He couldn't get out fast enough and the damn crutches were slowing him down. He needed air and space and to get away from all those accusing eyes; Mansell, McCormack, Miles, even random people he passed on the way out he didn't even know, all judging him and despising him for something he hadn't done.

Guilty until proven innocent.

If that was all it was, he thought he probably could have withstood the humiliation until the truth came out, but what clawed at his insides and actually made him feel physically sick was the idea that Chandler thought him capable of such deceit. How could he believe he'd betrayed the team? Betrayed him? After all the loyalty he'd shown the man right from the very start. When no one had believed in him, liked him even, Kent had been the only one to show any respect and have complete faith in him, not just as a boss but as a person. The fact that Chandler obviously didn't return that trust hurt more than he possibly could have imagined.

As he rounded the corner and slumped against the wall, blinking back tears, he felt like even the donkey pitied him.

# # #

Miles had once told him that whenever the job got too much, Kent would escape to the toilets or the car park and have a good cry. The thought that Chandler himself had played a part in making him break down made his chest ache.

"I saw young Kent in tears… crying. Next to a donkey."

Buchan couldn't make him feel any worse than he already did. After talking with him and concluding that the best way to deal with the Kray's was to turn them against each other, Chandler sent him on his way and sat at his desk to think.

He didn't want to believe Kent was the mole, of course he didn't, but the evidence was stacked against him and what else could he do? Ignoring even the tiniest inkling of suspicion could have serious consequences and his main priority was putting the Kray's away for a very long time; his hands were tied.

But this was Kent; the same man who always brought him his morning cup of tea made just the way he liked it, no matter how busy they were; who bought his three piece suits off the peg because he aspired to dress like him but couldn't afford Savile Row prices; and who had shown him nothing but respect and admiration even when he didn't deserve it. Kent. Who he suspected had followed his lead by unspoken agreement and refrained from acknowledging the curious spark of attraction that existed between them.

It went against protocol to contact any officer who was suspended pending an investigation but he couldn't leave things the way they were. He reached for his mobile and began typing.

# # #

Kent had just boarded a bus and sat down when his mobile beeped, signalling a text. He fished it out of his pocket, his heart jumping when he saw it was from Chandler, and brought up the message.

I MEANT WHAT I SAID. I'M SORRY.

Kent didn't think Chandler would rub his nose in it by reaffirming the allegations, which meant he was referring to his rather candid admission in the incident room about wishing it had been anyone but Kent. He hadn't had second thoughts and now believed he'd accused Kent of something he hadn't done; the apology was because he was disappointed Kent had let him down and found the whole situation thoroughly regrettable.

Kent didn't know why Chandler thought he was a spy passing information on to the Kray's, but he knew that if the situation had been reversed and Chandler's integrity had been the one brought into question, there would have been no doubt in Kent's mind that he was innocent, no matter how bad things looked.

Kent hit delete and looked out of the window, tears threatening to fall once more as the streets of Whitechapel became blurry and out of focus. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, feeling utterly crushed, but no matter how angry and hurt he felt, he refused to give up hope that one day Chandler would find out the truth and apologise for not believing in him. He just hoped he would be able to forgive him when he did.