Chapter Text
May 25, 51 23:20
I ran into Jean again at the shop.
To Kims mortification they were about to engage in the most painful pleasantries ever had by two members of the human species.
Kim watches as Jean enters, the surprise flooding away quickly into exasperation.
“God damn it” Jean huffs under his breath
I tried not to engage but Jean insisted on torturing the both of us.
“So not a fluke?” Jean gives a half turned and half assed palm to the situation.
Kim adjusts his glasses and gives an affirming hum and tries turning his attention over to distinctly more hetero sexual media.
“So how's the case?” Jean fidgets awkwardly, running his hand on the nape of his neck
“Khmm” Kim hums affirmatively “it's been good so far”
Jean nods, looking off toward the exit before turning his gaze to the random piece of literature near Kim's line of sight.
“Used to be one of Harry's favorites” Jean’s face curls into a half snarl half smile, thumb jamming toward the magazine, directly forcing Kim's gaze to follow its trajectory.
‘Why the f*ck?’ Kim thinks, attempting with much difficulty to not implode with embarrassment.
“Uhh” Kim turns his attention to the magazine “ Gilfs anonymous?”
The p*rn he suggests is not at all how Kim had come to understand Harry's tastes.
Kim knows that Harry likes younger, waifish types, knows that Harry is only attracted to beautiful things.
Jean’s face crumples into one of contemplative agony
I'm starting to understand how Jean and Harry were once friends.
“Is this a hobby of yours then?” Kim flicks the corner of the Gilfs magazine “taking note of everyone's p*rn preferences?”
Jean gapes, incensed, before realizing that Kim is playing along and not genuinely accusing him.
“Oh yeah definitely, nothing gets me going more. So, Mr. 51st, what wets your whistle?” Jean prattles sardonically.
“Oh you know, the type who can't mind their own business,” Kim gives a huff of laughter and a small shrug.
“O-oh…” Jean’s brows raise sharply before he pulls into himself, hot red creeping up his neck and across his face. “You're uhm…I'm not uhh.” Jean gestures over himself.
“Ah, no, I didn't think you were,” Kim corrects casually, holding back the urge to smirk “and a bit bold of you to assume that I am.”
“Uh…” Jean's eyes narrow as he begins running circles around the situation. “Sorry I-”
“I am.” Kim lets a playful smile slide across his face
“Oh! I won't tell anyone” Jean runs a Dolorian X against his chest. “Secrets safe with me.”
I don't actually consider it a secret but on the other hand I wouldn't tell anyone under normal circ*mstances.
It's not a secret, just private information.
“Right…” Kim gives a curt nod of his head in thanks.
“Right.” Jean swallows thickly, staring down at Kim for a moment too long, mouth opening before closing, the thought to speak aborted swiftly.
Kim passes by Jean, who takes a moment longer to consider Kim's presence.
Kim forgoes buying any new illicit material. Instead he goes about picking out a spool of rope.
I elected to buy new rope, JV noted the purchase at checkout,
“Rope?” Jean questions “didn't uhh- wouldn't have-'' Jean fumbles again, tongue darting to wet his lips nervously.
I told him that it's for my glovebox,
“This is for my glove box,” Kim tightens the slack of the loop with a swift snap.
Jean swallows, eyes shifting to look away and further into the distance.
That it is a superior rope for an affordable price.
“It's actually cheaper here than at a hardware store,” Kim shrugs, rolling the rope up into a tight spool.
Which is actually true, I don't intend on using this rope for anything other than work.
Jean, seemingly disinterested in the explanation and far more interested in the rope wrapped around the leather of Kims gloves, darts his eyes nervously down to his hands.
JV seemed to be a bit trepidatious seemingly formulating some kind of idea of me in his head
Kim reasons that Jean probably doesn't believe that he’s not using the rope for non sexual purposes and is probably attracted to the thought of being tied up and potentially confused about the idea of imagining Kim to be the one doing it.
Kim suspects Jean Vicquemare is either lying or simply disillusioned with his sexuality.
Being an RCM officer has a history of challenging one's masculinity and testing the true flexibility of one's sexuality.
Kim assumes that Jean and Harry must have, at some point…
He doesn’t allow himself to finish the thought but knows the world is cold and lonely and so many are drunk and on drugs so often. That It wouldn't be the first time a straight man would proposition his fellow officer for a sexual favor and it wouldn't be the last.
But Kim knows it's different when you think one of the two would actually be enjoying it.
That the act wasn't some last desperate grasp to stave off the need for touch.
“Cheaper… I'll keep that in mind, next time I need rope for work,” Jean gives a deprecating, sardonic huff-chortle and grumbles something under his breath.
Kim gives a polite nod before a thought clicks and shifts into his brain, simple, the most obvious solution to the question of how?
I theorize that the perp may have been using rope for their escape /Likely.
May 26, 51 13:30
We visited another victim, a young woman black hair and dark brown eyes, large birthmark above left eye. She refused to provide a full name and said we should refer to her as “Pop”
“Pop?” Harry reiterates
“Yeah PoP, imagine snapping gum on the last P, capitalize it,” she rolls her eyes as if the explanation is banal and her need to explain something that should be apparent is draining her very soul from her body.
“PoP, dig, it's a cool name, not like Harry at all,” Harry nods, hand coming to stroke wisely over his dimpled chin
I continued to ask if she knew about the gang
“They suck, f*ck those guys, obviously” She waves her palm off in a dismissive arc across the air.
“Obviously,” Kim parrots, nodding as his pen scratches across paper.
She showed awareness and distaste in the gang’s existence.
“Also no offense but f*ck you guys too, like not you two specifically but-” her eyes roll, mouth curling in disgust
She also showed distaste for the RCM
“f*ck the pigs?” Harry completes the statement, mouth breaking out into a wondrous and playfully large grin.
“Yeah…” she raises a brow, shifting into a concerned kind of confusion.
Harry went off on one of his anti authority mazovian-esque rants again
“I get that, I mean what is the RCM other than the acting lap dog to the Moralintern’s ultra liberal authoritative rule? Citizens Militia? More like a militia against the citizenship.” Harry lets out a hearty chortle, giving a firm slap to his knee and a glance up toward Kim.
This definitely took the witness off guard
“Uhhh, what the f*ck?” The woman sputters, looking over to Kim in disbelief.
“Sorry, as a member of the RCM, I would like to clarify that my colleagues personal opinion is not the opinion of the 41st precinct, or of the RCM as a whole” Kim consoles, firm and practiced.
I gave her the usual spiel, i think that it just put her off even more.
“Uhhh,” she blinks slowly and takes a small double take before focusing back onto Harry.
“Yeah this is sorta my own hang up,” Harry shrugs, rolling his neck with a firm pop.
“Then why be a cop?” She asks, having regained her composure.
“I woke up one day and I was one… sometimes you can't help what you are.” Harry pulls at a fray of lint stuck to the cuff of his jacket.
“Then why not quit?” She huffs, briefly looking to Kim for some kind of solidarity in finding the situation as stupid as she finds it.
“If I did, all I'd have left to do is drink,” Harry lets out a long sigh.
“He's also very good at it.” Kim interjects.
I find myself horribly compelled to defend Harry.
“Oh…” Her eyes flutter with genuine surprise “really?”
“Yes.” Kim affirms, stern, stiff and resolute. Harry being a good detective is a matter of reality.
“Huh.” She shrugs, turning back to look at Harry
Harry gives a brief dewy smile to Kim. A soft, gentle, and private little thing meant to be shared between the two of them. Not something to be seen by prying eyes.
It would be much easier if he would stop looking at me like he does.
“Khm” Kim nudges Harry back to the witness.
Having been cracked thoroughly open, she continues to provide valuable information about her connection to the gang: “My ex boyfriend is a member. He joined sometime after we broke up.”
Her Ex boyfriend is a member-
“Do you know why?” Harry leans in, a placating kind of movement that lets the other person know that he's listening with no judgment or preconception.
“It was a messy break up, we were together for a long time, he didn't take it well… he sorta got toxic after that, I had to change my number, move.” She lets out another, more honest and exhausted, sigh.
Harry's face crumples.
May 26, 51 14:45
By the time we returned to the car it had been vandalized.
“At least it's not the Kineema” Harry gives a firm pat to Kim’s shoulder as he assesses the damage.
The letters O I N K were plastered across its side in large, bold font.
Task list:Groceries- milk, eggs, rice, coffee, aftershave, oil, butter, polish.
Make map of perp victims/see connections
Figure out an opposing theory to HDBs "witch" theory
Visit p*rn shop(for p*rn)
Get ‘sh*t’ under control
Take Coupris 40 to shop
“You know, this could be a look if you slapped those rims on, I know it's no Kineema but I think the Pigmobile has some mileage on its cool factor.” Harry crouches to run his finger over the paint job.
Dried and Cured by the sun, Going to be a real pain in the ass.
“I'm not p*rno tuning, especially not this car.” Kim leans his boot onto the step of the car, pressing down to give it a firm rattle of its frame, the suspension creaking with the effort to right itself.
“Cmon Kim, I know you’ve been sitting on those rims” Harry gives a pap to the curve of the current rims.
“And like I told you before, I don’t p*rno tune.” Kim huffs, reaching down to the door's latch.
“Jeez Kim, why do you hate p*rn so much?” Harry's bones give a creaking snap as he rights himself, stretching his arms over his head and toward the sky.
Those arms.
“I don't hate p*rn” Kim moves to remove his glasses.
“Uhuh, sure you don't” Harry leans in, throwing an arm over Kim, jostling him against his side.
Those f*cking arms.
“I don't, I just find ostentatious displays of-” Kim attempts a rebuke while taking off his glasses and wiping at any smudges accumulated on their lenses.
A reflexive moment of respite, an opportunity to deny himself of one of his senses.
“I think you’re just sexually repressed Kim.” Harry's lips curl up, wolfishly leaning in further to tilt his chin toward the movement of Kim's hands.
“I'm not,” Kim affirms swiftly, pushing the glasses back up the hooked curve of his nose.
“Really? Because I can’t imagine you consume any p*rn with your vehement distaste for all things p*rno,” Harry removes himself sauntering over to the other side of the car.
“Maybe I don’t need to consume p*rn because I have a varied and healthy sex life, unlike you.” Kim bristles, pulling the door outward with a firm jerk.
Harry’s expression widens before narrowing in. He slips into the seat next to Kim and gives a long appraising hum.
“Yeah, but it isn’t, you don’t have the time.”
“Fine, I consume p*rn. Happy?” Kim rolls his eyes as he turns over the key and lets the engine warm.
“What kind?” Harry asks casually as he checks his teeth in the rearview mirror.
“What?” Kims avoids looking at Harry and tries to keep his brow from furrowing.
“What kind of stuff, like what sorta p*rn?” Harry presses, turning to look Kim straight on.
“I don’t think you’d like to know.” Kim murmurs darkly, the engine sparking into a long rumble.
“Why not?” Harry blinks, hand moving to flick the radio switch on.
Kim flattens out an unamused look “It wouldn’t exactly fit into your typical locker room banter.”
“Oh, cuz you’re gay? Or is it because you’re a degenerate?” Harry turns the radio switch, the sound filtering in with a distorted jumble of static.
Harry is a nosy pain in the ass.
“Fine,” Kim flicks the station over, the screeching of guitar screaming out from the small box. “I like sub dom stuff, you know sadomasochism, bondage, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, choking,” Kim states, a hand coming to snap the lever into drive.
“Heh” Harry gives out a small guffaw before running it over, thoughts rolling through the rock tumbler of his brain. “Wait? Really?”
Kim gives a sly smirk and an ambiguous shrug of a shoulder.
“To- you or you to…” Harry mumbles, cheeks running hot red.
Kim lets his eyes dart over to give a quick glance to Harry with a firm authoritative look.
“R-right, good to know… You gotta type?” Harry leans back into his seat, collecting himself and reconstructing his casual demeanor.
“Mm. Bears.” Kim shifts the gears as the Coupris crawls off the streetways and onto the overhang of the freeway.
“Bears?” Harry pulls a face of befuddlement, nose scrunching into his brow, “Like the animal?”
“No, it's a descriptive archetype,” Kim corrects, letting himself relax beneath the smooth hum of the engine and the grip of the road beneath his feet. “Describes a man with broad arms and chest, a bit of a belly, a good amount of body hair, you know, like a bear.”
“Oh, gotcha. “ Harry nods sagely.
“...”
“...”
“...Am I a bear?” Harry asks with childlike trepidation.
The kind he shows often and commonly to most of the forgotten mysteries of the world.
“Khm,” Kim gives a long, drawn out consideration, a ploy to make Harry think that he’s considering Harry beneath the description and not considering whether or not he should answer honestly. “Yes.”
Kim decides he might as well be forthcoming with it.
I told Harry what a bear was today and figured there's no harm in Harry knowing that i could potentially find him attractive
May 26 51' 19:50
After ‘pop’ Harry and I had hit quite a slump in the investigation.
“No no, Sorry! That's, nope.” another door closes in their face.
Of the seven known victims only the 2 had been cooperative; the rest either claimed to know nothing or were unwilling to speak once the group had been brought up.
“Could be that they know but aren’t comfortable speaking.” Kim offers.
The two stand out on the corner of another crumbling apartment complex.
“That's at least likely for a few of them.” Harry grumbles in response, holding his pinky and ring finger up to count them.
“Regardless, without anyone to talk to, unless something falls into our lap it might make more sense to shelve this for now.” Kim gives out a long sigh and a wave of his hand to dismiss the whole ordeal.
“Oh.” Harry’s eyes widen briefly
“Ah, not that-” Kim stumbles, trying to rectify the implications.
“No I wasn’t- its not that, I just-” Harry takes a long, reorienting breath. “I haven’t failed on a case since I got back.”
“Ah well. I’m not saying we close it, just put it on momentary pause until something comes up?” Kim soothes.
“If something comes up..“ Harry deflates, eyes going dark in that strange and elusive way, the way that signifies he's turning in on himself.
“How about we take a break? Get some coffee?” Kim offers, hovers a sympathetic hand over his shoulder.
Harry chooses the place where they get their coffee.
Kim feigns enjoyment as they sit out front, cups in hand. Steam floats and is lost as fog rolls in and chills the air.
The day drifts between noon and forever, Harry being very still in the way he does when he becomes overly thoughtful.
Harry was acting strange again.
Not strange in the usual ‘strange’ but in the kind of strange that makes me worry, the kind that tends to imply too much thinking.
“Did you mean it?” Harry asks, the sh*tty tasting coffee he likes warming the red of his face.
“I mean and don't mean a lot of things, detective. Perhaps you could be more specific?” Kim tries to hide his grimace as he sips his coffee.
“I'm a good detective?” Harry adjusts the cup to the crest of his bottom lip, giving soft, gentle puffs of air to cool the sip.
“Yes, of course, I don't need to tell you that, the numbers are more than proof of that.” Kim stretches out his posture and tries to displace his discomfort.
“But what if it wasn't me.” Harry speaks softly, letting the sip gurgle as he takes it.
“Ah yes, I forgot, you are simply the imposter I met in Martinaise who killed the real Harry Du Bois and took on his identity to urge me into a false sense of security so you could …” Kim puts an inquisitive finger to the side of his head, tapping it in rhythm.
“Hmm, sorry, remind me again what your nefarious scheme was?” Kim stops his tapping and gestures his hand out toward Harry “I've forgotten.”
“Hmm no, well,” Harry gives a defeated little chortle. “Sometimes it's like that too. Especially whenever Jean looks at me. But I mean what if it wasn't me, what if it was the drugs.” Harry wraps both hands broadly around the cup, sapping its heat.
“Oh.” Kim deflates.
“That I'm not gonna be able to detect like I did before…” Harry trails off.
“Harry this is- what you were doing before wasn't sustainable, you must have known that.” Kim tries to not sound nearly as frustrated as he is with Harry's self-flagellation.
“Hmm, I suppose detect or die is a pretty extreme statement.” Harry concedes, allowing the notion to fold into his current understanding.
“Exactly, there's a reason superstars don't last very long. They burn out” Kim affirms, resolute and ready to move on to the next thing.
“And then no one loves them anymore.” Harry interjects, slumping down more defeated now than at the start.
“I-” Kim stops himself, reigning in the incensed anger to defend that flares and rears its ugly head, instead taking a short breath and seeking the heart of the issue. “You're still exceptional, even without the drugs.”
Harry makes me sickeningly sincere sometimes.
“Maybe I felt like, -” Something in Harry's expression shifts, something wounded, a hurt animal behind caged green-gray eyes.
“You can- ” Kim pauses, nearly careless.
I wanted to say that he could tell me anything, say anything to me but something in me knows that's not true, there are many things Harry could say to me that I would not be able to hear.
“Kim,” Harry takes a breath, lungs filled with the smallest of courages. “What would I be if I wasn't a detective anymore, if I couldn't do this anymore.”
He asked it as if to prove my point in that moment.
“There's a lot you could do, Harry.”
Harry could do anything.
“You could be a gym teacher again”
Something in me hates him for it.
“an artist.” Kim finishes the last glug of coffee. Crumpling the cup and tossing it away into the bin a few feet to the left.
I hate it because I know there's nothing else I could be.
“I don't know if I could survive if I were an artist.” Harry runs the pad of his thumb against the cleft of his chin.
I am Kim Kitsuragi and Kim Kitsuragi is a member of the RCM, nothing else.
“Mhh not everyone has the fortitude to be an artist.” Kim gives a sympathetic nudge to Harry's side, the brief contact filling Kim up to brimming.
“But everyone should be one.”Harry nudges back “Or want to be one, Not everyone should be a cop” Harry rolls his eyes and brings his coffee back to his lips “I probably shouldn't be a cop”
“Nonsense” Kim scoffs.
“Kim-” Harry takes a long pensive look towards Kim, voice lowering into something indescribably penitent “I've hurt people…”
Kim shrinks underneath the weight of it, “You've hurt far less than many cops I know. Three is impressively low-” Kim tries to wave it off dismissively.
“Four, and Kim, you have to know how that's not a good thing.” Harry states, voice heavy with concern.
“We’re the best anyone has.” Kim rebukes, reaffirming his posture. Hands behind his back, the guilt of bloodshed put away and out of sight.
Harry takes in a long inhale, eyes moving off to stare beyond the horizon, likely off into the pale where he often finds himself thinking of the bigger things, the things Kim is far too scared to acknowledge.
But Kim knows what question Harry isn't asking at that moment, knows that Harry is trying to spare him, at least for now.
It's a question that echoes on every street corner and in the heart of every Revacholian with air in their lungs.
‘Shouldn't we have something better?’
