Chapter Text
The number of closed cases from Precinct 41 skyrocketed since Lt. Kitsuragi's transfer and partnership with Detective Harry DuBois. Which is great news. It doesn't hurt Jean at all that their partnership of two weeks is far healthier and more successful than theirs of years and years had been. Just like it didn't hurt when Harry didn't remember him after the amnesia hit. Or when he forgot their ruthless banter back and forth and concluded that Jean hated him. (He did, but they were friends for so long.) And now they were making him get a new partner? What a shitshow that'll be, he thinks.
———————
You were transferring from a Precinct in Mesque- not that you particularly wanted to work in Revachol, or Martinaise for that matter, but the pay was better there because of how constantly desperate they were. Apparently, there had been an incident with Harry DuBois and a transfer that left one of the officers without a partner. You knew DuBois, everybody did. The detective with the most closed cases compared to damn near any Precinct combined- nobody knew that he had a partner though.
Jean Vicquemare.
That was who you were transferring to be partnered with. The Captain of 41 described him as "down-to-earth, but rude and aggravating to work with unless you were up for the challenge". Not necessarily the way you would convince someone to fill a position...but you accepted anyway. You were never one to back down from a challenge-- and today was the first day of just that.
You pulled up in your company issued Kineema, parking in front of the precinct building, and walked up to the front.
Bright lights pounded at your head with the shift to indoors. Focus, you're supposed to meet up with your new partner.
Dark hair. Pox scars. Probably looks frustrated or irritated.
That's who you were looking for.
Dark suit. Crossed arms. Sense of exhaustion about him.
You scanned the office. Brown hair...no. Tall blonde...no. Black hair...yes, but a bright orange jacket...so no. Next to him- that was DuBois.
Who was left...ah- black hair, scars, dark suit, irritated look. Got him.
You strode forward, confidence in your gait. You knew how this job worked, an ounce of weakness or fear and they'd all pounce on you like wild animals starved for prey. Soon enough, you came to a stop in front of who you presumed was Vicquemare, who had his back turned to you. "Officer," you began, "I believe I'm your new partner?"
He whipped around to face you, "What the fucking hell?"
"Oh for fuck's sake...that's today. Ok, yes, my name is Jean Vicquemare. Who the hell are you."
"Were you not briefed beforehand?"
"What do you think this is? Of course, I was briefed beforehand." Vicquemare bit out, "They told me I was receiving a new partner, but that was it. So, what is your name? Don't make me ask again."
Wow, the captain wasn't kidding when he said Vicquemare was rude. You wonder why momentarily, then remembered you had yet to respond. You gave him your name, not wanting to agitate him by making him wait longer.
"Mn." Really? That was all the response you got. He turned and maneuvered to his- your-- desk. Then, looked at you and gestured you over with a hurried flick of his hand.
"As of right now, the open cases have been assigned to the others in the Precinct while we get...acquainted...today." He doesn't sound happy about it. "Which means, that you and I are stuck on paperwork duty. Doesn't that sound fun?" The tone was distinctly sarcastic, though, you were unsure if it was because of you or because of the circumstances.
"It sounds like a blast, Officer." You tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.
His face scrunched up, "Great. I'm overjoyed my new partner likes to do paperwork. How thrilling." He deadpanned.
Ok, really, the sarcasm was getting to be enough. You'd have to tell him off if he keeps it up. Or match the energy, but you weren't trying to be in a nasty mood every day you worked here. The captain had recounted over the phone that the Satellite Officer had a history of clinical depression- everyone's basic files were accessible to each other (which you thought was a breach of privacy, but you digress) and he had it listed since he started working at the Precinct. 'Meaning it likely had come from before working here.' you guessed.
You weren't sure if that was good or bad news for you- you had dealt with your own mental health issues for years now as well- you knew how it could drag someone down. Someone, being either yourself, others, or both. And you were not about to be the "others" for Vicquemare's cycle of issues. But you'd let it slide the first day.
"Absolutely, let's get to it." Your smile-grimace stayed plastered on your face, all the way to shift end.
Tomorrow is a new day, you supposed.
——————
…The next day came faster than you thought it would. And the day after that. And the days after that. You gave him the benefit of the doubt regarding his perpetual attitude but it was started to wear you down.
The fact that they couldn’t seem to get a breakthrough on the case they were working on made it even worse.
“How could you overlook such a major fucking detail!” Vicquemare scorned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
You felt defeated, “There was no reason to question the past surgeries of the victim- especially when they were not externally visible, and besides; The family did not mention it when interviewed so I did not see it to be something of concern-“
He glared at you, “Everything in a case is of concern! Why do you think shitkid has such a high closed case rate? Because he never lets anything go unnoticed!”
“And detective DuBois is remarkable at his job. But may I remind you that you did not notice either.” You grumbled, “and besides, if he would have noticed it, shouldn’t you have as well? You were his partner for years- as you love to mention!” That was true enough. Vicquemare mentioned his past partnership at least in passing, on most days you worked together. You could tell it was a sore spot for him.
He flinched back minutely at your remark. If you weren’t a detective, and attempting to be attuned to your partner’s current emotional state, you wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. And it made you feel…something. Something bad.
You sighed, “I’m…I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.” You could admit it didn’t help the situation.
“No, you shouldn’t have. Keep it to yourself next time.”
But he didn’t seem to want to help himself either. It pissed you off. Days of him biting and nagging at you.
“…your attitude is not…easy to work with. Most days-“ you began, narrowing your eyes.
It didn’t take long for him to snap back. But you wouldn’t let him talk over you. You had done enough of that already- so instead, you both spoke at the same time.
“Oh, terribly sorry detective- I know I’m usually such a ray of-“
“Please, don’t get defensive-“
…Which did not help things.
“Defensive! I’m not-!” He recoiled, and you sighed. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the closest the two of you had been since you started working together. He stopped his protest at the contact, apparently not expecting it, but still glaring.
“Satellite, I was going to say, I understand. Most days- I understand where you’re coming from.” You tried to look him in the eyes, but his were darting between your arm, your head, and the space behind you.
Then he registered what you said.
“You don’t understand anything.” He shook your arm off his shoulder, “Don’t start playing fucking mind games with me, you know nothing.”
“You have clinical severe depression. I understand more than you know…”
“You got here four days ago! You know jack shit about me-“
You folded your arms in front of you,
“I have it too.”
“Quit trying to-“ he paused mid-rant, “…you what?” He questioned.
‘Interesting,’ you thought, ‘he even asks questions with that frustration on his face.’
“No you don’t!”
“I do. Had it for years, like you. Diagnosed, with that and GAD to boot. Since I was a teenager.”
He stepped back, just once. Just far enough to not let himself get close to you. Far enough to not let himself feel connected with someone. It had ended poorly last time.
“So I understand. At least a little bit. But if you could tone down the condescension a smidge, that would be…nice.”
You got up to get water from the cooler. To give yourself a break. He stared at your spot across from him, your spot at the joint desk that you two shared.
You stared at him from the water cooler.
When you finished a cup of cold water, which helped your heart calm down, you walked back to sit across from Jean.
…You both sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, as if you never took that break, your thoughts started to wander. Things still needed to be said. Acknowledgements needed to be made.
But he couldn’t even look at you. You could barely look at him.
Your leg itched, wanting to bounce. You wouldn’t let it.
Outwardly, you seemed the same as you did your first day- collected enough , tolerating enough of your partner. Looking at paperwork for the case you were assigned.
Jean had been dealing with a similar problem himself.
“ Fucking moron.”He berated himself, “can’t go two minutes without fighting someone. You’re such an asshole, Vicquemare.”
“Maybe this one will quit too. Find a new partner. It’s probably you that’s the issue. You’re fucked in the head.”
“No.”He argued, internally, “he said he knew how this feels.”
“Harry had problems too- and he never cared about you. Clearly not enough to remember you. Why would your partner of less than a week care?”
He crossed his arms, staring into space at a spot on his desk.
“-fficer.”
“Such a fucking idiot.”
“-ey, Sa…..ite.”
His breathing got heavier beneath his suit. Not enough to notice, unless you watched for it. You were.
“Satellite!”
He blinked hard. Eyes shifted to you.
“…you alright?”
“I’m fine. Let’s talk about the case again.”