And I realised we were just dragging each other down. That he was bad for me and that I was bad for him.” He admitted. “Just fucking… tearing eachother down. And I…” He laughs coldly. “I fucking miss it. I really do.”
You turned, just to observe his face. It was twisted, contorted in emotional pain. Anguish.
“He’s gone on several suicidal benders. He’s had several episodes of amnesia. The only thing that’s changed now is that you’re in his life. He goes to fucking AA meetings! He made the effort to get a therapist. He’s been thanking people. He’s been smiling .” Jean smiles too, but it’s a sad one. You realise he still has bitter feelings regarding Harry’s recovery. Maybe he feels like a failure.
“He loves you. Everything is about Kim now. Kim this, Kim that. So don’t take that for granted. If you think for one second that he would reject you, you’re dead wrong.”
You hear the gravel move again where Harry was standing in the rain. He must be gone.
Jean pulls the keys out of the car and gets out. You follow him, still remaining silent as you listen to him spill his thoughts out.
He slows his pace so that you can walk beside him. “He’s tried to get sober before. But now… I think he loves you. And he wants to be a good person for you. You’re what he’s always needed.” He explains. “I couldn’t be that for him. But I’m glad you are.”
You feel heat on your ears. You’re blushing. You wish your body was as good at lying as you are.
“I am not his sole motivation. I know it hurts him, that he can’t remember you.” You blink up at him, hoping he’ll understand that you aren’t a saint. That you aren’t special.
Jean grows silent as you approach the door to the station. Your words cut deep into him, mangle his complicated feelings for Harry even further.
Inside, Chester is the only one still in the office, but he’s just packing up.
“Hey guys, you’re back early.” He says, curious.
“Yeah, got to come back tomorrow.” Jean shrugs. “Ramen shop was closed.” He lies.
“Did you find anything in the alleys?” He asks.
“Just slush.” He dismisses.
“It is probably best to wait for the sun. It’s too dark to see much of anything right now.” You pipe up.
“Gotcha. Just make sure those feet don’t run off on their own!” He jokes as he shrugs his raincoat on. “See ya tomorrow.”
He takes off towards the door, and you and Jean make your way towards his office, careful not to turn so Chester won’t see the gash in your head.
—-
The cut wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Heads tend to bleed a lot, and once Jean took a wet cloth to it, he said it was small enough no one would probably notice.
Now, he’s just focused on getting the blood out of your hair.
Actually, you’re pretty sure it’s all been wiped up now, but he keeps stroking the cool cloth down the back of your head, to your neck, sweeping over both shoulders.
It feels nice. You rarely ever let anyone give you so much attention before. And, after being adopted and having been raised by a single parent for most of your life, you never had much opportunity to be touched like this, not until he came along.
You wish it wasn’t Jean who was cleaning your hair right now. It seems to be something he needs, rather than what you need.
Jean touches you like he’s in love. You have not spent enough time with him for him to be treating you like this. His affections are misplaced.
You feel guilty for allowing him to proceed, but you would also feel guilty if you didn’t. You don’t mind, really. He just needs someone to care for, someone safe for him to let his gentle side shine through.
Perhaps in time he will realise what he actually needs, and that it is to love himself like he is loving you right now.
“I think that’s good, Officer.” You murmur. “I can shower when I return home.”
He nods, solemnly, and reluctantly withdraws the cloth from your head. He places it in a bowl full of water on his desk.
“Kim…” he hesitates, thinking twice about asking, but then taking a leap of faith. “Can I touch it?”
Normally, you would say ‘hell no’. But the look on his face makes you think you’ll break him. To be honest, it isn’t that big of a deal, aside from the fact that Harry hasn’t even touched it yet, and it is his…
Regardless, you nod, giving him your full permission.
It’s a bad idea. Jean falls to his knees, and lifts up your sweater. His calloused hands are placed on either side of your stomach and he rubs his thumbs back and forth over the taut skin. He looks as though he is about to cry.
“If… if he says no… you’ll always have me. I promise.”
It makes you sad to hear how desperate he is to love someone.
“You don’t even have to tell him if you don’t want to. You… you could come live with me and I can take care of you both.” Jean looks up at you, pleading.
You’re frozen in place. You don’t know what to say or do. He rubs your belly in circles with one hand now, grabbing your hip with the other hand.
He knows this is an impossibility. He is fully aware of your feelings towards Harry and he truly believes Harry won’t betray you. Jean is only making use of this time he has alone with you, to pretend that he’s in a world where this is his baby and you are his lover.
To pretend that he’s got something to live for.
“Jean.” You sigh. You keep a firm tone, but it’s sympathetic. “You don’t love me. Stop embarrassing yourself.”
He stops his movements. You’ve hurt him. His face turns pale.
“Please…” he begs you. He is holding back tears with all the strength he could muster.
You put a hand on his head. His hair is soft, though still damp. You can feel the heat radiating from his scalp through his hair, and it warms your fingertips.
“I know what it’s like to feel lonely, Jean. I know what it’s like to lose a partner.” You admit. “You’re mourning. You are going to be emotionally confused for a long time. And that’s okay.”
He withdraws his hands, and reluctantly pulls down your sweater. Your stomach feels cold now that his hands are gone.
You wish you could feel love for this man, but even that wouldn’t fix him. He needs time, space, friendship, and patience. Luckily, you can offer all of those.
“I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. I have no doubt you would be an excellent father. I know you will still help if I choose to go through with this.” You say. “But we don’t belong to each other. And you are not ready to love again.”
The tears begin to flow now. They roll down his pock marked cheeks and get caught in his beard. When enough accumulate, they fall off his chin and onto the floor. He hangs his head in shame.
He knows you’re right. You wish you were better at this whole socialising thing. You only know tough love, you only know brutal honesty.
Maybe you aren’t cut out to be a dad…
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be so god damned selfish right now. I don’t know what came over me.” The lieutenant sniffles.
You crave peanut butter and you want to cry along with Jean. You put both of those needs aside and stand up.
“I’m still your friend, Jean.” You tell him, offering your hand. After a moment of deliberation, Jean takes it and stands up. He presses his other palm to his eyes, and pushes his tears aside.
He starts to bite his nails out of habit, and looks away from you, staring at the calendar on the wall.
You continue to hold his hand, letting him squeeze it any time he feels like sobbing.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, lieutenant. It’s fine to express what you want. All I’m saying is that I’m not what you need.”
He clears his throat. “I’m acting like a god damned fool.”
“Look at me.” You command. He refuses, so you place a hand on his jaw and guide it over. It’s an intimate gesture, one out of tenderness and concern rather than with any intent behind it.
He is a handsome man. Whenever he finds someone to care for, that person will be very lucky. You wish future Jean much happiness.
“You have been through so much. And you have a lot to learn about yourself. About who you are as a separate entity from him.” You tell him. “It’s going to be hard but that means you’re putting in the work. Don’t put yourself down for wanting, you’re only human.”
He solemnly presses his forehead against yours.
“I know what happened with your last partner. Our precinct was called in as backup, I was there that day.” He mutters. “It’s not the same, Harry’s still here.”
“You still lost him. You’re still haunted by the memory of who he used to be.” You reply.
Jean shakes his head. “I should feel happy. Heh, This should be a blessing to me.” His laughter is empty.
“No, no. You shouldn’t. It’s okay.”
You both stand there, heads pressed against each other and holding hands for a long, long time. Jean’s puffy eyes return to normal, his breathing evens out, and he steps back.
“You will tell him, yes?” He asks.
You put your hands behind your back and nod. “Khm. I’ll think about it some more.”
“He loves you. He’ll say yes.”
You pat him on the arm before turning away, leaving him in his office alone for the rest of the night.