Chapter Text
April 13, 51’ 22:48
“He cleans up nicely doesn’t he?” Judit leans in next to you so you can hear over the music. She’s nursing her third co*cktail of the evening while you are only on your second. The ice clinks in your glass as you fondly remember Harry’s insistence that he buy you your first drink of the night. He had beamed when he saw the name of the drink of the day, ‘Origami Aerostatic’. It almost felt a bit patronizing, but when you saw how excited he was, you couldn’t say no. The bright orange color evoked your signature pilot’s jacket, the sweet and bitter notes of citrus and rye were refreshing and unexpected. It was surprisingly fantastic to your taste. So much so that you ordered another.
You were told the owner’s son enjoys making co*cktails for the venue, which was one of the reasons ‘Down the Alley’ was chosen by the C Wing for your welcome party. It was concerning at first to bring a recovering alcoholic to a place with a bar, but upon arrival, you were pleased to see that they had just as many appealing non-alcoholic drinks as well. ‘They host plenty of parties for kids too’, Vicquemare patted your shoulder in assurance as you entered with the officers of the C Wing, minus one special consultant (whose son was sick with a fever).
Now, you watch on as Harry supports a very wobbly Jean Vicquemare as he sings along to the obscure rock ballad playing in the bowling alley-bar venue. In this instance, Vicquemare is very much one of the ‘kids’. But you suppose Harry is just as much. He is basking in whatever fun he can have with his old partner.
Since Martinaise, Harry has cleaned up considerably. Color has returned to his pallid face, his beer gut has deflated, and his previously greasy unkempt hair appears soft and glossy. When he sat by you earlier, you could smell the scent of lavender and vanilla as he turned his head to talk with your new colleagues. A lot about you, some about what he has relearned about the world, but mostly about you.
You blink and remember that you were asked a question, “Khm—Yes. I suppose he does.” He’s wearing a purple silk blouse with a sharp collar that shimmers red and blue in its folds. In the dark lighting of the bar, you mostly see the red shining back at you. It screams ‘30s’, but it is mesmerizing nevertheless. Especially with how fitting it is against his form. The buttons strain against his belly, and the sleeves are pulled tight against his biceps. Maybe you should try to go up and sing as well. But you’re a little too unwilling around a new set of co-workers.
Jean is singing with more confidence than you thought he had in him. They call it liquid courage for a reason you suppose. Harry has his arm under Jean’s, attempting to sing along with him, but he seems to have a hard time recalling the lyrics. It’s good to see Harry reconnecting with his old partner, who was also probably his closest friend before his memory loss. But damn if you don’t envy Vicquemare’s current position.
“I’m glad you two are getting along so well. I thought you would have been wanting to avoid him for weeks after Martinaise.” You turn your head to her confused.
“Not at all. On the contrary in fact. I very much enjoy his company.” As the words leave your mouth, you worry how they sound. She is training to be a detective after all.
“Really?” She sounds surprised. He was the whole reason you transferred after all. You will forever be grateful that you did not let that slip. “After he showed up in that blonde wig getup just to mess with Harry?” Ah—now it makes sense.
You chuckle, “I thought you were talking about Lieutenant Du Bois.” She coughs, choking on her drink a little. Now she’s just laughing.
“Yes he does seem healthier.” She looks back to the two men who have taken the attention of the entire C Wing in the corner of the bowling alley the forty first rented out for your welcome party. “But no, I was referring to Lieutenant Vicquemare. He was really worried about making a better impression on you after all he had done in Martinaise.”
“Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow to her. “I’m surprised. He seemed like a very proud man the few times I interacted with him.”
“He is. But he’s also considerate. And he cares very much about what people think about him. Especially those with a reputation like yours, Lieutenant.” As she says it, Jean begins belting out the chorus interrupting their conversation.
“—BREAK THOSE CHAINS THAT BIND YOU!” He pushes Harry aside and takes the nearly empty soda bottle from his hand to use as a microphone. The impossibly teal blue liquid sways with his movements half an inch from the bottom.
“He doesn’t seem to care much now about what people think of him right now.” You smile. Harry is laughing and cheering him on.
“It’s so nice to see him loosen up like this. To see the two of them getting along again.” She rests her head on her hand leaning forward as she watches them, smiling. She takes another sip.
Oh…well that’s interesting, “Yes. It really is. With any luck, this will be their normal again.”
Her smile fades, “Hm—well. Maybe not the old normal again. Hopefully the new normal is more of this, the two of them being cordial at work, but getting along like thieves off hours.” She pauses for a bit, lost in the memory of what the C Wing was like not long before you entered the picture. “They really would work each other up into their high-highs and low-lows. They’re brilliant detectives, brilliant together, but it was hell to work around them. It eventually became more bad times than good. Then it got so bad that…well, you’ve been filled in on the rest.”
“Filled in, lived through it first hand, and wrote my review.” You take a sip of your drink before the ice melts. As the warmth of the spirit spreads through your gut, you are reminded to slow down on this glass. It’s a strong drink, and strong drinks lead to loose lips.
“What’s the verdict?” She downs the rest of her glass, then looks over to the bar and gestures for another.
You think of how to phrase it best, and considering you said you wrote your review, “Tequila Sunset, two out of ten. Brilliant, but suicidal detective. Smells bad, and shows little care for the well being of motor carriages.” Her shoulders shake as she chuckles. “Lieutenant Double Yefrietor Harry Du Bois, nine out of ten. Excellent detective, and a great friend. Brings out the creativity in others, and strives to better himself everyday. He does however have a self-flagellation problem that he needs to work on. Also has a bad habit of collecting random articles of clothing from various places, including Jamrock shuffle sessions through the garbage. So, still smelly on occasion.”
Judit had been smiling through your review up until that last bit. Now she’s letting out a big belly laugh that has caused a few of your colleagues to turn your way. You’re a little shocked to see how much she is laughing. Between her laughing and Jean’s singing, your attention is split as to who is the loudest.
It’s then that you hear in the distance the sound of bowling pins ponking against each other and the polished wood floor followed by whooping and hollering from Chester McLaine and Mack Torson. “Yeah! That’s the way to do it! Show em Mack!” McLaine holds up a hand for an ‘aces high’.
“f*ck yeah! No one strikes like the Torso!” He goes in for the aces but instead of a clap, he grasps Mclaine’s hand and attempts what you think is a chest bump, but the motion sends the two of them falling to the hardwood floor. All the attention shifts to the two Sergeants now on the ground, trying to regain their ‘machismo’. Bursts of laughter fill the venue not just from your party, but from several others a few lanes over. Judit is absolutely hysterical with laughter, she may pass out from lack of oxygen.
“HEY! Keep it down you two dickhe*ds!” Vicquemare barks. “I will not be up—hick—upstaged by your antics!” He looks around him and listens carefully to the track playing in the background. “Well now I’ve lost where I am in the f*cking song! Great!”
“Looks like our little stumble was not in vain, Mack.” McLaine brushes off his trousers. “We saved the eardrums of every patron in this fine establishment.”
“Yeah we did!” Torson gestures with his hands to try and chest bump again. The two men then with a little jump successfully bump chests this time and follow up with congratulatory slaps to each other's shoulders, knees, and asses.
“Don’t let em’ get to ya Vic!” Harry gives him a hard pat on the back, and Vicquemare stumbles forward fast enough that Harry has to catch him. “AH! —Whoops.” Supporting him again, Harry looks around and makes eye contact with you. His eyes glisten in the dark. He smiles, looks back down at a murmuring Jean Vicquemare in his balance, then back to you and shrugs with an awkward smile.
You give him a sly smirk and gentle wave. His awkward smile turns into a charming crooked toothy grin. A genuine smile, not like that horrid expression he had when you first met. The thought that smiling comes easy to him now is heartwarming.
“I think he’s done for tonight, don’t you?” Judit peeps up next to you sipping at what is now her fourth drink of the night. You didn't even notice when it was brought to your table.
Harry blinks and shifts his vision to Officer Minot, “Uh—Yeah, he’s very done.” He gives Vicquemare a little shake, and he groans in response. “C’mon Jean-y boy.” He practically drags the new Lieutenant as he turns back towards the bar. “Garçon! Two of your finest waters, s’il te plaît.” The man behind the counter, who you assume to be the owner’s son, rolls his eyes and grabs two glasses.
Judit turns back to you, glass in hand, her hair swings with the motion and a few strands stick to the corner of her lips. “What about Lieutenant Vicqumare?”
“He’ll be fine I’m sure. Just pray he does not get sick on the bus ride back.” You know what she was asking for, but you want to see if she will push the matter.
“No, no—what’s your review?” She tilts her head the opposite way.
You pretend to give it a lot of consideration, “Newly promoted Lieutenant Jean Vicquemare.” You trail off to watch her expression. She is positively day-dreamy. “Another great detective of the 41st. Organizer of great parties. Relies a little too much on inside jokes that no one else may understand, and generalized grumpy demeanor.” She’s still smiling, unperturbed. “Five out of ten.”
She bolts upright, “Only five?”
Gotcha.
“Yes, he is a bit grumpy—very grumpy, some days. Most days.” She stops herself realizing she’s not making a good case for him. “I promise you, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, he’s a very good man. He kept our wing of the precinct together when the ‘Tequila Tornado’ would blow in.” She says the name with a deep mocking tone. “Yes, Lieutenant Double Yiefrietor Du Bois is a good man, but we have established that we think of Tequila as if they were a different person.” She interjects as if to not offend your taste in friends, “And why five? It’s so close to two, the number you gave to Tequila Sunset.”
“Oh, yes. That is my bad.” You smirk. “Six out of ten then.”
“Six!?” More heads turn to the table you share, as you chuckle. Harry and Jean haven’t looked back, so you don’t worry too much about the attention you have drawn.
“You’re making it a little too obvious about this torch that you carry for Lieutenant Viquemare, Judit.” You give a sly smirk to her as you let her know what she has revealed to you. Then you watch her shrink back into herself and straighten out her hair.
“Is it really that obvious?” Her voice is low. She pats down her skirt, straightening out any wrinkles that are there. Her eyes drift away from you.
“There’s no shame in having feelings for someone. Having them for someone in the workplace, especially our line of work can complicate things.”
“It complicates things all the more when you’re already married.” She shakes her head, her eyes still don’t meet yours. “With children.” She adds, then begins sipping at her glass mournfully.
“Oh, I see.” Your teasing and detective proding has quickly made a nice night into a very uncomfortable one. And here you thought you were making fast friends when you’re just alienating people. Better get used to it, you suppose. The 41st is just another precinct. At least you have a friend in Harry.
“Please don’t think ill of me, Lieutenant.” She grabs onto your sleeve, pleading. It pulled you out of that cyclical train of thought. “My husband and I, we’re separating. It’s been a long time coming, and I suppose my eyes have been wandering. I hate to ask this of a new colleague and friend, but could you please keep this between the two of us for now?”
It's a shock to you. ‘Friend’, how easily and willingly she said it after you had assumed the opposite. Compared to what you are used to with people you hardly know, it is truly refreshing.
“Of course, Jude.” You echo the nickname you’ve heard around the venue, adding a layer of familiarity. “My lips are sealed shut.” You mime zipping your lips then locking an invisible lock and throwing the key away. “And, you may call me Kim, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Kim.” She smiles sheepishly at you, and tucks her hair away behind her ear. “It’s hard enough being a woman in the RCM. Having gossip flying around while I’m trying to deal with a personal matter privately may just break me.”
The weight of trust she has given you lays heavy on your shoulders, oppressive and firm. All this because of one too many sips, you think. Now, you are considering something radical and ridiculous, but a way to help lift the weight. You stare at the bright orange drink in front of you, accumulating condensation as it awaits your decision.
f*ck it, you down a greedy gulp from the glass, the cold citrus running down your throat to light a fire in your gut. As you clink the glass back down to the table, Judit is looking at you again, concerned once more. “I have something I’d like to get off my chest as well. If you could promise to keep it between us.”
Jude perks up almost instantly. She must recognize what you are offering. “My lips will remain sealed, Kim.” She smiles.
June 24, 51’ 16:18
The motor carriage jumps with the uneven cracks and potholes in the road. Harry groans and winces holding a gloved hand up to the new plaster set by Dr. Gottlieb while you were in the lazareth. It’s like he’s trying to prevent his brain from leaking out—your brain from leaking out. You can empathize with what he’s going through, you went through it not too long ago afterall. Now he is taking on the pain for you. You hope the droumamine starts to kick in soon.
The way he leans into you now reminds you of your drive back from Martinaise. Though officer Minot is the one driving and you two are alone back here. Only one of you is very injured this time. The blood on Harry’s clothes is not his own this time. The only relief you get from this insane situation. But he’s not in his own body this time either.
Against your better judgment, you bring your arm around Harry. His large meaty hand around your slim shoulder almost looks comical, but it seems to do the trick. His eyebrows relax and his winces begin to stifle.
Gottlieb had confirmed the blow to your head had agitated your still healing concussion from the tribunal. Harry’s body came out mostly unscathed, save for the bloodied ear and sore body from exposure to the machine. What did concern you though was when he had mentioned his—‘voices’.
June 24, 51’ 15:42
“I’m sorry about your tie, by the way.” You look at Harry, and gesture to your now tieless neck. It was a rather nice tie considering the fashion disaster that is Harry Du Bois wardrobe, but you weren’t really that sorry. It was a necessity to hopefully save the life of that young ‘doctor’.
“What?” He perks up from the plastic chair he’s been sitting in. You must have roused him from a deep thought session.
Gottlieb is still in the corner by his desk flipping through various files before examining either of you. Judit stands by the door that Vicquemare and Pryce walked out of a few minutes ago.
“Oh, that thing? Don’t worry about it. I found it in the back of my closet when I was cleaning out the apartment. It was more like a purge really.” He shrugs. “I mean, that one didn’t even talk to me.” A wide toothy grin spreads across his face. It looks like a classic Harry expression, but it looks wrong on you.
Judit raises an eyebrow towards him. Normally you wouldn’t be able to catch that. Your peripheral vision is amazing. As unsettling as this whole experience is, having sight this clear is something you thought you’d never get to experience.
“Khm—that’s right. Your hideous tie that you could talk to. The one you used to make the molotov co*cktail at the tribunal.”
“That tie was my friend, Kim.” He feigns offense, grasping his chest in shock. You huff out a single laugh and quick smile.
“That tie was garish. Besides, didn’t you agree that it was all in your head? You must have come to realize inanimate objects don’t talk to you now that you’ve been sober for a few months, and hopefully become re-acquainted with reality.”
“Well, the voices never went away. So I figured they were just a part of me.”
“Voices? Plural?” You shoot up your eyebrow. “Do all of your articles of clothing talk to you?”
“No—not clothes. My skills, the ones that live in my head.” He sounds dead serious. Judit’s expression has become questioning but not overtly concerned. Gottlieb is still flipping through his files, unbothered by whatever Harry is revealing in the room. They must have discussed this before.
“Have I never explained the skills to you, Kim?” He leans forward. “They help me with things, detective things and how to interact with people and the world around me.” You stay silent, blinking at him, waiting for him to explain himself. As peculiar as this all sounds, it does not surprise or even frighten you. This is normal to Harry, he does not sound frightened or upset, so you won’t be either. “There’s four types; Intellect, psyche, physique, and motorics.” He numbers them off on his fingers as he lists them.
“So, you have four voices in your head at all times of the day?”
“Oh no, I have twenty-four. There are four types, with six each.” He shows fingers for four and six. “So, four times six, twenty-four.” He smiles wide. “That was one of the first things I started to relearn after Martinaise. Been helping Cuno with some math homework on my visits.”
“That’s great Harry. I’m glad that basic arithmetic has returned to you as well.” You really are glad. Whatever those ‘skills’ are, you hope they are helping with his overall recovery. “So, you have twenty-four different voices in your head at any given time? That explains a lot actually. How you can get spacey often. Do they hold meetings up in there?” You tap on your temple.
“Oh you have no idea.” His smile fades and he crosses his arms and starts to think, or focus, it is unclear. “Actually, since just before we switched, I haven’t heard from any of them. It’s so quiet up here now, it doesn’t feel right.” Looking up at you expectantly, “You don’t happen to hear anything now, do you? Did they get left behind?”
A shiver runs up your spine. That thought had not occurred to you when he mentioned his ‘voices’. You are living in his body now, in his head. Do they exist only with him and his personality, or are they what makes up his brain? You know that you are a guest in someone else’s body, but the thought that you may be sharing it concerns you greatly. Still, you have not heard anything in your head besides your own thoughts. Perhaps it is nothing, they must be part of his personality, and not his physical body. “No, I haven’t heard anything in here.” You tap your temple once again, and look on to Harry, unblinking. It’s the truth, but you still hope your expression did not betray you to show your fear.
“That’s too bad. I’m starting to worry they’re gone for good.” He holds himself, staring forlornly to the floor.
“You should be elated, Du Bois.” Gottlieb turns in his chair towards the two of you, holding a thin folder in his fingers. “In no field of medical science is hearing voices a good thing.” He flips through the folder and adjusts his glasses. “We had theorized your voices were due to overexposure to entroponetic activity, yes?” Harry nods, brows furrowed. You can tell he does not like this line of thinking. “Well whatever did this to the two of you must have been made for something entroponetic in nature, because it may have also undone what you did to yourself a long time ago.” Harry stays silent, his hand grips over his mouth.
“But, they are me.” He says under his breath. Gottlieb either didn’t hear it or refuses to acknowledge it.
“It’s not for certain, Harry.” You try to lighten the mood, “Doctor Gottlieb is just proposing a hypothesis. He only said it ‘may have’ not it ‘has’. They could still come back to you in time.” He looks up to you again. The pleading look in his eyes is asking, ‘Do you really think so?’. You smile and nod. He seems surprised somehow, but it does the trick. He lowers his hand and lets out a sigh.
“Wanting to hear voices.” Gottlieb shakes his head, “You are surprising if anything, Du Bois.”
“It’s been my normal since I woke up.” Harry shrugs, “I don’t know if I had them before, but they’re what I have now, and I’m used to them. Or they’re what I had.” He brings a hand up to his temple a little too quickly and winces.
“Don’t be playing with Kitsuragi’s head.” Gottlieb snaps, “If you treat it well, and get enough rest over the next few days, you should be fine to return to field work.” He turns back to his desk and unlocks a cabinet. “Take these for the pain in the meantime.” He holds out a pack of prescription strength droumamine, and as Harry reaches to grab it he quickly pulls it back, “One every eight hours—one. Don’t be thinking you aren’t still an addict now that you’re taking a vacation in Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s body.”
Oh you wish he’d rephrase that. You can feel your face burning up, and you quickly attempt to cover it with your borrowed dinner plate sized hand. God you’re missing your old inability to blush. It was one of the few things about your genetics that made life easier.
Harry solemnly and carefully takes the pack of drugs from Gottlieb. “I would never put Kim in that situation.” It’s the most stern you’ve seen him since entering this room. “This priceless piece of art is on loan to the ancient decrepit Du Bois Museum, and the curators intend to return it in better shape than they received it in.” He pops out the first pill and holds it in hand as he checks the time on your watch. “Three forty-seven.” He notes, “If I’m up at eleven with enough pain, then I might take another.”
“Midnight.” Gottlieb corrects. It would be closer to a full eight hours, but the way he snaps sounds very distrusting of Harry. As much as you trust Harry now, you can’t blame the Doctor for his reaction. He knows more than you do about his medical history and otherwise.
Harry nods and pops the pill dry in his mouth and swallows stiffly.
“So what now?” You look to Gottlieb.
“Now? You two go home and rest. Lay low. There’s only a few people I know that specialize in pale exposure.” He taps on the small file he had pulled out earlier. A short list of contacts you assume. “And we don’t want it getting out that a machine successfully swapped the minds of two officers of the RCM, so asking any questions will require careful tact.”
“So we just do nothing? That asshole, CJ is still out there, and the machine that did this to us could be melting and crumbling to bits and pieces as we speak.” Harry protests.
“Pryce will certainly have officers on the lookout for ‘CJ’. But I fear that finding a specific skinhead in Jamrock will be a futile effort.” You add.
“We have to go back. There could be belongings those two left behind. Something to identify them, any kind of lead.” You can tell Harry is starting to spiral. “Just let us go check it out. I’m sure if we just—sh*t! Could I even investigate without my skills? f*ck!”
You resist the urge to reach out and grab his hand, so you settle for a, “Detective.”
“We have to interview the Doctor. God, are they still alive?! Where did the medics take them? Did they work alone on that machine? Is there anyone else out there that can help us fix this?”
“Detective!” Screw it, you think. You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps. Seeing the expression on his face is something you recognize. It’s one you see on his often enough, especially on a bad day. On your face it reminds you of catching a glimpse in the mirror after a trauma stress induced nightmare.
“Sorry. I just—I feel like I have to make up for how quiet it is up here now.”
“And you were panicking.”
“And I was panicking.” He sighs, and pats your hand, ‘I’m alright.’
“Minot, could you take the Lieutenants out of the precinct? The Captain gave them the rest of the day off.”
“Of course, anything to help.” Judit nods.
“You two rest your injuries, and keep to yourselves for now. With any luck this will be temporary and fix itself on its own.”
It won’t.
A shiver runs up your spine. “It won’t fix itself.” You echo. You don’t know why you’re so sure. You had the same assured feeling when Harry was worried that CJ was still in the warehouse. Without seeing him yourself, you were sure he was long gone from the area. Your body shook then as well.
“Well then we’ll figure something out.” Harry says. He mistakes your statement as pessimism rather than a strange truth that washed over you. “Du Bois, and Kitsuragi, the 41st’s finest detectives are on the case.” He shoots a pair of finger guns at you.
“Right. The case of the two crazy detectives whose brains swapped places.” You half heartedly joke.
“We’ll keep work shopping the name, but that’s a good start!” He stands up, hands on narrow hips and chuckles, “So—my place or yours?”
June 24, 51’ 16:30
Judit rounds the corner into the parking lot of Harry’s apartment complex. Harry stirs under your arm. He’s getting drowsy, a sign the medicine is working.
He had been joking at first, but it was obvious soon after. It would be impractical for the two of you to be separated while in this state, and Harry’s place was much closer to the precinct if anything were to happen. It was pretty funny how he had babbled and protested when he realized you were serious about resting at his place. How he stumbled over his words, worrying about the state of his apartment for guests. His mannerisms were so Harry.
“Let me walk you two up.” Judit says as she shuts off the engine. She opens her door and exits before either of you can object. Not that you would, the sentiment and camaraderie is appreciated.
You gently shake Harry in your grasp, “We’re here, Harry.” He stirs and groans, he shoves his head further into your chest.
That should be me doing that damnit.
“C’mon, Harry. Don’t mess up my hair.”
“But Kiiiiim. I’m in pain.” It’s still your body, so technically you are the one in pain. He’s just being a pain.
“You just don’t want to go up.” You raise an eyebrow.
“Please don’t judge me for how I live.” His eyes widen behind your glasses. He’s completely serious. He actually thinks a messy apartment will make you think less of him.
“You’ve been clean since Martinaise, yes?” He nods enthusiastically before realizing his mistake.
He winces again. “f*ck!—I really have to stop that.” Please do stop. I don’t want my brain matter to be jelly when I’m back in my own body.
You start to maneuver him towards the door. “Good. Even if you weren't, I wouldn't judge you. You have been a great partner to me. If you were struggling I would not want you to take on that burden alone. A disorganized apartment will not change that.”
“Thanks, Kim.” You can see his lower lip tremble. “That means a lot.” With that the two of you exit the motor carriage.
As you make your way up the outdoor steps of the apartment to the third floor, you wonder why you haven’t been to Harry’s place before. The two of you have spent a few Saturday afternoons at your place playing board games, but never once have you been to his. The bus ride he takes to and from your place is arduous.
Maybe he has been thinking to save you the drive. But he knows you love driving the Kineema any chance you get. Maybe it really is just that he doesn’t know how to keep an apartment clean.
Maybe you never asked to come over because you would be too tempted to back him into his bedroom and mount him right then and there.
Woah— where did that? Where did that come from? A fire burns in your gut. Your face is getting hot again. You linger behind Harry and Judit a little further as you continue up the stairs. The imagery crosses your mind again in a flash. You try to calm yourself with some deep breaths as you count your steps up. Does the idea of going to Harry’s apartment really get you that hot and bothered?
Such a hom*o.
Well yes, you are a hom*osexual. You have been interested in Harry for a while now. But you’ve also been adamant that you will not take advantage of his naïveté while he is still rediscovering himself, nor will you let your affections undermine your friendship. Not to mention how a relationship with the Detective could jeopardize both of your positions.
This has just been a trying day. That is all. You are mentally and physically exhausted. The thought just snuck up on you. Not much you can do about intrusive thoughts by definition. Best to ignore it.
By the time you reach the third floor, you still feel flustered. Your heart is still fluttering in your chest. You hope Harry’s cardiovascular system can handle the walk up these stairs normally.
With all the running he does normally? Of course he can handle an ample amount of stairs, easily.
You know why his heart is hammering right now.
Damnit. This feeling is not going away. Calm down, Kitsuragi.
“Kim?” Harry has stopped in front of a door and is looking at you expectantly. Judit waits for you as well.
Run back down the stairs. They can’t see you like this.
“Khm—Yes, Detective?” You attempt to use your usual methods to bring back your composure. He holds an open hand to you.
Is he looking for moral support to go into his own home?
“My keys are in my jacket.” He blinks at you once.
The keys to his apartment, of course. You pat down his jacket to feel for the keys. Dried blood crinkles and dusts down with the motions.
“Inner left pocket.” He points. Your hands fumble their way into said pocket, finding Harry’s keys. You hand them over gently to his gloved hand. they make a light clinking sound when they make contact. “Thanks.” He turns around to face the door and you can hear him inserting the key. “Just uhh—Remember, I wasn’t expecting guests.” He says to the two of you.
“It’s not a problem, Detective.”
“It can’t be that bad, Harry.” Judit adds.
Without further ceremony he turns the key and opens the door. “Well uh—welcome to chateau Du Bois I guess.” He gestures for the two of you to enter. Judit enters first with a small nod to Harry, and you follow.
Well it’s not awful. But it’s not great either. It certainly is very Harry though. The air inside is musty, but not oppressive. Various books are strewn about the floor and furniture, while a perfectly good bookshelf is left half-empty. Barbell and dumbbell weights, a medicine ball, and jump rope also have no designated home in the space.
His downstairs neighbors must hate him.
A small price to pay for keeping your body at peak performance.
I don’t know about peak performance, but the Detective has bulked up and slimed down in different places. This mess is evidence of his hard work.
The kitchen to your left is in no better state. A single trash can is overflowing with emptied takeout boxes, various cans of colorful sodas, and crumpled papers. You can see what look to be scribbles of something other than writing on the heaps of paper mountained up against the bin. The sink is unsurprisingly full of unwashed dishes.
“I’ve come home to worse messes from my kids.” Judit says aloud, continuing to look around.
“Really?” Harry has a hopeful look in his eye.
“Well no. Maybe if I left them to their own devices for a week or two.”
“Oh.” He shrinks in on himself.
“This is far from the worst I’ve seen. Especially in our line of work. Wouldn’t you agree, Officer Minot?”
Judit jumps a little, realizing how embarrassed Harry must be feeling. “Oh yes, no question. This isn’t even the worst I have seen your apartment before.”
“You’ve been here before?” Genuine confusion on his face.
“With Jean. Only a couple of times. He needed some help with…” she trails off, thinking best how to phrase it. “There would be times when it would be hard to help you alone. When you’d go to some really dark places, he would help you out of them. The best that he could anyway. Sometimes he would call me for help; pick up some electrolytes and magnesium for you, or to clean up a little.” She scratches at her uniform. It’s hard for her to share this knowing how it may affect him.
Harry stays quiet for a moment. “Damn. I’m sorry I put you through that, Jude.” He turns away from the two of you, “I try to—I feel like there is nothing I can do to make up for all that I have done besides doing my best now. And I’m trying, but damn if it feels like I’m just going in circles.”
“No-no. Not at all. We do see how well you are doing. It means a lot to us all that you’re keeping it up.”
“Thanks, Jude. Sorry again for all that stuff that I can’t even remember. And thank you for helping when you did.”
She smiles warmly at him, “Of course. You were good to us too in the C Wing. I hope you know that too.”
“Well I guess there must have been some reason they kept me around.” He shrugs.
“You were damn good at your job.” You interject. “Still are in fact.” You give him a smile. You’re finding it difficult to give him anything larger than a mouthed grin. You feel the strain in his jaw, the damage of his infantile polio.
“You have also helped all of us in times of need.” Harry turns back to Judit with interest. “When Chester broke his wrist in three places while on patrol, you were the one to make sure he got time off and payment for the additional medical services he needed. You helped Jean get home safe more than a handful of times after a night out. And you brought me flowers after my mother passed.”
He is bewildered, but none of this surprises you. “I did all that?”
She nods, “We take care of each other. We have to, and you led by example.” She pauses, “When times were good.”
“When times were good.” He echoes. “Let me straighten things up a bit in here.” Harry walks toward the living room space and kneels to begin picking up books.
“I can help, Harry.” Judit follows him and starts to take books by the handful from Harry and then place them into the neglected shelf.
“Thanks.” He says sheepishly.
“I’ll get started in the kitchen.” You state. As you turn, you try to decide where to start. The dishes most likely, but you will hate to guess which cabinets to place them in.
You look for any clear space to potentially stack clean dishes when you spot what must be the saddest dining table you’ve ever seen. It is a tiny table barely large enough for two, but with only a single chair. On top of it are several notebooks, pens, pencils and loose papers. The papers are covered in sketches and doodles, some are actually quite impressive to you. You knew Harry had a creative bone or two, but he seems to really be making an effort to grow his skills.
You walk over to the table to get a better look. One ink drawing in particular catches your eye, an observational drawing of your shared desk space. Your silhouette is carefully outlined, leaving your body a blank space, save for your spectacles and a few lines that hint at your nose, hairline, and mouth. The desks are what have the most detail, almost an absurd amount of line work busies the composition. You even can see the small details of your model aerostatic on your desk. It’s a great way to describe how busy your day-to-day is at the 41st, and it also makes you want to look back up at your near empty figure as a way to rest your eyes. The cycle of observation feels so natural; look at all the intricate details to see what else you may find, and rest your eyes when you need at the figure—at you.
Is this how he sees me?
The fire that had burned in your gut earlier has moved up to your chest. Cold sweat breaks out on your back, but it’s not unpleasant. The heart in your chest is not your own, but it beats with your affection.
Did your heart beat this way while you were making this, Harry?
Oh—you’ve got it baaaaad, Lieutenant.
You shake your head. Now is not the time. Especially under these circ*mstances. You compartmentalize the feelings that had just intensely washed over you so that you can manage to get something done here.
One side of the kitchen countertop is less cluttered than the other, so you decide to move what clutter there is and make that your clean side. You take off Harry’s bloodied green jacket and fold it over the single chair. If you’re able to get the dishes done, you can try and soak the stain out of it. You know Harry’s attached to it. You roll up your sleeves and get to work.
You get into a steady rhythm as time passes, and you are soon looking around the common space of the apartment for any more stray dishes that Harry may have left somewhere. Harry and Judit have made the living room quite presentable as compared to when you entered.
“Could you put away the dishes I’ve washed, Harry? I don’t know where you like to keep things.”
He lifts his head up from where he was picking up tiny scraps of trash from underneath the coffee table. “Oh sure, no problem.” He gets up. “Actually, could you help move this barbell? We were able to move the other weights, but uh—this is not something the average person can lift very easily.”
And he is no average man. He is a one man gun show. Now you’re running his show, Lieutenant.
“Khm—sure. But, could you walk me through the proper technique so I don’t hurt your body, Coach Du Bios?” You tease, but he is positively beaming.
“Oh my god, Kim. Are we finally gonna be workout buddies?”
“You never asked.” You raise a brow at him.
“Well I was gonna.”
“But then you realized you would have to clean?”
He stays silent as a response. Then he just smiles and shrugs. He clasps his hands together, “Okay! proper lifting technique.” He walks you over to the massive barbell in the middle of the room. “You’re going to deadlift this bad boy and then walk it over to the corner over there.” He points to a fairly empty space by the wall opposite the window.
“Mirror what I do.” He stands beside you, and you try your best to copy his position. Harry squats and keeps his head straight up, then mimes how to grab a hold of the bar. Squatting in his yellow bell bottoms is a task on its own, but you manage. “Really get your legs underneath you. You have to lift with your legs, not your back. Otherwise my old bones may be out of commission.” He really does sound like a gym teacher.
You steady yourself and double check your posture before attempting to lift. “That’s it, Kim. Ready?” You nod, and flex your arms, tighten your grip, and lift with your thighs and calves. It’s surprisingly easy to you. Harry must be doing this exact exercise often.
“Awesome! That was perfect Kim!” Harry is positively grinning from ear to ear.
You have to admit, it feels great to be this strong so effortlessly.
“Well I had a great teacher.” The weight still strains in your hands, holding it for long will not be easy. “Over there, right?” You gesture with a turn of your head.
“Yeah—yes! Sorry, that will be great.” Harry moves aside for you to start slowly walking over to the designated space. Once there, you’re careful to drop it carefully so as to not make too much noise for the neighbors downstairs. You will not add to Harry’s poor reputation if you can help it.
Too bad. The more they hear from you, the more they will be inspired to start their own regimen.
“Anything else I can do over here?”
“Well I’ll probably need another bag to take out all the garbage. They’re in the hall closet, top shelf. I’ll get working on putting the dishes away.” He turns to the kitchen where Judit is already. She’s looking at the table covered in his loose sketches.
“What’s this?” She asks coyly.
“Nothing!” Harry swiftly reaches for the sketch and clutches it to his chest. “I uh—just remembered! My bedroom is a pigsty! Gotta get it at least a little decent! Be right back!” You have to restrain yourself from chuckling as you watch him scamper around the corner to his bedroom.
You and Judit make eye contact and you let out a huffed chuckle. Walking over to the table again, you see that the sketch of you and your desks is indeed gone. Judit nudges you with her elbow and gives you a smirk. “Did you see that drawing while you were over here?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Officer Minot.” You grin.
“I got the bag! Had to go on my tip toes but I can still reach as Kim!” He’s saying it a little too enthusiastically. He’s trying to keep your attention on him. “Let me start by clearing off the table, yeah?”
“You’re quite talented, Detective.” You say with a sh*t-eating grin.
“Oh—thanks.” His ears are turning red.
You sly dog.
“I hope that you didn’t make all of these while you were on the clock.”
“Nooooo, never.” He’s either being completely sarcastic, or he is lying terribly. It’s hard to tell with your voice. “Only when it gets too slow.”
Judit can’t help but to bark out a laugh, “Slow in the C Wing? Are you joking, Harry?”
“It happens!” He says defensively as he starts to gather some of the loose papers on the table.
“Doubtful. Just be glad Lieutenant Vicquemare didn’t catch you.” He hums in agreement while putting papers in the bag. “You should save some of those, they’re nice.”
“They were just doodles. Stuff I draw to get out some ideas, nothing serious.”
“Alright, if you say so, Harry.”
The three of you continue to tidy the apartment for a little while longer before Judit makes a move to leave. “Will you need anything for tonight? I don’t mind coming back to bring you some things.”
“Actually yes, could you bring me my black bag from my locker at the precinct? I didn’t think to grab it before leaving.” It also would have looked very strange that Harry was going through your locker.
“Sure that’s easy enough. Anything else?”
“Harry, how’s your food situation?” He holds up a finger, ‘one second’, and goes to open his fridge. From what you can see there’s not much food at all.
“Bad, the food situation is bad.” He leans into the fridge some more. “I got a sad onion, butter, bread, a couple of eggs in here, and plenty of sodas.”
You walk over and check his pantry cabinets. There’s some spices that look relatively untouched; salt, pepper, paprika, bayleaves, sage, sugar, and rosemary. Harry has either not regained any cooking skills since losing his memory, or never had them to begin with, but you’re inclined to believe the first. “Harry, when you said that you were afraid to step into a Frittte, did you literally mean you hardly go grocery shopping?”
“Well yeah. I’ve mostly just been picking up food from the diner down the block. When I come after hours they will whip me up something from anything that may go bad soon at a discount.” That explains all the takeout containers that took up all the bin space.
“Sounds like a good deal, but you really ought to have a stock of food in your home. Just in case.”
“Just in case you switch bodies with your partner and you need to hide the fact from other people?”
“Naturally.” You huff as you scan for anything else that could be edible.
You hear Harry close the lower fridge door and pop open the upper freezer door. “I’ve got some frozen ground beef in the freezer. I completely forgot about it.”
You look over your shoulder, “Anything else in there?”
“Ice, ice, aaaand look at that! An unopened bag of ice.” He shuts the door.
“A feast of ice soda and onion.” You turn to Judit, “Would it be too much to ask you, if I make a list, to pick up some food for us as well?”
“Not a problem.” She smiles. You take a loose paper from one of Harry’s sketchbooks and write a list of food, as well as the combo to your work locker. She takes it, and gives you a coy look, “you two rest and get comfy. I’ll be back a few hours after I clock out. Will you survive?”
“We’ll manage.” You assure her. “Right, Detective?”
He co*cks a finger gun at her, “Totally disco here, Jude.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. It’s more than a bit ridiculous to see yourself with Harry’s mannerisms.
“Okay, if you solve the case by the time I get back, list me as one of the on-call officers.” With that, she exits the apartment, leaving the two of you to your own devices.
There’s a long moment where neither of you know what to say. So Harry goes to sit on the couch and lets out a long sigh. “How should we go about this case then, Kim?”
You sit down next to him, “What do you mean?” Has he forgotten already?
“We have to figure out how to undo this to ourselves, but also have to find CJ, investigate the scene. Right now our one suspect could be fleeing the isola for all we know, our crime scene is smoldering, and we have no idea what will happen to the one person that may fix this. So many things are slipping through while we’re just supposed to sit and wait it out?”
“Harry, Judit was being facetious. We can’t actually investigate this.”
“What!? What the hell are you saying!?”
“Not officially anyway.” You give him a knowing look. “We can’t investigate what has happened to us, because nothing has happened to us.”
He has a blank look on his face. Then it clicks, “Right. Pryce doesn’t want this getting out.”
“Could you imagine the implications? If this was possible for us, then what would happen if a person switched places with someone like Pryce?”
His eyes shift with widening consideration and horror, “f*ck.”
“f*ck indeed.” You concur.
He bolts up from the couch, “sh*t!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“That bastard, CJ! He was trying to switch bodies with me!” The realization washes over you as he says it. You knew at the moment that he wanted something with Harry, but haven’t thought of why since you woke up in his body. Everything has been a whirlwind since then, you could only think about how he had held the two of you at gunpoint and knocked you out. That was enough to warrant an arrest of the thug, but this changes things.
“What do you think he would have done? I remember him saying that bringing us was his ‘way out’.”
“Way out of the job? Or way out of Revachol?”
A way to disappear forever.
“Perhaps both. Being in a different body is the ultimate disguise.”
Harry ponders for a moment as he recalls, “Yeah. He also was interested in our rank and sounded convinced that if he was arrested, he was gonna die.”
Dirty cops are not unheard of, unfortunately they’re quite prevalent throughout the RCM.“Hmm. If he has been involved in any drug trading, you know that there are some officers of the RCM that are in the pocket of Madre and Mazda. He could be on the run from one of them.”
Neither.
“I’m not so sure.” He yawns and stretches out onto the couch. His eyes close as he lets out a long sigh. “Damn. Maybe resting is a good idea. I feel like I’ve gone twenty rounds in the ring against Contact Mike. My head is pounding—Your head is pounding.”
You’re getting pretty tired yourself, Lieutenant.
You really are. The heat has not been helping. It’s worse outside, but the air inside of Harry’s apartment is still thick, and it’s beginning to feel like a sauna now that you are sitting on his couch with your own heat radiating off of you. “Let me get us some ice water. We need to keep hydrated.” You go to the freezer and pull out one of the small bags of ice that Harry had pointed out earlier and you fill two glasses half way.
You know what would be great right now? Take a ride on another one of those Origami Aerostatics that you had at your welcoming party. Get some of that fresh citrus and liquid courage pouring down your gullet before pulling some moves on the ‘Detective’.
Water pours over your hand as it overflows from the glass. sh*t. You shut off the tap quickly. Is it his body’s cravings for alcohol? Then what was…
You bring over the ice water for Harry, abandoning the second glass you were making for yourself. He is now sprawled out onto his couch, he is actively fighting to keep his eyes open. He slowly sits up and takes the glass from you. “Thanks, Kim.” You watch your throat bob as he drinks, you don’t envy the pain he’s feeling, but you are still missing being back in your own body. Something doesn’t feel right.
“I’m going to try and get the blood stains out of your clothes, then take a cold shower.” You tell him. He sets down the glass, only ice left inside. “Get some rest, you’ll need it.”
He blinks at you with heavy lids before laying back down. “Mkay. Thanks, Kim.” Your boots are still on as he props up his feet on the couch. Normally, you would insist he take them off, it’s unsanitary and could damage the furniture. But this is his house, and everything is far from normal. He closes his eyes and mutters out, “Sorr—you gotta keep takin’ care of me.”
You were ready to bolt out of the room before he said that, but you take care to remind him first, “Helping you is never a burden to me, Harry.” You can see he's already drifting to sleep, but you see a soft smile linger on his lips as he relaxes.
Once you are near certain that he has fallen asleep, you grab his green jacket from the chair and head to his bathroom. The hall closet that he spoke of earlier is just a set of cabinets built into the wall for extra storage across from the bathroom, the end of the hall is the bedroom. You can tell from a glance that Harry did little to no tidying when he ran off with his drawing of you.
The bathroom is mercifully in decent shape, and the sink is clean. After closing the door, you drop the jacket in and recall the words of one of the many elderly women who looked after you growing up, ‘dish soap for grease, cornstarch for oils, vinegar for sweat, cold water and hydrogen peroxide for blood and wine.’ You doubt Harry has any hydrogen peroxide so you settle for the cold water and turn the tap on high. The water comes out warm. Even after a few moments it stays infuriatingly warm.
Damn this heat!
Looking up at the mirror, you see that his button-up has a large swath of browning-red as well. It was obvious that blood would have gotten on his clothes there as well, but it looks like Harry took a bullet to the gut. If that had happened there would not be much you could do to help him.
The glimmer of gunmetal against his head. CJ could have killed him. How many more bullets can a person take in a lifetime?
His insides pour out, there’s nothing you can do for him. He’s bleeding out. He’s dying.
Your gloved hands are putting pressure on his thigh. A major artery runs through the muscle, you pray the bullet missed, but there’s so much blood. It’s gushing through your fingertips. It all feels so futile when you see his shoulder bleeding too. His eyes are going glassy, he mutters something under his breath that you can’t make out. Even while dying he saved your life by handing you his gun, and you can’t even stop the bleeding. He’s dying. He’s dying. Your friend is dying.
Your heart can’t take much more of this.
Help—Someone help me. Help me.
He is alive. As are you. You know it. His heart beats for you even now. See for yourself.
You furiously take off his shirt, untucking and trying to pull it over your head, neglecting to unbutton anything. It tugs and stretches at your head before you’re finally free of it. You try to steady your breathing as you look again in the mirror. Blood has dried on Harry’s stomach. It is not his own. You run your hands over his gut. It is unscathed, and solid. Then you look up to his shoulder, a sizable pocketed indent marks his survival. Pink shiny flesh scars over where you fished out the bullet. You grasp the mark, it still feels a little numb, but that’s to be expected.
He’s here. He’s alive. Harry is safe.
Your breath calms down as you recite a volta do mar to yourself. You blink away tears that had escaped during your panic. Harry’s shirt is still in your other hand. You wring out his jacket and let the bloodied water drain before having them soak together. While you’re at it, you grab a small towel to run under the water to wash off the blood that has crusted into his body hair.
What was that? You gather your thoughts as you wipe away the dried blood. These intrusive thoughts are making you react in ways that are out of character for you. Could it be Harry’s body reacting to a mind it’s not accustomed to?
You focus your attention on his face in the reflection of the mirror. His complexion is warm and bright, some soot smudged into the corners of skin and facial hair, but clean otherwise. The green of his eyes shine from the evening sun coming through the window at the top of the shower. The rhythm of your heart finally evens out.
He looks healthy. His beer gut that he had when you met has not gone away entirely, but there’s a new defined layer of muscle holding the fat in place rather than sagging. Not only did his shoulder heal remarkably well, but his arms are somehow larger than before. He looks like a heavy weight lifter.
That is what he does, and should do more of. Less of that sissy art stuff.
Bet you would like to see more of that wouldn’t you, funky baby?
…Funky baby???
—Thought Complete: A Guest in Someone Else’s Home—
Solution: You have been having strange thoughts entering your mind since you woke up inside a body that was not your own. It was easy to chalk it up to exhaustion, or new reactions from Lieutenant Du Bios’ body. Now however, you recall your earlier discussion about his ‘voices’, and it all of a sudden makes perfect sense.
Bonuses: Physique Unlocked
SHIVERS +5 A true Vacholiere.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT +4 Strength you never had for yourself.
PAIN THRESHOLD +4 Never show them your weakness.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY +3 Time to cut loose, Lieutenant.
ENDURANCE +3 Keep going no matter the cost.
HALF LIGHT +2 Watch out for yourself, and watch out for those around you.
SHIVERS: The sun lays low in the sky, beginning to drape the furthest corners of Revachol in a warm orange glow. Workers begin to pack up from long shifts that have left them worn and battered so that they may return to the comfort of home. Warm beds, food, water, and tales from their children of how they danced in the shower of a broken fire hydrant.
In the comfort of a home that is neither quite their own, two detectives of the RCM recover from a traumatic day. One sleeps soundly in the comforts of a second-hand sofa. The other reckons with a newly discovered truth about himself. That being, that he is now never truly alone with his thoughts.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Heeeellooooo, Lieutenant.
