Work Text:
Passing the Baton
“Bloody back,” Miles grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in the car. “Bloody kids.”
It was a Tuesday morning, and Miles was sat alone in the middle of an industrial unit. Besides him, the radio was crackling with the voices of the rest of the team, all in position. He should have been with them. He would have been with them if one of his kids hadn’t left a ball on the stairs which he had promptly stepped on, sending him headfirst down them. He was lucky really that all he’d done is bruise his back, at least that’s what Judy had said. Easy for her, she wasn’t stuck in a car for hours listening as everyone else got on with the actual policing.
“You all in position, yet?” He barked into the radio, if just to give himself something to do.
"All already confirmed.” It was Chandler’s voice that came through first. “Mansell and Riley are waiting by the exit. Me and Kent are watching the warehouse. Stop stressing, Miles. We’ll radio through when we have the suspect.”
He sounded uncharacteristically light. Suppose it was the promise of a quick arrest. Or maybe it was being able to actually do something, rather than be stuck as a sitting duck like the Sergeant was.
The radio crackled again. “Suspect has just left the warehouse. We’re tailing.”
“Be bloody careful. Remember that he’s probably armed.”
“We know, Skip.”
“Suspect is heading for the exit. Mansell, Riley, are you ready?”
“Born ready, boss.”
It was agonising, listening to it all, and not being able to get involved. He’d had to argue the right to come at all, Chandler had told him to stay in the office. He’d pushed the point that sitting in an office and sitting in a car are really not that different, and the Inspector had unwillingly retracted his-
Impatiently, Miles grabbed the radio again. “What’s going on? I need updates.”
“Still trailing.”
“You need to communicate. I need to know what you’re doing.”
“Suspect has stopped. Not sure what he’s doing, actually.” There was a pause. When the radio hissed again, it was with Kent’s panicked voice. “Shit. He’s seen us. He’s coming to us now.”
“Don’t approach him. Remember he’s armed.”
“He’s still approaching.”
“Back off. Wait for us to get there.”
“E’s still…towards us…” The radio was too unclear. He banged it frustratedly against the dashboard as Kent’s voice drifted in and out. “E’s got…knife.”
“Jesus Christ. Riley, Mansell, you need to get to the other two.”
“On our way.”
“Kent? Kent? What’s going on? You need to tell us.” He’d turned the engine on, started driving towards where he knew Chandler and Kent were supposed to be waiting. He was trying to remember the map of the estate from where it had been pinned in the Incident Room, but al he could think about was the silence of the radio. He grabbed it again. “Kent, I need updates.”
“Suspect got away.” Kent’s voice was suddenly clear over the radio. Clear and hesitant. “We’ve got an officer down, though.”
He was relieved to see Chandler sat up when he arrived. He was less relieved to see the blood on his face and shirt. No sign of blood anywhere else though, which did soothe some of the worry that had tightened in his chest. Kent was kneeling beside him, trying to support him. Meg and Mansell turned the corner towards them at the same time that Miles slammed the car door shut behind him.
“You bloody idiot,” he shouted. “I told you not to approach him.”
“He saw us. We didn’t have a lot of choice.” Chandler stood uncertainly, reaching into his pocket for a tissue, wincing as he wiped at his face with it.
“You still didn’t need to get involved. You should have walked away, waited for back-up.”
“He pulled the knife on me, Skip.” Miles turned his head quickly at the sound of Kent, who was looking at him bashfully. “Sorry, he was really quick. He had the knife at me before I could do anything. The Boss was just protecting me. He tried to grab him just so he couldn’t get to me. He got the knife off him, but he also got a few punches in.”
He frowned at Kent curiously, looking back at Chandler whose tissue was now covered in crimson. “He didn’t stab you, then?”
“Thank you for the concern. No, he hit me. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” he growled, shaking his head. “Get in the car, I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out. Kent, go back with Mansell and Riley.”
“I don’t need to be checked out.”
“You just took a beating.”
“I’ve had worse. I just need to clean up, and then we need to locate him.” He sighed at the expression on Miles’ face, a combination of exasperation and rage. “You take me to hospital, and we’ll send six hours there for nothing. I’m fine, honestly.”
“Any funny turns and you’re going, alright?”
“Fine.”
Chandler glanced up from his desk as the door opened, frowning despite the pain to his left eye as Miles entered and took the seat opposite, his face hard. Beyond him, through the windows, the Incident Room was quiet, peculiarly empty.
"I sent them all out, if that's what you're wondering. Coffee run and a couple of wild goose chases. Didn't think they needed to be here for this one." For good measure, he stood again and pulled down the blinds, before returning to the seat with a stern face. "For your sake, rather than mine."
"For God's sake, Miles. I understand I was a little...foolhardy this morning, but it hardly requires the theatrics. And you can't just barge into my office like this. We may be friends but there is still a chain of command here." Despite his bravado, he felt a nerve begin to twitch, as if the warning of an oncoming stress headache. Miles continued to stare at him coolly. He knew he was a rough sight. He’d changed his shirt but couldn’t do much about the cut to his eyebrow, or the darkening bruises to his eye and nose.
"You were more than foolhardy. You were a bloody idiot. But I'm not here to talk about that."
"Then can't it wait? I still have this report to write and-"
"Emerson Kent."
That wasn't what Chandler had been expecting. He seemed to pause momentarily. "I'm sorry?"
"Good officer?"
"Yes, of course."
"Decent bloke?"
"What do you-?"
"You like him? You get along?"
"Of course. But, Miles, I don't see where you're going with-"
"Good." The Sergeant nodded, before leaning forwards. "So, why haven't you asked him for a drink yet?"
Chandler wasn't one for blushing usually, he didn't think he'd ever seen it, which was good, Miles thought, because it wasn't an especially pretty sight. He mumbled, "I don't know what you-"
"Kent. The officer you took a beating from a knife-wielding suspect for earlier? Why haven't you asked him out?"
"I didn't take a beating for...I would have done it for any member of the team."
"It just so helped it was Kent though?" He let himself soften a little at the expression on the other man's face, caught somewhere between panic and complete despair. He sighed with a shake of the head. "Look, I've been a detective for twenty years, a police officer for longer, and I know people. So, much as I'd rather not, I know the sight of my Inspector mooning over one of my team."
That earned him another frown, albeit a moodier one than Miles had seen on the Inspector before. "I've not been mooning."
"You're not denying it, though?" At Chandler's silence, Miles leant back again in his chair with a level of smug satisfaction. The blush on Chandler's face had now spread to the tips of his ears. He gave him another couple of moments before nodding. "Good, that saves a bit of a barney. Thought we might be here a while."
"You seem to have made up your mind."
"Well, I've got eyes." He shrugged. "So, what're you going to do about it?"
He definitely had a stress headache now. Or perhaps it was the delayed impact of being punched repeatedly in the face, something Chandler had to remind himself had happened only that morning, it now feeling a world away from this conversation. He shook his head, then winced with the pain. "I'm not doing anything."
"What'd you mean?"
"I mean, I'm not doing anything."
"Doesn't have to be anything big. Dinner. Drinks. Can't imagine asking out a bloke's any harder than asking out a woman. Might even be easier. Kent'll, at least, definitely say yes."
"I know." At the curious look on the Sergeant's face, he gave a small shrug. "I also have eyes, Miles."
He knew they all thought he was a bit naive with it all. Or maybe just a bit too aloof. Too much the fast-tracking, privately educated type to ever understand the signs of a workplace crush. Whatever it was, he was faintly proud of himself for the look on the other man's face, the slight surprise, the small grunt of approval.
"Well, the lad's hardly been subtle."
It wasn't the Kent from that morning that Chandler thought of, even with his hands on him as he knelt beside him, watching him with eyes full of worry, when he thought of how Kent looked at him. That was any colleague, any officer for their team. In a job like this one, that concern was to be expected. No, it was the Kent he'd stood with by the whiteboard the day before, the one who'd looked at him intently, eyes bright with interest at everything he had to say, however desperate, however absurd. The Kent who'd carefully put out his own theory, who'd pulled the files from his desk with slender pale hands, who he'd watched pin images to the board to align perfectly with his own. The Kent who smiled at him far too widely as he'd praised him, the smile that highlighted his sharp cheekbones, who'd ducked his head at the Inspector's touch of his shoulder, hiding what Chandler knew to be a blush. The Kent whose eyes he'd felt follow him as he returned to his office, almost burning.
Or perhaps the Kent from the pub two weeks before. The Kent slightly flushed from a couple of pints, his suit jacket thrown casually over the back of his chair, laughing mindlessly at whatever unfortunate joke Mansell had thrown out, but meeting Chandler's eyes with a curious purpose, his laugh catching in his throat until it was a nervous swallow. He'd busied himself with his orange juice at the sight, too aware of the hitching of his breath, of the images suddenly forming in his head.
"You've never looked at me like that. Should be grateful really, Judy can get awfully jealous." He could have laughed at the almost comic sight of the Inspector's reaction, wide eyed in horror. He softened though as his head slumped into his hands, and asked, "why don't you just ask him for a drink?"
"What?" Chandler looked up, affronted "No."
"Why not?"
"It wouldn't be appropriate."
"I know plenty of Inspectors having it off with their constables. I know plenty of Inspectors having it off with anything in a skirt. There's probably plenty of them having it off with anything in trousers too, for that matter. No-one would care."
"It's not that."
"Then what? The team wouldn't mind. Told you, my lot are above all that. I'd keep Mansell in check, if that's what you're worried about."
"It's not..." He paused, taking a deep breath, hands clenching and unclenching on the desk. "It's not...I'm not gay, Miles."
It took a lot of effort for him to resist pointing out the obvious. The bloody obvious, given Chandler's face only moments ago at what he assumed had been the thought of Kent. He settled instead for a well-natured chuckle. "That's alright. There's the other one, isn't there? Where you like both? Same thing really, isn't it?"
"No. I mean...I mean I'm not...In this job, people don't..."
"People don't what?" The Sergeant had turned stern again, looking across at him with a hard stare. "In this job, people don't what?"
Chandler took a deep breath, his hands moving to the edge of the desk, fingers clenching white against the wood, steeling himself, too aware of Miles' frown across from him. "My father was a good DCI. He knew what that meant. He taught me it was being careful, and analytical, and observant. But he also knew what that wasn't. He said you couldn't be weak." He paused, pained by the memory. "He found me, when I was about nine. It was the Summer holidays, and the rest of the boys in the houses nearby had gone to the woods. I didn't want to. I never really wanted to...it wasn't the mess, I wasn't like...I just didn't enjoy it. I'd stayed home, hidden somewhere in the house. I was reading."
"Nothing wrong with that," Miles said softly, watching the other man's face with concern. "Wish my kids read more, if I'm honest."
Chandler gave a short bitter laugh. "He took the book off me and told me to stop being such a pansy. He said I needed to be like other boys. He signed me up for boxing classes the following week."
"Joe-"
"When I was at university, I made a friend. He was on my course. We were close. Not that," he said suddenly, perhaps noticing the look in the Sergeant's eyes. "Just close. The Commander visited me one weekend; I had them meet. By this point, the Commander was the closest I had to family. He told me that he knew what I was doing, with this boy. That I would never be successful if I continued. That he wouldn't support me if I kept seeing him. He made it very clear that men like that don't succeed in the Met." He paused, hesitating. "I ended the friendship the following day. We didn't speak to each other again."
"I don't like to speak ill of the dead. Gives me the creeps. And I don’t like talking down our own. But your father was nothing other than a good old-fashioned homophobe. Same as the Commander." He held up his hand as Chandler went to speak. "Don't interrupt. That is all that is. Doesn't matter who says it. You can dress it up as much as you want, but it all boils down to the same thing. And I'm not saying those attitudes don't exist in the Met. Course they do. The team wasn't good with all that stuff a few years ago. Took Kent being with us three months before he told us, and I think that was only an accident. But they got better. Times have changed. People don't care, Joe. And who you go home to at night doesn't make you a better or worse detective, so you can't let thinking that be the only reason you aren't doing something that could make you happy."
He hesitated, taking another deep breath. "I'm too difficult for him, Miles. It wouldn't be fair."
"Do you think he doesn't know?"
"He doesn't know everything."
"That's the point of relationships; you find these things out. Give the lad some credit. He's worked with you now for over four years. He's been there for all your moments, your good and bad. He's been recipient of some of them." Chandler gave a brief involuntary wince at that, the memory of the Krays not far from his mind. "And he still likes you. But you can't expect that to last forever. At some point, he'll move on. He'll meet some fit bobby on a crime scene, or a bloke from SOCO or, God forbid, a PCSO and you'll lose him. Don't have that happen. Definitely don’t have that happen because your dad had the wrong idea about what makes a good police officer.”
He'd won a smile out of him by this point, albeit a tired one, but good enough for him. He stood up as if to leave. “Do you do this to everyone, Miles?”
“Do what?”
“Interfere so much.”
“Been known to in my time. But no, not really. Don’t need to with the others. Meg’s married. Mansell does well enough without any help. Can’t picture the woman who’d suit Bucan. That just leaves you two.”
“Why bother?”
“Maybe I’d quite like an Inspector who doesn’t have a face like a slapped arse.” He grinned. “Or maybe I need someone else to help stop you getting yourself killed. My kids are growing up. They’ll be at the stage soon where they’re going out, making their own mistakes, and I’m going to worry. I can’t worry about them and about you. My heart won’t take it. I need someone to take over. And if that person makes you happy as well, that’s a bonus really.”
From beyond the office, they heard the Incident Room door opening, the sound of footsteps on the polished floor. Miles didn’t need to open the blinds to identify them, the slight brightening of Chandler’s face enough for him to know.
“Don’t know where you got that address from, Skip.” Kent was shaking his head as the Sergeant approached him, his hair damp from the rain he’d seemingly been caught in. “Neighbours said the suspect hasn’t lived there in years.”
“You tried, at least.” He waited for Kent to finish wrestling with his wet coat and scarf before he stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. He nodded towards Chandler, sat still at his desk, trying his best not to watch them. “Look, his Nibs wants a word with you. Privately.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know, I’m not his secretary, am I? Just go now, whilst the others are still out. He’ll appreciate it.”
He resisted chuckling to himself at the sight of Chandler’s wide eyes as Kent approached the office door until he was at least out of the Incident Room.
He watched them carefully over the next month for any sign something had changed. But nothing. If anything, they perhaps seemed more awkward with each other, the Inspector a little more aloof, Kent no longer staying late past his shift. Miles had just shrugged. Things don’t always work out, he’d told himself, so long as they keep it out of the office. Was he disappointed? Course he was, but life goes on.
They were at the pub. It had been a slow week, two gang stabbings and a missing person who it turned out had just gotten far too drunk and taken a plunge into the Thames. The pub had been Miles’ suggestion to try and boost morale after they had taken down the last young man’s picture from the whiteboard and erased his name. He hadn’t expected them both to turn up, not really. But there they were. Kent was doing his best to look interested in whatever it was that Buchan was explaining to him, head resting on his hand, and Chandler had been sat nursing his orange juice until he’d ducked out for the bathroom about five minutes ago. Another five, maybe, and Miles then may send a search party. Not yet, though.
“Your round, I reckon, Kent,” Mansell called out suddenly, rubbing his hands together. “Who else fancies a bottle of champagne?”
“Very funny. Never seems to be your round.” Kent rolled his eyes but stood anyway and trudged his way to the crowded bar. In his absence, Buchan moved down a seat, so he was sat beside Miles, and continued whatever monologue he’d previously been entertaining Kent with. Miles wasn’t listening.
“Mansell. Get yourself to the bar and help Kent with those drinks, would you? He can’t carry them all himself.”
“No worry, Skip. The boss is with him.”
Miles glanced over to the bar, where he spotted the Inspector stood besides Kent. He was about to look away when he watched as Chandler rested his hand momentarily on the other man’s lower back, to be met with a small smile.
He waited until they were leaving. Kent was stood outside the pub, as if waiting, breathing onto his cold hands. Miles grinned at him as he passed.
“You look after him, son.” He nodded, relishing the slight widening of his eyes, the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “It’s your job now to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”
He watched as Kent seemed to wrestle with himself, as if unsure what he was expected to respond, choosing in the end just to nod back. “Yes, Skip.”
“Good. Tell the Boss I said bye, would you?”
His face seemed to turn redder. “Yes, Skip.”
“I won’t tell the others.”
“Thanks, Skip.”