Fic - Whitechapel: Strange Bedfellows
Title: Strange Bedfellows
Rating: Teen
No standard warnings apply
Characters: Joe Chandler, Ray Miles
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, sleep deprivation, set between s3e4 and s3e5
Word Count: ~5,800
This is my first Whitechapel fic. Thanks to barcardivodka for beta and Brit-pick. All remaining errors are mine.
“Miles!” DI Joe Chandler lunged forward, caught his sergeant’s elbow, and pulled him backwards, narrowly stopping his stumble from becoming a fall down the steps into the incident room.
Ray Miles found his feet and jerked his arm away. “Stop fussin’. I’m all right,” he said sharply, causing Chandler to take a step back. “Boss,” Miles added belatedly. “Sorry, guv, should’ve been watching where I was going,” he said quietly.
Chandler nodded, murmuring, “My office. Now.” For a brief moment he thought Miles was going to defy him, and then Miles’s shoulders drooped and he led the way through the incident room.
Chandler closed the door behind them and drew down the blind, blocking out the enquiring stares of DCs Meg Riley and Emerson Kent. Miles was slumped in the chair in the corner, scowling fiercely. Chandler sat behind his desk and waited. The ticking of his watch grew louder as the seconds passed. Miles folded his arms across his chest and pushed himself a little further down in the chair. Chandler sighed inwardly.
“Miles, is something wrong at home?”
Miles looked startled. “Why would you think that, boss?”
“Because the last time you looked this wretched was when Martha wasn’t sleeping well, and before that when you thought Judy might have had... might have been seriously ill.” It wasn’t entirely true; Miles was at least clean-shaven, but if the bags under his eyes were any deeper he’d look like a short-nosed bloodhound.
The look on Miles’s face told Chandler he was wide of the mark, but Chandler was no less convinced it was something to do with Miles’s family.
“Everything’s fine, boss.”
Everything clearly wasn’t fine, but Chandler was unwilling to press Miles further. He would have to find out another way. “Fine, Miles, I’ll take your word for it, but the fact remains that you’re clearly not getting enough sleep.” He took Miles’s silence as an acknowledgement. “I know you were doing twelve-hour days last week-”
“Kent.” Miles almost spat the name, staggering Chandler. To speak so vehemently of any member of his team, especially Kent, was out of character for Miles.
“Miles!” Chandler made sure his tone carried his displeasure. “It wasn’t Kent, or anyone else on the team,” he continued more patiently. “I do have eyes of my own.”
“Sorry, boss.” Miles’s voice was heavy. “It’s just... he was hovering around last week, offering to take on more and more of the paperwork, always asking if I wanted tea... Last Thursday he suggested I could go home early. Can you believe that? Like he was my bloody mother or something. When he asked to see you this morning... didn’t think anything of it at the time but then...” Miles head sunk a little further between his shoulders.
“Kent was briefing me on the current state of our budget - like he does on the second Monday of every month.” It was a task Miles should have been well aware of; he’d personally delegated it to Kent after Chandler had suggested Miles reduce his office-based workload.
Chandler was now convinced Miles wasn’t simply exhausted - he was horribly sleep deprived again. He took a steadying breath. It also seemed Kent had been more aware of Miles’s state of mind than he had been. That was a failing on Chandler’s part, and one he hoped would never happen again.
“Listen, Miles...” He could order Miles to tell him what was wrong, but he had too much respect for the man to put him in that position. “...it’s quiet here and you’re owed some leave. Take the rest of the week off, get some rest. It’s half-term, isn’t it? Spend some time with the boys.”
“Can’t.”
“Of course you can.” Chandler huffed a small laugh. “I’m giving you permission.”
Miles took a deep breath and pushed himself up in the chair and pressed his shoulders back. “Tell you what. I’ll have a quick kip after lunch - I’ll hide down in the dark with Buchan; there’s still a couple of quiet corners down there. I’ll be right as rain.”
“Go home, Miles.” Please don’t make me make it an order. I can’t do that to you again.
“Boss, please, I’ll be fine. I don’t need to-”
“Miles,” Chandler said patiently, “If not for your sake, think of the team. I need you at one-hundred per cent. I promise, if we get a murder, I will personally come around and pick you up. Please, Ray.”
Chandler knew it was unfair to play the ‘first-name’ card, but it worked.
___________________________________________________
Two days later, Chandler received a call from the CPS querying the details of an assault report. Miles was the officer on record. Fortunately, it was a simple matter for Kent to find Miles’s original notes and verify the accuracy of the original report. Knowing Miles would be angry his work had been called into question, and knowing he would find out one way or another, Chandler determined the best course of action would be to tell him now, and give him time to calm down before he returned the following Monday.
After Miles’s mobile jumped to voicemail, Chandler tried his home number and got the answer machine. He didn’t leave a message on either. Chandler allowed himself a small smile. Miles was probably down the park with the boys playing football. He’d try again later.
.
.
.
Chandler swore under his breath when Miles’s mobile jumped to voicemail for the fourth time. He tried the house phone and, once again, the answer machine clicked in, Liam and Judy giggling their way through the message.
Half an hour later - bloody London traffic - Chandler was standing on Miles’s doorstep. He’d tried to convince himself that there was a perfectly simple reason why no-one was answering the phones, but his mind wouldn’t let it rest. He’d told Kent he’d been called to a meeting with Commander Anderson - there was no point in worrying anyone else in the team until he knew some more himself - as he’d been fairly confident Kent wouldn’t press for more details or speculate, unlike Riley or Mansell.
Chandler looked up at the house. There was a light on upstairs and he could hear water running. He pressed the doorbell. He watched the minute hand on his watch sweep around one full minute before Miles opened the door; he looked like death warmed over.
“Sorry, boss.” It was more groan than speech. Miles pivoted and raced down the hallway. Chandler stepped through the door and walked slowly down the hallway, wincing at the sound of heavy retching. He continued carefully through the house. It was tidy, ordered, everything seemingly in its place. It was also deathly quiet apart from the sound of Miles turning himself inside out.
The kitchen was spotless. On the draining board sat a plate, a glass, a mug, and a fork. Chandler put the kettle on and popped teabags into two clean mugs, adding three spoons of sugar to Miles’s. A twin bin stood beside the back door. ‘General rubbish’ and ‘recycling’ were neatly written on the lids in a child’s hand. Half-a-dozen empty beer bottles were lined up neatly beside the bin in two rows of three. Curious as to why they weren’t in the bin itself, Chandler toed the pedals of the bins to reveal their contents. Teabags, napkins, plastic bags, and takeaway containers filled both bins. It was what he didn’t see that gave Chandler a chill.
Oh, dear God. Where are Judy and the kids?
The electric kettle rumbled as it boiled and then shut itself off with a clunk. Chandler automatically returned to the worktop and filled both mugs, his mind churning with possible explanations for the current state of Miles’s home.
Oh, God, please let there be a simple reason why they’re not here. Chandler felt physically ill as he recalled his conversation with Miles before they discovered Judy was pregnant. “She’s always there... she’s backed me up even when she knew I was wrong... That’s why I can’t lose her,” Miles had said. Chandler had envied Miles at that moment, and also wondered if he’d ever find someone he could love, or be loved by, as completely. He wished he’d brought Riley with him; she would have known what to do, what to say. Chandler gripped the edge of the worktop and took several deep breaths before retrieving the small jar of Tiger Balm from his jacket pocket. As he massaged his temples, he heard a toilet flush. Chandler knew he had to hold himself together, and focused on the task at hand.
When he opened the fridge to get the milk, Chandler recoiled in horror. Eight takeaway containers, all partially full, sat on two shelves; one looked as though it had mould on it. Chandler stretched for the milk bottle, reluctant to get any closer to the fridge’s interior. He removed the lid from the bottle and gagged; the milk must have turned several days earlier. “Christ,” he murmured. “It’s no bloody wonder Miles is sick.” He was positive the salt content in the takeaway alone would have had a detrimental effect.
Chandler decided black tea would be fine. Miles walked in - it was almost a shuffle, Chandler thought - and sat down at the table. Chandler placed the sweetened tea in front of Miles, and sat down across from him. Miles reached for the mug, his hands were trembling. He half raised the mug, lowering his head to meet it, and sipped carefully.
“Must have eaten something off,” Miles murmured. “Haven’t given myself time to get any shopping in, so I’ve been livin’ on takeaways. I should have written dates on the containers.”
There wasn’t really anything Chandler could say to that without displaying a level of care he didn’t believe he had a right to give.
“Miles...” Chandler turned his mug in a slow circle. Swallowing once, he quietly asked, “Where’s Judy?”
Miles looked around the kitchen, as though seeing it for the first time. Chandler’s heart sank until Miles spoke. “She’s taken the boys and Martha down to her mum’s in Brighton for the break. The mother-in-law...” Miles huffed. “Judy thought it’d be a nice change for the boys, get ‘em out of London for a bit. They went down the Monday before last; the school wasn’t ‘appy, but there you have it.” Miles sighed and his shoulders sagged. “It’s been dead quiet without ‘em. I’m looking forward to them coming home on the weekend.”
Judy’s mum? Brighton? Chandler almost giggled with relief until a puzzling thought crossed his mind. “Miles, if they’ve been away, and the house has been quiet...?”
“Why haven’t I been sleeping?” Miles cupped his chin in his hands and looked wearily across the table. Chandler nodded. Miles rubbed his face, his hands scraping over his stubble. “I have tried, guv. Thing is... after fifteen years, I’m so used to havin’ someone beside me that I don’t sleep well on me own.”
“But... you sent Judy and the boys away during the Kray case; it didn’t affect you then.”
“Judy came home after a couple of nights. She needed to see me, be with me. The boys stayed on with Judy’s sister.”
“Oh,” Chandler responded softly. “I didn’t realise.” He watched Miles take some more tea. “Have you tried-”
“Hot showers, warm milk, scotch.” Miles counted off on his fingers. “Judy’s meditation tapes, bad telly, reading, counting bloody sheep - even tried some of that valerian stuff.” He took another sip of his tea. “None of it made any difference.”
“What about seeing-”
“A doctor?” Chandler nodded. Miles shook his head, wincing at the movement; Chandler winced with him. “Can’t take sleeping tablets. I’ve tried ‘em twice before and they made me as sick as a dog. I swear I’ll be right once Judy’s back.”
“Your fish?”
“Can’t sleep with me fish, boss. The pond’s too wet and the seat’s too bloody hard.”
“That’s not what I-” Chandler gave a quiet laugh as a slow grin crossed Miles’s face. They sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking their tea. “Miles... Ray, if there’s anything I can do...”
“Thanks, boss, but unless you’re willing...” Miles rubbed his eyes again. “You got time to come out and sit by the fish with me for a bit? I’d welcome the company.”
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Chandler told Miles he could stay for a short while and then called Kent to say he’d been held up. He felt guilty about pressing Miles to take time off when being home alone was obviously hard on him; but at the same time, the station wasn’t the ideal place either. Chandler wished there were more he could do to help.
He followed Miles outside, staying close enough to provide a steadying hand if Miles needed it, but not so close as to appear to be hovering. As they sat down, Miles silently offered Chandler the container of pellets. He didn’t seem to notice when Chandler didn’t take any. As he fed the fish, Miles began to lean heavily against Chandler, who watched him from the corner of his eye. As Miles started to drift off, Chandler deftly rescued the slipping container from his hands and silently promised to stay for as long as he slept.
Miles was jerked to wakefulness less than half an hour later by the harsh ringing of Chandler’s phone.
“Shit. Chandler!” Chandler almost spat the words out as he answered the call. Beside him, Miles had buried his face in his hands and was rocking gently.
“Miles, I’m sorry, I have to go back to work,” Chandler murmured, placing one hand on Miles’s shoulder.
Miles glanced up at him. If anything, Chandler thought he looked worse. “S’alright, boss. I’ll be fine.”
Chandler stood and held a hand out to Miles. “Let me see you inside. You’re still half asleep.”
Miles shook his head and waved the hand away. “You go, boss. I’ll head inside in a tick. Thanks for coming out.”
“You’re welcome.” Chandler was reluctant to leave Miles where he was, but arguing would be futile, and he wasn’t going to drag Miles inside against his will. Chandler gave Miles’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take care of yourself.”
Miles gave him a half-smile and nodded before turning back to the pond.
All the way back to the station, Chandler cursed Mansell’s inability to stay out of trouble when unsupervised. Now he was going to have to spend the afternoon placating DI Wells in Traffic and ensuring Mansell kept a low profile. He hoped Miles got back inside the house without mishap. Trapped inside the car, the strong aroma of the extra Tiger Balm he’d applied pricked at his eyes.
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Arriving back at the station, Chandler was relieved to discover Riley had dragged Mansell down to the archive. Kent informed him she’d threatened Mansell with physical harm if he dared show his face outside before the end of the shift. Chandler still had to deal with Wells, though knowing Mansell had been banished to the basement would go a long way towards smoothing ruffled feathers.
Chandler couldn’t get the image of Miles sitting by the pond out of his head. As soon as the shift was over he was out the door. It felt strange to be leaving while the others were still at their desks; he was never the first to leave, and he felt Kent’s stare as he walked through the incident room doors.
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Approaching the house, Chandler saw the same light was still burning, and no others. The evening had turned chilly for August, and he shivered in spite of his suit jacket. He’d stopped on the way and picked up some basic shopping - anything to stop Miles giving himself food poisoning - and he now switched the bags from one hand to the other.
The house was silent. Chandler’s hand hovered over the doorbell.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chandler muttered to himself. If Miles was asleep, he didn’t want to ring the bell and risk waking him. But if he wasn’t, Chandler wanted to reassure himself he was okay
Chandler tried the gate at the side of the house and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. After carefully placing the bags on a window sill, he gripped the top of the gate and pulled himself up to look over it. He was stunned to see Miles in the garden, exactly where he’d left him earlier.
“Miles!” he called out, straining to hold himself in place and visible. Miles turned towards him agonisingly slowly, frowned, and then stood and began to walk towards the gate just as Chandler’s fingers gave way and he dropped to the path.
There was a metallic clunk and the gate opened a few inches. Chandler retrieved the shopping and entered the back yard. He caught up to Miles before he reached the pond.
“Miles, please tell me you haven’t been out here all afternoon.”
Miles didn’t answer him. Instead, he bent over and picked up a glass and a bottle of Glenfiddich from beside the seat. On the seat itself were several cushions and a blanket.
“Thought sleeping with the fish might work,” Miles mumbled and then shook his head sadly. “Couldn’t get comfortable.”
Chandler gathered up the makeshift bedding, dragging the corners of the blanket together. “Why don’t we go inside, Ray?” He held up the bags. “I could make you something to eat.”
Miles looked at the bags curiously. “What you got there, then?”
“Just some basics - bread, eggs, milk, butter, tomatoes, bit of bacon.”
“Bacon and egg sarnie sounds good,” Miles said wistfully.
Miles seemed to be talking to himself, and he was swaying gently, making Chandler slightly dizzy as he watched.
“Can we go in inside?” Chandler asked quietly. “I can’t make anything out here.”
Miles looked up blearily. “Yeah. C;mon.”
Miles dropped into a kitchen chair, propping his head in his hands and leaving Chandler to sort out the food. Though it wasn’t a dish he’d choose to eat himself - between egg yolk and bacon grease it was far too messy - it was simple enough to prepare. Before he put anything in the fridge, Chandler swept all the old containers into a bin liner from the roll he’d found under the sink, and then wiped down the inside of the fridge as best he could. Fortunately, none of the containers had spilled any of their contents, making the task a simple one.
Miles didn’t appear to have drunk very much, but Chandler opted to play it safe and made tea for both of them again, bringing everything to the table at the same time.
Miles bit into his sandwich and gave a small groan of pleasure. Chandler felt inordinately pleased at Miles’s obvious satisfaction. Miles was halfway through his sandwich when he stopped and looked at Chandler.
“Not eating, boss?”
“I had a late lunch,” Chandler lied smoothly. He’d anticipated the question and had been rehearsing the answer in his head.
Miles considered Chandler’s response for longer than Chandler would have liked, and he expected Miles to call his bluff. After a few more seconds, however, Miles tipped his head slightly to one side, and then continued eating. Chandler sipped his tea.
When Miles finished eating, Chandler started cleaning up. As he stood at the sink, the back of his neck began to prickle. He turned around to find Miles studying him intently.
“Why’re you doing this, boss?”
Why am I? Chandler wondered. It was the question he’d ignored. Because you’re important to me. Because I care what happens to you. “Because the team needs you, we all need you.”
Miles held his gaze. “Thanks, boss.”
If Miles understood what Chandler hadn’t said, he gave no sign.
“Why don’t you go through and sit on the couch? You’ll be more comfortable.” Chandler suggested.
Miles nodded once and started to rise. It was clearly an effort, and he leant heavily against the table before almost shuffling towards the door.
“I’ll make some more tea,” Chandler said, cringing inwardly as he heard himself. Christ, I sound like my grandmother. Tea had been her solution to everything, even his father’s death.
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.
While he waited for the kettle to boil, Chandler found a tray for the tea things. He added the bottle of Glenfiddich and two clean glasses, reasoning he could always get a taxi home if need be. He saw it a sign of the state of Miles’s mind that Miles still hadn’t asked why Chandler had come out that morning at all. It can wait. Moving through to the front room, Chandler found Miles sitting in the middle of the couch. The television was on with the volume down low. It was one of those ‘talent’ shows though Miles didn’t seem to be actually watching it. Chandler put the tray on the coffee table and sat in the armchair closest to the couch.
Miles groaned suddenly, hunched forward, and buried his face in his hands.
“Miles?” Chandler’s hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair.
“Jesus, I’m a bloody mess... and I know they’re coming back.” Miles’s words were almost a sob. “These last couple of days I’ve been thinking what would... I don’t know how I’d cope if Judy... I can’t ever lose her, Joe, I just can’t.” He started to shake, and a tear slid slowly down his cheek.
Chandler struggled to remember the last time Miles had called him Joe. Without over-thinking it, he slipped into the seat next to Miles and cautiously put his arm around Miles’s shoulder. It felt less awkward than he’d expected, and Chandler was pleased by his own calmness; he usually closely guarded his personal space.
“Judy won’t leave you, Ray. I’ve seen the two of you together. You’re the most solid couple I’ve ever met.” Miles’s trembling started to ease. “You’re over-tired, Ray. Everything will look different once you get some sleep.”
Unexpectedly, Miles twisted, wrapped his arms around Chandler’s waist, and rested his cheek against Chandler’s shoulder. Caught off-guard, Chandler kept his arm around Miles, and forced himself to stay calm. The first clear thought to pop into his head was, “What would Judy do?” He bit back a nervous giggle when he realised what he was going to do.
He brought his other arm up and around Miles and hugged him back. Though he felt more than a little out of his depth, Chandler raised one hand to gently cradle Miles’s head. Miles relaxed into him even further. The television murmured in the background and, as the minutes passed, Chandler felt his heart slowing down. It was oddly comforting to be sitting with Miles in his arms, feeling the tension leave both their bodies. Chandler lowered his eyes to look at Miles and was gratified to see he’d closed his eyes and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.
Chandler had little experience of his own to draw on for situations like this, and asked himself again, “How would Judy respond, what would she do next?” He felt she’d reassure Miles further in some way, but how? He cast his mind back, trying to recall what others had done for him. After a few seconds, Chandler drew back slightly and placed a soft, barely-there kiss on Miles’s forehead. He wasn’t prepared for Miles to sleepily lift his head and return the kiss, unerringly finding Chandler’s lips.
It was more than a brush of lips against skin. There was intent and longing behind it, and Miles pressed his lips to Chandler’s until the younger man jerked his head up.
Miles’s eyes snapped open. Guilt washed over Chandler as confusion, recognition, and then loss flashed across Miles’s face, the last expression lingering.
“Miles... I... I’m... I never...” Chandler stuttered into silence.
“I’m sorry,” Miles whispered. “I thought... For a moment, I forgot. I thought you were Judy.” He pulled away from Chandler and settled himself in the corner of the couch.
“I’m the one who owes you an apology, Miles.” Chandler knew the shake in his voice was obvious. “I didn’t think. I wanted...” I wanted to give you what Judy does. I wanted to know just the smallest part of what it is to truly care for someone else. “I didn’t mean to upset you further,” he murmured.
Miles regarded him silently, thoughtfully. While Miles’s sleep deprivation would have impaired his judgement, Chandler knew he had no such excuse. However, he didn’t feel guilt for his actions, only for causing Miles’s reaction; he had been solely responsible for compounding the loss Miles already felt. Chandler wanted Miles to be angry at him. At least if Miles was angry, Chandler could focus on that and use it to try and block out the thoughts churning in his mind at that moment. He didn’t understand why the past quarter of an hour had affected him so deeply. Chandler wasn’t gay - though there was now in his mind the remote thought he could possibly be bisexual - and the fact remained that Miles was a married man; yet Chandler found he wanted to stay in Miles’s embrace, to comfort and to be comforted. In his adult life, no-one, man or woman, had ever given him such a strong sense of belonging.
Chandler couldn’t articulate any of this. He didn’t dare. If he gave it a voice it would become a reality, and he could barely begin to imagine how awkward that could become. But he couldn’t sit here and do nothing either. As he saw it, his only safe course of action now was to hold his tongue until he heard what Miles had to say.
Miles rubbed a hand across his mouth, and then reached for the scotch and both glasses. He poured two generous measures, and passed one to Chandler. Chandler tried to read Miles’s expression and failed dismally. Miles drank down half his measure and lay back against the couch. His eyes had softened.
“Sometimes,” he started, “when a case really gets to me, Judy holds me, just like you did just now, and at night, and reassures me all will be right with the world again, that together we’ll get through anything.”
“I should never have presumed...” Chandler stopped when Miles held up one hand.
“I dunno why you did it, but it... s’far as I’m concerned it was a good thing - it helped. Then I ballsed it up by kissing you.” The top of Miles’s cheeks flushed red. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”
Staring into his glass, Chandler said softly, “You surprised me, that’s all. I’m glad I could help.”
They sat in silence. Chandler was trying to work out the best way to take his leave when Miles spoke again, his voice low and pensive.
“This afternoon, you said if there was anything you could do...” Chandler nodded, not trusting his voice, suddenly both fearful and hopeful. “Could you...?” Miles looked nervous.
“Could I... what?” Chandler offered hesitantly when Miles didn’t continue.
“Twice today I felt like I could sleep, really sleep, an’ both times you were here. I’ve no right to ask this, an’ I don’t expect... D’you think you could stay with me tonight? Please, Joe.”
The ‘please’ pulled at Chandler the way few things ever had. Miles needed him as himself; not as his boss, not as a police officer, but simply because he was Joseph Chandler.
Chandler only realised he was nodding when Miles’s tired eyes filled with gratitude. Miles hadn’t said as much, but Chandler was aware he had not just agreed to stay, but to most likely sleep in Miles’s bed with him, and he found himself wondering if he had just made one of the worst decisions of his life. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe anything would happen between him and Miles, but he was afraid of the loss he expected to feel when the night was over.
God, you can be a selfish bastard sometimes, Joseph Chandler, he chided himself. This isn’t, and never was, about you. With a small jolt he realised Miles was talking to him.
“...or bath if you like. There’re clean towels in the hall cupboard you can use, though I don’t really have anything to loan you to sleep in.”
“I, er... a shower’s fine for me,” Chandler answered, hoping he didn’t sound like a complete idiot. “And, um, I keep a packed overnight bag in my car. In case of... Just in case.”
“You sure you weren’t a boy scout?” Miles had brightened considerably since Chandler had agreed to stay. Chandler decided that alone was worth whatever he would feel when it was over. “I’ll use the bathroom while you get your bag. My keys are on a hook near the door; take ‘em and let yourself back in.”
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Chandler wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. He pressed his hand to the glass to stop the small tremor, and stared at his reflection. It had been a very long time since Chandler had slept in a bed with someone else - and he’d worked hard to forget how that had turned out. He didn’t know if he could do this, but couldn’t think of a single reasonable excuse to offer Miles. Only his desire to help Miles finally propelled him out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom.
Chandler stood in the door way and watched as Miles turned down the bedclothes and plumped up the pillows. A single lamp provided the only light. In comparison to Miles’s check pyjama bottoms and white t-shirt, Chandler felt over-dressed and pretentious in his Derek Rose pyjamas. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. Miles sank wearily onto the bed. Chandler’s eyes darted towards the light switch; he balled his fingers into fists, pressing them tightly against his body.
“Is everything all right, boss?” Miles asked.
With some effort, Chandler raised his head to look at Miles, whose eyes were filled with concern. Damn it! He was supposed to be providing comfort to Miles, not the other way around. Pull yourself together! He managed a smile.
“Fine. What do-” Chandler nervously cleared his throat. “What would you like me to do?”
“You don’t have to do anythin’; just being here’s enough.” Miles stretched behind him and patted the other side of the bed. “I don’t bite, and I promise to stick to my side of the bed - if that’s what’s bo- in case you were wonderin’. Judy’ll tell you I’m not the touchy-feely type.”
That Miles recognised Chandler was out of his depth didn’t surprise Chandler. That he knew exactly how to allay Chandler’s fears shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Miles’s ability to understand him never ceased to amaze Chandler. He could do this. For Miles.
Before he could over-think it, Chandler walked purposefully to the bed, sat down, and then swung his legs up and under the covers.
Miles gave a small nod, turned off the lamp and lay down. After a few moments, Chandler slipped down and rested his head against the pillow. He folded his hands across his stomach, stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on the ticking of his watch. He counted the passing seconds.
Miles started snoring softly as Chandler hit seven hundred. Chandler turned his head to look at him. Miles was on his side, facing the bedside table. Chandler watched the slow rise and fall of Miles’s chest as he slept and felt his own pulse begin to slow down. He turned his face back towards the ceiling and closed his eyes.
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The smell of coffee and toast greeted Chandler as he woke. He was alone in the bedroom and could hear Miles whistling. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his aching neck, and concluded he must have slept in the one position all night; his shoulders were also stiff. According to his watch it was almost seven. He swore under his breath. He’d been so nervous he’d forgotten to set his alarm, and now he had an hour and a half at the most to get to the station before anyone - no, make that Kent - would start to wonder where he was. Although he had a clean suit hanging in suit bag by Miles’s front door, and extra clean shirts in the office, he still had to get ready and deal with the morning traffic. And he wanted to be sure Miles would be okay when he left.
He was self-conscious about walking through the house in his pyjamas, but he had no choice. He couldn’t very well ask Miles to bring his suit up to him. He stood up and stretched, and then blinked in surprise. His suit bag was hanging on the handle of the wardrobe door. Thank you, Miles, he thought fondly.
He wasted no more time. Less than thirty minutes later he was shaved, showered, dressed, and standing in the kitchen door way, trying to find the right words to take his leave. Miles was sitting at the table eating toast. A half-full cafetière sat in the middle of the table, and a second place was set at the table.
“You look well.” Chandler approached the table. Miles looked more than well. The bags under his eyes had lessened and he had colour in his cheeks. He was dressed and clean-shaven, and his eyes were much brighter.
“Thanks to you, boss. Can I get you some toast? I think there-” Miles stopped and appraised Chandler. “Though, on second thoughts, shouldn’t you ought to be heading into work; you’ll have Kent fussing if you’re late.”
“Well, I can’t let that happen.” Chandler grinned. Not having to explain things to Miles was a blessing. He glanced at his watch. “However, I think I have enough time for coffee.” He sat down and poured himself half a cup; he could always pick up a freshly baked croissant at that exquisite patisserie on the way to the station. At the moment, Chandler needed to know if Miles needed him to come back after work again. And how the hell do I ask that?
Miles’s instincts spared him.
“Look, I hope you don’t mind, boss, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be all right on me own now. I had a bloody good night’s sleep, and Judy and the kids’ll be back the day after tomorrow, so everything’ll be back to normal.”
“Oh, well, if you’re certain?” Chandler wasn’t prepared for the stab of disappointment which jarred against the relief he felt, and didn’t quite understand it, either. If he ever gained enough trust to speak to a psychologist, it was definitely a question he’d have to raise.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Miles looked thoughtful. “Boss... If there’s ever a time you need a shoulder to lean on...”
“You’ll be the first person I ask,” Chandler replied sincerely. You’d be the only person I’d ask.
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Chandler had graciously, and honestly, accepted Miles’s offer, even though he never really expected to need it.
One month later, he met Morgan Lamb.
Also on AO3
Rating: Teen
No standard warnings apply
Characters: Joe Chandler, Ray Miles
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, sleep deprivation, set between s3e4 and s3e5
Word Count: ~5,800
This is my first Whitechapel fic. Thanks to barcardivodka for beta and Brit-pick. All remaining errors are mine.
“Miles!” DI Joe Chandler lunged forward, caught his sergeant’s elbow, and pulled him backwards, narrowly stopping his stumble from becoming a fall down the steps into the incident room.
Ray Miles found his feet and jerked his arm away. “Stop fussin’. I’m all right,” he said sharply, causing Chandler to take a step back. “Boss,” Miles added belatedly. “Sorry, guv, should’ve been watching where I was going,” he said quietly.
Chandler nodded, murmuring, “My office. Now.” For a brief moment he thought Miles was going to defy him, and then Miles’s shoulders drooped and he led the way through the incident room.
Chandler closed the door behind them and drew down the blind, blocking out the enquiring stares of DCs Meg Riley and Emerson Kent. Miles was slumped in the chair in the corner, scowling fiercely. Chandler sat behind his desk and waited. The ticking of his watch grew louder as the seconds passed. Miles folded his arms across his chest and pushed himself a little further down in the chair. Chandler sighed inwardly.
“Miles, is something wrong at home?”
Miles looked startled. “Why would you think that, boss?”
“Because the last time you looked this wretched was when Martha wasn’t sleeping well, and before that when you thought Judy might have had... might have been seriously ill.” It wasn’t entirely true; Miles was at least clean-shaven, but if the bags under his eyes were any deeper he’d look like a short-nosed bloodhound.
The look on Miles’s face told Chandler he was wide of the mark, but Chandler was no less convinced it was something to do with Miles’s family.
“Everything’s fine, boss.”
Everything clearly wasn’t fine, but Chandler was unwilling to press Miles further. He would have to find out another way. “Fine, Miles, I’ll take your word for it, but the fact remains that you’re clearly not getting enough sleep.” He took Miles’s silence as an acknowledgement. “I know you were doing twelve-hour days last week-”
“Kent.” Miles almost spat the name, staggering Chandler. To speak so vehemently of any member of his team, especially Kent, was out of character for Miles.
“Miles!” Chandler made sure his tone carried his displeasure. “It wasn’t Kent, or anyone else on the team,” he continued more patiently. “I do have eyes of my own.”
“Sorry, boss.” Miles’s voice was heavy. “It’s just... he was hovering around last week, offering to take on more and more of the paperwork, always asking if I wanted tea... Last Thursday he suggested I could go home early. Can you believe that? Like he was my bloody mother or something. When he asked to see you this morning... didn’t think anything of it at the time but then...” Miles head sunk a little further between his shoulders.
“Kent was briefing me on the current state of our budget - like he does on the second Monday of every month.” It was a task Miles should have been well aware of; he’d personally delegated it to Kent after Chandler had suggested Miles reduce his office-based workload.
Chandler was now convinced Miles wasn’t simply exhausted - he was horribly sleep deprived again. He took a steadying breath. It also seemed Kent had been more aware of Miles’s state of mind than he had been. That was a failing on Chandler’s part, and one he hoped would never happen again.
“Listen, Miles...” He could order Miles to tell him what was wrong, but he had too much respect for the man to put him in that position. “...it’s quiet here and you’re owed some leave. Take the rest of the week off, get some rest. It’s half-term, isn’t it? Spend some time with the boys.”
“Can’t.”
“Of course you can.” Chandler huffed a small laugh. “I’m giving you permission.”
Miles took a deep breath and pushed himself up in the chair and pressed his shoulders back. “Tell you what. I’ll have a quick kip after lunch - I’ll hide down in the dark with Buchan; there’s still a couple of quiet corners down there. I’ll be right as rain.”
“Go home, Miles.” Please don’t make me make it an order. I can’t do that to you again.
“Boss, please, I’ll be fine. I don’t need to-”
“Miles,” Chandler said patiently, “If not for your sake, think of the team. I need you at one-hundred per cent. I promise, if we get a murder, I will personally come around and pick you up. Please, Ray.”
Chandler knew it was unfair to play the ‘first-name’ card, but it worked.
___________________________________________________
Two days later, Chandler received a call from the CPS querying the details of an assault report. Miles was the officer on record. Fortunately, it was a simple matter for Kent to find Miles’s original notes and verify the accuracy of the original report. Knowing Miles would be angry his work had been called into question, and knowing he would find out one way or another, Chandler determined the best course of action would be to tell him now, and give him time to calm down before he returned the following Monday.
After Miles’s mobile jumped to voicemail, Chandler tried his home number and got the answer machine. He didn’t leave a message on either. Chandler allowed himself a small smile. Miles was probably down the park with the boys playing football. He’d try again later.
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Chandler swore under his breath when Miles’s mobile jumped to voicemail for the fourth time. He tried the house phone and, once again, the answer machine clicked in, Liam and Judy giggling their way through the message.
Half an hour later - bloody London traffic - Chandler was standing on Miles’s doorstep. He’d tried to convince himself that there was a perfectly simple reason why no-one was answering the phones, but his mind wouldn’t let it rest. He’d told Kent he’d been called to a meeting with Commander Anderson - there was no point in worrying anyone else in the team until he knew some more himself - as he’d been fairly confident Kent wouldn’t press for more details or speculate, unlike Riley or Mansell.
Chandler looked up at the house. There was a light on upstairs and he could hear water running. He pressed the doorbell. He watched the minute hand on his watch sweep around one full minute before Miles opened the door; he looked like death warmed over.
“Sorry, boss.” It was more groan than speech. Miles pivoted and raced down the hallway. Chandler stepped through the door and walked slowly down the hallway, wincing at the sound of heavy retching. He continued carefully through the house. It was tidy, ordered, everything seemingly in its place. It was also deathly quiet apart from the sound of Miles turning himself inside out.
The kitchen was spotless. On the draining board sat a plate, a glass, a mug, and a fork. Chandler put the kettle on and popped teabags into two clean mugs, adding three spoons of sugar to Miles’s. A twin bin stood beside the back door. ‘General rubbish’ and ‘recycling’ were neatly written on the lids in a child’s hand. Half-a-dozen empty beer bottles were lined up neatly beside the bin in two rows of three. Curious as to why they weren’t in the bin itself, Chandler toed the pedals of the bins to reveal their contents. Teabags, napkins, plastic bags, and takeaway containers filled both bins. It was what he didn’t see that gave Chandler a chill.
Oh, dear God. Where are Judy and the kids?
The electric kettle rumbled as it boiled and then shut itself off with a clunk. Chandler automatically returned to the worktop and filled both mugs, his mind churning with possible explanations for the current state of Miles’s home.
Oh, God, please let there be a simple reason why they’re not here. Chandler felt physically ill as he recalled his conversation with Miles before they discovered Judy was pregnant. “She’s always there... she’s backed me up even when she knew I was wrong... That’s why I can’t lose her,” Miles had said. Chandler had envied Miles at that moment, and also wondered if he’d ever find someone he could love, or be loved by, as completely. He wished he’d brought Riley with him; she would have known what to do, what to say. Chandler gripped the edge of the worktop and took several deep breaths before retrieving the small jar of Tiger Balm from his jacket pocket. As he massaged his temples, he heard a toilet flush. Chandler knew he had to hold himself together, and focused on the task at hand.
When he opened the fridge to get the milk, Chandler recoiled in horror. Eight takeaway containers, all partially full, sat on two shelves; one looked as though it had mould on it. Chandler stretched for the milk bottle, reluctant to get any closer to the fridge’s interior. He removed the lid from the bottle and gagged; the milk must have turned several days earlier. “Christ,” he murmured. “It’s no bloody wonder Miles is sick.” He was positive the salt content in the takeaway alone would have had a detrimental effect.
Chandler decided black tea would be fine. Miles walked in - it was almost a shuffle, Chandler thought - and sat down at the table. Chandler placed the sweetened tea in front of Miles, and sat down across from him. Miles reached for the mug, his hands were trembling. He half raised the mug, lowering his head to meet it, and sipped carefully.
“Must have eaten something off,” Miles murmured. “Haven’t given myself time to get any shopping in, so I’ve been livin’ on takeaways. I should have written dates on the containers.”
There wasn’t really anything Chandler could say to that without displaying a level of care he didn’t believe he had a right to give.
“Miles...” Chandler turned his mug in a slow circle. Swallowing once, he quietly asked, “Where’s Judy?”
Miles looked around the kitchen, as though seeing it for the first time. Chandler’s heart sank until Miles spoke. “She’s taken the boys and Martha down to her mum’s in Brighton for the break. The mother-in-law...” Miles huffed. “Judy thought it’d be a nice change for the boys, get ‘em out of London for a bit. They went down the Monday before last; the school wasn’t ‘appy, but there you have it.” Miles sighed and his shoulders sagged. “It’s been dead quiet without ‘em. I’m looking forward to them coming home on the weekend.”
Judy’s mum? Brighton? Chandler almost giggled with relief until a puzzling thought crossed his mind. “Miles, if they’ve been away, and the house has been quiet...?”
“Why haven’t I been sleeping?” Miles cupped his chin in his hands and looked wearily across the table. Chandler nodded. Miles rubbed his face, his hands scraping over his stubble. “I have tried, guv. Thing is... after fifteen years, I’m so used to havin’ someone beside me that I don’t sleep well on me own.”
“But... you sent Judy and the boys away during the Kray case; it didn’t affect you then.”
“Judy came home after a couple of nights. She needed to see me, be with me. The boys stayed on with Judy’s sister.”
“Oh,” Chandler responded softly. “I didn’t realise.” He watched Miles take some more tea. “Have you tried-”
“Hot showers, warm milk, scotch.” Miles counted off on his fingers. “Judy’s meditation tapes, bad telly, reading, counting bloody sheep - even tried some of that valerian stuff.” He took another sip of his tea. “None of it made any difference.”
“What about seeing-”
“A doctor?” Chandler nodded. Miles shook his head, wincing at the movement; Chandler winced with him. “Can’t take sleeping tablets. I’ve tried ‘em twice before and they made me as sick as a dog. I swear I’ll be right once Judy’s back.”
“Your fish?”
“Can’t sleep with me fish, boss. The pond’s too wet and the seat’s too bloody hard.”
“That’s not what I-” Chandler gave a quiet laugh as a slow grin crossed Miles’s face. They sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking their tea. “Miles... Ray, if there’s anything I can do...”
“Thanks, boss, but unless you’re willing...” Miles rubbed his eyes again. “You got time to come out and sit by the fish with me for a bit? I’d welcome the company.”
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Chandler told Miles he could stay for a short while and then called Kent to say he’d been held up. He felt guilty about pressing Miles to take time off when being home alone was obviously hard on him; but at the same time, the station wasn’t the ideal place either. Chandler wished there were more he could do to help.
He followed Miles outside, staying close enough to provide a steadying hand if Miles needed it, but not so close as to appear to be hovering. As they sat down, Miles silently offered Chandler the container of pellets. He didn’t seem to notice when Chandler didn’t take any. As he fed the fish, Miles began to lean heavily against Chandler, who watched him from the corner of his eye. As Miles started to drift off, Chandler deftly rescued the slipping container from his hands and silently promised to stay for as long as he slept.
Miles was jerked to wakefulness less than half an hour later by the harsh ringing of Chandler’s phone.
“Shit. Chandler!” Chandler almost spat the words out as he answered the call. Beside him, Miles had buried his face in his hands and was rocking gently.
“Miles, I’m sorry, I have to go back to work,” Chandler murmured, placing one hand on Miles’s shoulder.
Miles glanced up at him. If anything, Chandler thought he looked worse. “S’alright, boss. I’ll be fine.”
Chandler stood and held a hand out to Miles. “Let me see you inside. You’re still half asleep.”
Miles shook his head and waved the hand away. “You go, boss. I’ll head inside in a tick. Thanks for coming out.”
“You’re welcome.” Chandler was reluctant to leave Miles where he was, but arguing would be futile, and he wasn’t going to drag Miles inside against his will. Chandler gave Miles’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take care of yourself.”
Miles gave him a half-smile and nodded before turning back to the pond.
All the way back to the station, Chandler cursed Mansell’s inability to stay out of trouble when unsupervised. Now he was going to have to spend the afternoon placating DI Wells in Traffic and ensuring Mansell kept a low profile. He hoped Miles got back inside the house without mishap. Trapped inside the car, the strong aroma of the extra Tiger Balm he’d applied pricked at his eyes.
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Arriving back at the station, Chandler was relieved to discover Riley had dragged Mansell down to the archive. Kent informed him she’d threatened Mansell with physical harm if he dared show his face outside before the end of the shift. Chandler still had to deal with Wells, though knowing Mansell had been banished to the basement would go a long way towards smoothing ruffled feathers.
Chandler couldn’t get the image of Miles sitting by the pond out of his head. As soon as the shift was over he was out the door. It felt strange to be leaving while the others were still at their desks; he was never the first to leave, and he felt Kent’s stare as he walked through the incident room doors.
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Approaching the house, Chandler saw the same light was still burning, and no others. The evening had turned chilly for August, and he shivered in spite of his suit jacket. He’d stopped on the way and picked up some basic shopping - anything to stop Miles giving himself food poisoning - and he now switched the bags from one hand to the other.
The house was silent. Chandler’s hand hovered over the doorbell.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chandler muttered to himself. If Miles was asleep, he didn’t want to ring the bell and risk waking him. But if he wasn’t, Chandler wanted to reassure himself he was okay
Chandler tried the gate at the side of the house and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. After carefully placing the bags on a window sill, he gripped the top of the gate and pulled himself up to look over it. He was stunned to see Miles in the garden, exactly where he’d left him earlier.
“Miles!” he called out, straining to hold himself in place and visible. Miles turned towards him agonisingly slowly, frowned, and then stood and began to walk towards the gate just as Chandler’s fingers gave way and he dropped to the path.
There was a metallic clunk and the gate opened a few inches. Chandler retrieved the shopping and entered the back yard. He caught up to Miles before he reached the pond.
“Miles, please tell me you haven’t been out here all afternoon.”
Miles didn’t answer him. Instead, he bent over and picked up a glass and a bottle of Glenfiddich from beside the seat. On the seat itself were several cushions and a blanket.
“Thought sleeping with the fish might work,” Miles mumbled and then shook his head sadly. “Couldn’t get comfortable.”
Chandler gathered up the makeshift bedding, dragging the corners of the blanket together. “Why don’t we go inside, Ray?” He held up the bags. “I could make you something to eat.”
Miles looked at the bags curiously. “What you got there, then?”
“Just some basics - bread, eggs, milk, butter, tomatoes, bit of bacon.”
“Bacon and egg sarnie sounds good,” Miles said wistfully.
Miles seemed to be talking to himself, and he was swaying gently, making Chandler slightly dizzy as he watched.
“Can we go in inside?” Chandler asked quietly. “I can’t make anything out here.”
Miles looked up blearily. “Yeah. C;mon.”
Miles dropped into a kitchen chair, propping his head in his hands and leaving Chandler to sort out the food. Though it wasn’t a dish he’d choose to eat himself - between egg yolk and bacon grease it was far too messy - it was simple enough to prepare. Before he put anything in the fridge, Chandler swept all the old containers into a bin liner from the roll he’d found under the sink, and then wiped down the inside of the fridge as best he could. Fortunately, none of the containers had spilled any of their contents, making the task a simple one.
Miles didn’t appear to have drunk very much, but Chandler opted to play it safe and made tea for both of them again, bringing everything to the table at the same time.
Miles bit into his sandwich and gave a small groan of pleasure. Chandler felt inordinately pleased at Miles’s obvious satisfaction. Miles was halfway through his sandwich when he stopped and looked at Chandler.
“Not eating, boss?”
“I had a late lunch,” Chandler lied smoothly. He’d anticipated the question and had been rehearsing the answer in his head.
Miles considered Chandler’s response for longer than Chandler would have liked, and he expected Miles to call his bluff. After a few more seconds, however, Miles tipped his head slightly to one side, and then continued eating. Chandler sipped his tea.
When Miles finished eating, Chandler started cleaning up. As he stood at the sink, the back of his neck began to prickle. He turned around to find Miles studying him intently.
“Why’re you doing this, boss?”
Why am I? Chandler wondered. It was the question he’d ignored. Because you’re important to me. Because I care what happens to you. “Because the team needs you, we all need you.”
Miles held his gaze. “Thanks, boss.”
If Miles understood what Chandler hadn’t said, he gave no sign.
“Why don’t you go through and sit on the couch? You’ll be more comfortable.” Chandler suggested.
Miles nodded once and started to rise. It was clearly an effort, and he leant heavily against the table before almost shuffling towards the door.
“I’ll make some more tea,” Chandler said, cringing inwardly as he heard himself. Christ, I sound like my grandmother. Tea had been her solution to everything, even his father’s death.
.
.
While he waited for the kettle to boil, Chandler found a tray for the tea things. He added the bottle of Glenfiddich and two clean glasses, reasoning he could always get a taxi home if need be. He saw it a sign of the state of Miles’s mind that Miles still hadn’t asked why Chandler had come out that morning at all. It can wait. Moving through to the front room, Chandler found Miles sitting in the middle of the couch. The television was on with the volume down low. It was one of those ‘talent’ shows though Miles didn’t seem to be actually watching it. Chandler put the tray on the coffee table and sat in the armchair closest to the couch.
Miles groaned suddenly, hunched forward, and buried his face in his hands.
“Miles?” Chandler’s hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair.
“Jesus, I’m a bloody mess... and I know they’re coming back.” Miles’s words were almost a sob. “These last couple of days I’ve been thinking what would... I don’t know how I’d cope if Judy... I can’t ever lose her, Joe, I just can’t.” He started to shake, and a tear slid slowly down his cheek.
Chandler struggled to remember the last time Miles had called him Joe. Without over-thinking it, he slipped into the seat next to Miles and cautiously put his arm around Miles’s shoulder. It felt less awkward than he’d expected, and Chandler was pleased by his own calmness; he usually closely guarded his personal space.
“Judy won’t leave you, Ray. I’ve seen the two of you together. You’re the most solid couple I’ve ever met.” Miles’s trembling started to ease. “You’re over-tired, Ray. Everything will look different once you get some sleep.”
Unexpectedly, Miles twisted, wrapped his arms around Chandler’s waist, and rested his cheek against Chandler’s shoulder. Caught off-guard, Chandler kept his arm around Miles, and forced himself to stay calm. The first clear thought to pop into his head was, “What would Judy do?” He bit back a nervous giggle when he realised what he was going to do.
He brought his other arm up and around Miles and hugged him back. Though he felt more than a little out of his depth, Chandler raised one hand to gently cradle Miles’s head. Miles relaxed into him even further. The television murmured in the background and, as the minutes passed, Chandler felt his heart slowing down. It was oddly comforting to be sitting with Miles in his arms, feeling the tension leave both their bodies. Chandler lowered his eyes to look at Miles and was gratified to see he’d closed his eyes and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.
Chandler had little experience of his own to draw on for situations like this, and asked himself again, “How would Judy respond, what would she do next?” He felt she’d reassure Miles further in some way, but how? He cast his mind back, trying to recall what others had done for him. After a few seconds, Chandler drew back slightly and placed a soft, barely-there kiss on Miles’s forehead. He wasn’t prepared for Miles to sleepily lift his head and return the kiss, unerringly finding Chandler’s lips.
It was more than a brush of lips against skin. There was intent and longing behind it, and Miles pressed his lips to Chandler’s until the younger man jerked his head up.
Miles’s eyes snapped open. Guilt washed over Chandler as confusion, recognition, and then loss flashed across Miles’s face, the last expression lingering.
“Miles... I... I’m... I never...” Chandler stuttered into silence.
“I’m sorry,” Miles whispered. “I thought... For a moment, I forgot. I thought you were Judy.” He pulled away from Chandler and settled himself in the corner of the couch.
“I’m the one who owes you an apology, Miles.” Chandler knew the shake in his voice was obvious. “I didn’t think. I wanted...” I wanted to give you what Judy does. I wanted to know just the smallest part of what it is to truly care for someone else. “I didn’t mean to upset you further,” he murmured.
Miles regarded him silently, thoughtfully. While Miles’s sleep deprivation would have impaired his judgement, Chandler knew he had no such excuse. However, he didn’t feel guilt for his actions, only for causing Miles’s reaction; he had been solely responsible for compounding the loss Miles already felt. Chandler wanted Miles to be angry at him. At least if Miles was angry, Chandler could focus on that and use it to try and block out the thoughts churning in his mind at that moment. He didn’t understand why the past quarter of an hour had affected him so deeply. Chandler wasn’t gay - though there was now in his mind the remote thought he could possibly be bisexual - and the fact remained that Miles was a married man; yet Chandler found he wanted to stay in Miles’s embrace, to comfort and to be comforted. In his adult life, no-one, man or woman, had ever given him such a strong sense of belonging.
Chandler couldn’t articulate any of this. He didn’t dare. If he gave it a voice it would become a reality, and he could barely begin to imagine how awkward that could become. But he couldn’t sit here and do nothing either. As he saw it, his only safe course of action now was to hold his tongue until he heard what Miles had to say.
Miles rubbed a hand across his mouth, and then reached for the scotch and both glasses. He poured two generous measures, and passed one to Chandler. Chandler tried to read Miles’s expression and failed dismally. Miles drank down half his measure and lay back against the couch. His eyes had softened.
“Sometimes,” he started, “when a case really gets to me, Judy holds me, just like you did just now, and at night, and reassures me all will be right with the world again, that together we’ll get through anything.”
“I should never have presumed...” Chandler stopped when Miles held up one hand.
“I dunno why you did it, but it... s’far as I’m concerned it was a good thing - it helped. Then I ballsed it up by kissing you.” The top of Miles’s cheeks flushed red. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”
Staring into his glass, Chandler said softly, “You surprised me, that’s all. I’m glad I could help.”
They sat in silence. Chandler was trying to work out the best way to take his leave when Miles spoke again, his voice low and pensive.
“This afternoon, you said if there was anything you could do...” Chandler nodded, not trusting his voice, suddenly both fearful and hopeful. “Could you...?” Miles looked nervous.
“Could I... what?” Chandler offered hesitantly when Miles didn’t continue.
“Twice today I felt like I could sleep, really sleep, an’ both times you were here. I’ve no right to ask this, an’ I don’t expect... D’you think you could stay with me tonight? Please, Joe.”
The ‘please’ pulled at Chandler the way few things ever had. Miles needed him as himself; not as his boss, not as a police officer, but simply because he was Joseph Chandler.
Chandler only realised he was nodding when Miles’s tired eyes filled with gratitude. Miles hadn’t said as much, but Chandler was aware he had not just agreed to stay, but to most likely sleep in Miles’s bed with him, and he found himself wondering if he had just made one of the worst decisions of his life. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe anything would happen between him and Miles, but he was afraid of the loss he expected to feel when the night was over.
God, you can be a selfish bastard sometimes, Joseph Chandler, he chided himself. This isn’t, and never was, about you. With a small jolt he realised Miles was talking to him.
“...or bath if you like. There’re clean towels in the hall cupboard you can use, though I don’t really have anything to loan you to sleep in.”
“I, er... a shower’s fine for me,” Chandler answered, hoping he didn’t sound like a complete idiot. “And, um, I keep a packed overnight bag in my car. In case of... Just in case.”
“You sure you weren’t a boy scout?” Miles had brightened considerably since Chandler had agreed to stay. Chandler decided that alone was worth whatever he would feel when it was over. “I’ll use the bathroom while you get your bag. My keys are on a hook near the door; take ‘em and let yourself back in.”
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Chandler wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. He pressed his hand to the glass to stop the small tremor, and stared at his reflection. It had been a very long time since Chandler had slept in a bed with someone else - and he’d worked hard to forget how that had turned out. He didn’t know if he could do this, but couldn’t think of a single reasonable excuse to offer Miles. Only his desire to help Miles finally propelled him out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom.
Chandler stood in the door way and watched as Miles turned down the bedclothes and plumped up the pillows. A single lamp provided the only light. In comparison to Miles’s check pyjama bottoms and white t-shirt, Chandler felt over-dressed and pretentious in his Derek Rose pyjamas. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. Miles sank wearily onto the bed. Chandler’s eyes darted towards the light switch; he balled his fingers into fists, pressing them tightly against his body.
“Is everything all right, boss?” Miles asked.
With some effort, Chandler raised his head to look at Miles, whose eyes were filled with concern. Damn it! He was supposed to be providing comfort to Miles, not the other way around. Pull yourself together! He managed a smile.
“Fine. What do-” Chandler nervously cleared his throat. “What would you like me to do?”
“You don’t have to do anythin’; just being here’s enough.” Miles stretched behind him and patted the other side of the bed. “I don’t bite, and I promise to stick to my side of the bed - if that’s what’s bo- in case you were wonderin’. Judy’ll tell you I’m not the touchy-feely type.”
That Miles recognised Chandler was out of his depth didn’t surprise Chandler. That he knew exactly how to allay Chandler’s fears shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Miles’s ability to understand him never ceased to amaze Chandler. He could do this. For Miles.
Before he could over-think it, Chandler walked purposefully to the bed, sat down, and then swung his legs up and under the covers.
Miles gave a small nod, turned off the lamp and lay down. After a few moments, Chandler slipped down and rested his head against the pillow. He folded his hands across his stomach, stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on the ticking of his watch. He counted the passing seconds.
Miles started snoring softly as Chandler hit seven hundred. Chandler turned his head to look at him. Miles was on his side, facing the bedside table. Chandler watched the slow rise and fall of Miles’s chest as he slept and felt his own pulse begin to slow down. He turned his face back towards the ceiling and closed his eyes.
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The smell of coffee and toast greeted Chandler as he woke. He was alone in the bedroom and could hear Miles whistling. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his aching neck, and concluded he must have slept in the one position all night; his shoulders were also stiff. According to his watch it was almost seven. He swore under his breath. He’d been so nervous he’d forgotten to set his alarm, and now he had an hour and a half at the most to get to the station before anyone - no, make that Kent - would start to wonder where he was. Although he had a clean suit hanging in suit bag by Miles’s front door, and extra clean shirts in the office, he still had to get ready and deal with the morning traffic. And he wanted to be sure Miles would be okay when he left.
He was self-conscious about walking through the house in his pyjamas, but he had no choice. He couldn’t very well ask Miles to bring his suit up to him. He stood up and stretched, and then blinked in surprise. His suit bag was hanging on the handle of the wardrobe door. Thank you, Miles, he thought fondly.
He wasted no more time. Less than thirty minutes later he was shaved, showered, dressed, and standing in the kitchen door way, trying to find the right words to take his leave. Miles was sitting at the table eating toast. A half-full cafetière sat in the middle of the table, and a second place was set at the table.
“You look well.” Chandler approached the table. Miles looked more than well. The bags under his eyes had lessened and he had colour in his cheeks. He was dressed and clean-shaven, and his eyes were much brighter.
“Thanks to you, boss. Can I get you some toast? I think there-” Miles stopped and appraised Chandler. “Though, on second thoughts, shouldn’t you ought to be heading into work; you’ll have Kent fussing if you’re late.”
“Well, I can’t let that happen.” Chandler grinned. Not having to explain things to Miles was a blessing. He glanced at his watch. “However, I think I have enough time for coffee.” He sat down and poured himself half a cup; he could always pick up a freshly baked croissant at that exquisite patisserie on the way to the station. At the moment, Chandler needed to know if Miles needed him to come back after work again. And how the hell do I ask that?
Miles’s instincts spared him.
“Look, I hope you don’t mind, boss, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be all right on me own now. I had a bloody good night’s sleep, and Judy and the kids’ll be back the day after tomorrow, so everything’ll be back to normal.”
“Oh, well, if you’re certain?” Chandler wasn’t prepared for the stab of disappointment which jarred against the relief he felt, and didn’t quite understand it, either. If he ever gained enough trust to speak to a psychologist, it was definitely a question he’d have to raise.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Miles looked thoughtful. “Boss... If there’s ever a time you need a shoulder to lean on...”
“You’ll be the first person I ask,” Chandler replied sincerely. You’d be the only person I’d ask.
.
.
.
Chandler had graciously, and honestly, accepted Miles’s offer, even though he never really expected to need it.
One month later, he met Morgan Lamb.
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