Chapter Text
there’s always a reason,
to stay inside your head…
…but you don’t have to hide your scars
not from me tonight
- the pretender, the main
“Sir?” Emerson blinked, balancing himself on the crutches strapped to his arms. He hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. Hadn’t even called his family to let them know his condition. Didn’t want them to worry. Or have to admit what’d happened outloud. They already didn’t like his choice in career, he didn’t need to give them more ammunition to tell him to make a change, find something safer. Besides, the idea of having to tell anyone what’d happened made him feel even worse than the pain. At least with that, there were the medications the doctors had prescribed. What medication does one take for mortification? It was already bad enough the chaps at work knew. He didn’t even know how he was going to face them. Much less DI Chandler. He and DS Miles had come to the hospital immediately after hearing the news, there was no way to hide it. And they had seen him…in that condition. DI Chandler had seen Emerson laying there on his back…seen the damage done to him…seen him bare-assed on a stretcher. Why couldn’t they have done him in the head? At least then he might not have the memory…
And as if to make things even worse, heading out towards the main doors, there was DI Chandler…waiting. Emerson Kent wished the floors would open up and swallow him whole. Why was he even there?
“Good to see you up and about.” Joseph Chandler gave a curt, but polite, nod.
“I…I wasn't expecting to see you.”
“Kent, with the Krays still on us, I think it best…well, if you came and stayed with me.” Joe adjusted his coat lapels, standing a little straighter. “For your own protection.”
“I don’t need protection, sir.”
“With all due respect,” DI Chandler gave a pointed look to the crutches, “I believe you do. What if they come to your home, Kent? How exactly would you go about defending yourself? Bashing Jimmy in the head or tripping Johnny with your new…appendages.”
If it was anyone else, Mansell for example, Emerson would have given him the middle finger. Instead, this was DI Chandler, and there were a thousand things Emerson Kent would rather do than cross his DI. Joseph Chandler demanded, no commanded, respect. From day one, Emerson could tell something was different. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he expected more from them. No one had expected much from their unit. But DI Chandler had seen something more in each of them, had expected something more from each of them. Emerson didn’t want to do anything to disappoint him.
“Sir? What are you suggesting?”
“I am suggesting, DC Kent, that you come stay with me, at least until you’re able to stand straightly on your own two feet again.”
“The doctors said that could be two or three more weeks…”
“Then two or three weeks it is. Do you need a…uh…hand?” Joe’s hand hovered above Emerson’s elbow awkwardly.
“I’ve got it sir, thank you.”
“Okay, well come along then. The car is ‘round front.”
Emerson didn’t know what else to say or do, other than follow Joseph Chandler to his sleek black car. To his surprise, Joe held the passenger side door open for him, and Emerson slid awkwardly inside. It was mortifying, his DI watching him gingerly crawl into the passenger seat. The whole ordeal was nothing but mortifying.
Joseph Chandler drove them to his condo, tightening his grip on the steering wheel the entire time. He didn’t know what had possessed him to prepare the guest room, or arrive at the hospital the moment he’d heard Emerson Kent was going to be discharged. It did make sense though, it was logical. They were all looking after one another. Families had been sent away. Precautions had been taken. But Emerson Kent lived entirely alone, and was currently the most vulnerable of them all. Not that Joe would ever say that to him. He knew Kent was embarrassed enough as it was. He didn’t want the lad to feel as if he was being babysat. That wasn’t his intention at all. It was just…he couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing had been his fault. Emerson Kent, wide-eyed and nothing but sweet, had been hurt in such a horrific, brutal fashion, and Joe hadn’t been able to do a single thing. This though, he could do.
He’d spent the last few days preparing the guest room. The bedsheets had already been washed, but he’d set a new set of sheets onto the bed anyway. He’d dusted and cleaned and scrubbed until the place sparkled. He’d never opened his home up for anyone before. Had never so much as even had an overnight guest. This was new, uncharted territory. But he knew this is what he needed to do. He needed Emerson Kent in his eyesight. He needed to ensure the lad would be okay. It was the least he could do.
Once the car pulled into the underground parking, Joe came around the side to help Emerson out.
“I don’t think it’s safe to return to your home just yet, Kent,” Joe explained, leading Emerson to the elevators, “But we can send some officers to pick up some things if you’d like…change of clothes, that sort of thing.”
Emerson bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to argue. “That would be…that would be good, sir.”
“Very well then.”
Joe punched the button to his floor and the elevators opened up to his private condo entrance. He lead Emerson inside, taking off his woolen coat and hanging it in the closet beside the door along with about a dozen identical ones.
From the entry way, Emerson could see the apartment was about what he’d expected from his DI. The entire place was covered in shining hardwood, and everything was perfectly straight and centered. There was not a single thread or dust particle. Nothing was out of place or askew. Except for, Emerson felt, himself. He didn’t belong here. He felt like a kid who’d stepped inside a museum. Everything looked untouchable and in perfect order. His own flat was the mirror opposite. Dishes usually crowded the sink, his shoes were often kicked off at the door in a pile of rubber and laces. He was pretty sure when he’d left, there’d been an old t-shirt tossed over the back of his sofa. And even though the thought made him wrinkle his nose, Emerson couldn’t remember the last time he’d hoovered.
“This way,” Joseph motioned for Emerson to follow. Emerson hobbled on his crutches down the hallway towards the guest room. “This is where you will be staying. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Emerson peered around the doorframe into the bedroom. The bed was perfectly made and the thought of even touching it and making a wrinkle was enough to send him almost into a panic.
“Are you sure, sir?” Emerson asked tentatively. He knew this was probably an uncomfortable invitation on DI Chandler’s end. He knew enough about the man in their time together to know that he was a little more than slightly obsessive with cleanliness and order. He didn’t want to put him out or make him feel uncomfortable in his own home.
“Quite, Kent,” Chandler said, folding his arms across his chest in a decided manner, “I don’t want an argument. Under my roof is the safest place right now for you. Besides, Mansell tells me you hadn’t even told your family what’s happened. I want you to know right now, there’s no shame in what you’ve been through, Kent. You were a brave DC. Do not let what the Krays did make you think any less of yourself. That being said, I also know that this is a difficult situation you’re in. You do need help, Kent. There’s no shame in accepting help.”
“Thank you,” Emerson swallowed the lump that had lodged its way into his throat.
“In the closet, you’ll find a change of clothes. Something comfortable. Go ahead and change, and I’ll be in the kitchen preparing supper.”
Joe closed the door behind him and Emerson glanced around the room, now left completely alone. It felt weird being in DI Chandler’s home. He felt like he was intruding in some way. But he tried to focus on the words Chandler had said. He’d told him he was brave. Those simple words meant the world to Emerson. He hobbled to the closet and looked inside to find a pair of gray joggers hanging on pants’ hangers and a matching gray jumper.
With some effort, Emerson changed into the clothes, breathing in the soft smells of detergent and softener. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be cared for, looked after. He tried to tell himself that what DI Chandler was doing was simply offering a level of protection he would for any of them. Still, Emerson Kent couldn’t help but soft tumbling of butterflies in his stomach at the thought of DI Chandler looking after him.
As he made his way down from the hall, Emerson found Joeseph setting a table with two plates, perfectly aligned with two glasses of lemon water.
“I hope stir-fry is fine with you.”
“I love stir-fry,” Emerson’s mouth watered, thankful for anything other than hospital food. “I am pretty sure what they feed in hospital is no better than dog food.”
DI Chandler actually chuckled and Emerson blushed, gingerly taking a seat across from him.
“Well then, I hope you think more highly of my cooking than you do of the hospital staff’s.”
Emerson smiled, taking a bite of chicken and pepper. It was delicious.
“Mm,” he covered his mouth with his hand, “Very good, sir.”
“I’m glad you like it. I have to admit, it was nice cooking for more than just myself tonight.”
“I can help with the cooking, sir. And cleaning and whatever else. I don’t want to just…”
Chandler held up a hand, “Nonsense,” he said, “You, Kent, are a guest in my home. You’ll not be treated as anything less.”
Emerson smiled around a bite of broccoli.