Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Horrific Necktie] Is there any scenario in this world that makes you more unwilling to face than an infuriated officer Vicquemare?

[Logic] There is. You only need to add a Cuno to it.

Jean Vicquemare: “Tell you damn little sidekick to stay away from me!”

And that *damn little sidekick* is standing right in front of him with straightened back and a tight fist whirling in the air: “Bullshit! Cuno is not a pig ---” Vicquemare gave him a glance and the kid stuttered instantly, “I’m not a sidekick of the drunkard.”

[Perception] Did he just shudder?

[Inland Empire] No one is unafraid of the school monitor --- Jean Vicquemare. Now he’s the new king in Cuno’s empire.

[Authority] Wait what, so “drunkard” is not a forbidden word for a 12-year-old kid? This is very impolite! And discriminative! A prejudice against “narcotics enthusiast”!

[Moralism] Oh, *now* you’re a noble moralist ---

[Empathy] You’re an awful drunkard. Drunkards ain’t get no authority or dignity.

You: “Jean, Cuno is following you around because he likes you.”

[Logic] He admires those who have a say in stuff --- it’s a matter of fact.

[Perception] But Vicquemare doesn’t believe in shit --- In fact, he’s already rolling his eyes.

“Like me so much that he smashed my five-year anniversary badge of honor?” He asked grimly.

You turned around to ask Kim in a very low voice: “……What’s that?”

“An emblem of honor with great meaning for collection and commemoration,” the Lieutenant gave you a glance and added, “You have one, too. It’s in the square shaped box in your drawer.”

You remember now. It’s that delicate crystal artifact in the shape of a badge, with a sentence engraved on it --- “Here we honor the exemplary officer Harrier Du Bois of the Revachol Citizens Militia for his great contribution to Revachol during the past five years”.

[Suggestion] Don’t say stupid things like “I can compensate with my badge of honor”.

“Egh ---  How about I compensate you with another badge of honor?” Your voice trailed away under Vicquemare’s deadly stare, “Though the name on it might be of some problem…”

[Suggestion] Fuck, Harrier Du Bois, I’ve warned you.

Before Vicquemare could start ridiculing, Cuno cut into your words.

“Cuno doesn’t need drunkard’s charity”, he’s mumbling with a bit of uneasiness, “It’s just five years. I’ll give you back another one before the end of that time.”

[Empathy] He really wasn’t intentional. He’s blushing now.

Vicquemare was not angry, however. To the contrary, he started to smile.

“That’s your own words,” he nodded, “If you don’t receive this badge of honor after five years, shitkid, you’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

[Logic]

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[Pain Threshold] What’s this nonsense?

[Volition] Your brain just shut down.

The lieutenant waved twice in front of you.

“—What?” You heard yourself asking.

Kim: “Cuno doesn’t have a place to live. Officer Vicquemare just said: ‘Deal with the trouble you brought in.’”

[Empathy] In other words, Cuno has to live in your home.

[Conceptualization] You sure that’s a *home*? You sure human beings can live in that doghouse?

You’re the dog!

[Conceptualization] I AM YOU! Lunatic.

You hesitated: “We’re sending him to the cadre training in a few days anyway. Can’t we find a hotel to accommodate him for the time?”

“No problem,” Vicquemare drawled lazily, “you pay the bill?”

The lieutenant looked at your expression and announced in an omniscient tone: “He doesn’t have money.”

[Rhetoric] Thank you, Kim, though it might be a bit too *frank*.

“That’s the point.” Vicquemare said coldly.

He dragged Cuno to your side and ignored his glaring: “it’s time to dismiss. Bring you little shit home, old shit.”

The lieutenant friendly extended his hand and said to him: “See you tomorrow.”

Vicquemare reciprocated his action: “See you.”

Chapter Text

Since you don’t have a motor carriage (“— And will never have a fucking second one”, Jean Vicquemare spat out, “ — NEVER!!”), the lieutenant kindly offered you and Cuno a ride. You got out of the car at the entrance of the apartment. The lieutenant looked at Cuno and then at you.

He asked with a bit of uncertainty: “You and him — You sure it’s gonna be ok?”

[Authority] You’re the Superstar Detective. What’s gonna be your problem?

[Perception] You only have coins, cigarettes and a lighter in your pockets.

— What do you mean?

[Logic] You don’t have the key to your house.

“…” You said dryly: “I don’t have the key.”

Cuno: “...”

[Esprit de Corps] He’s thinking: Fuck, we’re doomed. The pig really has a pig’s brain.

Kim: “...”

[Esprit de Corps] He’s thinking: Kim Kitsuragi, be cool, cover up your mortification.

Fortunately, you still have coins. And even more fortunately, the Lieutenant has written down someone’s phone number on his blue notebook.

[Esprit de Corps] Vicquemare has just reached home when the phone started ringing. He put the key on the shoe cabinet and tossed his suit jacket onto the arm of the sofa. The Lieutenant went to pick up the phone, holding the handset between his head and shoulder, and answered, while pulling out a glass and a bottle of whiskey: “Good evening. It’s Jean Vicquemare.”

“...Good evening.” The person on the other side of the phone greeted.

Lieutenant Vicquemare froze.

“Du Bois,” he squeezed out the words between his teeth, “What else can’t you lose, beside your brain?”

[Composure] — Your vast, vast soul.

[Empathy] If you still want to sleep in your own bed tonight, don’t answer this question.

Vicquemare sighed. Then he said: there’s a cat kept by your neighbor. The backup key is under its bowl.

Chapter Text

You turned to the cat.

The cat is not sleeping. It’s awake. You think you’re observing it? Not like that. It’s the cat observing you.

[Inland Empire] You looked at the cat’s eyes.

Its cobalt blue eyes are like a blurred mirror, conveying an inorganic nonchalance — there’s nothing inside except your own reflection.

Out of intuition, you feel you don’t like this cat.

[Inland Empire] Easy: Success.

The cat blinked. It said: It’s ok. The cat doesn’t like you either.

“...Kim?” You turned around, horrified, to the Lieutenant who’s so bored that he’s reading advertisements on the wall, “Have you heard anything?”

The Lieutenant looked away from the phone numbers and furrowed confusedly: “Heard what?”

“It’s just —” Your hands flailed randomly in the air and finally pointed to the cat, “IT —”

The Lieutenant arched an eyebrow: “You mean, the sound of the cat?”

You nodded immediately.

The Lieutenant looked at the cat, and the cat turned to look at him. Then Kim shook his head and said: “No, I’m not hearing anything.”

[Suggestion] — At least he tried.

[Half Light] Did you really hear the cat speaking, or it’s just you talking to yourself in another way?

“Hey, ” you asked the cat, “Can you really talk?”

“I’m not called ‘Hey’,” the cat responded languidly, “I’m not you. I’m not a shadow of anyone. I’m myself.”

“Alright. So do you know me?”

“I really wish I’ve never seen you, but the reality doesn’t care — Yes, I know you. You’re an ordinary man trapped in midlife crisis, always carrying the scent of low-quality cigarettes, alcohol and loser. You’d turn the volume of disco music to maximum in the middle of the night and yell and shout, until every neighbor came to bang at your door.”

[Authority] Ordinary? You’re not an ordinary man. You’re the most special, most *extraordinary* one.

[Volition] Don’t make a fuss with a cat.

The cat yawned.

“You know I can hear what you’re thinking, right?” It said.

You raised your hands in surrender.

“Come on —” you pleaded, “I just want the key to my door.”

“Then why are you talking to a cat? The key is underneath my bowl, which you should take yourself. Talking wouldn’t bring you anything in return. You’re wasting your time, and mine as well — there’s absolutely no meaning in this.”

“As a cat you’re really mean when you talk.”

“As a human you also frequently become mean when you’re judging others in your mind, but cat won’t condemn you for that. And neither should you condemn a cat for that.”

You: “So what are you, an advocate of Moralism?”

Cat: “I’m but a cat. A silent witness.”

“Witness for what?”

The cat lazily swished its tail. If it had a human body, it would have been sighing in defeat.

It said: “— Tonight, you’ll be detached from that frame of yours, walk out of the door onto the street, where you ought to be, and welcome that pale shadow.”

 [Half Light] Wait, why would it have known all these?

“I didn’t want to know. Nor did I care — I simply saw them.”

“So, you mean...You’ve been seeing me in dreams?”

“...No, I don’t dream.” The cat said, “Unlike you, my soul is never detached from my body. I exist in the crevice between reality and dream. I saunter freely in every corner of the lost corridor — in return, I can never dream in my entire life. My soul is permanently trapped in this narrow, muted shell. You’ve seen me before, but you forgot — No one will remember seeing a cat in a dream.”

[Empathy] Medium: Success.

You hesitated for a while before saying: “...Maybe next time when I dream, I will remember you.”

The cat licked its forepaw, lifted its head and threw you a glance.

“Take your key and go.” It said.

— It ended this conversation of yours.

You finally came back to reality and dragged your feet towards this lonely, vicious prisoner. Under its apathetic gaze, you picked up the gray bowl and took away the key underneath it.

Cuno’s face is scrunched up in distaste.

“Eww, pig is such a chick — afraid of a fucking cat?”

He slammed his skinny chest: “Cuno isn’t afraid of cats. Cuno isn’t afraid of fucking anything.”

[Authority] You should have left him in the precinct department to sleep on the sofa. This damn shitkid.

Chapter Text

[Horrific Necktie] Don’t open the door.

Why? There’s something behind the door?

[Horrific Necktie] Your past, your failure, your rage, your self-loathing and self-deception.

[Logic] He’s referring to the speed under the sofa cushions, cocaine in your washing machine, vodka bottles under the table, cigarette butts and dirty clothes littering the floor.

“...”

[Reaction Speed] Hard: Failure.

It’s too late.

Your right hand holding the door handler has already rotated half a circle. The lock couldn’t wait to give out a click – You opened the door to your home.

[Composure] If everyone can listen to their mind before taking actions, many of the tragedies in the world may be avoided.

[Pain Threshold] — Fuck, stop your schadenfreude.

The lieutenant remains silent. If there is a virtue of Kim Kitsuragi that’s worth the most praise and appreciation in the world, it is that he never complains — He has accepted the reality and started looking for the trace of any cleaning tool.

And you covered Cuno’s mouth before he could talk, smashing back all those shitty words.

You dragged out the plastic bag that’s used to contain clothes for dry cleaning and started rummaging for nicotine, ethanol, speed and anything else that’s unsuitable for minors.

And you saw Cuno sitting on the sofa, frowning, picking out a book from under his butt —   a porn magazine.

[Logic] Let me give you a sincere advice.

“...” You don’t want to listen at all, but no one can control their own mind.

[Logic] From now on, never try any check that requires *Authority* in front of Cuno.

The Lieutenant walked to Cuno and took away that magazine with the indecent cover — “Should lock these all up,” You suddenly spoke, pointing at an iron box in the closet, “I have a safe. Does that work?”

“Sounds good,” the Lieutenant nodded, “There is only one problem.”

“What?”

“Do you remember the combination?” He asked, deadpan.

You didn’t answer. You remained silent.

[Composure] Silence is the best answer.

“Ugh...Jean?”

“—What now?” He asked impatiently.

“I’m asking, just asking — Do you happen to know the combination of my safe?”

Vicquemare: “...”

From the bottom of his heart, he sighed deeply: “What on earth am I — Your memorandum?”

[Esprit de Corps] This is indeed a novel sense of defeat, Vicquemare thought. In the past it was always him asking around behind Du Bois. Now that Du Bois lost his memories, their roles are suddenly swapped, like the endless patience originally in Du Bois has fled to him as well.

Then he told you four number combinations. Try each of them, he said.

You hung up the phone, took the paper and tried inputting the numbers as he told. Miraculously, although you had absolutely zero impression of these numbers, your fingers remembered them before your memories. They moved freely on the keyboard, like they had known the position of the next number without the order from your brain, like the arrangement of these six numbers was an axiom, eternally rooted in the deepest part of your subconsciousness.

[Pain Threshold] What’s the meaning of them? They’re just numbers.

[Logic] They’re dates. Those number combinations are year, month, date. The first date in year 07, the second in year 15, the third in year 43, and the last is also the closest, in year 45.

[Visual Calculus] Your birthday, her birthday, the date she returned to you for the first time, the date she left you for the last time.

The worst-case scenario did not happen. Or rather, this IS the worst-case scenario — You heard a clicking sound when trying the third combination.

You passed the verification.

“...” But why the third combination?

[Logic] You know the answer, Harry. What’s the point of asking me?

[Volition] This is just love. Brilliant, fragile, far out of reach, only ever existing in the first layer of dream and the afterlife in Buddhist samsara.

[Inland Empire] She doesn’t belong to you. Nothing ever belongs to you.

[Ancient Reptilian Brain] — You’re such an irremediable coward. 

[Limbic System] A self-deceiving liar.

You fumbled the pack of cigarettes in your pocket, held it tightly, lining out its contour, almost squashing it — There’s one, two… There’re two cigarettes left. You staggered into the bathroom to light it up and sucked all of the poisonous gray fog into your shriveled lungs.

Chapter Text

It took longer than what you originally expected to return everything to normal. It’s completely dark outside, when the Lieutenant poured the last bucket of dirty water into the toilet. The gaslights lining the streets are now fully lit, and the light renders the face of the vintage wall clock clearly. It’s past 9:30 PM.

Out of courtesy, you should treat the Lieutenant with an all-too-late dinner. Unfortunately, you have neither any idea about decent restaurants nearby, nor money.

“But at least I got a box of pasta in my cupboard, with some leftover eggs and canned beef in the fridge,” you glanced at the Lieutenant, “… this should be enough for a dinner, right?”

“Right.” The Lieutenant nods.

Good news is, he doesn’t look rather reluctant, and the bad news is — “I don’t know how to cook.” You said.

For a moment, there was a rare bewilderment flashing across Kim’s face, but then he caught up, trying to cover up the awkwardness with a cough:

“Neither do I.” He said.

You: “…”

Kim: “…”

You and the Lieutenant stared at each other.

Cuno turned to look at Kim and turned back to look at you.

“Shit,” he says, “you useless pigs are starving yourselves to death one day.”

Then he stood up, rolling up his sleeves — and rushed into the kitchen.

He’s far more practiced at cooking than you’d ever imagine — you could even describe your dinner as lavish: it’s egg stir-fry and Goulash.

[Visual Calculus] What’s so surprising about this? He lives in a terrible single-parent family with serious alcoholism issue. If not for his life skills, he and his orphan sister would have already died of hunger in the Martinaise shack.

The Lieutenant looked at the egg in front of him, took a spoon, and lifted his head to say: “It tastes good.”

Cuno is startled by the unexpected praise — this is the first time Kim talks to him of his own accord.

“Cuno is Cuno,” he nods, self-satisfied, “Cuno can do fucking anything.”

Kids. Their happiness is simple and affordable — when you look at him, you feel your scarred heart is rejuvenated somehow.

You see Kim off at the entrance of the apartment building. The Lieutenant holds his hands behind himself, standing next to his Coupris Kineema — you don’t want to admit it, but thanks to Cuno, he no longer looks so concerned as in the beginning.

“It seems you two can live together in peace.” He remarks.

[Empathy] What’s more terrible is that, if he really has to choose between you and Cuno for a babysitter, Cuno fits the role better than you.

“Then, see you tomorrow, detective.” He says.

“See you tomorrow, Kim.” You say.

[Shivers] The moon is rising, the mist of late autumn sinking slowly. Everyone has returned home. The warmth emanated from the fire spaces, accompanied by the odor of pine wood and the movement of knitting needles, surrounded the cat staring at the orange flames in lethargy. Soon, the lights would be put off one by one, except the Venus in the far end of the sky, shining in the top layer of every dream.

Chapter Text

The lieutenant was, overly optimistic – the all-too-fragile peace between you and Cuno remained no more than ninety minutes.

“Damn it… Cuno is sleeping on the fucking bed!” The little jerk stared at you.

“Move your ass to the sofa –” You growled, “That’s where little brats belong to!”

Cuno pointed at you, and then to himself: “You’re Cuno’s pig, and Cuno is the King – also Cuno is fucking 19 years old.”

The little rascal is giving you a headache. “Didn’t you promise Vicquemare there will be no more profanities?”

“This doesn’t count,” He seems to be a bit fidgety and avoided eye contact with you, apparently realizing that he’s broken his vow. “He’s the *lead* – Cuno promised him, not you.”

[Authority] – WHAT, IS, HE, TALKING, ABOUT.

“I’m the lieutenant-yefreitor,” you squeezed out the words from between your teeth, “and ‘double’.”

“That’s just for now,” Cuno said: “That donkey’s surpassing you soon, pig.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where Cuno takes a nap at noon – there’s a moustache jerk in the lounge, conspiring with an evil old binoclard by the coffee machine. They want donkey to be the captain at another precinct, 35 or something, Cuno can’t fucking remember – numbers are all bullshit. Cuno hates numbers.”

[Logice] He’s referring to Captain Pryce and the lazareth Nix Gottlieb.

“…” It took a long while for your rusty brain to comprehend Cuno’s words –

Vicquemare is being promoted.

[Suggestion] He’s leaving you, too.

You heard your own voice asking, after pale-knows-how-long: “…But why wasn’t I informed of this?”

Cuno shrugged. He seems even a bit sympathetic towards you.

“How the fuck does Cuno know.” He said.

He probably thought you’re experiencing something like workplace bully at the precinct – out of pity, he dropped the turf war for bed and sofa.