"I don't say a lot of things and you, my love, are gone."
The first thing that Detective Constable Kent learned upon his twenty-seventh birthday was that no matter how well you thought you knew a person, they would undoubtedly never change. And no matter how much trust and faith you threw into a relationship, it would never make it the kind of relationship that you wish it would be. This was why, when news of Chandler's future departure from the team was revealed to him, it was not so much a surprise as a relief to hear. Finally, his suspicions were confirmed. And yet, he almost couldn't believe it.
The idea of Joe Chandler picking and choosing through various cases to try and glean out the most exciting cases does not sit well in his stomach. It burns and it frustrates him because no matter how much he idolises the man, he himself is doing the job to try and save people, to try and bring and justice to those who need it the most. He knows that it is naïve and he knows that it would have been a better idea to do something worthwhile and closer to home, but he at least knows that he is doing his job for the right reasons.
The last day of the team together had begun typically. There'd been a meeting in their shabby main office, where Chandler had awkwardly announced to the team that he was in fact leaving, before studying all of their faces. When Kent's time came to hold eye contact though, he dropped the files that he was holding, before falling to his knees to pick them up.
"We already know, sir," Miles laughed, but there was tension where there had not been before. "You leaving us to fill in for Cazanove? We've all heard it through the grapevine."
It was obvious that Chandler did not realise that for once, Miles was making an effort to be polite and trying to hold the team together in their tenuous friendship as he threw any number of excuses their way, ranging from "Well, someone needs to keep an eye on the unit…" to "Higher orders, you know," before giving that small, slightly-disconcerting side smile of his.
"I keep saying, there's no reason for you to walk me home, Kent!" Chandler said laughingly as the two made their way down long-deserted streets. It was long past three, but the thought of sleep seemed merely a dim memory from two in Kent's mind, his thoughts pre-occupied with possibilities and memories.
"Ah, someone's got to look after you, sir! You're not going to have your own personal moral support team to cheer you on any more. Besides," he added in a lowered voice, "it's on my way."
Chandler had let out an echo of a laugh before suddenly drawing to a halt next to a half-blinking lamp post. "Do I even want to know how you know where I live?"
Kent tried to think up an excuse quickly, but his mouth just wouldn't register what his brain was telling him to say. "Don't worry about it, sir. It's not like you'll be living there anymore, anyway."
Chandler started to open his mouth hesitantly before Kent persuaded himself to just say something for once.
"It's just, we thought you'd be the one to stick around London, sir. You know, the one to care for the little people," Kent laughed humourlessly as the beginnings of something like anger started to show in Chandler's face.
Chandler took a breath and exhaled in a rush, raising his eyebrows. "It's not like that, Kent. They need me up there."
Kent shrugged almost nonchalantly, doing his best to keep his calm and not reveal his emotions to Chandler. Because if they parted on an amicable note, when- if, he supposed, Chandler came back, he at least had the makings of a team. Kent did not like to imagine the prospect of working in a separate office to Chandler in the same building. He didn't pretend to have half the friendship that Miles and Chandler had, but he would have liked to have thought that Chandler saw him as an equal. As a worthy colleague, Kent supposed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kent registered the fact that he might have had too much to drink. But then there was the slow burning sensation inside, the realisation that no matter the beatings, no matter the claims that he might make for emotional trauma, he and the small team at Whitechapel were simply being abandoned in favour of bigger cases, more glamorous cases.
And then Chandler had moved in close to him and had cupped the side of Kent's face with hands so warm that Kent felt like he could never be cold ever again.
"Why are you so upset, Emerson?" He murmured quietly, looking down at the younger man and Kent felt his own breathing hitch at the close proximity of his boss. The protocol that he had spent his life studying was now in easy danger of being violated and the vision of being reduced to working on books made him push away Chandler.
"Don't! Don't treat me like some...kid who's had his favourite toy taken away!"
The side of Chandler's mouth quirked into a rare smile, the kind of smile that usually made Kent's stomach flip and forced Kent to offer his own smile in return. But that was usually, and this wasn't usually. Usually, it wasn't his birthday and usually, he didn't find out nasty secrets about his boss. No, smiles would not work this time.
"I'm your favourite toy?" Chandler continued, clearly ignoring Kent's outburst. For a moment, Kent's heart was in danger of stopping completely as Chandler ran his fingers over the younger man's cheekbones, almost reverently. "Somewhere, Emerson, there is a statue with skin the same shade of porcelain as yours."
Kent closed his eyes slowly, not wanting to see Chandler's expression, knowing that seeing his face would only create more confusion. "Don't go," he said, almost silently. "Please don't go, sir."
The use of the all-too familiar reminder of their individual positions caused Chandler to draw back abruptly and Kent's eyes flickered open at the loss of Chandler's touch.
"There is nothing for me to stay for," was all that Chandler said before Kent's fist met his face, clumsily bumping his cheekbone. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the sound of Kent breathing heavily.
Chandler turned to walk away.
"What, leaving without a parting shot, sir?" Kent called after him mockingly, but there was no answer and his cry of frustration fell upon deaf ears as his former boss made his way into his house.
The call to pick up Joseph Chandler came late on a Saturday evening, the incessant ringing on his mobile startling him into consciousness from his semi-awake state. He had known that it hadn't been a good idea to pick up simply from Miles' tone of voice; sharp and oddly apologetic.
"Kent, I need you to pick up the boss from the train station tomorrow morning," he'd been told firmly, Miles making clear that he wasn't to refuse. Countless excuses popped into his head instantly and he briefly thought of using the old 'bad-cold-just-picked-something-up' excuse, but decided against it. Maybe with Chandler, he'd have dared to. Maybe that said something about him.
"Kent! Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
Blushing, Kent was unsure of how to react. Clearly, his former boss had forgotten that the last time that the two met, Kent had punched the other man. He attempted to subtly evaluate the man's overall appearance unsuccessfully; he ignored the small grin that has appeared on Chandler's face and instead focused on the two strands of hair escaping over his parting-line, the slight bruise darkening the underside of his chin. He had heard rumours, of course, but he hadn't wanted to believe them. Hadn't wanted to believe that Joe had the audacity to sleep with a potential suspect, nor that he'd been considered by the police to be promoted to big, big things that had secret names. He'd been disappointed in himself for listening to the part of his brain that argued it was the truth, almost as much as he'd fought with himself after Miles had confirmed that he'd "always known the posh git would be back". After all, he'd thought that would be the last time that he'd see Chandler. The time that there'd been...something.
He decided to play it safe, remembering the glasses of whisky that the other man had had to drink, partially remembering the ever-present rumours. There could be no avoiding of the punch, however, and he saw Chandler's smile dim slightly as they exchanged a polite handshake instead of the hug that would once have been there. He can forgive, but he cannot quite forget.
"I see you've got better dress sense." Chandler nodded at his new suit, the suit that did not quite fit and the shoes that did not rub quite as much as they should. For some reason, he found himself bristling slightly at the compliment, even though he knew that Chandler was merely trying to be civil.
"Yeah, well, a lot of things changed when you left us," is all that he could say on the subject and Chandler looked more than a little taken aback at his sharp retort. "Miles is still complaining that you've left us all the crap paperwork, though."
He threw the last sentence out as a peace offering and Chandler laughed as though his last lifeline was a lot funnier than it actually was before continuing their tense, hesitant conversation.
"And how are you getting on?" Chandler glanced sideways at him and almost instantly, Kent was reminded of the touches that he'd placed upon his face, of the painful desperation that he was certain was practically radiating from him. And then, he remembered Chandler turning away, of the obvious rejection that had followed and that is what chose his reply for him.
"I'm doing okay," he said lightly, before shrugging. That was all that Chandler needed or wanted to know - he was certain of that. Five months ago, he would have given a description of how his family was doing and how his neighbour kept on inviting him over at strange hours, but that Kent is gone. He was no longer a fruity-cider-with-the-girls type of boy, he drank beer like the man that he was. That he should have been.
It had been the traditional night out with the team that had led to that moment. There'd been a few moments when it had felt almost like old times, being the punchline to every joke and not minding as much as he should have done.
"Eh, our Kent was a hit with the ladies when you left us. Shoulda seen it, a different one every week," Miles had sniggered before noticing Chandler's eyes on Kent and instantly realising he'd said the wrong thing.
Chandler had forced an awkward laugh to fill the silence before attempting to save some pride for his next work shift. "Well, I wish I'd been there to see that. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you though - I'm knackered."
Before Kent could fight with his common sense, his mouth had blurted out, "I'll walk with you, I should really be getting back as well. Flatmates, all they do is worry."
Chandler offered a wry smile in response, giving a curt nod as Miles gave him a look as if to say, You utter berk. All he could was shrug and raise his eyebrows at him as Chandler pulled on his coat.
"Ready?" He turned to him and all that Kent could think was Never.
There'd been the kind of silence that there never had been in the past as they walked alongside the river and with a jolt, Kent realised just much he missed their previous almost-friendship.
"It's not like Miles said it was, y'know, sir. I'm not much of a player," Kent hastened his footsteps to catch up with Chandler's quick stride. For a moment, he thought that Chandler hadn't heard himbefore the man turned his head to the side to consider him.
"Kent," he said slowly. "What you do in your own time is none of my business. It doesn't bother me in the slightest whether you're a regular Casanova or not."
If Kent had turned his head to the side at that point and met Chandler's eyes, he would have seen the clenched jaw and the downcast eyes. But he didn't, and the words came like a slap in the face. He wasn't quite sure of how to react – he would have given some sort of snarky remark to anyone else and shrugged the comment off. But this was a different Chandler from the one he'd known – this Chandler was rough and unpredictable. Somewhere along the way, Chandler had changed.
"I'm your boss, you know. You're meant to tell me if you have a problem," the man beside him said suddenly, the features of his face lit by streetlamps as Kent turned to look at him, more than a little surprised.
"I thought you stopped being my boss when you walked out on me- on our team, on everything," he threw out angrily, eyes wide and hands gesturing animatedly.
"I didn't walk out, Kent, I had to go. Some of us have responsibilities."
For a moment, the world seemed to stop revolving and all that Kent could do was keep his eyes fixed on Chandler, knowing that the moment he looked away would be the moment that Chandler would leave again.
"Just- just come in, Joe. It's too late for you to be walking alone, anyway."
They hadn't slept together. That had been the most important detail to note about the four hours that they spent together – the fact that they hadn't slept together. After all, wasn't that what had led to this very argument?
He unwound Chandler's tie cautiously, watching him swallow heavily and his eyes close slowly. He'd thought that they both were certain of what was going to happen, what they wanted, but he didn't think he'd ever seen Chandler's face quite so sad.
"Kent, this isn't right," Chandler met his eyes levelly and raised his hands to pause Kent's movements. Stumbling over his words, Kent struggled to speak coherently, his face flushing furiously and his breath choking in his throat.
"I understand. Of course, sir. Of cour-"
"It's Joe!" All that Kent could do was stare as the older man shouted furiously, knotting his tie with far more vigour than was strictly required. "It's not 'sir' and it's not 'Chandler', it's just 'Joe'! All you ever do is- Can't you see that it's as if I'm taking advantage of you?"
There was a clear role reversal between the two as the silence was filled only by Chandler taking deep breaths. For once, Kent was unafraid and as Chandler sank heavily onto the edge of the bed with his hands still clutching his tie, he sat next to the older man. There was a moment of silence before Kent could open his mouth, however, and he began to see just how utterly terrified Chandler was as he studied him.
"I-I've always been scared," he began, head turned slightly to gauge Chandler's reactions. "And you make me, well, really scared. But I'm trying to be braver and I'm trying to wear suits that don't really fit and I don't think I've ever wanted someone as much as I want you." Blushing furiously, he summoned up the courage to unwrap Chandler's hands from his tie and held them loosely in his own instead, letting the man know that this was his way of showing him how he felt.
He cannot help but think that if this was some sort of story, or a novel destined to have a fairytale ending, Chandler would not be looking as if he was about to run for the door. But this is his life and he knew that there was every chance that he might lose his job at that very moment. Even so, there was a sharp, burning pain inside when Chandler stood up and headed for the door. Even as he turned around to give his last parting shot, he avoided eye contact, using the old police trick of staring off into the distance.
Kent wanted to shake him. He wanted to reach his arms up around Chandler's shoulders, press his bony fingers into the skin and shake.
"I'm flattered, Kent," he began slowly, his eyes still gazing at some spot on Kent's wall. "But we both know that it's not professional and –" he broke off here to inhale, his breath sounding ragged. "I can't say that I feel the same way."
It was silent.
There was nothing but silence. Kent wanted to throw in words like, 'This isn't fair!' And 'You started this in the first place, what with your statues and your drunken nights out. You bastard.' But he didn't. He kept himself blank and polite; a show that he'd been perfecting ever since Chandler left.
"I'll see you at work, then," is all that he said before choosing to disappear into the other room, the kitchen. There, he turned on the kettle and leaned heavily on the counter. Pretended he didn't hear Chandler open the front door and mutter, "I'm sorry."
For the first time since the Kray twins beat him until he was broken and sobbing on the floor, Kent takes the week off. He cites a 'bad, bad stomach bug' as the reason until finally, Chandler phones on the fifth day. Their conversation is awkward and stilted; Jose is trying to pretend that nothing has happened and Kent is trying to pretend that he isn't hurt. Even the formal, "I'll have to ask for a doctor's note, Kent," sounds patronising to his ears and he imagines Chandler and Miles sitting around a desk discussing how to address the situation.
Would he tell Miles? Had he told Miles?
Contemplating it idly while sipping at a lukewarm mug of tea, he decides that no, Chandler has probably kept it to himself and is throwing his frustration with the situation into arranging countless pieces of paperwork. The office had probably been dusted and vacuumed – it's not like there's been any big cases since Chandler left them.
That is what Kent cannot stand about Chandler above all, above his obsession with making sure that the windows are shining and that every desk is parallel with the wall; his hypocrisy towards the whole situation. It is "not professional" to sleep with your co-worker, especially a co-worker who is a subordinate, but it is also "not professional" to pick and choose your cases. It is "not professional" to drink whilst on the job and it's certainly not fucking professional to blame members of the team when they have suffered for you.
Because, after all, that is what it comes down to. He cannot forget, and he certainly cannot forgive.