Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

LIMBIC SYSTEM – Oh dear, oh dear. You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – You’ve *really* done it.

YOU – What? What did I do?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – You can’t go back out there. The slow decay’s been bad enough as is. But you’ve gone rancid now, brother. You’re pickled through.

LIMBIC SYSTEM – Steeped in agony, meat leaching up hunger. Oversaturated, pouring from your skin.

You’ve really done it now…

PAIN THRESHOLD – They’re right. Don’t do it. Don’t wake up.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – It’s too late now. You’re shaking yourself awake. Those awful clouds in your mind are parting, and new ones are rolling in.

YOU – What kind of clouds?

LIMBIC SYSTEM – Dark and angry. Solid as iron and windswept into silk threads all at once. At least the old ones watered the parched land. Nothing will come from these but wind and darkness.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – Delirium, superstar. You feel corpse-bloated with sensation. It’s nausea, it’s pain, fear, hunger, floating around in half-set aspic. 

LIMBIC SYSTEM – There’s a cage in your chest. The bird inside is dead, but the bars rattle, rattle, rattle.

YOU – Delirium? Why!? I’ve been sober since Monday!

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – And there’s the rub.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – Your body and brain are folding. Your unoiled joints are splitting with friction.

ENCYCLOPEDIA – You are experiencing severe alcohol withdrawals.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – So get some in you!

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN – Not gonna happen, not in a state like this.

PERCEPTION (Hearing) – Your alarm cuts through the clouds-

PAIN THRESHOLD – MAKE IT STOP.

ALARM CLOCK – Its blaring tone beats its way into your head, stabbing, gripping, burning.

YOU – (Shut it off.)

ALARM CLOCK – You throw a shaking hand towards the clock, miraculously finding the “off” button after a few desperate attempts.

ENDURANCE – It has never been worse.

PERCEPTION – You keep your eyes shut, but light from the window shines red through your lids, burning like a not-quite-cool pot.

Your body is wracked with shivers. Harder tremors come at intervals. New liters of sweat join the old in the fibers of your disco clothes.

ENDURANCE – Nausea fills you. You can barely think, barely breathe.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Don’t say I didn’t at least *try* to prevent this.

VOLITION – Alright, yes, this is bad, but you can take it. Pause a moment, get your shit together, and everything will be fine. You’ve been acclimating for the last two days. It’s just one more, very large hurdle.

[VOLITION - IMPOSSIBLE] Acclimate.

VOLITION [Impossible: Failure] – No, it’s too much. You might as well try to shot-put a lorry. You lay there, eyes closed, sweating, for about fifteen minutes. It doesn’t get better, in fact it seems like it’s getting worse. Each heavy breath presses against your stuttering heart and roiling stomach. Gags and gasps turn into dry coughs. Your skull closes in on your brain, crushing out the last bits of composure.

PAIN THRESHOLD – Enough! Enough! Pass out again! Quickly!

HALF LIGHT – Don’t! You’re dying! Can’t you feel the quarter rests? Your heart pounds syncopated. You’ll die if you sleep.

YOU – It can’t be worse than this.

VOLITION – Don’t say things like that! You’re Superstar Cop, remember? You love it here!

PAIN THRESHOLD – No he doesn’t.

YOU – Please, stop. It’s all so loud…

VOLITION – Loud? Us?

PERCEPTION – Can confirm. Something is terribly wrong with his sensory interfacing.

INTERFACING – What, me?

PERCEPTION – No. The inputs. The hearing. Presumably the vision. It's too loud, or too quiet, or it just doesn't come through right. Short-term memory encoder is shot. I blame petri-dish.

INLAND EMPIRE – One foot stands here, the other in a restless grave as the world shivers and twists, and your mind grows louder. Once, your veins were filled with 80-proof gasoline, now they are empty. The pressure is gone, you collapse on yourself, and the world collapses with you.

PERCEPTION – See what I mean?

INLAND EMPIRE – Your mattress sways unsteadily. The river outside and the sea beyond rises, flooding everything up to the edge of your sheets. Shapes swim against the red backs of your eyelids – azure, tyrian, crimson, gold. Something is there, you’re sure of it, but its shape eludes you.

The surface of the rising tide stills to a mirror’s shine. Then: ripples. A feather brushes the surface. Something moves across the sea, towards your borrowed shack, all eyes and fire. Thick glass lenses and muzzle flash. Four silver flowers, spinning…

OLD WOODEN BOARDS – Outside, there is a sound, familiar to you by now. The boards creak under thick rubber.

KIM KITSURAGI – His footsteps are louder than you’d expect from a man of his build, weighed down by the steel in the toes of his boots.

The sound stops in front of your door. Then, he knocks.

“Detective?” He calls, voice raised. “Are you in there?”

YOU – (Answer him.)

You attempt to yell a confirmation, but through the awful haze and nausea, all that comes out is verbal vomit. You let out a loud, choking groan as you hold back empty bile.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective?”

SUGGESTION – The slightest hint of worry.

REACTION SPEED – He heard you.

KIM KITSURAGI – There is a long moment of silence. Then, the doorknob rattles.

INTERFACING – You locked it last night.

KIM KITSURAGI – “Harry?”

YOU – “I’m here.”

Your voice shoots out of you all at once, loud and rushed.

KIM KITSURAGI – “Are you alright?”

YOU – “No.”

PAIN THRESHOLD – A thousand times no.

KIM KITSURAGI – There’s another shorter pause. The answer wasn’t unexpected, but it’s not the one he wanted to hear.

He tries the handle again. It stands firm. “Can you unlock the door?”

EMPATHY – There is still only a hint of it in his voice, but his worry is mounting.

YOU – “No.”

KIM KITSURAGI – A single footstep on the wood as he backs up. “Ok. I’m going to see if the washerwoman has a spare key. I’ll be right back.”

HALF LIGHT – Don’t go!

KIM KITSURAGI – He is already gone. His footfalls fade away, and you are alone.

YOU – (Wait.)

Minutes pass, drawing longer with each skip of your palpitating heart. The delirium has a stranglehold on you, shaking you, shaking fear into you. Time has slipped away entirely, but you don’t dare open your eyes to look at the clock. Your mouth is desert-dry. Your tongue is sandpaper.

INLAND EMPIRE – Water, water everywhere. And not a drop to drink.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You need it. You'll always need it.

OLD WOODEN BOARDS – Finally, sound. The Lieutenant’s footsteps on the creaking stairs.

KIM KITSURAGI – “Detective, I’m coming in.”

The doorknob rattles once, then turns smoothly. The door opens with a rusted whine, and the Lieutenant steps inside.

SAVOIR FAIRE – Play it cool. Hold on to the shred of respect he still has for you.

YOU – “Kim. Hey.”

It comes out strained.

KIM KITSURAGI – “...”

SUGGESTION – It would be easier to gauge his response if you could see him.

YOU – (Open your eyes.)

You open your eyes, and pull the sheet away from your face. Morning light shines through the window and onto a bare floor. There is no water. The shapes fade from your vision. The Lieutenant stands just over the threshold, closing the door gently behind him, looking at you.

COMPOSURE – His face is the same as ever.

SAVOIR FAIRE – It occurs to you that you probably don’t look all that *cool* at the moment. In fact, you look supremely *un*cool. Your clothes are plastered to your body with sweat. Your eyes fall in and out of focus.

PAIN THRESHOLD – A pump of the heart you can feel in your fingertips, then a concerning length of silence before the next beat comes. You buckle involuntarily, your hand flies to your chest, but it keeps going. Fluttering.

KIM KITSURAGI – “Withdrawals,” he prompts, and steps forward.

YOU – “Ugh.”

You groan a syllable of confirmation.

KIM KITSURAGI – He stops in front of your bed and gives you a once-over. A frown draws across his face.

“Worse than I had hoped.”

SUGGESTION – Tension and worry, as he folds his hands behind his back and scratches at the seam of his glove.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Worse than you had hoped, too.

KIM KITSURAGI – He stands there, chewing on his words, chewing at the inside of his lip.

COMPOSURE – He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t have a plan. For the first time, you see him at a loss.

YOU – “It’ll pass.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA – No it won’t. This stage of withdrawals can last days, especially for heavier drinkers. And you can assume you were in a pretty high weight class.

KIM KITSURAGI – “No, detective. You need medical attention.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You need alcohol.

VOLITION – No, you don’t. You *can* get through this.

YOU – “I can get through this.”

KIM KITSURAGI – He looks around the cold shack, then back to your shaking, sweating form. He shakes his head. “I don’t doubt your determination. This, however…” He gestures vaguely at you. “You went cold turkey, yes? This could actually *kill* you.”

HALF LIGHT – You can feel your heart failing. You can feel it!

LOGIC – Keep calm, you’ll only make the palpitations worse.

ENCYCLOPEDIA – It’s actually the *seizures* that prove deadly in most cases. You’ll want to look out for those when they start.

YOU – Seizures!?

INLAND EMPIRE – It spikes in your chest, your ribs. The cage won’t stop rattling.

KIM KITSURAGI – “You can’t do this here, in this condition. You need medical supervision for something this drastic.”

VOLITION – No! You can’t go, not before you solve the case! You’re doing so well!

YOU – “The case-”

KIM KITSURAGI – “This is the one time the case can wait.”

LOGIC – But it *can’t* wait. The hornets, Harry. The hornets!

CONCEPTUALIZATION – He will take you to a hospital, he will return on his own. He may solve the case, he may not. But investigative skill won’t save him if he’s alone. It won’t save him if he’s outmanned. It won’t stop a war.

LOGIC – Backup will take too long to arrive. By the time they tread the same ground you have, blood will have been shed. At least if *you* fail, it’s on no one’s hands but yours.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – You will not abandon this. You will not abandon *them.* You will not abandon *him.*

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – That settles it! Get shwasted, superstar.

VOLITION – Not *shwasted,* but… unfortunately it's true. You're in no condition to attempt this yet.

YOU – “No, I can’t leave!”

KIM KITSURAGI – “You can. And you will.”

AUTHORITY – There is no room for argument in his statement. If your mind wasn't scrambled by the headache, you would concede. But his tone rolls right off you.

YOU – “The hornets, Kim…”

KIM KITSURAG – He falls quiet.

EMPATHY – Two thoughts vie for power in his mind. The first: war. The case *is* time-sensitive, and if you don’t figure something out, there *will* be consequences. Despite everything else about you, you are at present the best man for the job. You've proven as much. Losing you would be a setback, and it could be a very costly one.

The second: this. Here, now, you. You, shaking, sweating, you, dying. You, dead. This is not his area of expertise. He has limited experience with withdrawals, but he’s seen what it does to people. He sees what it’s doing to you.

INLAND EMPIRE – A sad man in a cold bed, under a fragile roof, between four run-down walls. He seizes, his heart stops. He dies in pain, alone. It has happened, will happen, is happening.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You need it.

YOU – "Please… please."

KIM KITSURAGI – His silhouette swims. You don't see him take out his notebook, but it's in his hand now. Scribbling, scribbling, working through his thoughts.

SUGGESTION – He doesn't like that he's considering the things he is.

PAIN THRESHOLD – Your head is about to split in two.

YOU – "Fuck! Make it stop!"

Said through gritted teeth and rising bile.

KIM KITSURAGI – He stops writing and looks up from his notes. "Sobriety is the goal," he speaks quietly, carefully, "but I think that right now, *moderation* is what you need. That's a more realistic first step."

The book returns to his jacket. He steps forward. He kneels.

PERCEPTION (Sight) – The sun has risen just a bit more. He kneels directly in the path of the light that beams through the dusty window. Half his form is blown out, too bright. Light skips off one eye like a stone, pulling bright, fiery colors out of his dark brown iris. Then it hits the left lens of his glasses, refracting, turning it an opaque white.

KIM KITSURAGI – "If I do this…" He pauses, shifting his blazing sight off you for just a moment. "I need you to promise me something."

LOGIC – Preemptively assuaging his guilt. He can not be held responsible.

EMPATHY – Or maybe he just cares about you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Anything! Just get us that sweet Commodore!

YOU – "Anything…"

KIM KITSURAGI – "Swear to me that this won't be a reason to give up." His expression is set and stern. His frown isn't angry, but determined.

"You *will* moderate. You will taper off, and you will try again under better conditions. You will get better. Promise me that."

COMPOSURE – Something in you changes. The weight of his words holds you firm, and for a second, your pulse evens out. Amid the storm of tremors, you find the eye, shivering as if it were only the cold that rocks you.

INLAND EMPIRE – The bars of the cage go still. The bird moves instead, a sliver of life breathed into it again.

YOU – "I promise. I swear."

DRAMA – More sincere than you've been in your life.

PERCEPTION (Sight) – An imperceptible nod, and his eyes are dark again.

KIM KITSURAGI – He lets out a short breath. "Alright."

He stands, towering over you once again, hands behind his back. "I'll be as quick as I can. Try to stay calm, and try not to die."

That last part was probably an attempt at humor, but you can't tell. He takes another deep breath, and makes his way out of the shack.

HALF LIGHT – No, please…

CONCEPTUALIZATION – But he is gone again. And you are alone again.

ENDURANCE – And it all picks up again.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You *need* it. You absolutely *need* it. Why didn't you listen to me?

YOU – I wanted to be better. I wanted to be a good person.

INLAND EMPIRE – Not like that drunk before you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – There's no morality in the bottle, baby, just sweet red relief.

VOLITION – Morality, no. But harm? Yes. Stick to your word.

YOU – I'll try. I really will try.

PAIN THRESHOLD – Your head is unraveling at the seams. You can't go on like this.

SHIVERS – Through all the sweat, all the wrinkled bed sheets, a chill still manages to find you. Your tremors spike.

Across the canal, behind the gates, strikers sit together in a cargo container, stacked crates serving as chairs and a poker table. They share a bottle of moonshine, flavored with strawberries.

In Jamrock, a college professor wakes up to an apocalyptic hangover. Her head hurts almost as much as yours as her migraines mingle with alcohol. Luckily, her first class isn't until 12:30.

The whole city buzzes with liquor. Homemade brews ferment in sheds. Whisky soaks in the flavor of cinnamon. Bottles pass over counters as the legal hour of sale dawns.

A man in an orange bomber jacket steps into Frittte and asks for a bottle of Commodore Red. As the young woman behind the counter retrieves it, he takes another glance around the store. His eyes fall on a rack of novelty mugs, fired in the shape of a jester's hat and painted shoddily in purple and gold.

He steps away from the counter to grab one, as well as two bottles of water and two granola bars. When he returns, the cashier hesitates, raising an eyebrow behind her visor. She knows who the man associates with. She knows who will use this bottle. But the gesture is hidden behind tinted plastic, and she's not paid enough to care. The man pays, riddled with nerves.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – This is irresponsible. This will be on my hands. I don't even know if this will help.

EMPATHY – He trusts you to do the right thing, more or less. But he doesn't trust you with yourself.

AUTHORITY – Make him eat those thoughts.

INLAND EMPIRE – Time has consumed itself. Seconds turn to minutes, then fade from your memory. An eternity has passed, and no time at all.

ALARM CLOCK – A half hour creeps by before you hear the door open again.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – OH YEAH BABY! HERE WE GO!

ENDURANCE – The relief nearly makes you vomit.

KIM KITSURAGI – He puts the bag down on the table under the mirror. The bottle comes out, then the mug.

He turns to you, uncorking the bottle. "Can you sit up?"

It's a struggle, but somehow you find the wherewithal. With the shift in blood flow, the mattress sways in place.

The Lieutenant blows dust from the odd shapes of the mug, then pours you a glass. He hesitates one last time before he sets the bottle down, and carries the mug to you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You are overtaken by utter fervor. The Lieutenant doesn't get a chance to let go of the mug as you take it in both shaking hands and chug. He lurches forward, fingers pinned under yours. The pain does not fade, the tremors don't stop, but something primal in you is partly satiated.

When the mug is empty, it claws at the inside of your skin again, still hungry.

YOU – "More. Please."

Desperate.

KIM KITSURAGI – He backs off quickly, reaching into the Frittte bag again. "Give it a second."

He unscrews the cap on the water bottle and gives it to you. Your fervor is no less as you quench your thirst. The plastic crushes in your hands as you empty it completely.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Don't back down! Get more! You need more!

VOLITION – *Moderation.*

LOGIC – Half a bottle would probably count as moderation compared to how much you usually drink.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Ask again. *Beg* for it if you have to.

AUTHORITY – Do not beg for it.

[AUTHORITY - LEGENDARY] Resist the urge to beg.

AUTHORITY [Legendary: Failure] – The empty plastic falls from your shaking hands. You are able to stop yourself from throwing up, but *something* pathetic is going to come out of your mouth.

YOU – "I'm sorry."

Followed by hitched breath and partly-stifled sobs.. The sheets coil under your fingers.

ENDURANCE – It has not let up.

KIM KITSURAGI – Granola bar in hand, he falters. His posture tenses.

"Detective…"

His movements are slow and careful as he gently places his hand on your shoulder.

EMPATHY – Feeling the strength of your tremors.

PERCEPTION (Touch) – The muted warmth of skin on leather on silk on skin.

YOU - "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

KIM KITSURAGI – "There is nothing you need to apologize for. Not to me, in any case. You are… very unwell. And that is not a reflection of your character."

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Nor your skill.

KIM KITSURAGI – He offers you the granola bar – a heavy heavy thing, mostly nuts, protein.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – But you still need *more.*

YOU – (Take the bar.)

You do. And you open it, and you eat it. It doesn't go down well, coming to rest uneasily in that writhing sea of aspic.

You need more of everything. More water, more wine, more time. It settles slowly, but it *does* settle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – The case is getting cold. Hop to it, superstar.