Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was night in Martinaise. Spring. The air was chilled from days of rain, but at the moment everything was blessedly still. He could see the twinkling stars through the break in the clouds, a welcome sight after so many miserable days.

Harry was beside him. As he always was in Martinaise. Guiding him all through the dilapidated buildings and bullet-worn plaza, maze-like docks and reedy brush. He was like a police canine unit with the scent of the perpetrator, tracking them down. Single-minded, undeterred, brilliant to watch.

Kim loved it. It was like the world had fallen away and this was all there was - him, and Harry, and the thrill of the hunt. 

The Hanged Man was still in the tree, though. Didn’t they already take him down? Didn’t they already know who did it? How did he get back up there? What were they looking for?

Harry was still jogging ahead of him, but he was going too fast. Kim tried to keep up. The darkness was getting darker. Snow kicked up into his face.

Harry was heading for the plaza. For the Whirling. Kim’s heart seized in his chest.

He couldn't see them yet, but he knew. He knew it was the tribunal. 

No, Harry, don’t go that way! It’s them! They’re going to–

Gunshots. One right after the other, quick, evenly spaced. A massacre. A massacre and he wasn’t there. He wasn't standing with Harry, hands up, trying to de-escalate. His hand fumbled for his gun but it was gone. He couldn’t move. Blood flowed between the gaps of the cobblestone, under his shoes. Harry’s blood, mingled with countless others. He cried out, trying to move his feet, trying to do anything. He needed to help. He needed to save Harry. But he was frozen, pure dread taking over. 

More gunshots. Louder. Deeper. Sounding almost… like…

A door.

Knocking at the door.

Kim bolted upright in bed, panting hard, sweat coating his face, neck, back. He gave himself a quick second with his hands against his face to take a deep breath and remind himself where he was. 

It's okay… just a dream… it's okay….

He blindly felt around his nightstand for his glasses, but they weren't… oh, right… He leaned over Harry’s warm back, and found them folded up on his. 

“Whuddisit…?” the other man grumbled, rubbing his face into his pillow. 

Knock knock knock!

Kim rolled out of bed and braced himself against the open bedroom door.  “One minute!” he shouted toward the living room, then turned to take a bleary look at the clock. 2am. The only reason anyone would be insistently knocking at his door like this at this time of night is if it was a neighbor and the building was about to collapse, or a colleague and someone was dead. He squinted in the darkness, grabbing up a pair of pajama bottoms and the undershirt that was haphazardly thrown aside.

“Stay here,” he said sternly, looking over at Harry. Harry simply nodded, and pulled the extra covers closer to himself. He was perfectly happy to go back to sleep. Don’t you dare snore, Kim thought, throwing his robe on. He went out into the living room, surveyed it very quickly, and grabbed a couple of incriminating items and hid them on an armchair facing away from the door - Harry’s jacket, his holster, his shirt, a torn-open box of condoms very hastily thrown aside.

He and Harry… it was a complete secret to the RCM. No one else knew. It’d been going on for a few months now, and if this was the latter of the reasons someone was knocking, he didn’t need some officer taking one look around and putting the pieces together.

“Just a second” he called out, grabbing up Harry’s god-awful green shoes and dropping them on the chair as well. He peeked out through the eyepiece, and frowned. He twisted open the locks and pulled the door open a third of the way.

“Satellite-Officer Vicquemare?” he said, just loud enough that he hoped the sound carried to the bedroom. He could almost sense Harry stir, now alert. “What’s going on?”

This wasn’t case-related. Kim could tell immediately. Jean Vicquemare had his RCM jacket on, but underneath he had on normal civilian clothes - a simple white t-shirt, plain tan slacks, loafers. Kim realized it was the first time he’d ever seen him in anything other than the tailored suits he wore to work. 

But more than that, there was something about the way the man held himself, the almost panicked look on his face. If Kim hadn’t known exactly where Harry was and that he was perfectly okay, he’d thought Vic was about to tell him he was in the hospital or something.

“Don’t worry, it’s not Harry,” Vic said quickly. He shifted his weight awkwardly, glancing around the hallway a second before settling his pale gaze on Kim again. “It’s… I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

His voice was low, strained, apprehensive. Kim felt a chill seep into his veins as their eyes connected.

He had seen that look before. So many times - with officers, with victims, with suspects. Hell, he saw it more than once in Harry’s eyes that week in Martinaise. It meant different things depending on the person, but it was always cause for alarm.

“Okay,” Kim said gently, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He glanced behind him. 

“If-if this is a bad time–”

“No,” Kim said quickly - maybe too quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. I just need to… clean up a couple of things. Just wait right here. Give me two minutes.”

Vic nodded. He looked ready to run the other way. Kim gave him one last authoritative “Stay”, before closing the door.

Harry’s face peeked around the corner the moment the coast was clear, every centimeter of it stricken with concern. Kim put a finger to his lips, quickly and clumsily grabbed the pile of contraband on the chair and crossed the living room to push the stack into Harry’s arms.

“Should I just hide in here or…?” Harry murmured quietly as Kim guided him further into the bedroom.

Kim shook his head. “It's too risky. Besides, I want to respect Vicquemare’s privacy and trust. What if it has something to do with you?”

Harry pursed his lips a moment, looking suddenly uncertain - wait, did I do something to piss him off recently? he was probably thinking. 

Kim shook his head with a reassuring smile “I doubt it’s that, but just in case.” He gave a nod toward the window “Take the fire escape. Be safe. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Harry set the pile of items on the bed and frowned, his eyes glancing back toward the living room. His gaze unfocused a moment, as though he was looking right through the walls separating himself from Vic, lost in thought. Kim always wondered what happened inside his head whenever Harry went quiet and stared blankly like that, but he never pressured him to share - well, unless they were on a case. 

After maybe 20 seconds, Harry came back to himself, looked at him and gave a nod. He moved to wrap his arms around Kim and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Take care of him for me.”

“Of course.” Kim leaned his head back and met Harry’s lips with his own - cracked skin, bristly mustache, still smelling of decaf coffee and cigarette smoke and a telltale scent from earlier escapades. Harry brushed fingers along his jaw for just a moment, tender, loving, and then stepped back, gesturing for Kim to hurry back to the living room. Kim gave a final nod, then closed the bedroom door behind him. He took one last quick visual sweep of the living room and kitchen before crossing back to the front door and pulled it open.

Vic hadn’t moved. Hadn’t run. The look on his face indicated he had every desire to do so, but he hadn’t. Kim stepped back, pulling the door open fully to allow the taller detective to come inside before closing it again and locking it back up. 

“Can I get you anything?” Kim asked awkwardly. “Water? Tea?” He took a couple of steps toward his kitchen but paused, watching Vic carefully. The Satellite-Officer stayed rooted just in front of the door, his eyes roaming around the room - Kim recognized the action, the one that every RCM detective did unconsciously whenever entering a new space. Scope the surroundings, look for anything out of place, possible evidence, possible leads. Kim tried not to let it bother him, but he still felt a bit nervous that he might’ve forgotten to move something clearly having to do with Harry.

Finally, Vic glanced at him, then dropped his gaze. Kim could see the cogs churning behind his head, the way his eyes now looked at the empty air just in front of him. He was searching for what to say, or rather how to say it. Kim clasped his hands behind his back, hoping he exuded patience and understanding. He noticed Vic’s fingers twitch a little. He knew it well - the same twitch he had anytime he wanted a cigarette, even (or especially) when he’d already had the only one he allowed himself for the day. It was the same twitch that Harry had in his fingers on particularly bad days, when he really really wanted a drink. 

Kim suddenly realized he had no idea what Vic’s vices were. What his itches were. Was he also a recovering alcoholic like Harry? A drug user? Is this why he felt he couldn’t go to Harry? Or had he tried Harry’s place first, but he wasn’t home?

Vic closed his eyes, his face scrunching up with a quick exhale, turning his head a little from Kim as though in shame, or guilt. He was arguing silently with himself. But then he took in a deep breath, and released it with a kind of finality. His fingers - the ones that had twitched - moved to his jacket, reaching inside.

And then, he was holding out his gun toward Kim, handle first, barrel pointed to the floor. 

“Please,” Vic croaked. He was shaking now. His eyes were fixed on his feet. “Please take this from me. I can’t… I don’t…”

Kim’s spine went rigid, blood running cold. Whatever Kim was expecting, it wasn’t this. He knew immediately what the subtext was in his plea.

Please take this from me before I blow my own brains out.

“Jean,” he whispered. The other man flinched, the hand holding out the weapon tensing around it. 

Kim had never called him that before. Not even once. It was always Detective, Officer, Satellite-Officer, Vicquemare. Or, if the situation or environment was a little more casual, Vic. Never Jean.

For a split second the two of them just stood there, frozen. Then, without any conscious decision, Kim quickly closed the distance between them, carefully grabbed hold of the gun and slowly pulled it from Vic’s grasp. Vic let his hand fall to his side, shoulders dropping, head tilted down like a child in trouble and waiting to be scolded. Kim tried not to let his own hands shake as he opened the cylinder of the Villiers revolver - exactly the same model as Harry’s, down to the inscription on the side. A small voice in his head wondered if they’d purchased them together, but he quickly silenced the thought. 

Kim knew the best course of action - disarm the gun. Hide it. Remove the temptation from the situation immediately. He was suddenly acutely aware of his own firearm existing elsewhere in the apartment. He needed to move it too. Just in case. Harry’s gun had been in the holster in the pile of things Kim handed him, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that one.

Vic was watching him, deathly quiet. Watching the gun. Watching each of the three bullets as they fell from the barrel into Kim’s outstretched hand. Once the last one was free, and Kim closed his fingers over them and hid them away in one of his pants’ pockets, the last thread of Vic’s composure finally snapped. The younger detective pressed his hands to his face, his knees giving out under him and he slid down the door to the floor.

Kim reacted quickly without thinking, setting the disarmed gun on the side table next to the door - scattering a stack of opened mail as he did - and crouching forward as though to catch the other man. But Vic just landed to sit with his back against the door, leaning into his hands, shaking as he fought not to break down completely into tears. Kim settled on his knees in front of him, hands out but not touching him, as though afraid the other man would shatter if he did.

“Fuck,” Vic rasped heavily. His hands moved to grip his hair. His long legs folded up against himself, tucking his knees to his chest so he could rest his forehead against them. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…Fuck… Fuck .”

Kim dropped his hands to his lap, settling himself back on his heels. He just stayed that way for a long moment, watching silently, not knowing what else to do. He felt woefully unsuited to this. He barely knew Jean Vicquemare. They were just colleagues, and as such Kim kept him further than arm’s length away. As he did with everyone he worked with.

Well, everyone except Lieutenant-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois. But that was the exception that proves the rule, as they say.

Kim’s mind retreated back out into the apartment. The unloaded gun on the table next to them, far too close for comfort. His own gun, also unloaded, on his dresser. Vic’s three bullets resting in his pocket, against his thigh. The boxes of ammo, Harry’s and his own. Harry himself, hopefully dressed and out the window and headed home by now with his own gun on him. 

“I’m going to…” Kim began quietly, taking a glance behind him. Was there anything else he needed to hide? He took a deep, steadying breath, calling on his RCM training. The voice that came out of his chest next was the same voice he used when speaking to despairing families of victims, “...Do you need me to hide anything else? Knives? Medications? Alcohol?”

Vic lifted his head just enough to make eye contact, for Kim to see his watery eyes and anguished expression, then shook his head dropping it again. “Just that,” he murmured into his knees.

“Okay. Okay, stay right here.”

Kim rose slowly and moved quietly. He grabbed Vic’s gun and made his way back to the bedroom door. Harry was thankfully nowhere to be found, the window still open to the summer air and the fire escape.

Kim had a gun safe in his bedroom closet. He rarely used it - he felt too vulnerable without his single-shot Armistice Kiejl within easy reach, but he always made sure to keep it unloaded when he wasn’t carrying. He pulled it out of his nightstand drawer, and looked down on it, comparing it visually with Vic’s three-shot Villiers. His stomach churned as he moved to the safe, setting the guns safely inside, followed quickly by the box of 9mm ammo Kim had on hand. He made sure to drop Vic’s three bullets into the box before closing it up and locking up the safe.

The moment the lock clicked home, a weight vanished from his shoulders. Step one done.

He made a pit stop at the kitchen to grab two glasses of water before returning to Vicquemare.

“Here,” he said softly, crouching down and holding one glass out for him. Vic didn’t even lift his head, just pulled one hand away from where it had been gripping his hair and held it out expectantly. Kim placed the glass carefully against his palm, and Vic closed his fingers around it, then lowered it to the ground next to him, resting his hand on top. A move that said “I will need this, but I can’t yet.”

Silence enveloped them. Kim decided to move to sit next to him, leaning his back uncomfortably against the jamb of the front door. Just close enough to be a comforting presence without actually touching him. Kim pulled his own knees toward his chest, mirroring Vic’s pose. He sipped on his water and waited. Waited as long as he needed to. 

A memory surfaced in the back of Kim’s mind as he sat in the silence, listening to Vic’s trembling breaths. He remembered in Martinaise, Vic sitting at a table by the stairs of the Whirling, wearing that godawful wig and sunglasses, Harry looking down on him with a vacant expression.

“Weren’t you depressed or something?”

"Seven years and going strong!" Vic nodded enthusiastically. "The head doctors are now calling it a medical marvel... no, wait, anomaly was the word they used."

An anomaly, Kim now realized, because folks in the RCM who have it as bad as him don’t often make it this long without…

Kim looked over at him. Vic’s depression was not a secret. Pretty much all of C-Wing poked fun at it, including and especially Vic himself. Dark humor was pretty much required of RCM officers, to help them make it through this grim, horrific world. But Kim had always figured Vic had it all under control. Properly treated, or at least had coping mechanisms figured out enough to get through each day. 

So why now?

The minutes stretched on. Kim finished his own water and placed the empty glass on the floor beside him. Vic was slowly calming down. His breathing evened out, his shoulders and the hand gripping his hair slowly, incrementally, relaxing. Finally, he lifted his head, pressing the fingers of his free hand into his eye sockets and over his cheeks and nose, wiping away the moisture that had broken free. He glanced down at the glass still beneath his other hand, and raised it slowly to his lips.

“Thanks,” he said, softly. He took a sip, swallowed, and then a flinch of emotion shot through his face. He shook his head, running his other hand against his face again. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Kim’s voice was steady. Firm, but kind. "You're here. You're safe. I’m happy to be someone you trust enough to turn to for this.”

Vic gave a small exhale, like a scoff. “Don’t really have any other trustworthy people in my life these days, to be honest.” He lifted the glass to his lips again, but then paused, as though reading Kim’s mind. “I mean, there’s Harry but…” His voice trailed off. He lowered the cup back down, resting it in both hands on his knees. He dropped his gaze and shook his head. “Fuck, I couldn’t put him through this again… not now… He’s doing so well right now…”

Kim nodded absentmindedly. So this wasn’t the only time this has happened. And other times, he had turned to Harry…

Vic rubbed his forehead sheepishly with the pads of two fingers as the silence dragged on. He gave a quick exhale and screwed up his face against another wave of emotion. “Fuck, I’m just keeping you awake for no reason, I should…” He moved as though to get up.

“Stay.” Without thinking Kim placed a hand on his shoulder, as though to hold him to the ground. “I don’t have work tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere. I've stayed up long nights for much less. Just… tell me what you need right now.”

Vic avoided his gaze, looking out into the room, blinking frequently. Kim had a feeling he hadn’t really been able to think any farther than “I need someone to take this gun from me right now”, and now that that objective had been met he was at a loss. Kim kept his hand on his shoulder, as though afraid he’d float away if he removed it.

Vic swallowed hard. His eyes scanned his surroundings, as though trying to see if the answer was in the room somewhere. Finally, he looked down at his cup. “...just can’t be alone right now,” he murmured. “We don’t have to talk about anything I just… I can’t be alone.”

Kim nodded slowly. “That’s fine. I can do that.” He looked out at the room too. Then, he began to become aware of his hips and back beginning to ache from sitting on the hard ground, against the wooden door jamb. He went ahead and pushed himself to stand, then held a hand out to the other detective. “Here. There’s much more comfortable seating in this apartment. C’mon.” 

Vic looked up at him, and Kim couldn’t help but feel like the Satellite-Officer had de-aged thirty years, just a lost child curled up on the ground, terrified of the world. His pale blue-gray eyes flicked from Kim’s face, to his hand. Finally, he grabbed it, allowing himself to be hoisted to his feet. 

“Do you drink?” Kim asked carefully, releasing his hand and grabbing the empty water glass from his other hand, and moving toward the kitchen. “Care for a glass of wine?”

“I… sure.” Vic was watching him carefully. He looked so awkward - no longer resembling a lost small child, now he exuded the gawky uncertainty of a teenager out of his element. 

Kim crouched down low, in front of a cupboard, pulling out a stack of disused pans, and pulled out a well-hidden bottle of wine. “I’m afraid I don’t have any wine glasses anymore. Seemed pointless to hold onto them.”

“You’re hiding that because of Harry, are you?”

Kim looked up, trying to keep his reaction and his voice steady. “He has come over a few times to play Suzerainty. The last thing I want is to cause any issues with his recovery.”

Vic nodded slightly, looking away with a small smile. “I’ve done the same thing. Never know when he’ll just show up at your door unannounced.” He gave a little scoff of a laugh and dropped his head sheepishly - clearly appreciating the irony. The hint of a smile vanished before it could really take hold. “I mean, he hasn’t come over much after… But yknow, just in case.”

“ After Martinaise,” Kim finished the thought for him, noting the sadness that now hung in the air. Vic nodded slowly, leaning his elbows against the edge of the kitchen island.

Kim set to work uncorking the bottle, taking their water glasses and filling them up with the deep maroon drink.

“The two of you…” Kim began, then paused a moment, picking out the words he wanted. He set down the bottle - now half empty - and reached to hand Vic’s glass back to him. “You two were quite close once, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Vic didn’t even try to hide the remorse on his face. If they were at the precinct he definitely would have tried to, but he was too tired to now. He looked down at his wine. “Yeah, once.”

“Is it just because of his amnesia? Or… I got the impression things had gone south before then, right?” Kim immediately kicked himself for this line of inquiry. It felt way too personal, way too intrusive. He quickly shook his head. “Nevermind, you don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s fine,” Vic murmured, lifting the glass up to his face, pausing as though to sniff the contents, or perhaps just to think for a second. “A little from column A, little from column B, I suppose.” He took a pensive sip of his wine, then smacked his lips together as though making note of the undertones of the flavor, and then made a strange face of approval.  “Now that’s a good wine.”

“You’re welcome,” Kim said with a little smile, holding his own glass up as though in a toast, then moved toward the living room, toward the corner closest to the large open window on the far wall, where two seats flanked a small table with an ashtray and his ledger on it. He could hear Vic following behind him. Kim settled into his usual spot - the armchair closest to the window - and started pulling one of his Astras from the pack sitting there. Halfway through unfurling the foil he hesitated - hmm, he’d already had his one a day…. Eh, he’d fallen asleep, he could go ahead and count this as his next day’s smoke. Harry would just have to deal with it.

Vic settled himself down on the end of the couch nearest to the ashtray and began pulling his own carton of smokes out of his pocket, setting his glass on a coaster to quickly light up. He took an incredibly long pull, closing his eyes, and upon releasing it let his head fall backward, resting on the back cushion. “Fuck,” he hissed to the ceiling, his shoulders and arms relaxing, cigarette dangling loosely from a hand now hanging from the arm of the couch. “Fuck I needed that. Needed this.”

“The cigarette?”

“The distraction.” He lifted his head and reached for his glass with a hand still holding the cigarette. Its vapor created graceful ribbons in the air before him. “Too easy for the spiral to grab hold when there’s nothing to distract you.”

Kim nodded empathetically. 

The two of them fell into comfortable silence. Just giving into the calm provided by the wine, the scent of their smokes, the tepid air of the summer night. The distraction. Kim took small sips of his wine but mainly focused on his cigarette, taking small pulls to let it last as long as possible. Vic sucked on his cigarette like he breathed nicotine instead of oxygen. Before long he was grabbing a second.

After Kim had taken a few more sips of his wine, he found his brain churning. He furrowed his brow, and before he could stop himself, he was asking “You said this has happened before…?”

Vic looked over at him, as though startled by any noise coming from him at all. His pale eyes were wide and tentative, nervous. He visibly swallowed, averting his gaze back out toward the room. He drew his legs up under him on the couch, so he was more lounging rather than sitting, leaning his hip and elbow against the overstuffed arm cushion. Kim realized he was still wearing his RCM coat - like a security blanket. 

“A couple of times, yeah. Been a long time since it’s been this bad.”

“Any particular reason for it this time? Why now?”

Vic spat a humorless laugh, smoke breaking up the air in front of him like little landmines. “See, that’s the dumbest fucking part - I shouldn’t be-it shouldn’t…” He pressed his hand to his forehead, his cigarette dangerously close to dropping ashes on him. “Harry’s been doing better - sober, happy, some of his memories have even started coming back so I’m not… it’s not so… and then you’ve been a fucking godsend to the team, making my life so, so much easier… easier for all of us and I just… I don’t know, I….” He shook his head. “You’d think if I’d wanted to end everything it would’ve been during the worst of it all but I...” He swallowed hard and echoed Kim’s words to himself. “Why now…?”

Kim could hear the incremental tightening of his voice with every word, could see the anguish building up in his cheeks. Kim cleared his throat and went to take another sip of wine. “Honestly, maybe it does make a little bit of sense…”

“What? How?” Vic sounded genuinely taken aback, those pale gray eyes back on him. 

Kim tapped out his ashes thoughtfully, letting himself work through the thought fully before speaking again. “When you’re going through the worst of it, your mind has no time to ruminate or process. All it can focus on is getting through. One step at a time. But once you’re able to slow down, relax, look back at it all with space and time to think, it all catches up with you. All at once. And your mind suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it all, so it shuts down.”

Vic thought about it for a bit. Tapped his ashes out absentmindedly - his cigarette was almost to the filter. “Maybe…” Another drag of smoke as he mulled it over another second, the tip glowing a steady orange. “The thing is, I didn’t wake up this morning thinking ‘ Boy, howdy, sure would be wonderful to put a goddamn bullet in my head today! ’” He said this with a high pitched sing-song voice. Then he fell back to his standard gravelly timbre, “I went to work, same day as any other. Nothing extraordinarily stressful or traumatic. Just a long day. Typical shit. Got home around midnight and I..." 

A pause. A shuddering breath. A barely perceptible shake of the head.

"And then I wanted to. No warning. I just wanted to. It’s all I wanted. It was the only thing I could think about….”

Kim nodded slowly. He reached over and put his cigarette out, watching Vic carefully over the last wisps of vapor above the ashtray. Vic had curled up into himself more with each word, as though hugging himself for comfort. He gave another small exhale, his face twisting up as emotions began to break through again, pressing his hand to his face,  “God, I got so close to doing it this time…”

"But you didn't," Kim said firmly. "You stopped yourself, and you reached out to someone for help." 

Vic stayed quiet. He pulled his hand away from his eyes and curled his fingertips into his palm, pressing his knuckles against his lips in thought. His eyes had become red and puffy with the tears he was forcing back. 

Silence enveloped them again. Kim wished he could allow himself another cigarette, if only to give his hands something to do. He took another sip of his wine and discovered his glass was close to empty. He could feel the burning in his cheeks from the buzz that was growing. He hardly ever drank, so it never took much for it to start affecting him. He set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. He hoped Harry made it home okay.

“Have you ever heard of l'appel du vide ?” Vic broke the silence, putting out his cigarette and reaching for another.

Kim turned the phrase over in his head a moment. “Call of the void,” he said quietly. Yes, he had heard of it. “It’s a very common phenomena from what I understand. Though I don’t experience it myself.”

“I do.” Vic said quietly. “I always have, to some degree. Even before I ever…” He didn’t finish that particular thought. “I can’t handle walking across bridges or near the edge of tall rooftops because my brain is just like, ‘Hey. What if you just…jump? Right here, right now?’” A strange smile crossed his face, and he looked out into space. “Oblivion…” he muttered quietly, as though reminiscing. He then came back to the present, pulling another lungful of nicotine. “I wonder if tonight was like that… just… an impulse.”

“It could be. I am not a psychologist though.”

“Right,” Vic said, giving him an apologetic look. “I should probably go back to seeing one of those.”

“Yes. You should.” Kim’s voice came out relatively stern. Definitely more stern than he intended it to. He took a breath. “We should get you help in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Vic said softly. “I’ll contact the ol’ head docs. Get an appointment. Though not sure how far out they’re booked…”

“If they know it’s urgent they should be able to see you sooner.”

“Let’s hope.” 

Kim draped a knee over the other, looking out into the room. He chewed on his lip in thought. “Will you promise to check in with me daily until you’re able to see them?” Their eyes met. “Even if I have your gun, I just worry another strong impulse might hit…”

“Okay,” Vic gave a small nod. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Thank you.” Kim gave a small smile. He finished his glass of wine and glanced at the clock. Fuck it was late.

“I’ve kept you up long enough,” Vic mumbled as though reading his mind, grabbing his own wine to finish.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Kim said, standing up. It wasn’t a suggestion. He made his way to the hallway closet and pulled out an extra pillow and blanket and set them down on the couch beside him. “We’ll grab donuts or something in the morning.”

“Oooh. I’m down for that.”

Vic finished up his cigarette as Kim gathered up their empty glasses and headed to the kitchen to clean them out. He glanced at the half-drunk bottle of wine with a little regret - it was a good one. Maybe he could cook something with it - it would be a shame to let it go to waste. He definitely didn’t want Harry to catch sight of it. He fished out a wine stopper and set the bottle in the fridge, turning the label and setting some random condiment jars in front of it. Hopefully that would be enough.

When Kim returned to the living room, Vic had sprawled out under the blanket on the couch, rolling around trying to find a comfortable position. “Sorry, I know it’s a bit small.”

“Beats Harry’s smelly ass couch,” Vic said with a hand wave. He curled an arm under the pillow, and looked up at Kim. A long moment stretched before he murmured “Thank you for answering the door.”

Kim smiled. “Of course. Thank you for asking for help.”

Vic rolled his face into the pillow and closed his eyes. Kim went and turned off the lights and headed to his room. His own blanket and pillow still smelled like Harry. It helped guide him back to sleep.

Kim rolled out of bed around 8am, and Vic was already awake. Already smoking. He had one of Kim’s books open on his lap. Kim recognized it immediately - Amazing Aerostatic Airships. It was a horribly written souvenir coffee table book, full of many factual errors and omissions, but it was so beautifully illustrated and photographed Kim had to own a copy.

The lieutenant was tempted to greet his guest by saying the same thing he’d said to Harry after the tribunal - Sunrise, Parabellum. But given the circumstances and where that phrase was engraved, he decided better of it. “Morning,” he said simply instead.

Vic lifted up his cigarette into the air in response, as though giving a toast. Kim went to the kitchen to brew up some coffee for them both.

“I tried calling the doctor’s but they don’t open for another hour,” Vic spoke up, flipping through a few more pages of the book.

“Ah, at least they're open today,” Kim said, rubbing his face. He was so exhausted. Why did coffee take so long to brew?

Once the aroma of it began filling the apartment, Vic flipped through the last few pages of the book and set it down, taking one last inhale of his cigarette before putting it out in the overflowing ashtray. He stood up, stretched, groaned - oh god he sounded like Harry doing that - and made his way over to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, lost in thought as Kim pulled down two coffee cups. He made sure not to pull down the one that said “Disco Fever ‘38”. He passed one of the cups to the other man. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Nah.” Vic took a big gulp, and gave a sigh of satisfaction. He watched Kim carefully, clearly thinking about something as the older man took a drink of his own coffee.

“So. How long have you and Harry been sleeping together?”

A mist of coffee filled the room, propelled by Kim’s violent reaction to the question. Vic laughed - a full, genuine laugh.

“How. The fuck.” Kim choked, wiping coffee from his face, giving the Satellite-Officer what had to be the most mortified look he’d ever given anyone. He wasn’t capable of coming up with a way to backpedal out of this one. He was taken completely off-guard.

Vic's face beamed with a huge, shit-eating grin. He took a long sip of coffee - purposefully long. Agonizingly long. Knowingly torturously long. He’s teasing. He made a big show of swallowing, set the cup down with a clunk, turned the handle this way and that, and then gave Kim the same glint-eyed expression that Kim had grown used to seeing from Harry when he figured out something big.

“C’mon Kitsuragi. I’ve known the man for five fucking years.” Vic then lifted a hand and held out three fingers, counting them off. “I know his body odor stench anywhere. I recognize the smell of his cheap-ass cigarettes. And I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is paying attention.”

Kim rubbed his face with both hands. Son of a bitch.

Vic chuckled to himself, holding his coffee cup in both hands, warming them. “Well I’ll be damned. Didn’t know Harry swung that way. Explains a lot actually.”

“Look-” Kim began, flustered. His ears were burning, his face felt hot. He stammered, completely at a loss of what to say. 

Vic just laughed, that shit-eating grin softening into something more apologetic. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You’ve got my secret. I’ve got yours.”

Kim kept his eyes fixed pointedly at the coffee cup in his own hands. He was sure steam was escaping from how red his ears must be. Lack of anything else to do, he started chugging his coffee, as though to wash away the embarrassment.

Vic was just laughing to himself, shaking his head. Mouthing the words “Fuckin knew it.” Kim turned his back, leaning his spine against the kitchen island across from Vic, rubbing his face as though to force the embarrassment down. He crossed his arms and finally just shook his head, resigned to this reality.

Guess someone was bound to figure it out sooner or later. And if it had to happen, this was one of the better scenarios, all things considered.

Besides. It was such a relief to hear Jean laugh.