Fic: In The End.
Jul. 30th, 2014 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: In the End.
Fandom. Whitechapel
Characters. Chandler, Kent. (Could be seen as pre Chandler/Kent)
Warnings: depressive bordering on the suicidal thoughts from one character.
Written for the prompt on comment fic.
I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it didn't even matter. (Which are lyrics from Linkin Park's In The End.
He'd tried. He'd given the investigation everything he had and it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. The Ripper copycat had escaped, Buchan's career had been destroyed and Miles was in surgery.
Miles. His sergeant. Irascible, insufferable, and a damn good detective, he'd held him together over the course if the investigation and he'd failed him. His blood was still soaked into his suit, staining it, staining him. It was never going to wash off. He was never going to be clean. The water from the shower pounded down on him. Too hot or too cold he couldn't tell. Didn't care. Nothing would wash away his failure. He could burn or freeze or drown in here and no one would know. No one would care. Maybe it would be better if he did. He was a curse to all those around him. His father's death, his mother's descent into madness, it was only a matter of time before he destroyed everybody else he was close to.
A tiny part of him knew it wasn't rational. That it made no more sense than his need to switch the light on and off dozens of times before he left the room or his need to sort push pins in to piles on his desk when there were more pressing matters at hand. Sometimes the water could drown out the thoughts and fears racing in his mind. Clean, white noise, under the water he was safe.
Today it didn't help. The hammering in his head got worse and he tried to curl into a ball. Maybe being pushed down the stairs had done more damage than he thought. Maybe this was the end. He couldn't find it in himself to care.
The hammering abruptly stopped to be followed by a crash and a moment later he saw a familiar form outside his shower.
"Sir? DI Chandler?" DC Kent dropped down on his knees in front of the glass. "Sir, please. Miles is going to make it. Please, don't do....well whatever it is. Please."
He looked up at him. Kent who'd been the only one who'd welcomed him from the start. Kent who sounded so afraid for him.
"The team, they think you made the right call," Kent said opening the door, water sluicing out onto the tiled floor. He leant inside past him and shut off the water. "We'll get another chance at the Ripper. We got DNA samples now. You saved that woman's life. You saved the Sarge. They ain't ever going to forget that. Whatever anyone else says, you're one of us."
He can't speak. Can't thank him. Can't push him away. Can't do anything, but let Kent pull him from the shower to stand
Kent grabbed a bathrobe and wrapped it round him. A pointless act of comfort that did nothing to dry him, but somehow felt better than it should. "Come on, sir. Let's get you out of there."
A mute nod was all he could manage. He'd lost it all. The case. His fast track to promotion. Most likely Commander Anderson's patronage. The respect of a lot other officers. Certainly that of Fitzgerald who'd sold them all out to the press. Why did Kent care?
Pushed into his kitchen and sat on a chair, the world moved about him in a blur. Kent pushed a mug of tea into his hand. "It's going to be okay, sir." The tea grew cold before he'd drunk it, while Kent kept repeating his belief that it will somehow be alright in the end with the fervour of man who is trying to convince himself as much as others.
Chandler closed his eyes. He'd sleep soon, exhaustion finally pulling him under. Perhaps it would be enough not to dream.
It was weeks before they were back together as a team again. Miles acting like a ferocious mother hen toward everybody on the team whether they liked it or not. And Kent shooting him odd, coy glances that he wasn't quite sure if he was really meant to see.
They didn't get another chance at the Ripper and once glowing career was in tatters, but maybe in the end none of it mattered. He'd found something better. Acceptance.
Fandom. Whitechapel
Characters. Chandler, Kent. (Could be seen as pre Chandler/Kent)
Warnings: depressive bordering on the suicidal thoughts from one character.
Written for the prompt on comment fic.
I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it didn't even matter. (Which are lyrics from Linkin Park's In The End.
He'd tried. He'd given the investigation everything he had and it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. The Ripper copycat had escaped, Buchan's career had been destroyed and Miles was in surgery.
Miles. His sergeant. Irascible, insufferable, and a damn good detective, he'd held him together over the course if the investigation and he'd failed him. His blood was still soaked into his suit, staining it, staining him. It was never going to wash off. He was never going to be clean. The water from the shower pounded down on him. Too hot or too cold he couldn't tell. Didn't care. Nothing would wash away his failure. He could burn or freeze or drown in here and no one would know. No one would care. Maybe it would be better if he did. He was a curse to all those around him. His father's death, his mother's descent into madness, it was only a matter of time before he destroyed everybody else he was close to.
A tiny part of him knew it wasn't rational. That it made no more sense than his need to switch the light on and off dozens of times before he left the room or his need to sort push pins in to piles on his desk when there were more pressing matters at hand. Sometimes the water could drown out the thoughts and fears racing in his mind. Clean, white noise, under the water he was safe.
Today it didn't help. The hammering in his head got worse and he tried to curl into a ball. Maybe being pushed down the stairs had done more damage than he thought. Maybe this was the end. He couldn't find it in himself to care.
The hammering abruptly stopped to be followed by a crash and a moment later he saw a familiar form outside his shower.
"Sir? DI Chandler?" DC Kent dropped down on his knees in front of the glass. "Sir, please. Miles is going to make it. Please, don't do....well whatever it is. Please."
He looked up at him. Kent who'd been the only one who'd welcomed him from the start. Kent who sounded so afraid for him.
"The team, they think you made the right call," Kent said opening the door, water sluicing out onto the tiled floor. He leant inside past him and shut off the water. "We'll get another chance at the Ripper. We got DNA samples now. You saved that woman's life. You saved the Sarge. They ain't ever going to forget that. Whatever anyone else says, you're one of us."
He can't speak. Can't thank him. Can't push him away. Can't do anything, but let Kent pull him from the shower to stand
Kent grabbed a bathrobe and wrapped it round him. A pointless act of comfort that did nothing to dry him, but somehow felt better than it should. "Come on, sir. Let's get you out of there."
A mute nod was all he could manage. He'd lost it all. The case. His fast track to promotion. Most likely Commander Anderson's patronage. The respect of a lot other officers. Certainly that of Fitzgerald who'd sold them all out to the press. Why did Kent care?
Pushed into his kitchen and sat on a chair, the world moved about him in a blur. Kent pushed a mug of tea into his hand. "It's going to be okay, sir." The tea grew cold before he'd drunk it, while Kent kept repeating his belief that it will somehow be alright in the end with the fervour of man who is trying to convince himself as much as others.
Chandler closed his eyes. He'd sleep soon, exhaustion finally pulling him under. Perhaps it would be enough not to dream.
It was weeks before they were back together as a team again. Miles acting like a ferocious mother hen toward everybody on the team whether they liked it or not. And Kent shooting him odd, coy glances that he wasn't quite sure if he was really meant to see.
They didn't get another chance at the Ripper and once glowing career was in tatters, but maybe in the end none of it mattered. He'd found something better. Acceptance.