Title: Visiting hours
Author: Claddagh
Pairing: Chandler/Kent
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. ITV's. Never mine.
Summary: Joe visits Emerson in hospital after his attack. Kent-angst and awkward comforting Chandler.
Kent quietly lay on his side in the hospital bed, his face pressed into the coarse material of the pillow to hide the moisture that slowly leaked from his red, swollen eyes. He cried from a mixture of the pain that was localised to the site of his injury, that the morphine flowing into his body through the cannula in his hand didn't quite numb, as well as the emotions that were still fresh and in the forefront of his mind after the attack.
He could hear the steady beeps of the other patients machines around him, as well as his own heart rate monitor that stood by his bed, showing his heart rate to be a relaxed 68 beats per minute. The sterile, disinfectant smell of the hospital invaded his nostrils, reminding him that he wasn't at home in his warm comfortable bed after a hard day at work, he was in fact in a crowded hospital ward, surrounded by strangers, injured, while his attacker was still out on the streets, able to hurt more people.
For the most part he barely registered the hustle and bustle of the never sleeping hospital around him, but occasionally a voice, person or sound would draw his attention for a few seconds. When he'd first awoken from his drug induced sleep after his surgery, most of the other patients in the ward had completely ignored him, probably due to the fact that he'd asked the nurse to close most of the curtain around his bed. One elderly man who occupied the bed to his right however, who was evidently recovering from having his left leg amputated, had wheeled himself over to Kent's bedside and had began to talk to him in a gruff, but friendly voice about simple things like the weather and the latest football game. It had made Kent smile briefly at the mundane normality of the conversation and he'd even contributed a few sentences of his own, before the nurse came over and gently shooed the elderly man (whose name had turned out to be Jim) back to his own bed.
He reminded Kent of Miles.
Since then the only sounds that had left his mouth were monosyllabic words in reply to the nurses questions. They had quickly got the message that he didn't want to talk and now only offered kind smiles when they came to check on him.
He'd slipped in and out of a light sleep for the past few hours, each time he woke up the pain in his backside reminding him acutely of his injury, bringing fresh tears to his eyes each time.
"Mr Kent? Emerson?" Came a light, feminine voice from the bottom of his bed. He looked to see a young brunette nurse standing there, a gentle smile on her lips and a clipboard in her arms. "There is a…" She looked down at her paper. "…Joseph Chandler here to see you. Do you want me to let him in?"
The young man nodded without even thinking about it, before he shifted slightly on his side so it would be easier to speak with Chandler when he walked in. He also sniffed quietly and wiped his eyes with the heel of one hand, not wanting his DI to see his tears.
It wasn't long before he heard two sets of footsteps coming towards his bed. Seconds later both the young nurse and Chandler came into view, slipping into his bay from behind the off-white curtain that surrounded his bed.
Kent locked his eyes with that of his superior the second he came into view. The DI looked pale and tired, wearing the same clothes that he'd worn last time he'd came to the hospital, but now the tie was loosened and the top two buttons of the shirt undone, showing that Chandler hadn't had the easiest, most relaxing afternoon either.
"If of you need anything, just press the call button." The nurse smiled to them both before leaving the two men alone, making sure that the curtain around the bed was closed enough to ensure privacy.
Neither man spoke for a minute, not knowing what to say or how to start a conversation. Eventually Chandler gave an awkward cough before he walked over to the hard plastic chair by Kent's bedside and lowered himself onto it. He coughed again.
"How are you feeling?"
Kent groaned. "It hurts. But…the morphine they've got me on takes care of most of that." His voice was coming out slightly slurred, an accumulative effect of the drugs he was on and sheer exhaustion. "I only have to press that button there…" he gestured to the drip and the small machine attached. "…and I get another shot of it. Brilliant stuff." He gave a lopsided smile, to which Chandler smiled and chuckled back. Kent realised that Chandler was probably laughing *at* his high, drugged state rather than with him, but it made the young man feel better that his DI was doing something other than worrying and frowning about the case.
The DC's expression then sobered.
"Have you found anything?"
Chandler pursed his lips, leaning forwards and rubbing his hands over his face momentarily before clasping them together in front of him. He shook his head slowly. "No, not yet. But we will. I promise."
Kent sighed, disappointed, then shifted his body, trying to get comfortable. He inadvertently moved the wrong way and placed pressure on his injury, letting out a hiss of pain then a quiet cry that he quickly muffled, biting his lip.
At Chandler's worried look he quickly spoke to reassure him. "The morphine doesn't stop all of the pain and I think it's starting to wear off now, it's been a while since I've had any."
The older man took a relieved breath. "Do you want to press your button?" He asked with the tiniest hint of humour showing through his dry tone of voice.
Kent let out another laugh. "Maybe in a bit. I'm already high as a kite as it is, sir." he muttered.
Chandler frowned and looked down at his hands that were still clasped tightly together in his lap. He licked his lips then reached up with one hand and loosened his tie and shirt collar even more.
Kent watched through tired eyes.
"Look, Kent. I didn't come here to make small talk with you." The young man's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I came here to see how you are and to…say that I'm sorry."
"W-what?" Kent asked, even more confused. "Why?"
"I sent you out there by yourself. It's my fault that this happened to you. I shouldn't have-"
"Sir." The DC interrupted, rolling onto his back and slowly, painfully lifting himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain this caused. Joe at first went to help him, finding it difficult to watch him struggling but the young man quickly waved him away. It took a few deep breaths before he was able to speak through the pain. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know that I'd be…that it was gonna happen. You couldn't have known."
"Anyway, I think it was my fault." At Chandler's questioning frown he continued, his voice breaking frequently when talking about the incident. "Just before he…he said 'you should watch your mouth'. So, I must have said something, I don't know what and I don't know when I said it. But, It wasn't just a random attack, he had a reason." the young man finished, almost whispering, his eyes once again stinging with the moisture that collected there.
"Emerson you didn't deserve this. No matter what you said." Chandler protested his voice insistent and a slight hint of anger to it.
Kent took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to hold in the tears.
"I thought he was gonna kill me." A sniff, followed by a few shaky breaths were the only warning before the young man brought both hands up to cover his face and let out a muffled sob.
Chandler watched helplessly as his DC broke down in front of him, his shoulders shaking and his breaths coming out quickly and ragged. He'd never seen Kent cry. Miles had told him about it during the ripper case, but he'd never actually seen the young man loose it. He didn't quite know what to do. He awkwardly looked towards and considered the call button the nurse had mentioned, but didn't think that this was the sort of situation she dealt with; she'd probably do a better job than he would though.
First he started to reach out a hand to pat Kent's back, but retracted his fingers before they made contact. He couldn't see that helping. Instead he stood up from the bright red plastic seat and settled himself on the edge of Emerson's bed, being careful not to disturb all of the tubes, wires and machines that were attached to his DC. He glanced at the young man's heart rate monitor; it had increased to over 90 beats per minute, the beeping coming at much shorter intervals.
Chandler once again reached out his hands, and slowly, as one might approach and touch a frightened animal, wrapped one hand around each of Emerson's wrists (again being careful not to disturb the cannula in the back of his right hand) and gently pulled his hands away from his face.
The usually pale cheeks were now red and blotchy from crying, his big brown eyes were bloodshot and shimmering with moisture, which trickled down his cheeks, leaving damp trails down the young man's face. His lips were pale, as was the rest of his face and skin, even more so than it usually was, showing just how much blood Emerson had lost during the attack and the journey to the hospital.
Joe slowly placed the young man's hands in the bed-sheet covered lap, the tips of his fingers brushing the smooth skin of his inner-wrists, before locking eyes with Emerson, immediately seeing the pain shining through the chocolate brown colour.
"But he didn't kill you, OK. You're safe now, and we're going to find the people that are responsible for this and the other murders."
Emerson looked back at him, still trying to hold in his emotions, blinking rapidly and pressing his lips together. After a few seconds he nodded his head, the movement of which dislodged another salty tear from the young man's eyelashes. The bead of water followed the path of those that preceded it down the young face, until it was hastily wiped away by Kent.
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with this." The DC sniffed.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Joe answered softly, feeling not quite as tense now that Kent had calmed down.
They then fell into silence, the only sounds apart from the normal hospital ones were Emerson's ragged, distressed breaths, which slowly calmed until there was barely any catch to them and his eyes eventually dried until they held no more tears.
Sometime during this elapse of time Joe's hands had moved from just holding Emerson's wrists, to their fingers being entwined and hands gripping each other tightly, the older man's thumb softly stroking the back of the DC's cold knuckles.
They stayed that way until a nurse came back in to check on Kent. This time it was a middle aged nurse, who obviously didn't like it when hospital rules were bent or broken and immediately told Joe to not sit on her patients bed and then followed it up with 'visiting time is over, you need to leave now'. Chandler looked at her for a few seconds with a mildly annoyed expression on his face, contemplating showing her his detectives' badge so he could stay, but decided against it. Then he turned back to Emerson, squeezed his hand with his own and caressed the soft skin a couple of times.
"We'll find him." He stated simply, with pure conviction and no hesitation, before standing up and releasing the young man's hands, already feeling a loss from the lack of contact. He turned around to leave.
"Sir?" He looked back at Emerson. "Watch your back."
He let out a humourless chuckle at the irony of that being one of the last things he'd said to Kent before he'd been attacked, then nodded to the young man and walked out of the bay, out of the ward, out of the hospital and drove back to the station.
Emerson sighed and gingerly lay back down on his side, wincing, then with a half smile reached over and pressed the button on the machine that gave him his morphine. The effect was almost immediate, the aching and sharp pains in his body lessened and his eyelids felt incredibly heavy. He was still scared, he was still in pain, but he knew that Joe and the team were back at the station working on the case. It was a reassuring thought. Kent knew they'd catch him, if the determination is his bosses eyes had been any indication. It was just a question of how many other innocent people would be put in this hospital or in their graves before they broke the case. Emerson had his faith though, Joe could do it, Joe *would* do it.
With that thought swirling around in his drug clouded mind and the lingering memory of Chandler's hands tightly gripping his own, Emerson let his eyelids fall closed drifted into another restless sleep.