You awake. Something tells you that it is morning but your alarm hasn't sounded yet, so you try to convince yourself that you can go back to sleep. Your nightmares were merely a vague sense of doom, nothing worth immediately bolting up from.

Creak. Click. Creeeeak.

The noises annoy you at first, but then you remember. It must be Kim. Kim is here!

You open your eyes, feeling greatly reassured by Kim's presence. You have not been apart for very long, but still, it made you appreciate the comfort you felt from knowing he would be there waiting for you every morning. He is looking through your kitchen cupboards. You already know that he is wasting his time.

You sit up and rub your eyes. Kim is already dressed. You have to admire how he is not only so cool, he is always ready, ready for anything. Unlike you. You feel like you always have to run to keep up.

Kim hasn't noticed you are awake. Either that, or the cupboards are more interesting. You idly consider sneaking up behind him and putting your arms around him. Would he like that? You'd like that. The thought of it has your heart beating like crazy.

You shake off the thought. It's too risky. You might frighten him, or at least irritate him. And after the mess you made of things yesterday, you must act perfectly. Anything less, and despite everything you've been through together, you fear Kim will start to actively dislike you. He is understanding and good humoured, but everyone has their limits.

You're distracted by a vision of what could have been. You, awake early, cooking up an impressive breakfast on the stove. Kim wakes up, attracted by the smell, attracted to you. He walks over to you and hugs you from behind. You smile and touch his arm. He rests his head on your shoulder as you continue to cook and start to hum a tune. Everything is well.

But everything is not well. Nothing is. Because yesterday you got drunk instead of thinking ahead and buying food. Fresh waves of shame and regret wash over you. You fight the urge to make sorry your first word to Kim this morning. There is no way you can apologise enough.

Kim reaches into the back of the top cupboard and pulls out a glass jar. He turns to you and sees that you are awake. "What is this?" he says, shaking the jar. Its contents remain stationary at the bottom even as he inverts it.

"I think it's coffee," you say, sitting up. You feel sick. Your body hurts in too many places to count. Your leg, and other places that hurt long before you were shot. The last of the alcohol has gone from your system, leaving only a hangover as its parting gift.

Kim looks at it, frowning. "Maybe it was coffee."

You let out a groan, then mumble, "Sorry."

He shrugs off your apology, and puts the jar back in the cupboard. "Do you not normally eat breakfast, Harry?"

You shake your head. "I don't have the best appetite."

"We should eat something before work. Police work can be taxing, and we may not get time to have lunch."

You get to your feet and the nausea intensifies. You look around for your tie and your trousers. Usually you throw them on or at least near to the couch, if you weren't sleeping on it. You think you have a clean shirt to put on, at least you hope so.

"Harry?"

You look up from retrieving your trousers from the floor. "Hmm?"

"I am sure there must be somewhere to get breakfast between here and precinct 41."

"Probably," you say, pulling a shirt on a hanger out of the built-in wardrobe. It looks like you even made an attempt to iron it at some point.

"How about we get some breakfast?" You can tell from his earnest tone that he expected more of a response from you.

"Uh…" You're pretty sure you spent what remained of your money on booze.

Kim sighs. "My treat," he says with some reluctance.

You pause on your way to the bathroom. There are a few things you consider saying. Top of the list is sorry again. But you feel you are close to wearing that word out. "Thank you," you force yourself to say, and it comes out as barely a whisper.

Fighting with the bathroom door to get it to stay shut, you consider having a wash. You wouldn't always bother. It is enough of a struggle to get out of the door in the mornings, and nobody at the precinct cares, or at least cares enough to mention it. A lot of the citizens of Jamrock you interact with don't or can't bathe either. Your head pounds and it seems like an overly difficult task. You decide you should. For Kim's sake. You can do one thing for him, at least.

Not far from your tenement block, Kim spies a cafe selling traditional Revacholian fare. You have probably passed by dozens of times before without registering it. The two of you are the only customers who sit and eat inside the cafe, but a succession of labourers and other blue-collar workers pop in for take-out. You had falsely assumed you had forgotten to wind your alarm clock, but Kim woke up much earlier than you, so you ended up with plenty of time to get to the office.

Kim slices into his savoury crêpe with ham and cheese as you nibble on the corner of a piece of toast spread thinly with butter. More butter and jam sit in pots by your plate, and a fried egg sits by the other piece of toast. First you will see if you can eat one piece of toast without having to run out back to the alley to bring it back. You hope you can. Food doesn't appeal to you right now, but you don't want to seem ungrateful.

"How are you feeling about your first day? Nervous?"

"Harry, this isn't my first rodeo. I'm sure 41 cannot be any worse than 57."

"Yeah. Course," you say. He's nervous but he doesn't want to admit it. He is cutting his crêpe into smaller and smaller pieces. You suspect he thinks talking about it wouldn't help. You decide not to press him.

Kim chews on a piece of crêpe thoughtfully. "Harry, are you nervous about returning?"

Your first instinct is to deny it. But Kim likes when you share things with him, because he cares about you, and not because he intends to use them against you later. You can safely be vulnerable with him. It's hard to get used to that. "Maybe a little," you say, putting down your toast. You have eaten almost half of the first piece.

Kim gives you a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay," he says. "The Hanged Man case, Martinaise, we did our best there, regardless of what some other people might think."

You bite your lip. Kim did his best. And you, well under the circumstances you probably did do your best too. But you have been plagued by the thought that somehow you could have done things differently, better. Saved more people.

Light reflects off his glasses as he tilts his head downwards and looks up at you severely. "You had better not be thinking about arguing with me. Nothing you can say will change my opinion on that matter."

Kim is right, now is not the time for self-doubt. You're not sure what to say so you just press your lips together tightly and nod.

Precinct 41 is the same as it always was. You're not sure why you expected it to be different after a short time away. Only it feels different. Maybe because Kim is with you. You question if that is really a valid difference to focus on, or if you just desperately want Kim and your experiences in Martinaise to be the change in your life that you have needed for so long.

You exchange a glance with Kim. No, now really isn't the time for self-doubt. You can't afford to have a breakdown right after stepping through the doors into the precinct.

Looking around the room you see a few officers, mostly the more junior ones, sitting at their desks and typewriting or looking through case files. The rest of the officers are sitting on desks, smoking and drinking coffee and shooting the shit. You wonder why you ever felt intimidated by them, even fleetingly. Look at them, they can probably only manage to pin charges on the right person by accident.

The door to Captain Pryce's office opens, and the captain leans out into the main office. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi, a moment of your time?" he says, gesturing for him to come over.

"Of course, sir," Kim says, heading towards the captain's office.

You hesitate. The captain probably should talk to the two of you together. You start to follow Kim.

"Harry, I wasn't aware you changed your name," Pryce says.

You stop.

Your fellow officers collapse into laughter. Kim looks mortified on your behalf. He goes into the captain's office, leaving you feeling exposed and alone.

"So how was your trip to the seaside?" McLane asks, raising his cup and slopping coffee down himself.

"He got shot, idiot," Jean says.

Is Jean defending you, you wonder, as you watch Torsion try to mop up the coffee off his partner's shirt with a handkerchief while dropping ash from his cigarette, adding a scorch mark to the stain.

"I expect you know what Pryce is talking to him about?" Jean says.

You don't. But Jean will mock you if you tell him you don't know. You wrack your brain for something plausible. "Welcoming him to the precinct, I expect," you say.

"Welcoming him to the precinct," Jean mimics in a childish tone of voice. "As if. He's got wind that Kim actually wants to be your partner, unlike anyone else here."

Judit sighs. "Is this really necessary?"

"So that is why Pryce is talking to him. To ask him. If he'll be your partner."

"Oh," you say. This was something you were planning on suggesting, as you and Kim work so well together. But it seems like you won't need to. "But what about you? Are you okay with this?"

Jean looks furious. You know him well enough to tell he isn't mad because of the situation. No, he detected the concern in your voice and read it as pity. And didn't like that at all. This again, you think. It's exhausting. Jean always complains about having to walk on eggshells around you, but what he won't admit is that the reverse also applies.

Jean laughs humourlessly. "You think I ever wanted to be your partner? Like, really? Are you guys hearing this fucking guy?"

This gets a few laughs, a few uncomfortable looks.

"Trant, get a load of this."

Trant doesn't look up from his typewriter. "Don't bring me into this," he says.

You get the urge to say something. Remind Jean that he actually wanted to be your partner at first, that he admired you and you took him under your wing. But you know that's not a good idea. "I won't miss you either, Jean."

Jean crosses his arms. "Good," he says.

Judit rolls her eyes. Some of the others are getting bored of the typical Harry and Jean bullshit and wandering off to think about doing work.

"Just remember, Kim isn't fucking cooler than me, okay?"

Anyone else would say such a thing as a joke. But Jean is deadly serious. That offhand comment of yours really got to him. You can't even bring yourself to nod. That is one thing where your mind is made up.

You hear the creak of the captain's door behind you. Kim is walking towards you, effortlessly fucking cool. He is suppressing a smile. You get the feeling he would be beaming if you two were alone, but he wants to maintain an air of aloofness in front of his other new colleagues.

"So, it is official. Partner," Kim says, holding out a hand.

You're not as good as Kim at stopping yourself from breaking out in a silly smile. You clasp his hand and everything feels right with the world. "Glad to have you aboard," you say, emotion making your voice wobble.

Behind you, you hear a fake gagging noise, and Judit saying, "Stop it, Jean."

Even Jean can't get to you right now. You barely register the other people in the room. Kim is your partner now. Not temporarily, permanently. Forever. Or until… no, you're not doing this. It's you and Kim forever.


I wonder in this situation, would Jean be demoted, as he would no longer have a lieutenant partner to be a satellite officer of? I don't know how much DE is based on real Estonian/American/another country's police force. And anyway, my skill in esprit de corps is low, I just like mysteries and detective stuff.