Chapter Text
There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears.
Harry just fired the first shot of the Tribunal. There’s a hole in Kortenaer’s cheek, gushing blood. He’s incapacitated, for now. But in the background, Ruud Hoenkloewen moves to retaliate. He raises his long rifle, aiming it at the Yefreitor.
You advance, in search of a clear line of sight. It’s a battle against time, stress, and hyperopia.
Yefreitor leaps to the left. Ruud shoots. You defy your instincts and hold your ground. The lead whizzes past the two of you, millimeters from killing your partner. Through the cloud of smoke, you find your mark: the eye slot in Ruud’s helmet. You will your hands to hold steady.
SOMEONE DESPERATE: - “God, please…”
You pull the trigger. Two guns ring at once. Bullets fly past, and someone screams. Blood gushes out of Ruud’s helmet. He staggers back, wailing like a wounded animal. There’s no time to celebrate. Glen is dying in a puddle of blood behind you, gutted by a pair of bullets that were meant for you.
Through the smoke and the panic, you see Kortenaer raise his pistol at Yefreitor. His eyes are crazed with vengeance. If you don’t do something, he’ll be his end.
Do something!!!
There’s no time. Kortenaer pulls the trigger, and Harry falls like a ragdoll. With the exception of a small gasp, he doesn’t make a sound.
The world erupts into chaos. Behind you, the Hardie boys scream, fight, and die. You leap over Harry, shielding his body with your own. Someone falls. Gunfire shatters the windows of the Whirling. On the balcony, Garte screams for it all to stop.
TITUS HARDIE: “The cop! Protect the cop, he’s down!”
If you make it out of here, you’ll have to buy Titus a drink.
You turn the Yefreitor’s body around. Lieutenant Eyes stare back at you: lifeless, bloodstained, eyes wide open without seeing a damn thing. You blink, and it’s Harry again: breathing, alive. But far from safe. Kortenaer shot him in the leg, just below the pelvis, and the wound is gushing blood. You can’t lose him, too.
YOU: - “You’re bleeding out!”
You wrestle your jacket off and push it to the wound, using both hands to apply pressure.
HARRY: - “Kim, I lied. About not remembering who I am. I made it up… I remember everything.”
YOU: - “Yes! Keep talking! Stay awake! Look at me!”
The Yefreitor’s eyes droop. His breathing grows weak, and for one gut-wrenching moment, you think you’ve lost him. He comes back with a gasp, vision zeroing in on something just behind you.
HARRY: - “Kim!!”
You glance back and see your death. Phillis De Paule is a cruel white shadow, carrying a bullet with your name on it. She won’t miss this time.
When she shoots, something in you fractures. Something important. The pain forces the air out of your lungs. You fall to the ground, in the same puddle of blood as Harry.
What a mess…
HARRY: - “Kim, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
Your hands brush. The world is a blur of pain, screams, and gunshots. Of Harry’s tearful eyes, and the touch of his hand against yours. You wish you weren’t wearing gloves. You would have liked to hold his hand proper, here at the end of all things.
When the world fades, you close your eyes and embrace the darkness.
***
You lived. In the moment of your execution, Fat Angus threw himself over De Paule. Thanks to him, her bullets hit your shoulder instead of your head. Your shoulder, and Angus’ throat. You came to just in time to watch him drown in his own blood.
The tribunal didn’t last long after that. The Mercenaries died. Glen, Theo, and Fat Angus died too. You and the Yefreitor were wounded. But when backup finally arrived, you’re the only one they brought to an infirmary. Harry was left behind.
Two weeks after, you’re back in the office. Your arm and the shoulder it’s connected to is a large, painful thorn in your side, but you can’t not work. Writing the ‘Furies’-report is the least you can do since Yefreitor solved the case alone. He’s been MIA ever since. And his ex-partner either can’t or won’t tell you where he is.
VICQUEMARE: - “This isn’t the first time Shitkid’s ‘quit’ the RCM,”
He’d said, complete with an eye-roll that made you want to shake him.
VICQUEMARE: - “He’ll come crawling back eventually… Tell you what? I’ll give you a call when he does.”
It’s been a week. You’ve been pushing overtime ever since, hoping to hear from Precinct 41. But still, no call.
ALICE: - “Lieutenant Kitsuragi…?”
YOU: - “Yes?”
Alice DeMettrie is standing in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She’s been handling you like damaged goods, ever since your return.
ALICE: - “There’s someone on the landline for you.”
YOU: - “Who is it?”
ALICE: - “He didn’t say.”
You get up, and a stab of pain runs through you. You ignore it. Alice stalks you down the hallway.
ALICE: - “Lieutenant, will all due respect, you should go home. Get some rest.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes.
YOU: - “I’m fine, officer.”
ALICE: - “Kim…”
YOU: - “DeMettrie.”
You come to a stop outside her office.
YOU: - “I’m going to need some privacy for this.”
Your hands are shaking when you pick up the receiver. You try to keep the tremble out of your voice.
YOU: - “Precinct 57, this is Lieutenant Kitsuragi speaking.”
Silence. Silence. Silence. Your heart plummets, and you consider hanging up. But then, you hear something that steals the breath from your lungs. The deep, warm rumble of a ghost.
HARRY: - “Kim! Uhm, hi! How’s it hanging? I wasn’t sure you were out of the infirmary yet…”
You have so much to ask. What happened in Martinaise after the tribunal? Where is he? Why did he quit the RCM?
Hope, regret, and the sheer incredulity of it all clog your throat. In the end, you’re only able to articulate the most important question:
YOU: - “Harry… How are you?”
HARRY: - “I’m- shit, fuck, I’m really sorry about this. But I’m in way over my head, and I- I need your help.”
YOU: - “Of course. Anything you need, detective.”
***
An hour’s drive later, you’re back in Martinaise.
You feel like a coward, using the cover of the night to sneak in. You park the Kinemaa by the Whirling. They’ve cleaned up the blood and boarded the broken windows. Surprisingly au fait for a community that left a corpse in a tree for a week. There’s a strange scent in the air, stinging your nose. Government-issued fuel oil. The cobblestones are covered in scorch marks. This has Cindy the Skull written all over it. Cindy the Skull, and Harrier Du Bois, lighting the flame of her message:
“UN JOUR JE SERAI DE RETOUR PRÈS DE TOI”
Your stomach coils.
Enough wasting time. You leave the Whirling behind, walking the familiar route to the fishing village. Past the car stuck in the ice. Past the swingset where you sat the Yefreitor down and let realization (with all of its terrible implications) dawn. Past the jolly’s in the harbor and the drunks sleeping on their benches. You count them as you pass, and breathe lighter afterward. There’s some kind of commotion up ahead. You put your good hand to your service gun, just in case.
You’re going in blind. Harry was uncharacteristically laconic over the phone, only telling you where he was. Urging you to get here as soon as possible. The last time you saw him, he was in an awful state, physically and mentally. You can’t imagine that he’s doing better now. You’ll never forgive Vicquemare for leaving him to fend for himself out here. You’ll never forgive yourself, either.
As you draw nearer the washerwoman’s shack, you realize that the commotion is coming from inside. Cursing, you hurry up the stairs and draw your gun.
You kick at the door.
KIM: - “This is the RCM, open up!”
No response. They probably can’t hear you with all the screaming. For God’s sake, it sounds like someone is getting killed in there!
KIM: - “I’m coming in!”
The door is unlocked. You burst through the entrance, expecting pandemonium. Yefreitor, surrounded by needles and empty vodka bottles. In the middle of a bloody fight with other junkies, La Puta Madre-peone’s, or just someone he pissed off.
Instead, you find him on the floor, covered with feral children. He’s got Cunoesse in a, surprisingly gentle, wrestler’s hold. As per her nature, she’s spitting and screaming obscenities at him, kicking her little feet against the floor. He looks like he’d have it under control if it wasn’t for Cuno. The gremlin is on his shoulders, pulling at his hair.
You’re so surprised, you almost drop the gun. It reminds you to holster it.
KIM: - “Harry-”
HARRY: - “Kim! Thank God, you’re finally here! Help me!”
CUNO: - “Let go of her, f****t! Or Cuno WILL destroy you!”
CUNOESSE: - “He’s trying to poison me, Cuno!”
CUNO: - “Don’t poison her, f****t! Remember that Cuno owns you! You’re a maggot in Cuno’s privy, writhing in Cuno’s shit! You can’t get enough of Cuno’s shit! Now beg for mercy like a good little worm, or get the boot!”
HARRY: - “For the last time, the only thing I’m trying to poison are the bacteria growing in her gums!”
CUNO: - “Don’t talk smart to us, f****t! What the hell is a bacteria anyway? Cuno knows you’re lying!”
CUNOESSE: - “Anna minun mennä, vittupää!”
You take in the scene again. And again. And again.
There’s an adult-sized sleeping bag on the floor and a child-sized one under the bed. There are three toothbrushes by the sink. The pink one looks brand new. The junk littered all over the place consists of empty chips-bags, pizza cartons, and toys from Roy’s pawnshop. “A Primer for Small Kids” is on proud display on the table. Someone’s been doodling dicks all over it.
KIM: - “What is going on here?”
You ask, despite your better judgment.
HARRY: - “Grab her toothbrush! The pink one, with the unicorns on the handle! I’ll hold her while you brush.”
CUNO: - “If you get any closer, Cuno will bite your fucking cock off!”
CUNOESSE: - “Yeah, Cuno! Bite his fucking cock off!!”
She spits in the direction of your feet. You take a step back.
HARRY: - “Kim, she hasn’t brushed her teeth in years! She bit the dentist! Her mouth is so full of bacteria, the wound got infected, and he almost died! She’s banned from the dentist now, Kim! Banned!! Her teeth will rot and fall out if we don’t do something!!”
Sometime during your stint in Martinaise, Harrier Du Bois went from being your work partner to your best friend. You’ve been through hell for him, fought and almost died for him. The last time you saw each other, you used your body to shield him from a hail of gunfire. And on your drive here, you thought you’d do anything to help him. But now… Cuno is gnawing at his head, covering it with sticky strands of saliva. Cunoesse snaps her jaws at you like a rabid comodo-dragon. And you’re reminded that even your devotion has its limits.
HARRY: - “Please help me,”
The Yefreitor begs, giving you his biggest, soppiest pair of puppy eyes.
KIM: - “No,”
You turn and leave.
***
You don’t go far.
Once outside, you light up a cigarette. You breathe it in, listen to the ocean, and relax against the shack’s facade. The stress-headache fades to a distant buzz. Harry is alive. He’s alive. He’s alive… You’re so relieved you could laugh. You wipe the tears from your eyes.
Twenty minutes later, peace has settled inside the shack and Yefreitor sneaks outside. You catch a glimpse of Cuno, asleep in his bed. You’re willing to bet that Cunoesse is curled up in the sleeping bag underneath it.
Yefreitor limps over to you. It looks like he’s in a lot of pain. You glance at his wounded leg, worried that he might have popped a stitch. No blood. You drown your worries with a mouthful of smoke, and he gestures to the cigarette.
HARRY: - “Can I…?”
Your hands brush in the exchange. You want to lace your fingers together. Mesh the palm of your hands together, feel his pulse against your own. You settle back against the facade, ignoring the terrible, knowing look on his face. The tip of your ears burn.
HARRY: - “Sorry about earlier. That’s not actually why I called you… Here,”
He hands you your jacket. It was left behind after the tribunal. It smells faintly like chlorine.
HARRY: - “Isobel cleaned it for you.”
YOU: - “Thank you.”
You shrug out of your other jacket to put it on. It feels like coming home.
YOU: - “So, it’s true? You’ve retired from the RCM to adopt these strays?”
Yefreitor blushes.
HARRY: - “I’m not adopting them… I mean, Cuno has a dad!”
YOU: - “Ah yes, he’s a real upstanding member of the community, that one. I always thought he seemed perfectly capable of caring for himself and two young children. So what kind of a custody agreement did you make? Do you have the kids every other week or just on the weekends? Or is this more of a kidnapping situation…?”
HARRY: - “He doesn’t even know that Cunoesse exists…!”
Yefreitor grumbles. There’s a lot of resentment there.
He looks terrible. Sickly gray skin, weeks worth of stubble, mullet wet and askew from Cuno’s abuse. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in days. The floor can’t be all that comfortable... And he stinks.
It’s time for some tough love.
YOU: - “You’re not a dad, Harry. You’re a decorated officer of the RCM. A double Yefreitor… they were going to name you captain after Pryce.”
HARRY: - “If you’re here to recruit me, you can fuck off, Kim.”
YOU: - “You look like shit. You smell like shit.”
HARRY: - “We don’t have a shower!”
YOU: - “And how’s your recovery going? You can’t be on drugs and take care of these kids at the same time. Unless you want to end up like Cuno’s actual father…”
HARRY: - “I know that. I’m working on it, don’t even worry about it, Kim-”
YOU: - “Withdrawal is dangerous, detective. For someone like you, it might even be deadly. You don’t want the kids to find you dead in your sleeping bag, do you? Do you even know what medications to take, or are you going into this blind?”
HARRY: - “I told you, I’m working on it!”
He snaps. Then immediately withdraws, looking bashful. Ashamed. You watch him throw the cigarette to the wind and sigh.
YOU: - “Yefreitor. Excuse my skepticism, but… It’s been less than a month since your last suicide attempt. You’re an amnesiac. You need to come home. You need therapy, recovery time, and a job.”
HARRY: - “You don’t trust me?”
YOU: - “I trust you with my life. Just not your own, or the ones of two children. Not yet. You all need so much more than this...”
HARRY: - “You think I don’t know that? I’m in way over my fucking head here, Kim! That’s why I called you!”
YOU: - “I’m not a dad either, Yefreitor! I don’t even like kids. I’m a police officer, and so are you.”
HARRY: - “No! No, I’m not. Now stop calling me that!”
He looks at you like you’re an especially frustrating puzzle to solve. Like, if he just peers deep enough into your soul, you’ll come to an understanding. You can’t stand it. You turn to the ocean instead. It’s so dark, you can’t even see it. But you can hear it. Waves lapping at frozen shorelines. Wind through the reeds. The distant, rhythmic sounds of anodic dance music.
You want to understand.
YOU: - “Why are you doing this, Harry? What happened after the tribunal?”
HARRY: - “They tried to recruit him, Kim. Those bastards tried to recruit Cuno.”
YOU: - “Ah, yes. Satellite Officer Vicquemare told me he found you with ‘some brat’. I should’ve realized that he was talking about Cuno.
And you didn’t want him to join the RCM youth program because…?”
HARRY: - “Do you remember what Titus said, back when we asked him and the Hardie boys to arrest The Pigs? He told us that they take care of each other here. I can’t take that away from him. Cuno needs a family! Not a job. Especially not our job…”
Something coils inside your stomach. You feel cold, despite the jacket.
YOU: - “Did anyone come to visit you after the tribunal? Anyone at all?”
HARRY: - “Garte says that Gottlieb came to fish the bullet out. He stitched me up, made sure I didn’t bleed out, then left.”
YOU: - “Your partner visited me in the infirmary. He was asking about you. He seemed worried…”
HARRY: - “Not worried enough to see me,”
He snorts.
HARRY: - “He’s not my partner, Kim. You are.”
His voice is a sincere, warm rumble. It takes root in you. Makes you smile. Your ears are burning. Better move on before he notices…
YOU: - “Me and Cuno, apparently. Tell me, what invaluable skills did he bring to the table?”
HARRY: - “He steered the boat so I could DJ. We listened to Sad FM all the way to the Sea Fortress. You should’ve seen us, Kim! We looked really cool.”
KIM: - “I bet. You’re a brave man, Harrier Du Bois. I’m surprised he didn’t steer you into the rocks… Does he know how to swim? Do you ? Tell me you were wearing life vests.”
HARRY: - “What’s a life vest?”
YOU: - “Oh God.”
HARRY: - “I don’t know if I can swim! I guess I must have, at some point… Jean said I used to be a gym teacher.”
YOU: - “You used to be a-? Harry! That explains everything! The running around, the jumping! The bicep girth! ”
HARRY: - “The what now.”
You clear your throat.
YOU: - “The inexplicable facial hair…”
HARRY: - “The collection of FALN sportswear I’ve amassed…”
YOU: - “The fact that when we met, you didn’t even seem to know what homo-sexuality was… And your moves on the dance floor - which, honestly, were just jump-aerobics…”
HARRY: - “Oh God - Contact Mike…”
YOU: - “Of course! Contact Mike!”
You’re so caught up, you don’t even stop yourself from smiling. Harry grins right back at you. The joy in his eyes makes something in you settle. You’re going to be alright. You lean back against the shack, careful with the shoulder.
YOU: - “So what was it, Harry? What made you leave the RCM for these kids?”
HARRY: - “I became a cop to impress Dora. I liked teaching gym, but she kept insisting that I was meant for ‘greater things’. To me, that just sounded like ‘You’re not good enough’.
But she was wrong. The judicial system is broken, Kim. And no matter how noble our intentions are, the RCM turns cops into hateful cynics, like Jean, or suicidal drunks. Like me.
Besides, these kids need me more than precinct 41 ever did.”
KIM: - “...so, since I’m not a suicidal drunk, I suppose that would make me a hateful cynic?”
HARRY: - “No, shit, Kim- you’re different! You’re good .”
You think of all the people you’ve killed, dutifully reported in your ledger. Six people - no. Seven now, after the tribunal. You think of the way your hands find your gun at the slightest provocation. And you think of Harry. The many ways in which he’s broken. The many ways in which he does his best to help people anyway.
YOU: - “Harrier Du Bois, you’re one of the best detectives I ever had the pleasure of working with. The RCM is less without you in it. But I know firsthand how abusive a work environment it can be. I understand why you won’t let Cuno near it. And I-”
You sigh. This one hurts to admit.
YOU: - “I’m glad that you care enough about yourself now, not to come back.”
Yet. Given time, you’re sure he’ll reconsider. He’s a self-proclaimed detecting machine, after all. A superstar cop.
HARRY: - “I missed you.”
The sun is rising. He looks at you like you’re the one who raised it.
Your stomach tugs. Heat blossoms in your chest, making you feel dizzy-light. For a moment, you give in to temptation and look into his eyes. How easy it would be, to get caught up in his gravity… To sway forward. Rest your hands on his chest, just to feel the beat of his heart.
He barely knows what homo-sexuality is …!
It wouldn’t be right. Harry is like an amnesiac duckling who imprinted on you. To proposition him wouldn’t just be inappropriate, it would be downright evil.
You turn to the beach. Despite the dim lights of early morning, you’re able to make out the silhouettes of something new. Weeds…? No. The shore is covered with Insulindian Lillies.
YOU: - “What can I do to help, Harry?”
When you turn back to him, his smile is more relaxed. Like you’re a couple of normal friends, talking about normal friend stuff. Good.
YOU: - “And it doesn’t matter how much you beg: I won’t brush Cunoesse’s teeth.”
HARRY: - “Well, I need money to take care of them, like you said…”
YOU: - “If you’re looking for work, I’d be happy to write you a letter of recommendation--”
HARRY: - “No, Kim, nothing as boring as that!”
The dimpled, crooked grin on his face fits so well, it makes you think he was meant for smiling. You don’t ever want the world to beat him down again-
HARRY: - “We’re going to catch the Insulindian Phasmid!”
-- but with expectations like his, it probably will.