Chapter Text
When Jean said that the precinct would have been honoured to have Kitsuragi consider joining them, it was not sarcasm. Their small force was lucky to have acquired him, having the man uproot his life to join their disgusting group, with disloyal, overworked, or completely insane members. He brought a professionalism to the dynamic that Jean was unfamiliar with. One he liked. Always with a calm tone, never overstepping his rights, and always being cautious of the regulations set forth for all of them, unlike the brutes that he was constantly surrounded by in their vulgar and inconsiderate ways. Jokes at his expense that always were met with eye rolls instead of laughs.
Most importantly, however, the lieutenant seemed to be very good at controlling Harry in a way Jean just never could. That cool professionalism and bountiful patience, it never ceased. As Jean watched from afar, he always wondered how the man seemed to be so perfect at making sure Harry's skills were being optimized to their fullest potential. Like some horse finally being broken, with occasional spats of violence quickly quelled by the tentative hand of an experienced rider. It was something he had tried, once upon a time. To keep his cold professionalism. To make sure that Harry did his work so he could continue on at his job. It never was effective for longer than a day with himself, but if Kim could do it, well. All the power to him.
It was a fight that Jean had simply lost, and was too tired to continue on with. Repeated abuses from Harry, despite how much the relationship meant to him, had drained their dynamic to a breaking point. Dora, he figured, must have been some sort of saint in order to have put up with the man for as long as she did because even without living with him, Harry was constantly disturbing his own peace in one way or another. Whether it be threatening his job and their partnership, or creating issues Jean had to cover up, it was always something.
It was no longer his problem anymore, however. Working with Judit was a treat by comparison. She was always attentive, listened to his input, and actually cared about her work. The only drawback to his new situation was that he often had to figure things out on his own, without Harry's intuition and with Judit's inability to work around the clock due to her family obligations, it didn't make that task easy. Late nights, hard battles fought with caffeine and speed, won purely through force of will. Not everyone was kissed by The Pale and had that uncanny ability to read people like Harry did, and for Jean, well. He could never say the universe gave him much in terms of getting ahead.
Still, he wasn't complaining. In fact, his mood had been so dramatically improved that his doctor had even cut back on his antidepressants. Jean figured as much that it would have happened once he got rid of his burdens. That his issues did not really stem from something innate inside of him, but rather a certain level of dissatisfaction with his shitty circumstances. That when something resolved he would be happy. His doctor had countered that a lot of people in worse circumstances were not thinking about ending their lives. Jean responded that he should introduce them to him sometime, and in response to that Gottlieb simply said he needed to get the original prescription filled or he would be reporting him to Pryce for medical leave. Now, however, it seemed he would be keeping his mouth shut about that perspective with Jean so content.
No, jealousy could not even come close to describe what Jean felt. He was immensely happy for Kim, as well as Harry who was no longer hitting the bottle as hard, and even shaped up to be quite a nice individual on the job. If he were at all upset, it was more so dissatisfaction with himself and his inability to save him prior to Kim's involvement, where this perfect stranger could easily take his place and do his work better. Why was it, with all those nights where he walked Harry home from a bar he found him at, or saved him from an overdose on a park bench, or just sat there with him as he sobbed about Dora or broke shit around his apartment, that the man didn't improve with him? He had tried everything and all it took to make things right was someone who was not broken. Or was broken, but could get his shit together.
Of all people, Kim was never the object of his hatred nor the cause of his bouts of misery. It was something he wanted to stress and tried to inform everyone of when he got replaced as his partner. He pitied the man but it was not like he wanted to see him fail in the role he himself could no longer pursue. If any of his hatred was ever expressed, it was to Harry. Even then, however, Jean no longer really spoke with him. His drunken act finally got too tired to go against. Harry wanted to pretend he didn't know him, or perhaps actually forgot him after finally losing it. Fine. Jean didn't need him. He didn't need anybody.
-
Jean was sat on top of the building, looking over a case file he was assigned not long ago when Kim joined him to smoke beside him. He looked over his shoulder, returning to his work after muttering some professional greeting he soon forgot.
"Hello, detective," Kim responded, in turn. "I'm glad to have caught you."
"Hm? And why's that? Something wrong with Harry?" Jean asked, closing his ledger and taking out another cigarette after dropping the bud into a near by ashtray.
"Well, no. Nothing is amiss. I was just wondering if you were sure that everything is all right with you."
"Why wouldn't it be?" Jean asked. "My Harry is dead. I don't know who that man is, but he doesn't remember a thing about me and I'm actually starting to believe him. Besides, even if he weren't, it wasn't like that situation was sustainable. Shitkid fucked me and everyone around him. Honestly, you're the one doing everyone else a favour."
Kim did not seem overly convinced, taking a long drag off his own cigarette.
"I understand the lieutenant had his issues prior to my joining, but I still would imagine that there would be some issues arising from the change in structure for you, no?"
Jean laughed a little, mimicking the gesture with a slight cough.
"No. I think this is a win-win scenario for everyone involved but yourself."
"How so?"
"You're stuck with someone they can't get rid of if you want to stay here, and everyone else gets to move on. If the other shoe finally drops and he starts being the same selfish asshole I know he is, it's not my responsibility to babysit the man who clearly hates the world as much as he hates himself. And I hope it won't be yours either."
"So you're okay with the papers going through for my official transfer next month then?" Kim asked, not discrediting a view that most certainly was too filled with vitriol to not have some truth to it.
"Of course not, lieutenant. I said it before, if you don't remember. But the precinct needs more people like you in order to survive. And since you're the only one who seems to be able to get shitkid to be the detective he's been idolized for, well. Who would I be to take that from anyone, especially when there's nothing for me to gain from it?"
Kim gave a small smile at the compliments, but there was something underlying that spelt concern. He was baffled by how Harry seemed to be perceived when he never knew him to be the violent drunk all the others spoke about, outside of perhaps his spat with the payphone. Perhaps a tinge of worry fell on him, regret for being hasty.
"Well, thank you. Do let me know if there is anything you need from me, though, taking your place in being Harry's partner."
"Likewise," Jean said curtly, before he put his cigarette out and left without another word.
-
It was turning out swimmingly. Judit got a promotion from patrol officer to sergeant, and the precinct was at peak proficiency. A warm summer had brought forth too much crime to compete with but they still maintained a good rate of solving the hard cases - all thanks to the dream team that was Kim and Harry - while the rest picked up the slack. Jean liked it, even. He liked working with Judit, who was increasingly becoming his friend outside of work when her deadbeat husband was being a non-deadbeat, having a couple drinks with Jean before heading home, or if she were too drunk to come home, to the precinct's couch to sleep it off and be at work the next day. And Jean liked that, because she controlled herself enough to always be put together the next day.
He also found himself not really doing as much outside of his job, which was both good and bad. He no longer would head home and have to distract himself with the gym, or take himself out to dinner. Instead he would be so utterly devoted to his job that the rest of the world faded. It was great. It left him little time to think about the things that would send him spiralling into an abyss he could not claw himself out of. He had his friend and new partner, and although she was not as experienced, it was a relief that they could be together compared to Harry. The only real drawback was his physique, which vainly, he had to admit he did somewhat miss being on top of his game of.
There was still, however, that mourning that never left him which really had nothing to do with his work anymore.
He loved Judit, but she was not the person that he had spent the past seven years devoted to keeping alive.
Once in a while he would go past Harry in the hall or locker room, mutter something of a polite greeting or ignore him, and Harry would do something that would remind him of the man who for some reason, no longer seemed to be alive inside the thing that impersonated his friend. It would be a strong hand on his shoulder, or a jest that only Harry would make. Some crude humour, perhaps something mixed with his own suicidality. Even the way he held himself at times. It just looked so much like him. Whenever Jean would comment on it, however, Harry would cock a confused brow at him, or say something out of character.
And then Jean would have to insult him to save his own sanity before hastily leaving.
It was somewhat enough, though. He could live with it. To see Harry functional, he could imagine sometimes that it were them again. Passing by in the hallways. Him and his new number one, going out on the field in the endless endeavour to make the world something livable for those around them. He walked with a cane, now, when he was just at the precinct and not on the job or patrolling. He started about two weeks in, when Kim had found him popping some pain killers confiscated. Something Judit had bluntly asked about then reported back to from her inquiries. A mobility aid so that he didn't have to trigger himself into going and seeking drugs out more than he already did.
He was trying, but it wasn't for Jean. It was for Kim.
Jean could have insulted him as he watched them leave. Instead, he just rolled his eyes as he pointed out something from the picture of the crime scene to Judit.
"Just seems like it's indicative that they moved him, I don't think that was done prior to death," Jean said, circling exactly some roughed up skin on the printed picture with a red pen. Judit was picking up the photo and looking over it when their captain cleared his throat behind them.
"Viquemare," he said, quietly. "I need you in my office."
Jean went pale.
"Oh... of course, captain."
Pryce's office was well lit. It had a large window, which although never cleaned from the outside, still let in enough light in spite of the filth from the streets below to make having an overhead light unnecessary. The patriarch of a man motioned for Jean to sit across from him, and suddenly, a deeply unsettling memory of being a child popped back up into his head. Across from some authority he could not quite recall at a desk. Getting shouted at. The air was so thick, and everything went dark about halfway through before he awoke at home with his mother leering over him.
"I have some bad news, Vicquemare." His tone suggested it was something out of his control.
"What is it now, captain?"
"We aren't being given enough funds to keep more than five lieutenants aboard. Unfortunately with Kim's transfer, it's too much."
Jean leaned back in his chair. He was perplexed for a second, especially since he figured that it would have come with a bonus of money to take such an accomplished officer and assign him to one of the most heavily crime ridden areas. Out of most the precincts under the RCM's jurisdiction, they were one of the most successful and still ran with what was practically a skeleton crew. Unfortunate. Suddenly, he became very aware that Pryce seemed to be staring at him. He tilted his head slightly in disbelief before chuckling and crossing his arms as he stared back, defiantly.
"You can't seriously be thinking about cutting me," he told him, before leaning in and putting his elbows on his knees, hands making a slight gesture to the outside of the office. "For a majority of the time I have worked there - that I have been dealing with Harry's bullshit! - I have been the one to take care of the shit that you don't want to see at your desk. Coverups. Keeping the press shut up. Making sure your star detective doesn't let his drug fuelled rages get taken out on the nearest junior officer. And you're going to choose to let me go?"
"It isn't my decision, Vicquemare. This is above me, from command." Taking out a letter, he slid it over his desk towards him. Frustratedly, Jean picked it up to read as Pryce continued on. "I don't know why you weren't promoted, Jean. I really don't. But it's got to do with your ranks. Without you having a partner to satellite who is above you, there's no one for you to have a rank to reflect. I mean. Technically you are still a sergeant. I know you've practically ran the place ever since Harry's slip ups have been really fucking up his job but-"
"This has to be some kind of fucking joke," Jean momentarily interrupted.
"I'm afraid not, kid."
Jean leaned back again in the chair, in utter disbelief and shock.
"So what is going to happen?"
"I put in for a transfer for you back to your old precinct but they're currently at maximum capacity for their budgets too. When I contacted headquarters, I was told you are a top priority in getting to another position but-"
"I didn't ask to be transferred, I never wanted that!" Jean protested.
"I know. If it were up to me, it would be Nick leaving. Or maybe Milicia would finally accept a promotion after being offered one four times. But it's not."
Jean stayed silent. No emotions were splayed across his features aside from shock.
"I'm trying my best to make sure you're set up, Jean. But you know how it goes with this sort of situation."
Years on end without a transfer for people like him, as junior officers get hired on for lesser pay in the same positions. Something he did, why he never got an actual rank, even. He put his head in his hands for a second, his body screeching at him to get up and slam the door in the captain's face. Instead, he felt him come over and put a fatherly hand on his shoulder.
"I'm really sorry, son."
Jean did not even complain.
-
He finished the day out without snapping at Judit. That was the win that Jean needed and received from the world. That he could hold out for Judit. Unfortunately, as he was grabbing his things from the locker, piling on his clothes or shoving them in his brief case he usually just kept his ledger in, unfortunate Harry just so happened to cross paths with him. He could smell no liquor on him. See no visible imprints from a fight. Harry had nothing on him that would suggest he was drunk, high, or enraged at his ex-wife. Jean was also entirely sober, but he did not feel like it. He felt violent rage.
"Well, shitkid. I hope that you are happy with your new partner," Jean spat, his fury lashing out at everyone who crossed some neural pathway in his mind. "You dumb piece of shit, even out of your orbit you still manage to find ways to drag me down and fuck me until I'm bleeding."
Harry for a second gave him a quizzical expression as if he did not understand the intent behind his words. Then, a more serious and grave one.
"You got fired?" he asked, calmly.
"'Let go,' is the professional term, Harry, because they still want to be able to call me up when shit goes South. It's all your fault, too. If only the damned bastard who I spent almost a decade babysitting could have had my back just one fucking time, then maybe I could still be on someone's payroll! But he just had to get away from me one way or another, didn't he?" he spat, going up to him after dropping the case. Harry did not step back. "You fuck me over at every turn, you know that?"
"Vic..." Harry said. Jean, for a second, almost backed off. The apologetic tone. The name. Then, when they made eye contact again, he saw nothing of that familiar face. Just deep confusion and pensiveness. Like he was weighing what he needed to say and choosing between a bunch of suggestions his fried brain was coming up with. "I could ask them to hire you again."
Jean started to laugh, something mirthful. He stopped in an instant, his fist tightening into a ball of anger, before he sucker punched the guy in the face. Harry staggered back but perhaps he was expecting it, because he didn't fall and had slightly raised his arm to block the blow.
"You? You tell Pryce and Pryce's superiors to bring ME back on?" He laughed again, trying to use his height over Harry, who simply took his wrath the same way he did in the cafeteria. Not replying to it. Looking at him with reverence from a feeling he did not quite recall. Deep rooted connection, somehow missing from his mind. "Do you know how badly you fucked up? Your word means nothing, and even if it did, I don't want your damned help. Pryce can't get me anything, and here you are thinking you ever could... I guess you never forgot your ego? You ruin everything, Harry. You ruined your marriage. You ruined your job. And most annoyingly, you ruined me. I can't believe the shit I had to put up with, and it's literally all your damned fault!" he yelled at him, going to take another swing. This time Harry did dodge it, grabbing his wrist.
The cripple still had some fight left in him. Jean wanted to choke him for it. He pushed him back, but did not return any of the blows, just leaned slightly against the wall.
"I know, Jean!" he said back, yelling through his teeth. After, more sincerely, "and I'm sorry."
Jean just laughed again, shaking his head as he went to pick up his things. It was not going to be much longer before he would start to question everything and breakdown.
"Sorry doesn't fix this one, 'buddy'," he replied, sarcasm dripping like blood from an open wound. "Thanks again, asshole. Couldn't have done it without you!"
He left Harry standing there after giving him a sarcastic pat on the back, leaving in a huff for the MC he would eventually have to return and praying he tripped on an open hole in the ground and broke his neck.
-
Late at night in a bar that no sane person had any business being in, Jean sat alone. He was spending his last savings on liquor and looking at his reflection in the water the pitying bartender had made him drink. Everything was a blur, and he hated himself more and more for the attached style he had. He took out his wallet after finishing the glass, and put the bills on the table. They were meaningless anyways. Could not have bought him anything of value with how little he had. Not enough to pay his rent. When he got hungry, he would have to go looking in dumpsters if he didn't find a way to get himself killed before that. Laughing a little at the thought, he walked along out.
The weather was starting to turn cold again. It froze at night, although there had yet to be any snow fall. Usually around that time of year, he and Harry would be settling down as crimes started to dwindle in their commonness. People stay inside when it becomes too cold, especially people who do not have the means to afford anything for their warmth. Jean used to sleep in the stable as a junior officer. His own horse he was assigned to maintain usually stood, but weirdly enough she had started to lay on the ground to sleep in the winter, or just be there relaxing. He was kept alive by her, he felt. Would have frozen to death had she not.
Now, as he stumbled into a dark alley way and emptied the contents of his guts, he wished he had. Passed away in the comfort of an animal that loved him. Perhaps the only other being in the world who would have put his own existence before her comforts. He should have never left the damned equestrian unit. Smooth talking Harry. Seeing something in the younger version of himself. The innocent and not entirely jaded one. Said he saw the dream in his eyes, that he actually believed in what they were doing.
He still did.
But he couldn't fight for it anymore.
He kicked the wall, angrily, as he started to stumble home, the sober self grabbing at his consciousness. It left him bitterly cold as he had not bothered to bring a jacket, and made him astutely aware of the fact that the roads were empty, save for the homeless and a few people who looked to be in similar situations to his own. He wrapped his arms around himself, and kept his head down as he stared at his feet. Someone walked into him at one point. Yelled an obscenity before continuing on in their own drunken steps. He fell against a wall and slumped down for a moment, not having the fight in him to respond.
All the anger he had, that kept him moving. Kept barely under wraps by pointed comments directed at his former partner. It had drained from him into the ground. He wanted to be angry, he really did. Wanted to scream about injustice. Rip someone's head off. He just couldn't.
All he could do was stagger to his feet and shuffle home, getting the door open and falling over to his phone.
Fingers and his memory played together. Dialing the familiar number like an old tune he could play on a piano by heart. He shook as he put the receiver to his ear, dropping to his knees against the wall.
The line rang. On the forth, Harry picked up. Somehow, he seemed to know it was him.
Jean was just glad he was home.
"Jean? Are you all right?" he asked, his voice tired but not slurring. Sadly, Jean leaned against the wall more, now sitting down with his legs crossed.
"Harry..." he tried to sound firm. His voice still came out meek and tired, however. "I'm sorry. About punching you."
There was silence for quite some time. Harry did not respond, but he could hear the shifting of the phone. Like he put something down behind him before giving Jean his undivided attention. He was alone. There was no background noise.
"I know you were upset... and that it is my fault."
"It isn't, though," Jean said, though he felt just sick to his stomach as he gathered his words. "You're not him. The man who I'm mad at," he hesitated before letting out a sigh. "He's long gone. You... you just look like him."
Harry did not respond.
"You don't deserve to have any guilt about what happened, or happens. You and Kitsuragi. I mean, here I am complaining. You've been yourself for what. Six months? And if anyone is deserving of a promotion, I mean it's that Kimball guy. Fucking legend, shitkid."
"Jean, you sound drunk," Harry informed him, sadly. "Maybe you should go to bed. And I'll come by tomorrow and we can talk. I know... I know that you're mourning the guy I'm supposed to be."
Jean laughed bitterly, holding the receiver closer.
"Don't bother, Harry. I don't want you by. I'm just... I'm glad you're finally happy. Don't feel guilty."
"Maybe I could come now," Harry said a little sharper.
Jean had no idea why.
The last time he had taken care of Jean while he was drunk and not in the opposite direction was three years prior. Jean did not even recall what set him off but he had suddenly stopped taking his meds. The ensuing chaos was himself throwing hours into work, high off of speed and the dopamine of solving something. Having a reward. It came to a head when on an unusual night, nothing but the cold cases were left to pursue. It had sent him to the bar. And then into a street fight. And finally, at Harry's door, mumbling something about how much of a great man he was for being a drunk and the most successful cop he knew.
Harry invited him in and set him up on his couch, telling him he had a bucket and a glass of water beside him for when he woke up.
"There's no point in you coming over, Harry. What's happened has happened. I just wanted to say I was sorry for trying to knock your teeth in earlier, you don't need to make a big deal out of it like a weirdo."
"Well, it's fine, Vic."
"God... sometimes you even sound like him, but you're not him," he spat back with slight vitriol. It just came out sad, however.
"I'm trying my best to remember things, they sometimes come back. In little pieces," Harry said in a desperate attempt to make up for it.
Jean quickly held the phone closer. Like a life line.
"Tell me something you remember, Harry," his voice was barely above a whisper. It took a moment for him to answer again.
"We were on a case together. It's in my ledger, the one about the mural. But this part wasn't. You asked me what I thought of it, and I said I thought it didn't get its point across too well. Then you asked me if I ever actually loved anyone or if I just didn't want to be alone. I said I didn't know. After we closed it, and we were starting to work on another case, you said you hoped that the next world would come faster because it was the murder of a seven year old girl."
Jean sighed a little.
"Yeah... that was a rough one. Wish I could see the mural right now, always thought it was beautiful."
"Me too."
"Do you remember any other cases we worked on?" Jean prompted further, tiredly.
"Yeah. There was one where we came in on a hanging man. Everyone said it was a simple suicide except his wife, who was adamant that it wasn't. She slipped us 400 réal to not close the case. When we were investigating, we found his stash of autoerotic shit. A whole box of belts, lube, and rope. When we showed her, we thought she was going to be having all three of us be taken out in body bags."
Jean gave a pitiful laugh at the memory, and for a minute, there was silence on both ends.
"You remember our first case together, Harry?"
Harry didn't respond.
"No. I'm trying, but... I can't."
"Ha... didn't think so."
"Who's on the phone?" asked a voice in the background. "We really need to go over this case, detective."
Jean had been mistaken. His heart sank.
"It's Vicquemare, I'll be out in a second." Then, back to him, "sorry, JV. I was just going over some new evidence I found tonight with Kim, he was smoking so he was on the balcony."
"It's all right, Harry."
Another moment passed where neither said anything.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come over, Vic? You sound awful."
"No, shitkid. Just leave me alone," he told him, before hanging up the phone without another word.
He was well and truly gone. That was all Jean could think about as he shakily stood to his feet. Small memories. But it wasn't him. Like a broken record playing a song and skipping over the most beautiful parts. He hugged himself for a second as he staggered to the kitchen. What the hell was he going to do now, all alone?
He didn't fit into his life anymore.
His breath quickened. Everything started to blur. In a haze. The world was spinning, and he needed to do something about it. Fast.
His mind went to the only place it could think of.