Chapter Text
She was smiling. It was a gentle thing, just a twitch of the lips that was frozen on her features. With her eyes closed, you would think she’s asleep. Dreaming or maybe lost in a sweet, cheerful memory. Her wet hair stuck across her face, black strands that wrapped around her throat or lay on her shoulders. Her clothes? A long white nightgown. It had a very old-fashioned look to it, like those ghosts in spooky stories. Like her dark mane, it clung wetly to her body, leaving little to the imagination
“Cause of death?
“Could be drowning, only a deeper autopsy will tell us if there's water in her lungs, but she has an unusual expression. Doesn't look like she was struggling at the time of her death. I wonder if she was under the influence when she fell in the Esperance. She also could have gone through thermal shock when she hit the water-» Judith clapped her hands once, a sharp sound, to punctuate her words. « -and then died before her body sank and drifted away.”
“Doesn't help the one million réal question: did she jump? Did she slip? Or did someone give her the right push ?”
Judith got up and brushed her knees. She was frustrated, usually, bodies in the Esperance were a quick and done business. It was a sad one, picking up people who’d drunk too much and slipped, desperate people who wanted a way out or poor sods who were on someone’s bad side. But all of them had distinctions that helped the RCM put them in their right category. Especially when people are murdered, a lot more blood or wounds are to be seen. When they got the call for another body, they were expecting something along those lines, but when they saw that strange smile, something stirred in them. An inexplicable feeling.
SHE BELONGS TO THE PALE
Jean felt a shiver rack his body, and he inhaled sharply. Fucking wind: shouldn’t spring be warmer?!
“Wanna have a look?” Judith offered as she walked back to his side.
Jean nodded and handed over his ledger to Judith so she could take new notes if needed. Moving about would probably warm him up. He kneeled next to it, his frown even more pronounced than usual. He slipped on a pair of gloves and reached for the skin on her neck, testing the skin’s elasticity.
“She died recently. There’s no bloating whatsoever and-” he grasped her wrist and lifted it. Gosh, her hands were so small, it looked like those of a child. “There’s no rigor mortis yet. So the death could have occurred less than four hours ago.”
Judith looked at the watch on her wrist.
“It’s barely 11 am. People would have noticed a strange woman in a nightgown jumping into the river.
“You know what that means.” he smirked, a twist of the lips with no joy behind it.
Judith sighed and gave him an unimpressed glare. Jean ignored it and continued.
“Go up the river, interrogate any shops that were open by this time. Go back to the precinct, make some calls and write an ad for the paper in hopes someone saw anything. So many fun things to do and that clearly will be super useful. » he sing-songed sarcastically. « By the way, who found the body?”
“A couple of teens who were skipping classes. They were wandering around the river banks before finding her and called us right away.”
Jean then went to open the woman's mouth, but as his fingers touched her lips, he felt himself freeze. His eyes focused on those blue lips, everything blurring around them. To break that smile felt like a profanity.
ELLE EST L’INCONNUE DE L’ESPERANCE
SON VISAGE SERA IMMORTEL
THE REST IS SILENCE
This motionless body suddenly made him feel uncomfortable. He thought about Harry, how he could pray secrets out of the dead just by looking. How did he do it? I listen to them, Jean-Dearest. You never listen: you yell. How can you listen to something that doesn’t talk to you? He gave a quick glance at Judith, who was annotating his autopsy report, leaned closer to the body and whispered at it.
“Who the fuck are you? How did you end up here?”
And the dead woman stayed silent, that eerie smile unwavering. Jean sniffed, unimpressed at himself and at the corpse. Maybe it's the 'fuck' that messed it up: maybe the dead woman was a bourgeoise that didn't like swearing.
"Well, let's write an ad in the paper, maybe someone will call and be able to identify her.
"It's odd, don't you think? It doesn't make sense, biologically, I mean. No rigidity, no water in the lungs, no bruises, nothing just...
"Ask for a toxicology report from the forensics. Maybe she's on some good stuff." he got up and brushed his knees.
People were starting to gather around them. Trying to take a peek at the body. Jean cursed their morbid curiosity, especially since many of them were men leering at the frail feminine body. He went to fetch a processing bag from Patroclus's saddle. Patroclus had his head raised high at the approach of on-lookers, as if daring them to step closer. The officer patted him and clicked his tongue to bring his attention back to him. He was surprised to see him so reactive. Even Madelaine, who was the sweetest of the two horses, was stomping her hoof nervously. Maybe a storm was coming but the sky was devoid of clouds so it seemed unlikely.
"Who's going to pick up our new guests?
"Brown and Reynard, they'll bring the body to processing right away so we can start interrogating the passerby. Maybe we'll be lucky.
"We're RCM, we are never lucky." Jean mumbled before yelling at the crowd. "Now everyone, move on, it's not a fucking show !"
)°( )°( )°(
As they worked their way up the streets along the Esperance, the weather was getting warmer, and their interrogations weren't going anywhere. Doing the rounds for any witnesses in these types of cases was always quite depressing. No one heard about this new death and couldn't tell you who they were. Especially such a recent one: there were no worried families who would be calling the RCM, asking about their missing loved one. Not yet at least. Judith was convinced they'd have someone asking for the dead woman at some point.
"She looks like she's from a higher class. That nightgown is really good quality silk, and there was lots of lacework in some places. That's not something your working-class woman can afford.
"I- " Jean blinked. "Good point, I didn't think about that.
"You probably sleep in just your briefs like my husband.» Judith sent him a teasing smile.
"Jokes on you, I don't sleep at all. Therefore, I never leave this uniform." He smirked back. "It's fused to my skin."
"Well, that explains the smell."
"Okay fuck off, I do shower." he pointed at her. "I'm probably the one who uses the precinct showers the most.
"Considering you inherited Harry's habit of rummaging through anything, even trash cans, I'm very glad you do.
"One day you will do the Jamrock shuffle too. You can't resist it forever, Jude.
"It's been three years, I'm think I'm good as long as you keep doing it for both of us."
Patroclus took this moment to try to shove his nose in a dustbin, earning himself a pull on the reins and a few curse words from Jean. Alas, Officer Pataclop was determined, and it became a battle of stubbornness: Jean tried to move his mount away, and the horse would sidestep back to the trash, making them spin in circles. Judith stopped her own horse, the ever sweet Madelaine, and swallowed down the laughter that was gaining her at the sight.
"Fucking dispshit of a horse, don't- don't! Jamrock shuffles are for humans, not for your brainless arse!
"I think our friends need a break. I wouldn't mind one either.
"He doesn't need a break, he needs to listen- I'm doing this for your health, you fuck- FINE !" Jean threw his leg over the saddle and landed easily on the ground, leaving the horse there. "I'm taking a break from you, choke on a tissue for all I care !"
Judith didn't hold back her laughter this time: the Clydesdale looked offended at being left and started to follow Jean out of habit as his rider was stomping away.
"Jean, let's just take five. Look !" she pointed at a little terrace in front of a bookshop. It was quaint and offered a nice view of the Esperance. "We can tie the horse to the tables out front."
A little old woman was inside the little shop, rearranging her books, her silver hair held up in a complex twist of braids and pins. When she noticed them through her windows, she waved them inside with a huge smile. Judith stepped inside first to ask if they could sit down for a second with their horses, to which the lady enthusiastically agreed and handed them a little menu for some drinks.
"It's a tea shop and a bookshop? I never heard of that type of places." Jude looked around curiously.
"Oh well, I just find it more convivial. People can read books if they buy a drink or a piece of cake. Or they can just buy the book and go on their merry way. In any case, I get to see people enjoying my puddings and talking to me about their favourite reads. Would you like a little treat, officers? I may have some sugar cubes for your pretty horses, too. »
In the window display stood a book that was beautifully illustrated, with the painting of a horse whose mane was made of seawead as the cover. Jean leaned in a little to read the overly stylistic title. LA KELPIE: The mare of the pale. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the pages as Judith’s voice softly asked the old lady for some coffee and got the sugar cubes for their companions.
Beware, beware if you cross the pale, for you may come across it's faithfull mare. All white but with eyes like onyx, this is the mount who'll drag you to the styx.
Styx? Jean racked his brain for what it could be. If it was an old name for the pale or another place for hell and death. Trant may know a little about it, if Jean ever remembered to ask him.
He snapped out of it when Judith nudged him with her elbow, passing through with the steaming cups. As they both settled on the terrace, smoke in hand, Minot handed the sugar to Madelaine and Patroclus, ignoring Jean's mumbles Bastard doesn't deserve it after his stunt. When she sat back down, she saw he still had the ouvrage in hand.
"You took a book? » Officer Minot asked, surprised, she had never seen him with a book in hand unless it was some newspaper.
"Oh, yeah, I picked it up but- " he layed in on the table, the horse on the cover seemingly staring at him. "It's a folklore story, not really my kind of thing. Pretty nice paintings inside, though."
Patroclus huffed and rubbed his head against Jean’s back, nearly knocking him out of the chair.
“Yeah, yeah, you cranky bastard. You’re the real deal.” he groaned and rubbed the white patch on the horse's head.
Judith took a drag from her cigarette and lay back with her eyes closed.
"Fuck, I don't want to move now. Let's just stay there. I don't think anyone has info on that girl anyway.
"Just need to wait for the autopsy and see if she was on anything, that'll help to get an idea of what happened. Did you see how many blokes came to watch us work by the way? Wouldn't have gotten that much attention had it been a guy.
"I think I saw a journalist taking a few pictures. You can expect it to be in the newspaper tomorrow.
"As long as it isn't Bevvy who gets to write the article, I wouldn't worry."
A strange screech of wheels and roar of a motor broke the officer's peaceful conversation. A familiar RCM coupris drove past them at high speed, swirling with ease at the turns of the road. Even the horses, which were used to such noises, shuffled nervously on their feet. Judith leaned over the table to get a better look at the retreating machine.
"Was that Kitrusragi? It looked like the Kineema."
"If it is, he fucking drives like a maniac. Or maybe Harry was behind the wheel?"
"If Harry was behind the wheel, they would have tipped into the river." she commented, earning an amused huff from her partner.
They were ready to move one from it, but the sound of the vehicle came back. Getting nearer and nearer until the coupris slowed down in front of them. Kim was indeed in the conductor's seat, seemingly not annoyed as Harry leaned over him to open the window. Once that was achieved, the detective leaned over it and called out to the resting officers.
"What is this officers? Don't you have work instead of lazing about like that !" his stern words were betrayed by the wide smile he was showing.
"We are working, Harry." Judith motioned at the space between her and Jean. "Sharing theories about our case.
Jean nodded, blowing the smoke of his cig. "Pretty tough case, needed a coffee to help to get the gears turning."
He turned towards them, his eyes meeting the half-seolite Lieutenant. Kim had a slight tilt to his head, probably thinking about that «talk » he said they needed to have. The satellite officer just raised an eyebrow at that, a little challenge. Well? Wanna talk? A little click of the tongue was his answer. He wouldn't ask for it with Judith present, but you could see in the lingering stare that he was itching for it. Meanwhile, Harry was asking about the little bookshop. His green eyes glimmered in interest at the sight of the book, next to Jean, but before he could ask about it, Kim poked at his ribs to get his attention.
"Detective, he will be late if we stay any longer.
"Oooo, but Kim," Harry sighed, but he was smiling affectionately at him. "Don't we deserve a break too?
"We'll have a break at lunch, like everyone else. You've got enough bad habits as it is.
Du Bois pouted, a sight that made Jean's lips twitch up in a smile, but he steeled his expression quickly.
"Nah, he's right, we should get going." he ignored the sad moan from Judith and downed his coffee before cursing. "Fuck it's hot."
Kim pressed his lips together, stifling an amused smile, whereas Harry looked at the scene bemused.
« You really need to stop drinking coffee like it's vodka. That can't be healthy.»
« Fuck off, shitkid. » he croaked while flipping him off.
)°( )°( )°(
Leaning against the hood of the Kineema, as the night surrounded him, Kitsuragi was smoking. A few meters behind him, the light of the lampost was cutting his silhouette like a character out of a shadow play. The only light nearer was the orange dot of his cig, which appeared every time he took a drag from it.
Jean noticed him the second he had left the precinct, his pace staggering to a stop. From where he stood, a part of him knew that he was being observed by the Lieutenant. Even though his eyes were hidden among the shadows, the weight of his stare was tangible. Vicquemare could walk past him. Could pretend he didn't see him and skip the awkward conversation that was bout to happen. Kim was offering him the liberty to choose. To talk to him or to leave it at that.
His feet carried him to that ominous silhouette. Stopping a few meters from it.
"I didn't know you smoked. Every time we offer you one, you refuse.
"I only smoke one per day, usually in the evening."
Jean hummed and looked at the coupris.
"Gonna offer me a ride, Kitsuragi? Or are we going to do it here?
"Before I offer anything," Kim took a step closer to him and the younger man narrowed his eyes in an attempt to discern his features. Light caught the rim of the other man's glasses, but nothing else was to be seen. "Since this is a delicate subject, I expect you to be listening and put your thundering temper on hold."
Jean scoffed.
"You've been working with me or not? Have I ever kept my temper in check?
"Mmmh, you respect the chain of command, do you not ?" Another step closer, they could now feel each other's breath on their faces. Jean gulped and felt his back straighten. "Do you not, officer Vicquemare?
"Yes, Lieutenant.
"Good. So you will. Now, get in."
He didn't have to ask twice; Jean was, indeed, good at following orders. Inside, the Kineema was warm, the metal had kept the heat of the day. Jean sideglanced at Kim before loosening his tie in an attempt to feel less constricted in this space. He felt in uncharted territory. The lieutenant Kitsuragi sat next to him and asked for his address.
"I don't mind the detour, it's the least I can do.
"It's not that far from the precinct" he gave the address, then settled a bit more comfortably in his seat.
Kim unzipped his bomber jacket to be more at ease and turned on the motor. The machine came to life with furor. Jean had just time to click his seatbelt before it jumped forward and onto the road, the force of it slamming him into the seat. Kim drove with perfect control of the coupris but way too fast for anyone to feel comfortable. The officer grapped the edge of his seat and cast a worried look at the other man.
"I thought you wanted to talk?
"Yes, that is the case." Kim was focused on the road. "You know why."
Jean groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, one nervously beginning to scratch his cheek. He didn't want to talk about it even though he started this whole ordeal. Why couldn't he fucking shut up instead of embarrassing himself? Kim gave him time to answer or start the conversation, but when he realised Jean seemed more interested in stalling it, he jumped right to it.
"Let's start with your very crude question: no. Harry and I aren't fucking.
"Sorry about that, I was- " Don't say you were on speed, don't say you were on speed. " I was having a bad day."
"Khm." Kim didn't spare him a glance and took a sharp turn. "Harry is still going through the aftermath of Martinaise, and even though we're close -closer than most, yes- it would be improper of me to engage with him when he's still finding himself.
"...But do you want to?
"What about you? You act indifferent, but the second he's in the picture, you seem to be... Emotionally compromised."
Jean pulled harder on his tie until it fully slid off. He was starting to grow agitated, and the Kims' driving manners left him off-balance. Literally, every turn he had to grip his seat to not bang against the car's door.
"Stop sounding like you're interrogating me. I'm not emotionally compromised, Harry is not a suspect, I'm fucked up because he fucked me pretty badly before you showed up." he yelped as they flew other speed bump. "And you seem keen on fucking me up too!"
The coupris slowed down at his outburst. Kim looked at him, the first time since he started driving, with a little frown.
"Khm, that was not my intention." he sighed. "I want to understand your side. But it's hard when you have so much vitriol against Harry.
"I have vitriol for anyone who pisses me off." he mumbled. "Even cyanide if need be."
An awkward silence settled, disturbed only by the rumbling motor of the coupris. Jean looked outside the window but could only see his face: he looked tired, the bags under his eyes exposing his sleepless nights for anyone to see. His forehead made a soft 'thump' as he let it fall against the window.
"I'm glad he has you, you know. He pisses me off, but he's happier. That's what matters in the end. Not how I feel," he straightened himself back up. "Call it whatever it is. But don't ask to take it well. I have the right to be angry after everything he did: even if he doesn't remember."
Kim didn't respond right away, but after a few seconds, he whispered:
"Putting yourself last won't help. You're not doing anyone any favours."
Was that truly the case? It seemed that it was just what Harry needed. In Martinaise, he left Harry, thinking he was putting himself first. Thinking about himself for once, and it cost him. It cost him too much. Yes, the detective still seemed to seek his attention, but was it because he truly wanted Jean's company or because he saw him as a case to crack open? He probably gave it a name and everything, he could imagine it sounding like THE FORGOTTEN SATELLITE or THE BITTER EX-PARTNER.
What was most painful was that he wanted so badly to be by Harry's side again. Every day it was getting harder and harder to push away and to feel angry at someone who looked so hopeful and glad to see you. The teasing, the quick conversation they had -mainly business- it sounded like the old times. Nearly. The equestrian cop could still see the small changes in his attitude, and it was a reminder that his old friend had disappeared. To accept Harry now... Would that be fully giving up on the partner he left behind? If he moved on, there would be no one left to grieve the old Harry. No one to cry for the man who was with them for years. No one to cry for the sad, drunk and pathetic apocalyptic cop. No one to cry the Lieutenant double-yefreitor, the can opener who resolved so many cases for Revachol, for its people. No one to cry the man who sobbed on his shoulder because he was feeling so empty. No one to cry the man he-
He felt the coupris coming to a stop, interrupting his train of thought. He jumped a little, startled, and he looked around. Quickly, he recognised the street in front of his building.
"Bah putain, that was fast." he mumbled, impressed.
"There's no one on the road at this hour." Kim waved his hand nonchalentely as if he didn't break every speed limit in central Jamrock.
"More because you drive like you're in a Tip Top race." he complained as he detached himself.
He opened the door and leapt outside to breathe in the fresh air. His stomach still felt a bit queasy from the shakes of the car ride, but he ignored it. Going around to Coupris to position himself on the conductor's side. Kim stared up at him curiously as he motioned for him to lower the window. When he did so, the younger officer leaned his arms against the edges, his head peering inside the vehicle. From this angle, Kim had to lie back against his seat to keep a little distance between them. Despite being loomed over by the younger man's taller and larger frame, the mixed-race officer didn't seem bothered. Instead, his lips twitched upwards, giving away the fact that he was amused by Jean's attempt to be in control. Or to feel in control at least.
"I want to understand something. You say you're closer, very close, to Harry, but you're not together. Not yet, if I understand correctly. You asked for my feelings about it, but why does it matter to you? Cuno said you were Harry's after all, nearly bit my head off for being too close to you.
"Khm, he means well, but you shouldn't listen. I don't belong to anyone." Kim's voice was softer now, his gaze flickering from Jean's mouth to his eyes. "There's a lot of room for whatever may come our way."
Fucking Kitsuragi with his suave voice and ambiguous words. Was this an invitation? Or was it him clearly stating Harry and him were bound to be an item, and Jean would just have to swallow his frustration down? He wished he could be a little more straightforward, but his pride forbade him to ask for details.
"I don't get what you want from me." He ended up saying, frustrated.
"I want to know where you stand." Kim answered, still allusive.
"Why are you trusting me with this? Aren't you scared I snitch on whatever little love game you have going on?" Jean sneered, baring his teeth like a wild dog. From the raised eyebrow he received in return, his bluff didn't land at all.
"I don't think you will. Despite my less-than-perfect eyesight," Kim delicately took off his glasses to clean them a little, unbothered by their proximity. « I noticed a few things: you don't partake in the homophobic jokes. You scowl when people use slurs. All of that shows you wouldn't do something as low as to out us. Also- »
A gloved hand slid around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Just enough so their breath mingled and Jean could smell the pine from Kim's cologne or aftershave. The satellite officer felt his eyelids flutter shut for a second, and his breath caught in his throat with expectation. But the press of lips on his never came, and his grey eyes snapped back open. Kim was smiling, like the cat that caught the canary. Did he feel amused by Jean's embarrassment or satisfied because he was right all along about his sexuality?
"Am I wrong, Vicquemare?
"You're not," he breathed out, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. He scowled down at the other man. "That was fucking low, Kitsuragi."
The lieutenant's thumb rubbed his nape gently, soothing the flustered officer.
"You tried to play tough, so I played dirty. Let that be a reminder: never fuck with Kim Kitsuragi." he let the younger officer go and pushed him gently. Putting distance between them. Even if Jean felt a little disappointed at being dismissed, he also felt himself breathing easier now.
"Good night, Lieutenant. I hope you are satisfied with this 'talk'." he drawled, still feeling the sting of being played with.
Kim offered him another smile, one that had no teasing to it. One that Jean had seen him give to Harry, when no one was looking.
"I am. Good night, Jean."