The door to the office swung open.

'Sir?'

Chandler opened his eyes. He had been trying to drown out some of the hectic nature of the night by listening to one of his favourite pieces of music in a rare moment of rest. He waited for his eyes to focus while he gently pulled the earphones away from his head. He wasn't fond of using them but he didn't have a record player in his office and desperate times…
'Mmm?'

Meg Riley stood in front of him. Fairly tall and large as life, she had been an asset to the team ever since Miles suggested she join. Of course, he hadn't told Miles that. Caring but with a cheeky side that everyone loved, she had become the big sister of the group in no time. And Chandler usually had a lot of time for her.
'Well, it's just the missing boy, Sir. Our leads have run dry.'
'Ugh.' Chandler rubbed his forehead, trying to stem the ever increasing headache he'd had all night and stimulate some thought.
'Okay, start again. Go over what we know, try a different path.'
Riley closed her eyes in quiet grimace. She'd been expecting that. 'Right-o Boss.'

He waited until he saw her sit down, the order he'd given visible in the spreading facial expressions of his team, and replaced the earphones.
Starting the music again, his hand wandered over his desk, absent-mindedly neatening the few objects he allowed on the surface.

He allowed his eyes to close.

The music filled his world. As he tried to focus on each instrument individually, he felt his shoulders relax. The soothing melody was working to replace his stress with familiar comfort.
His fingers started to move with the notes. And his door opened, again.

'Boss?'
Chandler opened his eyes. Startled, he oriented himself while trying to remain composed and removed his earphones again.
'Mansell, what is it?' He tried to sound interested despite the long night.

Finlay Mansell was the joker of the team. Spirited, the others would say. Reckless was more the word that came to his mind but at least it gave the team, if unfortunately not himself, a slight distraction on endless shifts like this one.
As long as there was the promise of a drink afterwards, Mansell was usually game for anything. Even if that did annoyingly mean making a cheap excuse for a basketball hoop out of the wastepaper bins.

'There's been an alert, Sir. One of the inmates at the prison managed to escape yesterday morning. We've been going over our connections again and it turns out he knew the missing boy.'
Chandler let out a deep breath. 'Why wasn'tI told about this sooner?' It came out a little louder than either man had expected in such a quiet room. Finlay looked visibly taken back.
'Well, we only just got the message ourselves Sir. It just came through.'
'Right.' The DI tried actively to soften a little, feeling a small pang of guilt. 'Well, dig up what you can. I want a file in my hand by tomorrow.'
'Yes Boss.' He turned to leave...
'Oh and Mansell.' He turned back.
'Make sure you tell them, in future I want to know what they know, when they know it.'
'Yes Boss.'

The door closed and the office was quiet again.
Joe Chandler stood up and paced to stretch his legs. Feeling a little dizzy at the sudden change of altitude, he focused on his small screen and pressed replay.
Slowly placing the earphones back in his ears, music blasted through him again. His pacing seemed to echo the rhythm of the music and it took conscious effort not to make it look like dancing. Although, he was sure, the sight of their DI dancing alone in an office would brighten the team's spirits.
Or lead to endless and merciless teasing.
Best hadn't.

He walked to the rear wall and turned his back to the incident room. Stretching his neck muscles, he allowed the rhythmic melody in his ears become a metronome for his thoughts.

Missing persons were always stressful. Chandler never coped well with time limits and that's exactly all these cases seemed to offer. The first few days were always the most vital. Non-stop shifts and copious amounts of coffee before the leads ran dry, the person in question moved on – adults usually and annoyingly so abroad – or worst of all, someone else got to them first.
He'd been in the office for three days straight, his dinner entertainment being files from the incident and Buchan's room and his hygiene consisting of packs of brand new clothes and a wash down in his office. He'd just managed to get through the last of the files on his desk, offering no insight to the case at all, and was expecting to be handed more any minute. The investigation was wearing thin and the whole team was starting to feel it. Still, Chandler thought, they'd been here before. It wasn't always as hopeless as it looked. A result could still come from some unexpected corner; some small overturned pebble. And if it didn't, he hesitated to admit, the case would usually conclude itself with the find of a body.

As he listened, hands outstretched on the wall in front of him, the door to his office opened again.
Immediately the soothing melody was replaced in his ears by raised voices and confrontation. In one movement, he pulled the earphones out and straightened his tie, slipping them into his pocket.
Joe turned to face the intruders.
'All I'm saying is it could be a promising lead.'
'And all I'm saying it's a dead end.' Miles was raising his voice, one louder than Buchan every time. 'It's a waste of all our time. This isn't some historic murder.'

Chandler took a deep breath.

'Gentleman', he tried, his hands spread wide, 'What on Earth is going on here. This is an incident room.'
The two men quietened and turned to their DI, like fighting siblings.

Buchan, much to his DS's resentment, was a welcome break for the team. He'd been more valuable than anyone really liked to admit, providing clues or at least hints from similar cases, and did bring a welcome form of company to his hard-worked team on long nights.
Miles, however, was a rock. Gravelly, rough, and weather worn, one would be safe to avoid finding themselves on the wrong side of the line with him. Nonetheless, he was immovable. Chandler doubted the team could function without him, and he wouldn't even like to think of what he'd be like without the support he'd come to both appreciate and rely on. Miles was, well, Miles was just Miles and annoyingly, they wouldn't have him any other way.

'Buchan thinks some rubbish old file from his little basement is going to help us find our missing person. I keep telling him he's talking out of his ar-'
'Miles.' Chandler interrupted, almost as a warning. 'Buchan, what is this file? How will it help?'
Miles rolled his eyes and Buchan visibly straightened.
'In 1899', he began with practiced repose, 'two butchers by the names of –'
'The short version, Ed.' Chandler glanced at his DS, hands massaging his forehead.
'Right, yes.' Buchan continued with self-conscious glance to Miles; any remnants of authority now gone.

Chandler half-heartedly listened to Buchan's theory, attentions spread between the need for another coffee to stimulate his sleep deprived brain and the doubt that any history lessons would actually help here. This case was frustrating singular. It wouldn't offer him a break like some of his previous domino chains.
Nevertheless, he thanked Ed for his contribution and gave Miles a nod of appreciation, reassuring him - for the third time that day - that he was fine.

Music flooded his ears, louder than before; turned up almost in defiance of the interruptions. Joe Chandler walked round his desk, each step lending it's timing to the beat. With each side he reached, he moved, straightened and rotated anything giving him unease and when he felt completed he made another rotation, just to double check. All the while his team had been chasing up calls, interviewing neighbours, appealing for information, he'd been cooped up in his tiny four-walled box and he was pretty sure insanity would follow soon if a decent shower and blast of fresh air did not.
Glancing at the watch, face up next to his pens and precious balm - now showing long gone 11pm - Joe stole one last glance at his team, now packing up to finish another long shift. He raised his hand in gesture of farewell and approved dismissal of their departure and closed his eyes.

He sensed the light diminish through his eyelids as only the last corner bulb was left on, for his benefit. Fingers fumbled for the side volume controls and now, with a peace he found only in an empty room, the melodies overran his senses as his chair reclined slightly backwards.

…

Iir

Sssr

"Sir?"
Muffled address rudely awoke his senses once more, an unpleasant tug back into the real world of his dim office.
"Sir?"
It took Chandler a moment to adjust his speckled vision to the source of the intrusion.
"Oh. Hello."
Unexpected.
At the sight of Kent's smirk to his acknowledgment, Chandler realised his music was still playing loudly in his ears causing him to almost shout the greeting to his DC.

Emerson Kent was eager. He was young. He was obedient. And he was good. Fiercely loyal, although Chandler once, to his continued regret doubted him. That was the first and last time. Kent was there, if he needed him, when he needed him and without argument. He worked above and beyond his remit and he was the first to really earn Joe's respect. The team needed his juvenility; his energy; his eyes, as yet unscarred. He had time for Emerson Kent.

Pulling the earphones out with haste, not bothering to stop the music first, he placed the cord on his lap and returned his gaze. "Sorry Kent, I didn't expect anyone to still be here."
Kent looked down at his feet, almost embarrassed at his lack of commitment to his life outside of the office. "No, well..." he mumbled. " I was just finishing tidying my desk" -At that, Chandler allowed a slight grin – "and I saw you were still here so I came to say goodnight."
It wasn't entirely true, but it was all Kent could think to say to his boss at this hour. His eyes wandered down to the immaculately laid out desk for a moment, brain searching for more, when he picked up a faint but familiar melody.
"Andrea Bocceli?"
Joe looked up, momentarily confused at the sudden outburst. "Hhhm?"
Kent blushed slightly, feeling all of a sudden out of place. "Erm, sorry, just, er, Andrea Bocceli. You're listening to him?"
Chandler allowed himself a moment of hidden surprise at the young DC's recognition before responding with a new smile. "Yes, you like his music too?"
Kent nodded sheepishly. Then, at a loss with how to continue the conversation he wasn't ready to finish, he walked with sudden composure round to the DI's side of the desk and gently pulled the cord from Chandler's lap. "May I?" he asked with a slight grin.
Pleased to have found someone to take a shared interest in his music and, subconsciously; perplexingly pleased with the source of the newfound bond, he nodded, gesturing for Kent to pull up the spare chair, and replaced his own earphone.
Kent swivelled the faux- leather chair round and gently placed the singing earphone into his ear. Neither man spoke; contented in their silent company. Together they sat, fingers gently tapping the rhythms onto their body, exchanging the odd appreciative glance at one another as the playlist continued into the early hours of the morning.
And for the first time that day, Chandler was pleased to have been interrupted.