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“Kim? I’ve been meaning to ask something.”
Damn. Here we go again.
Harry was standing in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom, looking at himself at the reflection in it. A tired but trying ex-alcoholic stares back. He was shirtless save for a pair of comfortable wool trousers. His hand was touching the skin beneath his manly chest hair just below his pectorals, a line of scar decorating each of them. It looks old. He wonders what kind of weapon had caused the wound and how badly he had been injured. His brain muses about the corpses they’ve come across on their jobs, looking for some resemblance to figure out an answer. Nothing seems to be plausible enough to him. The person in question was standing outside the room, in the process of buttoning his cargo pants. Hearing his name, he looked up and raised an eyebrow, observing the lieutenant caressing his chest.
“Yes, Harry? What is it?” he replies softly, used to the other man’s questioning of the basic workings of life. Harry’s tendency to ask questions on whim has not surprised him anymore, if anything Kim enjoys it when he comes to him for them. When he met Harry the first time in Martinaise, it was insanely annoying to him. He refused to believe that this ageing officer of the RCM was being honest with his apparent brain damage and retrograde amnesia. But now, it endears Kim to him. Usually, his one question would be followed by dozens of other interesting but not necessarily related to the initial question. He would answer each of them patiently each time, eager to help Harry discover more of the world.
Still looking at the mirror, Harry points at the scar. “What are these?”
You really don’t want to know, Harry-boy. We’re treading on dangerous waters here. Better retreat and get back to your safe place.
Better get back to snogging that delicious piece of ass in front of you.
Gods. Maybe not now?
Harry ignores the thought. He watches Kim finish with his pants and gets in the room to inspect the problem his partner has been fussing over about closer. He puts his glasses on and leans down, looking at the familiar pair of scar on Harry’s chest. He knows all too well what it is. “Looks like a scar to me, Harry.”
“Yes, but what is it from? You seem to have them too,” Harry said again, stepping closer to reach out for him. His finger lightly touches the same spot where he had been touching himself before. The scars on his other half have faded with time. He pauses and looks over to himself again in the mirror. A thought seems to be forming in his head. He then added, “is this common for the RCM? A ritual of uh… inauguration of some sort?”
Kim snorts quietly, an understanding smile on his face. Harry’s innocence might be alarming to other people who knew him before. His past self was something of a bastard to each one of them and they might think it’s another one of his ruses. Other people seem to always think the worst of him because of this and this version of Harry was carrying the burden. It reflected on him badly, seeing as how much he tends to hate himself and degrade himself for it. Kim doesn’t think it’s fair, but he was fairly sure that he would react the same way had this unusual turn of events happened to him. It’s only so much the mind can bear. “No, love. Not everyone in the RCM has it. It’s… a surgical scar,” Kim sighs, trying to form the right sentences, “you underwent an operation to alter your body parts.”
He is familiar with this. He feels the same way you do. He’s a bit uncomfortable, but he will answer your questions. Albeit with a burden on his shoulders.
Harry stayed silent, waiting for another elaboration for the vague answer. His expression was one of curiosity. No doubt a lot of confusion in his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t know what exactly to ask. He lets his mind wander for a bit. Finally he settles on a question. “Why would I want to do that?”
Again, Kim sighs. He figures he just has to say it directly. He clears his throat, “Khm. You’re a trans-gender, Harry.”
Trans-gender? Is that another homo-sexual underground saying? The libraries of his mind – or rather, what was left of it – searches for the word. Harry feels that the word was supposed to carry an emotional importance to him. It’s the way his eye twitches and how his body seems to unsteady itself at the mention. A negative response. But he comes up empty. Again, nothing seems to ring any bells. For fuck’s sake, this seems important. Stop failing me, brain .
“You’re familiar with the concept of gender, no?”
Yes, there’s only two of them.
Shut up.
“Yes, uhh… like penis and stuff, right?” Harry tries, earning an honest chuckle from the other man. Kim tilts his head and looks away, trying to come up with a response.
“Sure. But it’s really more about how someone identifies themselves as.” Kim adds a vague hand gesture to describe it more clearly for him.
This is so dangerous, Harry. Do you really want to go down this path? Knowing this will lead to nothing but profound sadness. Kim is easing this for you.
No. This seems important. Keep going.
The gears on Harry’s brain are starting to turn. He hums thoughtfully and looks down again on his chest, trying to make sense of the new information. Kim understands this and elaborates further. “When someone is born, they’re either assigned as male or female. We… uh… we weren’t assigned the right gender we actually were at birth. It was hard for us to actually discover that when society has forced so much normativity onto us. When we do though, it was a great challenge to accept it. Thankfully, we came through.”
He doesn’t dare say more. You’re already breaking and you can feel your hands shaking.
A little boy stands in front of the mirror. He’s wearing an overly feminine dress to a family party he’s about to attend. His parents are already calling out for him outside the room. A part of him wants to rip the dress to shreds, to burn it and throw away the ashes in the sea where it will never be found, along with parts of himself he doesn’t like. But he doesn’t do any of it, only steps out of the room to find his mother already waiting on the other side. She smiles, an honest to god smile. She fixes your hair and tucks back a strand of hair that was falling in front of your eyes and chuckles. “See? That wasn’t so hard. You’re such a beautiful girl.” You die inside.
Harry! You’re –
Suddenly, everything made sense. The overly-masculine way his brain describes himself. An innate sense of desire to prove his physical prowess to everyone. Basically the whole machismo mindset he seems to have for every task he has after. With it, a sudden flash of pain and self-hatred came along. He remembers long nights of crying in bed, thinking of other boys playing in the field and wanting to be like them. He remembers skipping bath time and telling his mother he was too tired to do it, when he just wants to avoid the agony whenever he steps into the shower. He remembers having to turn off the lights just to ease the pain of knowing what’s on his body where it perfectly shouldn’t be. He remembers having to put on a dress to a party and crying in the bathroom. He remembers not –
Enough. Please.
A steady stream of tears came down his cheeks. He feels like he could just keel over right there and die. Something gave up under him. The floor seems to be swept up in some kind of an invisible wind. Kim catches him right before he can hit the floor. He doesn’t say anything. Instinctively, his arms creep around Harry’s body in a tight hug. Strained sobs escape Harry’s mouth. He mumbles something inaudible under his breath, years of repressed emotional baggage coming down.
“I’m here,” he coos, trying to soothe Harry, “you’re not alone anymore.”
After about half an hour of crying in Kim’s arms on the bathroom floor, Harry collects himself again. He wipes the tears on his eyes and sniffs. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.”
Kim furrows his brows, his face absent of any resentment. “No, no it’s not. I understand you. It’s.. difficult. This information was not easy for me to deal with the first time and I’m not sure either if I’ve completely come over it now.” He seems worried the other man might not feel comforted enough with his words. “But if it makes you feel any better – the worst has already passed. We’ve overcome so much.”
This is rare for him. Emotional openness is a foreign art to him . He doesn’t know how to deal with it better than he is doing right now.
“...and either way, I’m sure being shot at and surviving is probably worse than any of this.”
He’s trying to joke, Harry .
“Oh! Right, yes, of course.” Harry tries to laugh, but what came out was a low chuckle.
Hey! Remember the Franconigerian Innocence? Do you know why no one can determine what his actual gender was? It was because he was like you! He was trans-gender too! The remains they found were inconsistent with the records and those bastards were too much of a coward to admit that he might not be ‘normal’ as the rest of them, so they left that part out.
Imagine! A trans-gender Innocence!
He must be quiet for a long time then, as Kim has already pulled away and has begun to nudge on his bare arm softly. When Harry looks up and nods absentmindedly, he squeezes his arm and places a kiss on his forehead affectionately. The information was finally disclosed, what remained was what to be done with it. Harry is still fresh and new to this, he worries he’ll fuck it up too. God knows what he’ll fuck up what’s already been done but he seems to have special ways to do those. The comforting hand on his arm and back helps though. Whatever it is he’ll face next, he knows he has someone to hang on to.
“Thank you, Kim.” Harry offers him a smile, then kisses Kim’s lips briefly. When he pulls away, Kim was smiling back.
You know you’ll be fine.