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He was lying in the bathtub, so drunk he was barely conscious. He was half naked, wearing only old FALN boxers and that stupid tie. This wasn't the first time Jean saw Harry in this state. As always, he splashed some water on his face, then hit his cheek a few times.
Du Bois currently smelled like piss, vomit, vodka, and desperation. It was hard to breathe in these circumstances, but Vicquemare was used to it at this point. Harry ended up in such a situation almost every weekend, after drinking all day and taking drugs, because he had to “cheer himself up”.
"Open your eyes, shitkid. Come on, Revachol needs you... or something like that." Jean grumbled.
"I'm not going..." A low mumble got out of Harry's mouth, followed by a hiccup.
Vicquemare hated seeing Harrier like that, a wreck that was once a functioning human. Getting that wreck to function again was Jean's current job – a job he genuinely hated. He saw every rock bottom Harry hit, and apparently, he could get even lower each time.
Jean grabbed Harry under his armpits and started lifting him with a grunt.
"Yeah, yeah... I know, you're waiting to die, Tequila Sunset style... But not today, lieutenant. Today you have to live." He grunted, getting him to sit on the bathtub's edge.
"Fuck off, Jean..." Harry tried to speak again, but he almost threw up.
Vicquemare rolled his eyes, then tried to make Harry get up once again, but this 40-year-old man decided to act like a kid and do everything to stay in that tub.
"You know I can't 'fuck off'... Come on, Pryce wants to see you. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even come here." His brows furrow.
"Officer... I order you… Be so kind and fucking kill yourself already. I had had enough of you.... I fucking hate you…! You're starting to act as she did... You’re working with her… You are a war criminal too..." For a moment, Harry looked into Jean's eyes, as if he really meant it.
Normally, Vicquemare wouldn't react to Harry's drunk talk. He always said some bullshit... But hearing an order to literally die was something he hadn't heard before. Harry usually stopped on a single "I hate you". Something snapped in him.
He pulled Harry up with all his strength and pinned him against the closest wall.
"Just get your shit together, Harry! I don't have time for that shit!" He hissed, tightening his grip around Harry's wrists, his pale grey eyes meeting Harry's emerald green.
Just a few days ago, they were lying on Kineema's roof, parked near the Central Jamrock lake, looking at the stars, smoking cigarettes, and desperately laughing about how fucked up this world was and how they were living in the worst timeline possible. Just a few days ago, Harry fell asleep in Jean's arms, finding some comfort in him, not having any nightmares. Just a few days ago, Harry was so close to finally healing.
Vicquemare thought he might get better this time, move on from Dora, and be with him. But, as always, Harry decided to fuck everything up. Jean didn’t even know what caused Harry to spiral this time. Yet, he came back to pull him out. He had a habit of saying it's only because it's his duty as Harry’s satellite – in reality, though, he cared about his partner, even if he was at his worst.
Jean slowly stepped back, seeing that Harry could keep himself upright. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a second. That second was enough for Harry to smack Jean’s cheek with full force.
"Satellite Officer Jean-Heron Vicquemare, I'm fucking... fucking firing you. I don't need you anymore... I don't need anyone." Harry grumbled; his words were slightly incoherent, but Jean understood everything perfectly. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
Vicquemare reached his cheek, his eyes slightly tearing up in reaction to pain. He looked into those drunk eyes, watching The Expression slowly showing up on Harry's face – he was definitely proud of himself. Jean nodded a few times with a bitter chuckle.
"This is what you want? Okay, Harry, deal with everything yourself. Now I understand why Dora left you. You simply pushed her away because you’re disgusting. Rotten to the core."
"Don't you dare say her name!” Harry sounded like some beast, anger taking over every cell in his body.
"Or what? Are you going to fire me again? Hit me? Let's be real, Harry, you are an unlovable loser. You destroyed your own life, and I bet Dora got tired of saving your sorry ass all the time. And you know what? I'm tired of it too. You can drink yourself to death; I don't give a single fuck." Jean turned around, flipping Harry off as agoodbye.
Du Bois, in answer, grabbed the closest bottle and threw it in Jean's direction. Luckily for Jean, he missed and hit a wall, shattering the bottle into small glass pieces.
"Yeah, get the fuck out...! That's the best you can do!" He shouted, watching the bathroom doors shut.
Jean didn't go too far, though. He sat down on the stairs in front of the building and started smoking, his hands shaking from the anger that built up. Harry was getting worse. And it was getting harder to reach him. He felt powerless, because who else can help Harry if not Jean, his partner, a satellite that's always around?
He took a long drag, the smoke filling the lungs that never had a chance to glow. He stared at the cloudy sky, lighting another cigarette as it started raining. His uniform got wet. His hair was soaking wet. His eyes were wet, but not from the rain. He put out the cigarette on the concrete.
It was time to come back to Harry and try to pull him out again.
Jean came back to Harry's flat. This time, he found Harry crying on the bathroom floor. He was rambling about how everyone had abandoned him and that he was the most pathetic cop in Revachol. Jean rolled his eyes and crouched next to him, putting a hand on his back.
"Come on, Harry... I need to get you to the precinct." He said as calmly as he could, trying to forget everything that Harry said a few minutes ago.
"Jean... Jean, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean it..." He mumbled between sniffles.
"Yeah, yeah, I know... You never mean it." He sighed, then slowly helped Harry to stand up.
He walked with him to his bedroom, sitting him down on the bed. He turned on the radio, and he chose the same station as always - SAD FM. Then Jean began dressing Harry in his uniform. He did it patiently and slowly, as if Harry were made out of the most fragile glass. Then he started brushing Harry's hair, fixed his moustache... And put on the colorful tie once Harry pointed to it. Jean's eyes lingered on Harry's bloodshot ones while he was tying it.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself...?" Jean gently caressed Du Bois’ swollen cheek.
"It's because of the voices... Those goddamn voices..." He whispered, the answer being the same as always.
Jean sighed and kissed Harry's forehead. He always did that. It was one of the few things that actually calmed him down.
"Try to listen to me instead... I know you can do it, shitkid." His deep voice became strangely calming.
Inside, Jean didn't really believe Harry could do it. One day, those voices will drown Harry, and he won't be able to save him. He knew that one day Harry would cease to exist. And he will no longer be a satellite. And if he stops orbiting, he will lose his only purpose. Everything will come to an end, like a song played on a radio.
He came from the sunset
He came from the sea
He came from my sorrow
And can love only me
Come wander with me love
Come wander with me
Away from this life
Come–
Jean turned off the radio and reached out his hand toward Harry. When he felt a firm grip of Harry’s hand, he pulled him up. They were standing in silence for a solid minute before Du Bois threw himself into Jean's arms, hugging him desperately.
“You’re an angel, Jean… I don’t deserve you.” Harry whispered into Jean’s ear. His breath still smelled like alcohol.
“…More like a fallen angel…” Jean whispered back, placing a kiss on the crook of his neck. “I’m as broken as you, Harry. But I’m trying to keep my shit together, y’know?”
“I’m trying too… I’m doing my best…” Harry buried his face in Jean’s shoulder. “But she… She always comes back in my nightmares… And tears me apart…”
“I know… I’m always stitching you back after all…” Jean sighed. “Come on, Harry, we’re late.”
Jean pulled away from the hug and started leading Harry towards the exit. He helped him to walk down the stairs so he wouldn’t trip and fall, and he helped him with entering the Kineema. During the ride to the precinct, Jean turned the radio on again. He tapped his fingers on the steering lever. He looked at Harry, who was watching the rain, his face turned into a grimace. Only now he noticed Du Bois had changed a lot since they first met – Harry’s mutton chops were getting longer, His face was bloated, his skin was greasy and reddened, his eye bags were deep and dark, his hair started growing into something resembling a mullet… And of course, that weird necktie that he had to wear all the time.
“You’re trying to achieve a new style, shitkid?” Jean finally broke the silence.
“Kind of. Thought looking more disco will cheer me up.” Harry lifted a corner of his mouth, his hand reaching for the tie.
“Does it work?”
“Kind of…” Harry paused, gripping the tie a bit tighter. “Promise me you won’t laugh, Vic.”
“Huh? Why would I laugh?” Jean’s eyebrows furrowed.
“The tie started talking to me a few days ago,” Harry said bluntly. “Giving me tips on how to feel better.”
Jean felt as if everything stopped. What the fuck did he say?
“W-What? Harry, this… No, this is some drunk bullshit again, right? Or drugs again. What shit did you take?” Jean slowed down, genuinely worried about Harry right now. Something was very wrong with him today.
“Jean, I’m serious. It’s not that bad though… It wants to help me to be happy again.” Harry smiled nervously.
“Fucking hell… You've finally gone insane…” Jean was close to slamming the brakes. He forgot about Pryce, about MCU, about everything. “Throw away that goddamn tie before it’s too late.”
“I can’t… It’s my friend.” Harry sighed, his head dropping down. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“Well, you showed today you wouldn’t have a problem with throwing away friends.” Jean shrugged, then rubbed his temple. “Fuck, Harry, I… I’ve never been more worried about you than I am now.”
“Forget about it. I’m drunk. Don’t listen to my drunk talk.” Harry mumbled out, waving his hand.
“I fucking hope so.” Jean shook his head.
He didn’t know what to do anymore. It was getting too much for him. He didn’t sign up for whatever that shit is. As much as he cared about Harry, he was afraid he was too far gone now. Yes, Harry often talked to items, even dead bodies, but something speaking to Harry was something new and scary. Even if it was a drunken talk, no one should know about it.
The car went silent, and even the radio played a bit quieter than usual. They got to the precinct. Jean managed to lead Harry to Captain Pryce’s room. And then he left him there, going with Judy to smoke. It stopped raining.
“Jude… I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with this shit…” Jean finally spoke, leaning on the barrier.
“What happened…? You know you can always talk to me, officer.” Judit placed a hand on Jean’s back, caressing it in a soothing motion. Her mother's instincts kicked in.
“Harry’s changing. Today, he acted completely differently. Shit he… He ordered me to kill myself.” Jean lowered his head and laughed bitterly. “I’m afraid we’re losing him.”
“Hey, it can’t be that bad. He got drunk again. He’s probably high, as always… But it will pass. He just needs time.” Judit tried her best to cheer up Jean, even if she knew it wouldn’t do much.
“The time’s running out, Judit. He’s a ticking bomb that’s about to explode.” Jean lifted his head and looked into Minot’s eyes. A tear ran down his cheek. “Fuck, I can barely keep my shit together…! He will break me if I keep doing that.”
“Jean… I know it’s hard, we’re all in this together after all. Step back for a while from him… Maybe this will help you both?”
“Yeah, maybe… Thanks, Jude. For that talk.” Jean lifted himself, then threw the cigarette out of the balcony. “I’m here if you ever need to talk again.” She smiled softly, walking back inside the building.
Jean lingered for a few more minutes, breathing in the humid air.
“Time to go back to the shit factory.”