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He slept in his armor. Well, sure, maybe not quite exactly his his— stolen, really, from all around the fucking Martinaise, but if anyone asked, it was rightfully his after the little stunt he pulled just two nights prior. Two nights… it’s really been just two nights since they threw themselves between those crazy fuckers and nearly died. And again, it’s all because of…
Kim stopped his nervous pacing, purging the thought with a violent shake of his head before it could take over his mind. No, this one was different. It’s… he didn’t take a bullet for him. He just couldn’t move out of the way quickly enough not to get shot. Even still, he managed to both shoot an armored fucker down and dodge a bullet and make him get out of the way even as he himself was bleeding out.
And now they were on foot again, not even a whole 48 hours later. With one of them limping, shot in the leg, yet still stubbornly running around. At least he himself was only concussed. Miraculously. He really couldn’t understand how this idiot managed to stay awake that long to begin with. He would’ve certainly said fuck it and taken at least a full, conscious day off before jumping back to action.
Which probably required a much bigger amount of logic applied to his thought process. Unfortunately, Harrier Du Bois stopped being capable of any rationality the moment the matter wasn’t a case he needed to solve apparently. And maybe some self-destructive tendency thrown in with substance addictions… even though he’s personally only seen the other detective violently hungover on the very first day of them knowing each other and never actually drunk. Hell, he even refused essentially free drugs multiple times. For someone who was supposed to be a raging alcoholic according to his reputation, and an even bigger asshole, no matter how improbable that sounded at first, he just… wasn’t. Which was probably supposed to be a given in their line of work, sure, but it was Du Bois he was thinking about, which in normal Revacholian meant something along the lines of this man has probably survived an entire decade of his life on pure spite and cheap booze, you’re supposed to expect batshit crazy things to work for him over rationality.
And still, the armor stayed on even though they were not in any immediate danger, haven’t been for hours now. At least he took off that stupid helmet, it definitely didn’t look like it was of any help with breathing, and he definitely needed some help with that given all the… coughing up blood every now and then. It was weird, in a way. There was this sense of wrongness that didn’t leave him whenever he looked at the detective and couldn’t quite see the unstoppable force that he’d presented for an entire week.
It may sound crazy, especially coming from him, but the mere thought that Harry was anything less than immortal felt utterly wrong to him, even after seeing him bleed out. Right in his arms. Because he wasn’t good enough to protect another partner from taking fucking bullets for him, not him, not innocents in this whole mess and again he got away with barely any scratches—
Kim couldn’t fully contain the shake breath that nearly gave way to a choked sob as he fell on the creaky cold mattress right beside the detective, covering his face with his hands and maybe pushing just a little too hard on his eyelids to chase away this fucking feeling like he was going to fall apart if he thought about it for another second. That was not the time to get all weak and emotional. They still had the case to finish. They still needed to go back to the mainland. Write those reports. Help Harry get home. There was so much to do and so little time and sure, he could’ve left him and went to investigate himself, then let Du Bois take the credit for the arrest to make it quicker, but what if he was wrong and someone came here while he was away? What if they still found nothing here? What if—
Harry stirred in his sleep with a pained groan, reaching for something, but only finding cold sheets. Kim’s hand went up to his head before he even processed it, brushing his hair lightly, as if on instinct. His fingers brushed against the enameled ceramic of the breastplate, making the lieutenant frown. Wasn’t he cold like this? It couldn’t have been comfortable to sleep in it.
Then again, this man could sleep in almost any conditions, if this week was anything to go by.
After a few minutes of idle head scratching, the detective had finally calmed down again, relaxing into the worn blanket once more and allowing Kim to move away again and not think about how this whole thing made him feel. He could really use a smoke right now, one cigarette a day rule be damned. There wasn’t much else to do anyway with his partner asleep and nobody around. He didn’t want to admit it, but the stress was getting to him when he allowed himself to think about it and actually process what he felt aside from the usual apathy.
Huh. Guess that’s what happens when you’re not alone anymore.
The pack slid into his hand with much less hesitation than he would dare show anyone. He took a few steps away so as to not disturb Harrier with the smell of smoke before lighting his first and most likely not the last cigarette of the day.
The burn of smoke against his throat gave him way too much comfort for his liking. He felt slightly lightheaded, but that was probably because he forgot to eat properly today with everything going on. Not because working with someone again gave way to months and months worth of repressed shit. Definitely. Absolutely.
He couldn’t wait until he was back in his precinct to finally work alone again. He really couldn’t do teamwork, could he?
He was just bound to ruin it one way or another. Honestly, Harry was lucky they were parting ways very soon.
The lieutenant hissed a surprised breath against his will when the burn reached his fingers. It really was a testament to his state if he didn’t even notice how it burned out as he went into this self conscious shit. Which he really should stop thinking about. For his own sanity.
And there still wasn’t much to do to keep his mind off things while Harry slept now that he realized that smoking wasn’t going to be of much help here.
Kim sighed to himself as he stomped out the butt of the cigarette with just a tad bit more force than usual. It was fine. He could go over his notes again. Prepare himself mentally for writing that report when he gets back to the 57th. Which was probably going to be the most bizarre case report in his entire career now that he thought about it.
He wondered how much Harry was going to omit out of his report, if anything at all. Was he going to mention the mega rich light bending guy? The phasmids side investigation? The doomed commercial area? Dei, he probably would.
A part of him wanted to see it. Just for the fun of it.
He didn’t let himself linger on the thought. They probably weren’t going to see each other again after this. For the best, really.
He’d clearly lost track of time and his surroundings at some point because when Harry stirred again, his eyes were dry and he was several pages further into his case notes even if he didn’t retain much of his review. This time the detective didn’t settle back down. He barely had time to get up and take a step away to get out of the way as Harrier sat up abruptly, nearly hitting him in the process. There was a brief moment in which Kim worried he’d have to go all over the amnesia thing again with just how lost and terrified he looked. But then the man’s gaze caught on him and slowly, the tension started to melt away.
Harry got himself untangled from the blanket after another moment and finally sat up properly, forcing out a weak smile in his direction that quickly gave way to a grimace of pain.
Kim forced himself not to dwell on it. At least, even if he popped a stitch in his sleep, it definitely could’ve been much worse. He could still move.
Just a little more and they would both go home and get rest. And proper medical care, in Du Bois’ case.
“Hey,” he croaked out.
“Hey,” the lieutenant said back softly. “You’re up quickly. How was your sleep?”
Harry huffed a weak laugh at this, wincing in pain immediately after. In a sense, that was all the response he needed as the detective got up on his feet and brushed the likely nonexistent dust off his clothes. He still cringed at every other movement, he still needed proper rest, but even this hour-something long nap was an improvement. The shadows on his face looked just a tad bit better now. The pain looked just a touch more bearable for him now. That was all he could ask for here.
Finally, he settled on something between The Expression and a grimace of pain and determination and fully turned to Kim, forcing himself to stand straighter.
“Let’s solve this fucking case,” Harry said. Despite himself, the lieutenant smiled at this, putting the notebook back into its pocket at last.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s solve this fucking case.”