Chapter Text
"Could you tell me where I can find this file?"
Ah, it was him again. Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare, from the major crimes unit. You had heard about his bad attitude from several of his colleagues over the course of your employment at the RCM. The other officers loved to gossip and tattle with an 'outsider' like you, who ran the archives of the 41st precinct. They thought you wouldn't kiss and tell, which was true, but only since you were usually too busy to spread gossip yourself. You could listen to Patrol Officer Minot rant about Vicquemare's anger issues while you looked for the file she requested, but you didn't have enough brain capacity to return the favor and stay productive.
Anyway, Vicquemare was apparently in an excessively bad mood on the daily, according to pretty much everyone who had ever met him, and yet, he had been very nice every time he came to you for help. It wasn't like you expected him to yell at you, but most of the officers frankly didn't even bother adding a simple 'please' to their requests. Vicquemare always asked nicely, and when you smiled at him, his features softened a bit, almost like he wanted to smile but had forgotten how to.
You took the piece of paper from him, recognizing the number on it as an autopsy report.
"That one…" You looked around while you thought about it for a second. "Should be over there. Top-most shelf, I'd guess."
You handed the note back to him with a small smile and he nodded.
"Thank you."
He started towards the bookcase you had pointed to, and left you to sort more files. Precinct 41 was horribly overworked, the amount of files that came in and had to get sorted - by you, and only you, since you were the only one working the archives - was astronomical. It didn't matter how many files you put into the correct spots, by the time you were done there'd be another box filled to the brim with documents on your desk.
At least you were never bored.
After a few minutes your eyes darted up to find Satellite-Officer Vicquemare again, who was still standing in front of the autopsy reports. He was holding a folder in his hands, reading intently, which probably meant he had found what he had asked about.
You assumed he had to be working a pretty complex case, since he had been stopping by the archives multiple times in the past three weeks. You could've just read some of the files he requested to figure out what he was working on exactly, but you just didn't have the time.
You were distracted from your thoughts when the door swung open and another familiar face from the major crimes unit entered. Satellite-Officer Chester McLaine gave you a short nod as he passed you, heading straight towards Vicquemare.
You couldn't hear what they were saying, but they immediately started to aggressively bicker about something. You only heard the words 'new development' and 'interrogation', as well as multiple expletives from both of them.
The way Vicquemare spoke to his colleague was so different from the way he had been speaking to you, it was almost startling. But… as you tried to eavesdrop on them, you caught yourself watching him very intently a few times. The way his face morphed into annoyance and irritation, and then back to absolutely no emotion within seconds was strangely mesmerizing. You thought he looked almost cute when he was upset.
Well, to be fair, he always looked cute, you just hadn't expected to even find his annoyance entertaining to watch. You weren't sure how you were to feel had it been directed at you, but just from afar it was more funny than anything else. You had a feeling he didn't really mean to be as venomous anyway. A bad habit born from frustration and… something else.
Officer McLaine turned and fled the archives once more, and you quickly averted your gaze back to the files you were sorting. In your peripheral vision you saw Vicquemare approach your desk.
"Can you make a copy of this and send it up to me please?" He asked, handing over the autopsy report.
"Sure thing. Should be done in the next thirty minutes."
"I gotta head out anyway, so take your time." He gave you a weak smile that vanished as soon as he looked away and you frowned.
"Everything okay, officer?" You asked before you could stop yourself.
"I-" He scrunched up his face, shaking his head. "No, not really. This fucking case is making me even more miserable than usual."
"How so?"
He gave you a calculating look for a moment, then his eyes flitted over to the door and back to you again. Finally, he stepped closer, bracing himself against the surface of the desk.
"This… suspect who seems to be involved in the drug scene has been running circles around us. Whenever I think we finally have him, he slips through our fingers again, and I'm just- I'm so fucking over it." He sighed heavily and you took a moment to think before you replied.
"Hm, yeah, that sounds pretty frustrating. Don't let it get to you too much though, it sounds like you're already doing everything you can. I'm sure eventually he'll slip up and you'll be able to catch him. Besides, from everything I've heard you're a very capable detective, so don't be too hard on yourself."
He gave you a surprised look, reaching up to scratch his beard.
"Ah, thank you." He hesitated for a second before he spoke again. "I'm surprised you've heard good things about me at all. I would expect my colleagues to exclusively mention my… attitude."
You chuckled.
"They do, frequently , yes. I actually found it kind of confusing because you're always very kind to me."
He blushed, and Dolores Dei, that was just extremely endearing. He tried to cover it up by coughing into his fist, but you were sure he noticed the amused glint in your eyes as you watched him.
"I- well. I'm trying. I'd rather not come off as the biggest asshole possible to the people around me, especially when they’re just doing their jobs."
"I appreciate it. If you do need to let off steam though, I always have an open ear for rants of frustration."
He fixed you with a soft gaze.
"Thank you. I’ve been wondering, do… do you wan-"
The door flew open and Officer McLaine poked his head through the gap.
"You comin' or what?" He barked, but he sounded vaguely amused beneath the annoyance.
"Shit, McLaine, calm the fuck down. I'm on my way. Fuck's sake." He told him, then whipped back around to face you. "Thanks again. I'll see you around."
"Yeah, see you soon, officer." You smiled and then a second later he was gone, and you could hear the two of them bickering in the hallway.
You briefly wondered what he had been about to say before he got interrupted, but you figured if it was important he would try again another time.
---
"You're still here?"
You looked up to find Officer Vicquemare standing by the door. His surprise was understandable since it was currently almost midnight, and you should’ve been home for hours by now.
"Uh, yeah. Uhm. Too much to do and the Captain asked for copies of a few very specific pages from a bunch of old files, which is taking a long time to put together." You sighed. "I need to get this done tonight unfortunately."
He frowned, an expression that settled onto his face easily, one he wore often.
"What kinds of files?"
You huffed, picking up the file you were currently making a copy of and holding it up.
"About thirty different homicides from the past five years. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind doing this if he hadn't requested these files right before I was about to leave."
"That's not acceptable." He said, taking the file to flip through it with a thoughtful expression. "And he said he wants these by tomorrow?"
You threw your hands up, spinning around to go fetch the next file from somewhere deep within the maze of shelves. All of these had been perfectly spread out across the large room so far, it was almost like he had specifically picked them to piss you off. Which he probably hadn’t, to be fair, but it sure as hell felt like it.
"Unfortunately, yes." You called over your shoulder and in your peripheral vision you saw him trail after you. You stopped in front of the correct shelf and pulled over a step ladder so you could reach the top. "Now, where are you…?"
Vicquemare leaned against the shelf next to you, watching as you thumbed through the thin folders.
"How many do you have left?"
"Uh, ten, I think?!"
"Let's tag-team it. You get the files, I make the copies."
You paused to look down at him. He was still holding the folder from before, looking up at you with a hopeful expression, soft red dusting his cheeks.
"You don't need to waste your time with my tasks, officer."
"No, I don't need to, but I'd like to." A smile flickered across his lips. "I need a break from serious detective work anyway, maybe this will help me clear my head."
You considered it for a moment, then you nodded.
"Alright. Let's do it." You turned back to the shelf, pulled out the correct folder and handed it to him. "There's a list on my desk that has all of the pages the captain wants copies of."
"Understood." He nodded, then reached out to offer you his hand. Your insides fluttered as you took it and let him help you down from the step ladder. As soon as you were back on the ground and he let go of you, you immediately missed his hand in yours.
Uh oh. Better not think about that too hard, it was probably just… your exhaustion.
"Last one!" You announced as you returned to your desk where Vicquemare was putting all of the copies into a neat stack.
"Finally. I don't know what the fuck the Captain was thinking." He grumbled as you dropped the last folder onto your desk.
"Thank you for your help. I owe you, Vicquemare." You laid a hand on his arm and squeezed before dropping it again.
"Helping you was my pleasure. Making these copies was not ." He deadpanned, then turned to face you. "And please call me Jean, now that we've shared this harrowing experience I think you've earned it."
You laughed and offered your own first name, which drew a smile out of him as well.
"Let's hope we never have to repeat this."
"Agreed."
---
Jean was leaning against your desk, ranting while you taped the evidence box of a freshly solved case shut.
"And I swear if he's on a fucking bender right now, ignoring the case, I'll strangle him as soon as I lay eyes on him."
You looked over at him to find him watching you.
"I just don't know what to do with him." He sighed and you shook your head.
"It's not your responsibility to do something about it. I get that he's your friend and you want to help, but you can't live your whole life just running after him and making sure he's behaving. Do whatever you can once he actually asks for help, until then, you can't force him." You said and his shoulders sagged.
"You're right, it's just hard." Your eyes met for a moment and he almost smiled. "You always know what to say… thank you."
"Nah, I- well, I don't know. I'm not sure everything I'm saying is actually helpful or right, but I'm glad you think it helps." You smiled sheepishly. "I'm just throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks."
"Sure you are, archival genius." He pushed off the desk to walk over and stand next to you, gazing at the evidence box. "At least that case is finally solved, also no thanks to Harry." He sighed and you reached over to pat his shoulder.
"Come on, no more of this." You glanced at your watch. "Let's get lunch?"
Jean stayed quiet, so you looked over at him just to find him staring at nothing. Even casually asking him to get lunch together had admittedly not been easy for you, considering the crush you had developed on Jean, so his silence made you feel even more anxious. Maybe he didn't want to spend any more time with you. You needed to give him an out.
"Or it's fine if you already have plans…? I don't mind." You added and finally his gaze snapped back to you.
"Oh, uh, no, I- well, I don't have any other plans. I'd really like to get lunch together, sorry… I just have a lot on my mind." He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I'm ready to go if you are."
You got lunch at a quaint little Mesque place just down the road from the station and sat on a bench in the park. There was an empty fountain at the center of the park, its husk long since overtaken by vegetation and a few old tires. The centerpiece of the fountain had once been a statue of some kind, but someone had lobbed off its head and covered it completely in a strange plastic-looking material. It reminded you of old chewing gum.
While you stared at the fountain and ate your food, the two of you talked mostly about your shared interest in movies, as well as houseplants. You hadn't expected Jean to be the kind of person who owned plants, but he apparently had a lot of them.
"I've lost count, they keep multiplying. And all of those little fuckers want to be watered all the time, I spend at least an hour watering them every week." He shook his head, making you laugh.
You told him of your own interest in houseplants.
"Unfortunately it seems like I can't keep most of them alive, I don't know what it is." You somberly looked down at your hands. "Everything I touch seems to die."
"Everything dies one day, whether you touch it or not." He only said, and you found it strangely comforting. Then he offered to give you some pointers, though he admitted that most of his plants stayed alive through sheer luck alone.
"I really don't know what I'm doing right or wrong, or doing at all, to be honest. It just seems to work." He shrugged.
On your way back to the station you slowly walked side by side, taking in the bustling streets. It was the first nice day of the year and seemingly everyone in Jamrock was out and about to enjoy the weather. Children playing, couples walking arm in arm, young women chattering in cafes and in front of stores. They looked so carefree and happy, you kind of envied them.
Just once, your hand brushed against Jean’s while you walked and suddenly your envy was gone, wiped away by a little flutter of your heart.
---
It was a few days later when you once again left the station later than usual. The Captain had asked for more files, though this time he specified that he didn't need them until after the weekend. Unfortunately you started gathering all of the requested files about an hour before you were going to head home, so your brain insisted that you should finish the task and just get off earlier tomorrow. You complied, and now it was 22:00.
Jean had been absent pretty much all week; the last you had seen of him had been on Monday, when his partner had called in to report his badge missing. Jean had been royally pissed off, but seemed to feel better after talking about it with you. He had let you rant about an annoying novel you were hate-reading in turn, and your colorful language had even drawn a chuckle out of him.
The memory made you smile, but it didn't change that you hadn't seen him at all this week since then, and by now it was Friday. He was probably just busy with his case and messed up partner, but you still missed him.
Fuck, you were getting attached way too quickly.
Grabbing your stuff, you left the archives. People were still working all through the night at the 41st but they'd have to find any files on their own. Oh, how lovely would it be to have someone else working at the archives? So much pressure would be off you, but alas, the RCM had no funds to employ two archivists.
You were just about to clear the large entrance doors of the station when someone called your name from inside. Jean was hurrying towards you, only stopping when he was in your personal space.
"Are you going home?" He asked and at your confirmation, he pulled on his coat. "Let me walk you?"
"Yeah, sure." You started down the road and to your surprise his warm palm landed on the small of your back as he walked next to you. You turned to him with a small smile.
"Bad day?"
"You have no fucking idea." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Actually, it wasn't so bad all things considered, just really fucking weird."
"Oh? You wanna talk about it?"
"Not tonight. I'll have to tell you some other time though, you won't believe any of it, I promise." He smiled faintly as you came to a halt at a crossing.
"Lunch break tomorrow, you're on." You grinned, turning to face him. He looked downtrodden, despite the mellow facade he had put on for you. "I'm sorry about your weird day, Jean. Are you okay?"
He shook his head.
"Yes, I'm fine. I just really need some rest after all of this." He hesitated for a second. "I'm glad I bumped into you on my way out, I desperately needed cheering up after all of that."
"My mere presence cheers you up, officer?" You grinned and to your delight his cheeks took on a soft red hue.
He shyly averted his gaze, so you just shook your head and decided to change the topic.
"You wanna hear about my very boring and normal day?"
"I'd love to." He smiled and you began to tell him about your breakfast. By the time you finished talking about the files you had copied for Captain Pryce, you had reached your apartment building. It looked about as run down as any other in Jamrock, but you knew the people who lived inside it were mostly kind and friendly. You had seriously lucked out with your neighbors.
"Thank you for walking me home, Jean." You told him as you stopped in front of the building. "I missed you this week."
"You did? I-I missed you too."
You reached over to squeeze his hand and for just a second his thumb ran across your knuckles before you let go of each other again.
"Goodnight."
"Yeah… goodnight." He replied and a few seconds later you had ascended the steps to your front door and he had turned around and started down the road.
---
It was a few weeks later when Jean didn't show up to your lunch date that you first went up to the fourth floor of the repurposed silk mill. You had occasionally stopped by the different departments of the 41st over the past two years, mostly to drop off files, but somehow you had never had a reason to go to this particular floor; the floor of the major crimes unit.
You tentatively looked around the large room, trying to spot any familiar faces - if not Jean, then McLaine maybe, or even better, Minot - but no such luck. No one paid you any mind as you crossed the room, letting your gaze wander across the desks and officers. While you were intently staring at a desk in a corner, you suddenly ran into someone. Jumping back with an apology on your lips, you quickly straightened up.
"It's alright, no harm done. You're the archivist, no?" The man in an orange bomber jacket asked, and you were pretty sure this was the new transfer from the 57th: Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Jean's old partner's new partner. It was a tricky situation, but from the little Jean had talked about it, he was equally glad and sad to lose his partner to someone else.
"Ah, yes, that's me. I'm so sorry, again."
He just shook his head with a tiny smile.
"You look a bit lost, if you'll allow me the observation."
"Yeah, I'm actually looking for Jean. We were supposed to have lunch together but he didn't show up." You told him and he nodded.
"Officer Vicquemare isn't here today, I'm afraid. He apparently called in sick this morning, although I'm not sure with what."
Jean was sick? Realistically it was probably just as cold, or maybe he simply felt a bit under the weather, but that didn't stop the irrational part of your brain from freaking out. What if he was horribly ill and needed help? Someone to make him soup and wipe the sweat off his forehead.
Or… well. You weren't stupid, you knew Jean had depression. Even if he didn't make sardonic jokes about it on the regular, it was fairly obvious he wasn't exactly happy. If he was having a depressive episode he probably didn't want to see you, but the thought of Jean struggling on his own still made you feel horrible.
Lieutenant Kitsuragi must've seen your line of thought written rather clearly on your face, because after a moment of silence he said: "I would usually not feel comfortable doing this, but Officer Vicquemare has spoken very favorably of you in the past. I'm under the impression that he trusts you, so I will give you his address."
"I- thank you! That's very kind of you." You smiled, although you were sure the expression looked more like a grimace.
A few hours later you were sitting on your couch, turning the small piece of paper with Jean's address over and over in between your fingers. You wanted nothing more than to just go to him, but… what if he didn't want you there? The last thing you wanted to do was to make him feel worse for having to send you away. If only there was a way for you to know whether he would like to see you or not. Maybe you c-
A knock on the door.
You frowned at your watch. It was just past 20:00, not exactly a regular time for people to want something from you. You dropped the piece of paper on the coffee table and made your way over to the door. Before you just opened it recklessly, you looked through the peephole and saw a familiar face.
"Jean?" You asked as you opened the door, looking at him with concern.
"Can I- can I come in?"
He sounded strangely weak, so you quickly stepped aside and let him in.
"Have a seat. Are you thirsty?" You went to move past him towards the kitchen, but Jean's hand shot out to grab your wrist, stopping you.
"I- no. Yes. I didn't know where to go…" He sounded so defeated, you couldn't stop yourself, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, squeezing tightly.
"You can always come to me, Jean." You mumbled and then suddenly he was hugging you back, trying to pull you closer to his chest with all of his might. You ran your hand up and down his spine, and he rested his head on your shoulder, face pushed against your neck. For a while you just stood there in the middle of your small apartment, embracing tightly.
When he finally pulled back, he still looked miserable, but at least a bit less tense.
"I missed you at lunch." You told him with a smile, making him huff out a small laugh.
"And I missed lunch."
"Oh, are you hungry? I can make us something." You suddenly realized you were still holding onto his forearm with one hand, so you quickly let go.
"Not really, but I guess I should probably eat something." He sighed and you patted his shoulder.
"Something light, then. Let me see…"
You turned and walked over to the corner of the room that was taken up by the kitchen. While you rummaged through your fridge Jean wandered and looked around the room, stopping in front of your bookcase to inspect your literary collection. It was mostly frivolous fiction.
"Okay, so I could make us omelets with mushrooms, if you want?" You inspected the bowl of mushrooms to make sure they were still fresh. "Or maybe mushroom soup? If you don't like mushrooms, I also have some tomatoes we could turn into some kind of dish."
You straightened back up and jumped when you noticed he was suddenly standing right next to you.
"Fucking shit." You muttered, making him chuckle.
"I'm sorry." He grinned. "Should've seen your face."
You just shook your head and turned away to pick up a cutting board and a knife. Your face felt really hot all of a sudden.
"I'm fine with anything, really. You can choose." He sidled up to the counter next to you, so you pushed the utensils over to him.
"Alright, omelet it is! Could you slice the mushrooms please?"
"Of course."
You handed him the mushrooms, flicked on the radio, fiddled with the dial until you found a station that didn't play the most intense anodic dance music you had ever heard, and got to work on mixing and seasoning the eggs.
You mostly worked in silence, Jean watching intently while you poured the egg into the pan. His stomach growled as you added the mushrooms, and you couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'm now realizing that I am hungry after all." Jean commented with a weak smile.
A few minutes later you were both sitting at your small table by the widow, happily devouring the omelets. You had made this dish many times in the past, but today it tasted even better than usual. Thankfully Jean seemed to enjoy it as well since his plate was clean within a few minutes.
"Thank you. I'm not sure I would've eaten anything today if you hadn't cooked for me." He said as he sat down on your couch afterwards. You were standing next to him, about to sit down as well, and you couldn't stop yourself from reaching up and brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. You didn't quite know what to say as he looked up at you with a soft blush on his cheeks, so you just dropped your hand and finally sat down next to him.
"I'll gladly make something for you any time, I mean it. Besides, it's nice to have company over." You told him shyly. "Ever since I moved to Jamrock and started as an archivist, I haven't been able to make many friends. I'm friendly with some of the officers, but I just don't have a lot of time to socialize."
"Hm, I see. What about Judit? I've seen you talk to her a few times."
"Minot? She's very sweet and she loves to gossip about you and Lieutenant Du Bois, but I don't know... We haven't really talked outside of work." You leaned back against the back of the couch and smiled at him. "I've heard her rant about you sooo many times, you know that?"
"She has every right to be annoyed with me, I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine." He sighed, then leaned back as well, his shoulder firmly pressed against yours. "What did she say about me? Nothing too bad, I hope."
"Hmm, well, she often says she wishes you'd communicate better, especially with Du Bois. She doesn't seem to blame you for your attitude, but she also doesn't think it's constructive." You told him with a shrug. "She also said that you work too hard, that you should take more breaks, stop to smell the flowers now and then, or whatever."
"Smell the flo- ah, for fuck's sake, how can I stop and smell the flowers when we have new cases piling up on all of our desks day after day?"
"You gotta think about yourself now and then, Jean. Be just a bit more selfish, otherwise you'll waste your life being exhausted and miserable."
He turned his head to look at you. The angle was a little awkward, but he was much closer to you like this and you immediately felt your cheeks heat up.
"What, miserable like that plant over there?" He pointed past your head and behind you. You knew exactly which plant he was talking about, and it was, in fact, very sad and half-dead.
"Yes, just like poor little Penelope over there." You laughed, making him smile.
"You name your plants?"
"Of course. Makes me feel bad when I kill them, so I'm more likely to take good care of them."
"Fortunately, that's not a problem I face."
You reached over and lightly hit his arm with your fist.
"Asshole."
You both laughed, then fell into a comfortable silence. Your eyes landed on the clock on your wall; it was almost 22:00 already. Should you offer your couch to him? The thought of sending him home didn’t sit right with you, not when he came to you looking more miserable than you had ever seen him before less than two hours ago. He wanted company, needed it not to lose himself, and you were happy to provide if that's what he wanted.
“Is that my address?” Jean had picked up the piece of paper off the coffee table.
“Oh, yeah.” You smiled sheepishly. “I bumped into Lieutenant Kitsuragi when I was looking for you during my lunch break, and he gave me your address. I was still debating on whether you wanted to see me or not when you knocked on my door.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”
“I don’t know… I- uh. Well, I have bad days too sometimes, and having to put up a facade in front of others can be exhausting. I didn’t want to put you in that position when you were already…well.”
“In the middle of a depressive episode.” He finished the sentence for you and you nodded. “That’s… very considerate of you, but I’ve long since given up on facades. I’m not- I can’t be fixed. It’s been seven years and I’m still depressed, but that doesn’t mean some, uhm, positive attention won’t make me feel a bit less shit.”
He dropped the piece of paper back on the table and finally looked at you, cheeks red. And fuck, if that wasn’t the plea of a touch-starved and lonely man for some physical contact, then you didn’t know what it was. You must’ve stared at him a bit too long because he shifted in his seat, eyes darting away from you.
“Please.” He mumbled, obviously embarrassed by having to ask again, so you sprang into action. One of your hands came up to cup his cheek and you saw him take a stuttering breath. You turned, tucking one of your legs under you so you could fully face him. His hands found your waist and then he was falling into your arms, slotting right into place like he belonged there. You wound your arms around him and a sigh left his lips, close to your ear.
“This okay?” You asked and he just hummed contentedly, making you chuckle.
In the end, he refused your offer to stay the night. You tried to insist, but he just shook his head and reassured you that he felt a lot better, and usually had trouble falling asleep in places other than his own bed anyway.
"I promise I'll feel even better tomorrow but only if I actually manage to get some sleep." He joked and you backed off with a smile.
"Alright. I'll see you at lunch?"
"Yes, that you will. Goodnight." He leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your cheek, which made you feel entirely too hot all of a sudden.
"G-goodnight." You managed to stammer out before he closed the door behind him.
---
"Hey, aren't you Vicquemare's cr-"
"Friend. The detective is wondering whether you're Satellite-Officer Vicquemare's friend." Lieutenant Kitsuragi didn't even spare his partner a glance as he cut him off. You weren't sure what to think of their dynamic, so you just put on a vaguely confused smile.
"I am Jean's friend, yes." And possibly also his crush. Maybe. He definitely was yours.
"That's so cool, I'm glad Jean has friends. Other than me, I mean. Or well, I'm not sure whether we're friends or not, but I care about him, so. Yeah. Thanks for being Jean's friend, I guess." Du Bois replied and you couldn't help but grin.
He was a strange man, and now that he was trying his best to clean up his act, he was somehow even stranger than before. Not like you had ever really known him, but he was the kind of person who commanded a room with his presence (and with his nonsense). He was hard to ignore, and that meant that even you knew what kind of person he used to be, and he was different now. Good different.
"Uh, no problem. I like being his friend." You told him and you could tell Du Bois was about to say something else that was probably weird and outrageous in some way, but Kitsuragi spoke before he could.
"We're looking for a file." He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to you.
"Let me see here… ah. I'll get it for you. One second." You made your way to the back of the archives to retrieve the case report.
While you searched for it, you heard Kitsuragi and Du Bois talk animatedly, but they were too far away from you to catch what they were saying. If you had to guess, Kitsuragi was chastising his partner for almost asking if you were Jean's crush. You would've minded, really, although the question would've been sure to make you blush. It wasn't exactly surprising that people at the 41st assumed Jean and you were… an item. Or at least that there was something going on between the two of you. After all, Jean came down to the archives for some reason or another almost every day and ended up chatting with you frequently. You also ate lunch together most days. A bunch of detectives would undoubtedly assume Jean had a crush on you, but whether they were right or not was only for Jean himself to know.
"Here you go. Do you need a copy of this?" You handed the relatively slim folder to Kitsuragi, who shook his head.
"That won't be necessary, thank you."
He flipped the file open and the two detectives spent the next minute looking through the meager amount of pages. Now and then they pointed at information that seemed to be relevant to their investigation. Du Bois got tired of the file rather quickly, so his attention turned back to you.
"So, Jean is always in such a bad mood, how do you deal with him?" He asked, making you laugh. He wasn't pulling any punches.
"He really isn't always in a bad mood, and he definitely isn't when he's with me. I'm sorry Lieutenant, but I think he is especially pissy when he's faced with you, since you've apparently made his life a living hell for the past six years." You shrugged and Du Bois made a face.
"Yeah, that's fair. I know I deserve it. Still, I hope one day he and I can be friends again. The four of us could go grab lunch sometime maybe?! Kim, what do you think?" He whipped around to face Kitsuragi, who looked up from the file.
"Hm? Oh, sure, why not? Although I'm not certain Vicquemare would be willing." He closed the file and handed it back to you.
"Yeah, I think Jean might be hard to convince. Give it some time, he might need a while to get used to the new you, Du Bois." You reached over to pat his forearm. "Don't take it too hard."
"Thank you for your assistance."Kitsuragi said with a little smile and a nod, which you easily returned. Du Bois waved you goodbye and then they left.
These days the archives seemed strangely quiet to you when no one else was here. You thought you were used to the silence after all this time, but somehow it still made you feel uneasy. With a sigh you went to return the file, checking your watch as you made your way to the correct shelf. Still another three hours until you could go home.
---
It had been getting warmer in Revachol as summer approached swiftly. A few days ago you had come across a poster on your way home that advertised an arts and crafts fair. It was to take place the coming weekend down by the lake, where vendors put up stalls for food and goods most days. You weren't particularly keen on buying anything, but spending some time away from your apartment sounded nice.
When you told Jean about it, he immediately insisted you go together. He could probably tell that you needed some encouragement to actually get out and enjoy yourself. You were pretty sure this wasn't a date, but you still made an effort to wear something nice when you got ready on Saturday.
And now here you were, walking side by side with Jean, your arm hooked around his, as you talked about the items on offer.
"Oh look! Pottery!" You exclaimed, extricating yourself from him to take a closer look. The various clay mugs, plates, and plant pots were painted in muted shades of orange and a washed out blue-green. The vendor was busy talking to another customer, so you just picked up one of the mugs. It had a cartoony rendition of a grumpy-looking cat painted on its side.
"This looks like you." You told Jean, who gave you an equally grumpy look. You laughed. "I'm sure the artist had you specifically in mind when they painted this cat."
"Of course." He sighed and picked up a plant pot. "Maybe if you had some of these pots your plants wouldn't all die on you."
"Yeah, yeah." You mumbled waving him off, but your eyes were fixed on the pot in his hand. It wasn't particularly big and glazed in a red-orange gradient that reminded you of the sunset.
"Maybe you're right… it's pretty, I should buy it." You mused.
"Good to know that insulting your plants is a valid advertising strategy." He turned to the vendor who had just finished with his previous customer and handed over the pot.
"Jean-"
"Shush. Just let me buy the stupid plant pot for you."
You sighed, but a grin spread on your lips as you watched him pay for the pot and the vendor wrapped it in paper. When the two of you walked away from the stall, you turned back to him.
"Thank you." You leaned over to peck him on the cheek and he turned a very flattering shade of red.
"It's fine." He took a moment to think, then he raised the bag with the plant pot. "Let me hold onto this until Monday?"
"Well, you paid for it, so I can't exactly say no." You chuckled as you wrapped your hand around his biceps again. "I trust you'll look after it well."
"I will."
You resumed your stroll down the waterfront, passing all kinds of stalls and stopping here and there to inspect what was on offer. Jean laughed when you put on a particularly silly hat at a stall that exclusively sold strange hats. He fell silent when you placed an equally horrible hat on his head a moment later, which in turn made you break into laughter.
"You- ahaha, you look s-so - ahahaha - dumb." You managed to say between laughs and once your tears of joy subsided you saw he was smiling hard as well. He took the hats off both of your heads and put them back.
"I can only hope and pray no one from work will ever see me in that fucking hat, I'd lose all of my credibility." He said, but the grin on his lips undermined his grumpy tone of voice.
"I think you looked dashing."
"Sure you do." He rolled his eyes as he grabbed your hand to pull you towards the next stall. “Come on. I’m getting hungry, maybe we can find something to eat.”
You spent a few hours just soaking up the sunlight and enjoying the interesting sights in the form of the different items on offer. You bought a few different snacks, all of them overpriced and experimental, most of which were pretty good except for a pancake that tasted bitter for some reason. At least seeing Jean scrunch up his face as he bit into it amused you enough to make the high price worth it.
After a while when you had seen everything there was to see, you both sat down on a crumbling wall that had a nice view of the lake.
“Thank you for this. I’m not sure I would’ve actually come here on my own.” You told him, eyes fixed on a boat in the middle of the lake.
“You’re welcome. I had to miss out on an appointment with my therapist for this, you know?”
“What? Jean-”
“Relax. I see her every week and I made sure to check with her if it’s alright for me to miss an appointment. She actually even said it might be good for me to get out and do something for fun. And, well, considering I feel pretty good right now, I guess she was right.” He gave you a sideways glance and smiled. “I’m loath to admit it, but maybe I should do this kind of thing more often.”
“There’s a food festival tomorrow…”
“Well, maybe not every single day.”
You bumped your elbow into his side with a grin, making him chuckle.