Epoch:Chapter 62

Harry's Complex. Exterior. Unmarked.

1985. 2:20 PM.

Dan watched Harry finish the last of his coffee, as he still nursed the... whatever sob-something noodles he was consuming out of a box via chopsticks. Dan took another bite of his explicitly rare roast beef on white. He chewed, thinking.

"I don't understand chopsticks," he mused. There was a moment of silence. Dan chewed.

"I don't understand you not understanding chopsticks," Harry told him, winding soba noodles around his chopsticks like an aficionado. Or, a prick, Dan couldn't decide.

"I also don't understand," Dan continued unaffected. "-the coffee noodle whatever combination you have going on over there. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"A lot," Harry answered without so much as breaking stride in his eating activities. "How I like my coffee is the least of my problems."

"You're telling me," Dan berated without any emotion whatsoever.

"I'm not the one that ordered a roast beef sandwich from a Chinese/Vietnamese grocery store. What's wrong with you?"

"Everything."

Harry laughed, nearly snorting noodles and coffee out of his nose. Dan was a bit disappointed that no such thing occurred... not that he wanted to see Harry in any form of discomfort. It just would have been funny on general principle.

"And," Dan went on. "I don't really know that this is roast beef. It could be alley cat for all I know."

"I'm pretty sure you would know," Harry chided him. "Even if your taste buds have been turbine wrecked by whiskey and cigarettes. I hear alley cat is pretty tough on the incisors, actually."

"Did Tan tell you that?"

"Tan tells me a lot of things."

"Did he tell you his kid is blind?"

Harry paused, puzzled; puzzlement wasn't a common contortion for Harry's face.

"His kid isn't blind. He gets around just fine."

"He might get around," Dan interjected. "But he is what he is, and that kid's blind."

"Yeah, and you're eating alley cat."

"I have no confirmation that I'm not eating alley cat."

Harry finished the last of his lunch, stuffed the empty box and spent chopsticks into the bag at his feet, made sure his styrofoam coffee cup was completely drained, then added it to the trash pile. He shook his head at Dan.

"Maybe I'm the one that's blind."

"I'm not discounting that possibility, Harry," Dan told him flatly.

Harry then looked out the car window, seemed distracted.

"Hey," Dan said, still working on the last half of his sandwich. "Am I boring you over here?"

"Nah," Harry replied. "I'm just... thinking."

"This wasn't that deep of a conversation, Harry."

"You'd be surprised. I dunno. I just... I been having nightmares lately."

Dan felt himself stiffen a bit, involuntarily. He'd had nightmares for most of his life. Then, the dreams had just... stopped.

"About what?," Dan asked, surprising himself. He wasn't one to open up, or to admire people that opened up; Harry was different. He was more like a revolving door than a flood gate of information. He didn't really talk too much about his adolescence, either. They had this in common.

"I dunno," Harry began. Stopped.

"Well, that sounds horrifying," Dan smart-assed. Harry was still quiet. Thinking.

"If I get shot today," Dan smirked. "Then you may as well tell me now, and let me finish my sandwich."

"Nah...," Harry smiled back towards Dan in the passenger seat. "It's not stuff I can see. It's just... black."

"Black like 'bleak', or black like... the back of your eyelids?"

"Both."

Dan shook his head. Finished the last of his sandwich, and threw the wrapper out the window. Harry ignored him. Not so much as a word about the littering.

"If you're going to be like this for the remainder of the day, then I'm telling you to get out of the car now, and I'll see you tomorrow's shift."

"Don't throw your shit out the window, it ain't right," Harry seemed to force a smile onto his face to scold Dan.

Dan flung a stack of napkins to follow his sandwich wrapper, and Harry gave him the closest thing to a look of disgust than he could remember ever having received.

"Stop moping."

"Stop littering."

"What do you care?," Dan asked. "It isn't your personal world."

"Baty would care."

"Baty's not here," Dan replied.

"I'm here."

"Well, apparently not for long with dreams like that."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe."

Dan and Harry sat in their unmarked vehicle then, in complete silence between them. City sounds were a meager stream's volume, honking prevalent at a minor distance. And they sat.

Dan decided he would wait until Harry said something else to gauge the situation.

And they sat.

Epoch:Chapter 61

Harry's Complex;

Chinese/Vietnamese Grocery Store. 1985.

May 12, 1:45 PM.

Dan hadn't ever glanced purposefully at the sign outside to catch the name of the Asian store they were in... didn't really care. He was pretty sure it was called 'Chinese/Vietnamese Grocery Store.' The damn place sure did cover its bases, though; everything from toilet paper to Pho. Thankfully, it also had cigarettes; Dan had at least one pack to replace, thanks to Harry and all his 'do-gooding'. The two stood in the midst of the place - a reasonably small establishment, given that it was located at the base of a rather large apartment complex - and Harry chatted with the owner, one Tan Xiu.

Dan appreciated the fact that Tan used his real name, and not some adopted, more socially acceptable one like... Bob. Ed. Pete. But then again, what name does really sound like Tan? He looked to be in his early 30's. His parents had probably come straight from China, do-not-pass-go but Tan was as American as a Happy Meal.

Harry had this wonderful trait of pulling the life stories out of people with his presence alone, so of course he'd gotten to know Tan, his family, his fuck only knows. Dan maintained an open silence he felt presented exactly what he needed the world to know about him. Nothing.

Dan noticed a child that was presumably Tan's son toddling about near him; family business, family daycare. They lived somewhere in the complex, Dan was sure. Must be nice; wake up, roll downstairs to work. Nice if you own the business, anyway. Privacy has its own rewards, and distance greater rewards, yet. Dan had little of either benevolence currently inhabiting his life. Working with Harry for a solid forty a week wasn't the worst thing on the planet, however. If Harry was anything, he was the most honest calliope of a person Dan had yet to encounter. It wasn't the same kind of honesty Dan employed for himself;

Harry's inquisitive, altruistic approach to the world - though he did have incident appropriate shocks of anger from time to time - served him, protected most others around him. Dan was just surprised the world hadn't crashed down upon Harry's shoulders yet. No one who does good things for people gets the food put back on their plate in kind. They get the dark gouges of disappointment that comes with trusting in man's ability to brandish finer feelings like they exist. Into the accretion cycle, earth's chipper shredder with those foolish enough to even want to believe that man is capable of being... better. Dan was the first to tell anyone... People weren't worth the investment in time to get to know, grow to love, grab to hold onto. They just... weren't.

And, of course, here Harry was on minute 8 shooting the breeze. Christ. They called it take out for a reason. Because you pick it up, and you take it out. Simple things. Small things, Harry didn't get. Big things... sure. He grasped the general concept of 'big things'.

Tan's son was oddly... quiet. He was going on about his usual childlike business. But, there was something interesting about him. He wasn't fiddling with things, wasn't looking around at things. It was like the kid was simply... listening to Harry and his father talk. Since there were tons less in the mentally challenged department in Asian culture, Dan wrote that option off nearly immediately. The kid wasn't off. He was just... something.

"He's getting pretty big, now, Tan," Dan heard Harry say. Dan assumed they were speaking of the punk at their feet.

"He is. Takes after me. Big and fast."

Harry chuckled. Dan suppressed the desire to roll his eyes yet again today at Harry and his ability to schmooze.

"Your lovely wife here to help you do your job?," Harry joked. Tan smiled, shook his head though it wasn't a 'no'.

"Every day. That's what you need to look for when you settle down, red," Tan pushed Harry with a hand to his shoulder to chide him, Dan guessed. He didn't like where this yammer fest was heading.

"And what's that?," Harry responded mildly. "Cause your lovely wife is taken, case you didn't notice."

"No. Red, you need someone that will be there for you and spare you the bullshit if you forgot that you rescheduled the morning shipment of rice yesterday for today."

Harry looked at Tan for a moment.

"Should I be looking for those credentials exactly? Cause, if so... y'got a sister I can wear down?"

"Three."

"Uh-huh. Well," Harry chuckled again. "It's a start. Which one's your least favorite? I'll cut ya a break."

Dan phased out on the conversation for a moment, once again staring at the child near them. Wispy, thin black hair, typical baby attire. And... what was it? Then, Dan picked up on the 'interesting.' The child's eyes... they didn't swivel, stare or focus on anything. Dan was no Dr. Spock, so he would leave the child's ocular semantics to the experts. The kid got around fine. Appearances were just that if the results were satisfactory; no one at work cared if he was a complete alcoholic deadbeat as long as he got shit done like it was on fire and he needed to douse the flames.

This, of course, directly involved long, drawn out conversations in a Chinese/Vietnamese Grocery Store for the fuckall inconvenience and dent in his day; just standing around here was a joy. A rapture of the skies. Cigarettes. Dan reminded himself in all his eagerness to get the fuck on with his day to buy cigarettes. And maybe he would be reminding himself in twenty minute intervals as they continued to stand here being civil for civility's sake, simply because Harry had no other goddamn thing today to do other than waste his precious time. 'And Christ knows...,' Dan though idly.

'...the shitfuck least thing any of us has on this planet is time.'

Epoch:Chapter 60

The young doctor looking thing that was suddenly an awkward post teenage thing of a girl flushed as Harry looked upon her; Harry had this way of looking at people. It was as if he exposed them, lifted their very layers of skin from their bodies, the skull and bone away from their brains to reveal all within. Dan still wondered at the process, and why people warmed to it, his honest interest in every last human being to walk the earth. People weren't that great. They just weren't. And yet here Harry was... once more taking an interest. 

"I'm sorry I didn't see you coming," Harry said kindly as the girl still gawked at him, seemingly mystified that the hallway obstacle could form speech. "I would've prepared myself better for impact."

"Uh," the girl actually spoke. "Well...," she stammered, and Dan took another drag from his cigarette. Watched as Ms. Nerves of steel tried to form cohesive thought verbally. "I really was... going a bit too fast. But, you see... I'm needed in the E.R.." 

Harry beamed as the young woman spoke in some kind of British accent, and was suddenly as prim and proper seeming as an English rose as she and his partner stood among medical files and the scuffs of thousands of patients, visitors, doctors, romantic saps. Smokers. 

"I'd bet you're needed just about everywhere you go, miss," Harry squeezed her biceps again, swept the girl's brown hair out of her eye line as easily as if he'd done so a hundred times prior. Before she could respond or even question the motions, Harry was kneeling, picking up her charts, handing them back to her. She didn't respond, but then, Harry was reading her medical badge. "You really gotta watch where you're goin', Dr. Meadehurst," Harry continued easily. A doctor she was, then. 

If Dan had believed in anything specific and/or Deified, he would have thus prayed to never have any contact with the girl on a professional level as to avoid complete and total annihilation through medical procedure. 

"Maybe you should be the one watching," the doctor suddenly retorted with a chuckle. "I'm apparently incapable of any such thing." Harry seemed delighted at the comment. 

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I really must be off now. As I said...," she paused for no apparent reason. "I'm needed." She thought. "In the E.R.," she added to her sentence as if for good measure, duplicating her earlier refrain of purposeful hallway racing.

"Can I be your next emergency?," Harry smiled at her, joking. The young doctor flushed, and her porcelain skin was nearly rose then. Her mouth drew into a warm smile, but she didn't comment. 

Then, she was turning away, heading down the hallway Dan and Harry had come from at a good speed; she hadn't even acknowledged Dan, or the fact that he had been-

"You can't smoke in a hospital, Detective," Dr. Meadehurst said with surprising authority as she darted away, stride brisk. Dan didn't respond. Or stop smoking. 

Harry looked on, after her, and Dan was soon staring holes into the side of his partner's head. Harry stared after the doctor until she was out of sight, then for a bit longer at the empty hallway. Still stared. Dan kept his eyes fixed to the side of Harry's face, nearly his temple specifically. 

"What?," Harry finally uttered, turned to meet his eyes dead on. The ever-present, blithe humor was there, muddled with true entertainment. Dan doubted he was the source of the entertainment. 

"Nothing," Dan commented. "I didn't say anything."

"You're always sayin' something," Harry smirked. "Are you gonna put out that goddamn cigarette, or am I gonna have to make you swallow it?"

"Why? You worried your new girlfriend will come back and yell at me? Make you look bad?"

"I'm pretty sure you look bad enough for the both of us, Dan. You might wanna try sleeping every once in a while. I hear it's healthy."

"I hear the mortality rate for police detectives is going up. You may have a chance with Little Miss Doctor Whatsit yet. Think they'll still consider it a blind date if they wheel you in on a gurney?"

"How'd she know you were a Detective, huh?," Harry asked, ignoring Dan's comment; Harry narrowed his eyes, mock suspicion and possessiveness there.

"God damn if I know," Dan answered honestly. "Why? Jealous?"

"Yeah. Right. Horrible amount of jealously goin' on here for ya, Dan."

The two randomly started walking again, Dan still smoking, and headed around the corner they'd originally been headed down; it was now mercifully free of obstacle. 

"Is there anything else in this hospital you want to flirt with, or are we done for the day?"

"That wasn't flirting," Harry stated firmly. 

"Were you flirting with Evelyn?"

"Yes. She loves it. All girls love it. It makes 'em feel special. Like they have your attention."

"Then what about that scene with Little Miss Doctor Whatsit?"

"That wasn't flirting," Harry was adamant. 

"Uh-huh," Dan mused. Tossed the spent cigarette; it bounced off the left corridor wall, off the floor, rolled, still smoking. Harry didn't say anything about it. Dan smirked, chuckled. 

"Then what would you call it?," Dan asked. "Pillow talk?"

"Nah," Harry shook his head as they rounded another corner. 

"You going to say hi to Bernie like Evelyn wanted you to?"

"Nah," Harry shook his head again. "I told her I wasn't making no promises."

"'Don't wanna get tied down or nothin''," Dan mocked Harry in his own inflections, quoting him. Harry shook his head, this time humored, dismissive. 

"I could think of some fun ways to get tied down that you may want to try," Dan continued to jab Harry. "She's the one with the lab coat and the stethoscope. I don't know what the fuck else to tell you. You shouldn't have to get yourself shot to hook up with someone who was actually flirting back with you."

"You think she was flirting back?," Harry asked. Dan smiled with vicious satisfaction, and Harry fumed without meaning the anger. 

"I hate you, fucker," he told Dan without the slightest honesty. 

"Uh-huh," Dan went to light up another cigarette. 

Harry promptly snatched the pack from him and threw it in one, fluid motion into a garbage receptacle marked 'bio hazard'. Dan just looked at him. Reached into another pocket. Pulled out another pack, this one fresh. Began unwrapping it. Harry snorted, shook his head. 

"Flirting ain't the right word, alright?," Harry continued to protest. 

"Then get out a Thesaurus, Wordsworth, and tell me what the right word for that fruitless little scene was. You're sheltered and overworked, I get it, but-"

"There's a difference between flirting with somebody, and hitting on somebody," Harry began. "Then... there's... whatever just happened back there. That was different."

"Then why didn't you get her number?," Dan asked. Harry was silent. He thought. Walked beside Dan. Exhaled. 

"Uh-huh," Dan said. Handed Harry a cigarette and his own lighter. Harry lit up without another word. Then the two were nearing the 'EXIT' doors. Harry took a long drag, and exhaled a tight emission of smoke from his pursed lips. He looked at Dan, considering. 

"I did mention that I hate you. Right?"

"Uh-huh. But that isn't going to get any more cigarettes out of me, Romeo."

Harry laughed. Flicked ash. And the two went through the automatic hospital doors, far from the crowds of the main entrance and the emergency room. 

Epoch:Chapter 59

Flushing General Hospital. 1985.

10:26 A.M..

It was obvious to Dan that Harry was letting him lead the way as they traversed the seemingly endless corridors to make their escape from the confines of the hospital. Harry knew the hulking mass of illness and injury like the back of his hand, having been a part of the Baty household since the age of... 15? Something like that. No, it was later. 17. Whatever. It didn't matter. Harry was Harry. And he was just behind him. Dan fumbled with the contents of his left interior pocket. Again. Reached into his front side pocket. Fumbled. Found what he was looking for.

Then, he slowly pulled his lighter and Palls in one fistful from their hiding place. He proceeded to pull a cigarette from the pack, insert it into the left side of his mouth. Replace the pack. He was then lighting the single Pall in the midst of the hallway; he pulled smoke into his throat, his lungs in short, nearly desperate pulses. Waited. Exhaled. Shoved the lighter back into his pocket. Waited.

"Uh...," Harry was finally saying with the warmth of a smile in his tone. "Dan... I dunno if you've ever been told, but... there ain't no smoking allowed in a hospital."

Dan ignored his partner, and kept the cigarette lit. Smoked.

"Oxygen tanks," Harry continued. "Volatile substances..., you know you could blow somebody up." The humor and the unlikeliness of such an event taking place were equally apparent in Harry's tone. Dan still remained silent. Smoked as they neared the end of a particularly long hallway. "They could sue the city."

"Now, that's the best news I've heard all day," Dan finally responded.

They rounded the corner, and though Dan was in the lead, Harry somehow managed to run directly into a swiftly moving bundle of white and medical charts; usually, when a doctor assails a person, he or she has a diploma in one hand and a mound of jargon only a medical board of directors could love lining their mouth. Dan had never before witnessed an actual assault. Whatever charts the young thing had been looking over were then scattered upon the scuffed corridor floor as she let them go, so startled was she at the impact. Doctors. Such hearty individuals. But no... she was too young... she couldn't actually be a doctor.

Dan looked quietly on, still puffing smoke, as the slight little thing of a girl tried desperately to untangle herself from Harry's arms, his jacket and tie; the girl hadn't even looked up and acknowledged Harry as a person apart from a hallway obstacle; but then, the human brain doesn't function normally anymore when jam packed with pancake stacks, phonebook type wads of definitions and bodily function.

Human interaction becomes like shadow boxing when paired with too much time hitting the books and too little time being a person, acting like a person, inhabiting the same social circuit of humanity. The macro equivalent social suffering most doctors are afflicted by is replicated in similar learning environments, minus the human decay and sterilization; it can be witnessed by observing lawyers, social workers... psychologists. College students would fall to the same fate if not offset by otherworldly amounts of drugs and alcohol consumption.

This little miss Doctor Whatsit looked like she was still in college. Harry smiled at the young creature's struggle, looked down upon her. After a moment, he gently put both his hands upon her biceps - covered in lab coat as they were - and squeezed just a bit. She actually stopped, and slowly peered upward, chestnut brown hair amazingly frazzled for being straight as a poker. Her doe-brown eyes met Harry's - the calm, steady blue - and for a moment, nothing else of note occurred. Dan waited. Still waited. And nothing else was happening; the two just stared at each other. Then, Harry smiled as the girl in the lab coat that couldn't possibly be a doctor yet gawked at him.

"Hey, there Miss," he said. "What's your rush?"

Epoch:Chapter 58

Flushing General Hospital. 1985.
May 12, 10:02 A.M.

"Thank you for dragging me to the hospital this morning, Harry," Dan snorted as he trudged after his partner, down the long oppressive hallway. The sallow lights made Dan's skin look an impressive shade of jaundiced, he thought. Or maybe it was the residual affects of self-sadistic alcohol consumption.

"Aw, you act like you never been here before," Harry smiled. "That's something. Usually, you roll everywhere like you own the joint."
"I hate hospitals," Dan stated flatly, uncaring in his ignorant tirade.
"I hate whiners."
"Then you better shut up while you still can... because anyone I pistol whip is going to be whining like a dog."
"Right," Harry chuckled. "I know how much you love a good pistol whip, too. But I'm gonna have to disappoint you today."
"You disappoint me every day, Harry. How would today be any different?"
Harry simply laughed, tossing his head back a bit. The action was carried out in either complete acceptance or complete disregard, Dan felt.

Then they were nearing Eve's office. It wasn't the world Harry had asked for today. It'd just been... a half an hour. Or so. Just to say 'hello'. Dan really couldn't assassinate the sentiment level, but the degrees of effort people showed for each other... it was just too much sometimes. There was time for 'hello' off the clock. But, Dan had conceded for the privilege of a change in scenery, a sabbatical from the station and its lack of coffee. Dan didn't really see the sense in the act in itself, however; it wasn't like she was his real mother or any-

Harry knocked politely upon the door of Eve's office, just below the sign that read ''Evelyn Baty, P.H.D., Head of Traumatology" on it. She was at her desk, fist full of papers; Eve turned around easily in her office chair, not completely diverting her attention from what she was doing. The wheels of the chair squeaked a bit. Nothing but luxury for the higher-ups here.

Dan wondered inwardly where hard work got you at all except into a lofty, squeaky office chair. Anywhere? Somewhere. Nowhere. Wheels were suddenly a freeing concept for all work related furniture everywhere.

Harry's step-mother lowered her glasses just a bit and smiled kindly at their combined presence.

She was a full ten years younger than Harry's step dad, but the difference in age mattered little; she either kept Baty young, or he added the right amount of levity to her lifeline. She looked vitally youthful herself, the stress of the job a poor opponent against her physical beauty, her love of her work. Eve removed her glasses, and dropped another five years at least as Dan was looking at the woman. He shook his head. He had no idea how an aging Wide Eye Detective and a steadily advancing, career savvy Traumatologist made their busy lives together work.

He guessed he didn't care, because the thoughts and wonderings stopped there. Maybe there simply wasn't too much else to wonder about; beyond a lot of things that were uncertain or false in his world, it was quite obvious when things were genuine or heartfelt as brazen as such things were in Dan's opinion. Chris and Evelyn Baty were painfully obvious, almost nauseating. Dan shook his head again. It made his stomach wild to think about settling down with anyone, absolutely vile and wild. It wasn't Olivia's doing. It was simply how he felt.

The anti-amorous displays of Dan's own parents had been worthy of arena seats, a full entourage of roadies, standing ovations. He preferred small venues, standing room only.

"Harry... Dan," she smiled. "What are you doing here? You're both too busy for courtesy calls."
"I have time for a call today, Evie," Harry chuckled, plucking an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket. Dan watched as his partner leaned over, kissed Eve on the cheek, and handed it to her. "Happy birthday," he told her warmly.

Oh. Of course. Now, the request made sense. That made Eve-
"Twenty-nine. Right?," Harry smiled widely. Eve blushed, taking the cream colored, small card in her delicate hand.
"Something like that," she said. Dan rolled his eyes. Baty was pushing fifty. Harry was such a kiss ass. Eve gently pulled the envelope open, no glue seal to fight, and slid the card by an edge out of it. She opened the card, read deliberately as Harry sat on the edge of her desk. She flicked the edge of the card periodically with her right thumb. Flicked. Flicked.

Dan remained just outside the doorway; it wasn't intruding he was worried about. He had no lust for family affairs, no appreciation for the spectacle of them. People did stupid things for stupid, shallow reasons, and trite little applications of sentimental bravado were simply indoctrinated into society, commercialized to bring laud and multiple paychecks to modern retail establishments.

"You can come inside if you want to, Dan," Eve said suddenly, calmly. Dan straightened as she looked up from her card. Harry looked to his 'step mother', then tuned his attention directly to Dan. Harry raised his eye brows at him. Dan felt suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable, not something he felt often, or let himself feel as a rule. He winced a smile. Took one full step forward, into her office.

"There," she said gently. "Not so bad, huh."
For someone only just eight years his senior, Dan couldn't get past the nearly ancient levels of grace that Eve exuded at nearly all times. He could only imagine what she was like up to her elbows in human gore, what eloquence was possible with life at a tangible viscosity, a temperature, a rhythm.
"You know Dan, Eve," Harry said easily, jumping down lightly to his feet. "He never wants to wear out his welcome."
Dan eyed Harry as if to murder him, and Harry chuckled. Eve looked into Dan's eyes, and he felt the insolence in him mute considerably. He didn't smile, but he let his features soften.

"What do you and Baty have planned for tonight?," Harry asked her. "Anything? Ten minute dinner in the cafeteria?"
"Oh, better than that," she told him, sounding the slightest bit... excited. Giddy, even.
"We're both getting off shift near midnight tonight." She leaned forward, and lowered her voice conspiratorially, as if a regular speaking tone would upset the delicate nature of upcoming events. "He's going to fix me french toast."

Then, she sat up in her chair. Exhaled. Harry beamed as she continued her thought.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been... since that man has cooked for me?"
"Well, if it makes ya feel any better...," Harry said warmly. "I don't think he's cooked for himself in about seven years. And that was because I'd been studying three days straight for finals, and I told him the only thing that would stop me was a grilled cheese on rye. We talked constellations and calc over Swiss and Killians."

Eve laughed, a lovely melodic sound emitting from her slender neck.
"I'm thinking breakfast in bed at around one tomorrow morning," she sighed.
Harry nodded his approval as Dan remained perfectly still, hoping his presence would be forgotten.

"Gotta have something for dessert," Harry retorted. "Huh, Dan?"
Dan went over minor sources of discomfort to inflict upon his partner as Harry eyeballed him with purposeful mirth, a spirit of hazing. "Besides whiskey, I mean."
"I consider whiskey more of a main course, actually," Dan heard himself joke without really putting forth the effort to do so. Harry lit up like a Christmas tree, and Dan rebuked himself for inciting the man to continue the merry making.

Instead, Harry merely directed his focus back towards Eve.
"We're gonna get rolling, Evie. I just wanted to stop in and save you from your paperwork for about thirty seconds."
"I consider that a birthday gift in itself," she said standing up, laying her card upon her desk, still out of its envelope. She gave Harry a hug, and patted him on the back. "Be sure to say 'hi' to Bernie on the way out. You know how it is."
"I think I can handle that much," Harry said. "No promises, though. I'm a free spirit. Don't wanna get tied down or nothin'."
"I know these things," she replied. "It wouldn't kill you to get out sometimes, though."
"Uh-huh."

Eve then turned to Dan, and nodded to him. "I'm glad to see you too, Dan. You look well."
"And you're a good liar for someone that's only twenty-nine," Dan said, surprising himself again. Eve seemed just as surprised, but smiled at him. Harry remained silent.

Epoch: Chapter 57

May 12th, 1985. 8:15 A.M..

Dan ambled with purpose upon the worn sidewalk leading to Harry's apartment in Queens on Main Street, strode as if he owned the damn thing. For all he cared, he did own it, and everything around it; none of it was worth much just from a good glance. Harry laughed at him; Dan was certain his partner was laughing directly at him, and at no other spectacle in their current vicinity. The throes of modern decay lapped at their heels, nipped at their necks in blithe gusts of air, the brine of the street.


"What?," Dan asked with a thread of irritation cutting into his tone. He'd been up for four hours; The wear of the whiskey wasn't there yet.
"Nothin'," Harry said with mirth as he smiled. "I can't decide if it's the 'fuck you' walk that you use to get everywhere or the 'fuck you' look on your face that makes me like you so much, Dan."
Harry laughed again. Dan went to rebuke him, and Harry pushed him like a buddy would, and caused Dan to break stride slightly. He pushed him again. Laughed.

"Stop that or I'll shoot you," Dan said. "It will be self defense."
"Uh-huh," Harry chuckled, obviously amused. "It ain't my fault the damn break room coffee machine is broke."
"Yes it is," Dan said with absolutely no truth in the accusation.
"I blame Dar," Harry commented, joking. "He don't know how to make coffee."
"He 'don't know' how to do anything," Dan barked. Harry laughed again.
"Christ," he said. "You're making fun of me already and the sun's only been up for like... two seconds. Liv kick you outta her bed last night?"
"You wish," Dan answered without bitterness. Harry smirked. He'd been friends with Olivia since the two of them had been kids. Dan didn't so much as view Harry as a threat to his relationship with her. The bastard had even introduced them like the sadistic viper he was. Harry, like he knew most everything, had known the two of them would hit it off.

"And don't think I owe you anything for that woman," Dan declared. "I don't care if we're on the moon and the only coffee pot in the solar system is broken. You're getting nothing from me in compensation. I'm keeping all my moon rations to myself."
At this, Harry laughed out loud, and slapped Dan on the back.
"That's it," Dan bristled. "I'll give you a running start. I'm getting my gun out."

-&7&-


Harry's apartment was as close to a safe haven as Dan had ever allowed, beside his own Brooklyn apartment not too far away. Harry's place was also convenient to a fault. It was contained within a large complex owned by an older couple; it towered over a second hand bookstore and a Chinese/Vietnamese grocery store located at the base of the same building. Going outside wasn't even necessary if an inhabitant needed to visit either location; the bottom level of the domicile acted as the segue to both. 

This was all entertaining information, but helped little when it came to present matters of caffeine deprivation; Dan stood watching Harry's coffee pot making blood clot black coffee.

"You can sit, ya know," Harry chided Dan as he entered his own kitchen. "The coffee's making itself." 

"Nothing makes itself, Harry," Dan said, meaning it. Harry just shook his head. 

"Suit yourself," he said. "I'll be on my fire escape smoking."

There was a low rumbling sound then; it wasn't quite a human sound. It certainly wasn't an unexpected sound, either. Harry chuckled, looking downward. His large, gray cat was at his feet, looking up at him. The feline's glance wasn't cast in search of nourishment or praise; the cat simply adored Harry. Dan didn't really understand the semantics of pet ownership. However... Harry made it seem like a staple of life itself. 

"Hey, Rival," Harry addressed his cat, bent down bending his knees to do so and scratched under it's chin; the cat was immediately purring, sated. "We surprised ya by coming back here this morning, didn't we?"

The cat rubbed it's great head against Harry's hand and wrist, then again, seemed to be smiling. It seemed happy against all odds. The purring grew louder, and the white stripe upon the large cat's chin was bolder to Dan as he casually watched the morbidly sap ridden scene. 

"Aw," Harry said. "That's my boy. Watching the house."

"Apartment," Dan corrected like the asshole he was. Harry chuckled again. 

"Apartment," Harry repeated. Dan shook his head at his slightly older partner. Nothing ever upset Harry. 

"Alright," Harry told the cat, standing up straight once more. "You keep Dan company. I'm gonna go smoke." And Harry went to do so. The damn cat actually stayed in the kitchen and sat, 'plunk' next to Dan. He looked down into the cat's great yellow eyes. It stared at him as if it was his equal. Purred. Waited, watched him. Dan glanced to the coffee pot. To the cat, to the pot, back again. 

"Look," Dan said to Rival. "You can sit there. But you butt your leopard head against these pants, and no one will know where you went or why I have a new violin."

The cat still stared, unphased.

"Good," Dan said, venting his stare back at the coffee pot as it continued to fill. "I'm glad we had this talk."

There was the slight sound of laughter, muffled, from the living room area. Dan sighed, shook his head. 

"I hate you, Harry," Dan raised his voice slightly. The laughter continued in spurts between what were presumably drags off a cigarette. 

-&7&-

Harman's Residence. Exterior. 1993. 

The Koi Pond. 2:25 A.M..

Kevin stood beside the lovely, remarkably traditional pond outside Harman's ornate homestead; Carver Wintermute was at his side. Kevin knew the man was being careful to stand directly beside him; Carver stood neither behind nor in front of him out of respect. It was unlikely the man even considered himself as a known threat to Kevin's safety... but the gesture was a gracious one; it didn't go unnoticed. 

"You're that worried of what I think of you then?," Kevin chided him. Carve smiled. 

"I don't worry. I'm aware of most things, though. It would be unfitting of me to be anywhere but directly at your side, Kevin. Especially considering the fact that you could probably take all the buttons off my shirt without fraying any of the threads."

"Is that a come on?," Kevin managed a joke to Carver's obvious amusement. 

"I'd say it's a fair assessment," Carve retorted. "I have an associate who speaks very highly of your prowess with a knife."

Kevin raised his eyebrows at the man. 

"And who might that be? Does this person claim to have known me?"

"He does," Carve smiled. "I'm sure you must get that a lot."

"Mmm," Kevin conceded as he thought. "I got around a bit in England, unfortunately."

"Was it really unfortunately?," Carve asked. Kevin relinquished a slight smile. 

"In some places only," he responded. "Who is this person again?"

"Morgan Devonshire."

Kevin stiffened, actually lowered his glasses as he looked back, directly into Carve's face; Carver met his gaze easily. His eyes were warm, and even seemed tempered for such glances seeking truth, confirmations of such truth. 

"Morgan?," Kevin found himself repeating, mildly in awe. "Is-? Is he here? In the states?"

"In this very state, actually," Carve told him as Kevin replaced his glasses to conceal his earnest eyes once more. "He's never far from my side... or Harry's. Tonight was a special allowance, so... he stayed back to guard Curtis' estate, keep the 'men' in check. He's third in command after Harry, and myself. He's earned it."

Kevin smiled proudly. 

"Is the lad well?," Kevin asked, wondering honestly. 

"He is. I'd be glad to tell him that you're the same, if you want me to."

"I do want that," Kevin said. "Thank you, Carve. I've not seen Morgan... since..."

Kevin thought. 

"'88," Carver replied easily. 

"Oh. He's told you, then."

"No," Carver smiled. Kevin chuckled, nodded. 

"I see," he said.

"Do you?," Carve asked. Kevin turned to face him once more.

"Yes," Kevin replied. "I believe I do."

"Good. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," Kevin answered honestly. 

"Thanks."

Carver fished in his right jacket pocket retrieving a pack of clove cigarettes labeled 'Black'. He was immediately pulling one of the cloves out, replacing the pack, holding a metallic flip lighter with his left hand. He flicked his wrist effortlessly, lighting up with a distinct crackle. 

"Do you want one?," Carve asked, again politely. 

"No thanks," Kevin told him. "Gave smoking up with my punk days."

"If you say so," Carve poked fun. Waited. 

"Oh," Kevin shrugged. "Bollux."

Carve was then taking the pack out again, offering Kevin a cigarette. Kevin nodded as he pulled a black as sin clove out of the pack, and Carve was quick to flick his lighter to flame. Again, Kevin nodded, put his right hand gently upon Carver's left as he dragged until he was satisfied with the amount of orange light glowing at the tip of the filter. Kevin fought off a shock of goosebumps as Carver smiled down upon his neck and flipped his metal lighter closed once more before putting it back in his left jacket pocket. 

"Thanks," Kevin said as he exhaled smoke, flicked the cigarette to ash like a pro with his left thumb. Again, Carver smiled. 

"The pleasure's mine. It's always a pleasure to have someone to smoke with."

"I don't know about that, Carve," Kevin offered. 

"What don't you know?," Carve asked with a breadth of kindness Kevin wasn't prepared for. Kevin shrugged, took another drag. 

"Dunno."

Then, Carve chuckled, sparking Kevin to follow suit shortly thereafter. Before Kevin could fully think of a corresponding response, Carver was using his right hand to place his own cigarette in the corner of his mouth; Carve then took hold of the shades upon Kevin's face, and blithely pulled them from the bridge of Kevin's nose, folded them, looking into Kevin's eyes. 

"There," Carve told him calmly. He folded Kevin's glasses and tucked them by a rim so that they hung from his own front jacket pocket. "Do you know now?"

Kevin blinked, relishing in the lack of self consciousness he felt. 

"Yes," he said quietly, exhaling relief. "Quite a feeling, really."

Carve smiled, taking another drag, and glanced downward towards the koi. 

"You've known Harry a good while then," Kevin more stated than asked.

"Yes. A very good while."

"And... he's known Dan...?"

"For a much shorter time. But I could never touch the relationship the two of them have between them. Harry split through Dan's armored exterior like light travels through a keyhole in a dungeon. I don't think anyone else ever has."

"How did Harry accomplish that then?," Kevin asked, feeling the freedom from weight that came with his lack of ocular concealment. 

"Harry's Harry," Carve grinned appreciatively. "That's about all I can really offer in the form of an explanation, Kevin."

Kevin nodded, took another long drag inhaling the smoke into his capacity driven lungs. He didn't so much as cough. 

"That seems explanation enough from what I was able to gather," Kevin mused. "He seems to be a remarkable fellow."

"If he wasn't straight, I'd claim the man for the duration of my existence," Carver joked. Kevin glanced up, watched Carver as he went to speak again. Carver shook his head with humor. 

"As it is," he said. "I'll just have to be on the lookout for a successor."

Kevin ran his left hand along the back of his neck, up and down. 

"Ah," he said. "That will be a vigil, then."

"Perhaps," Carver offered. "But the word 'vigil' implies the act of waiting or hesitation."

Kevin was gazing more into Carver's motions, his mannerisms than paying attention to his own cigarette as it began to burn out. "And what's there to wait for?," Carve finished his thought.

"I don't know," Kevin said. 

"Are you sure?," Carve asked. "Are you sure you don't know?"

Kevin exhaled in what was meant to be a sort of laugh. Then, Carve leaned forward, taking Kevin's chin in his left hand, tilting his face upward a bit, and he kissed him, both of their cigarettes still burning; none were present to intrude save the koi in the basin of their small pond, and they were more than likely asleep. No more words were spoken between Carver and Kevin for some time, but the silence was incredible. 

Epoch: Chapter 56

Harman's Residence. 1993. March 25th, 2:12 A.M..

The moderately young man strode easily into the main hallway of Harman's estate-like home. Harman smiled, approaching him and his compatriot, a man Harman already knew as ancient. Timeless; the compatriot's name was Carver Wintermute. He acted as Harry's personal protection. But the allegiance was much deeper than that, nearly pristine. It was deep, sworn friendship between them, and it showed, nearly upon their clothing. Carver would deliberately kill and die for Harrison Bloom. But that wasn't the request this early morn. Quite the opposite.

Harry's hair was a dark red, short and shorn very efficiently. He looked professional, acted professional... but with a casual ease that betrayed everything he stood for. Well. Everything that he was portraying; but the light shone through. Harry wasn't like the others. And he never would be.

Harman extended a hand to his main guest; it wasn't usually customary for a host to shake the hand of a sub associate, but just after Harry shook firmly, Harman extended a hand to Carver, as well. Carver shook, nodded with as much authority as Harry. It was no wonder Curtis had appointed Wintermute as Harry's second. Then, Harman was redirecting his gaze to the main guest in his home.

"Harry," Harman said kindly, even at the late hour. "I can only imagine your conflict, but truly... thank you for coming here."
Harry actually smiled. It was a shockingly warm smile, and transcended the experiences Harman knew of with regard to the man.

"How could I not come, huh? I just wish...," Harry paused, mused. Then he was speaking once more, the Bronx lacing his words. "I guess you know already, don't you."
Harman clasped his hands in front of him.
"I know that your very presence is a volume, former detective Bloom. A resounding low hum, like that in a buddhist temple. Have you been to one?"
Harry chuckled, and Harman couldn't help but smile, already knowing he had been.
"That's where these come from," Harry motioned to his right wrist; pale green, slender wooden beads laid upon it. Harman nodded.
"They've been blessed, I see," he said. Again, Harry smiled.
"That's what the guy in the market said. I guess I believed him."
"You were wise in doing so," Harman replied. Then, he paused. "Allow me to oust one of my best men. He's been attending to Dan."
Harry nodded, troubled mildly - more preoccupied. Then, before Harman had a chance, one of the nearest hallway doors was opening.

Kevin entered the hallway, nodded to Harman, closed the door behind him quietly. Then, he addressed Harry, Carver. Carver once more, though with little other than a gesture. Each nodded back to him, in turn.
"I was just speaking of you, Kevin," Harman gloated. "We all know you know names, reputations. And visa versa. Hmm?" Kevin nodded, with respect.
"Well," Harman continued. "Former Detective Bloom is going to take over your post for a time. Do entertain Mr. Wintermute, won't you?"
Kevin and Carver eyed each other mildly.
"Of course," Kevin said easily. There was a bit of fatigue in his tone, but it was only slightly laced. Carver looked to Harry, who... squeezed his shoulder, telling him all was well. Carver nodded, and Harry easily... took the doorknob to the green room in his hand, turning it. Then, he was ducking inside. He closed the door gently behind him.

Harman was speaking to Kevin shortly thereafter.
"I'll be in my study. Ben will be in later. Con still isn't staying awake as long as I'd like. I may have to call in higher help if all this keeps up. But if I'm needed, don't hesitate. I'm not on so high a pedestal that I can't be reached."
Kevin nodded, and Harman walked slowly away - there was no lethargy in the stride, merely thought. And soon, he was within his study.

Carver spoke to Kevin quickly thereafter, his voice low. He didn't whisper to conceal his words, he merely tempered his voice to lend an appropriate degree of calm to the vicinity.
"Do you think some fresh air would be out of the question? I can feel that Harry's safe here. And... he could use a little privacy right now. He doesn't have the benefit of such at great length."

"I don't suppose so," Kevin responded. "Must be a full time job for you, then... keeping watch of him."

Wintermute actually grinned, with some character, even. Panache. 

"It's mostly that I have to keep up with him. You must encounter similar challenges here."

"Yes, you're correct in noticing."

Kevin hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Thinking. Nodding.
"I don't find a problem with a stroll nightside, Carver," he said, British accent prevalent. "It's mild out... And I dare say I could use the air myself."
"We've come at a good time then. And it's Carve," Wintermute corrected blithely. "Please. Call me Carve."
Again, Kevin nodded, and he walked towards the exterior, his charge only shortly behind him.

-&7&-

Harry walked into the calmly lit room slowly; his eyes didn't leave the figure contained in the bed towards the left of the entrance. He ignored the oxygen, the sounds of breath, acknowledged it only in its hope, the brilliance of life as it still remained. Harry noticed the chair just to the side of the bed and made his way towards it; he sat in it easily, his eyes still drawn towards their initial source. Dan was unconscious, breathed slowly in and out; an oxygen mask encompassed his features, the back of his head was bandaged. Harry looked then, towards his EKG monitor; Dan's vitals were... dim. Weak.

Harman knew healers the world over; Harry had heard of several, himself. Not mental healers - empaths - like Carver. But true healers. Yet... Harman hadn't called them to Dan's aid. He had called... Miles. If there was a wrong here, it was abstract. There were agreements between both Harman and Curtis that Harry knew nothing of. His only necessary knowledge was... that Dan was hurt. And... that there had been allowances that made seeing him possible. What more was important? Not a whole lot in Harry's mind. Harman had made sure Curtis was away before calling. Miles was a good kid; he wouldn't tell. He'd gotten the news to Carver straight away.

Harry watched Dan as he rested for quite a while before moving at all. Then, he reached out, and squeezed his former partner's arm in friendship, concern. Maybe just to make sure... Dan was real. Harry hadn't seen him since... everyone else had told him Dan was dead. And he'd protested against it. And they'd just seen it as shock. Baty had known; he'd realized it just after Harry had quit the job. That had been...? Four years ago. A little less? A little more? It was hard to remember. Time was painful, incandescent. Moving to experience in its quiet moments. This was one of those moments. Usually, Dan had been the one stationed at his side in Harry's own bouts with injury; Harry had willingly taken severe damage and pain in Dan's stead more than one time. Dan had his own ways of returning the favor. Staying in constant vigil of Harry... had been one of them.

"Hey," Harry whispered, smiling the word into warmth. "It's been a while, huh? I guess you've been busy." Harry chuckled quietly. "Guess I've been busy, too. Doubt you've kept up with my news forecast, though. Can't help but keep up with yours."

Dan still breathed deeply, contained in his inner void as Harry spoke to him. Harry smiled again, maybe in quiet wage against stress this time.

"I missed you, you know. Well, maybe ya don't. Guess I didn't help, last time we saw each other. I was just sore is all. Can't blame me, can ya? It's not every day a man loses the partner in crime he was meant to have, huh? I mean...," Harry stopped, looked down, at Dan's wrist, his gun hand, relaxed. "I guess 'crime' was the wrong word... but I don't think it is now, right? I, uh... I don't do the same things for the same reasons no more, Dan. I ain't sorry. But... well... for a lot of things and a lot of people... I sure am. You... I understand where you were coming from. On my end? I got... so much... to atone for. So much... I'm proud of. Guess I don't even really understand it. Maybe I shouldn't have to. I'm just... gonna sit with you for a while, alright? And if you don't say anything... that's alright. You don't have to say anything. I can do all the talking."

There was the sound of the oxygen, the sound of Dan breathing. And Harry was sated. He squeezed Dan's arm again. And he watched, as suddenly, Dan breathed easier than he had been before.