Fic: The Price Of Grace For The Common Man
Title: The price of grace for the common man
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Chandler, Miles
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: ITV/Nerina Pallot
Warnings: Angst!
A/N: The sequel to "These thorns in my side, this heart on my sleeve" from Chandler's POV. I know that it's been quite a while, but the fic's been written up in a notebook for a while but I've not been up to being online much because of events of the last month. But with things starting to get back to normal, I bring fic. Title from Nerina Pallot's Blood is Blood.
Summary: "So flesh is flesh, and it twists the soul. Like a tourniquet, like a begging bowl, like something long forbidden treasure in the dirt. Blood is blood and it's on our hands, that's the price of grace for the common man. For that one good hour you pay with all your life."
The case isn't going brilliantly, there's something about Dukes, something key and he can feel it slipping through his -the teams- collective fingers. All they're getting at the moment is misleads and uniformed aggression. There's nothing concrete about any of the information that is being gathered.
Just the legend of the Krays hanging above them.
His phone is vibrating on the table in front of him as he sits with Miles, watching the farce of a confession.
“Aren't you going to answer that sir?”
It's as though every action that he takes is another nail in the coffin for this investigation, and now-
“Speaking.”
An external and unrecognisable voice, it's not his aide, but it's taking this case to new and dizzying heights.
“Kent? What sort of incident? Has he been badly injured?”
Miles' grip on the edge of the table- which had loosened after the confession, tightened until Chandler could see the whites of his knuckles.
Holding the mouthpiece of the phone away from his face he turned to Miles, concern and anger flaring up in his eyes.
“Talk to Mansell about collecting Kent's belongings from the site.”
There's a momentary hesitation and then Miles is reaching for his own phone.
“Which hospital?”
The paramedic, Georgia, is kind and concise with her answers, but they do little to calm either Chandler's nerves of his spirit.
Miles nods in his peripheral vision.
“Tell him Mansell is collecting his bike and that sergeant Miles and I will be there as soon as possible. Thank you.”
He's standing up as soon as the call has been terminated.
Miles is with him out the door the next moment.
There's no thought about informing DCI Cazenove, just that they need to be elsewhere. Miles grabs at a uniformed constable at receptions and barks something resembling “detective constable Kent” and “hospital” but Chandler just keeps walking.
It's only once they are sitting in Chandler's car that Miles catches him in a stare that he can't hope to ignore.
“Sir, what has actually happened to Kent?”
The steering wheel is suddenly fascinating. He doesn't understand. He knows that Miles has a Ripper shaped scar in his stomach, but it feels as though it were his hand holding the knife that attacked Kent.
But Miles is insistent.
“He's been attacked from behind, violently.”
Miles nods, just once and Chandler can see the man compose himself.
“Taking him to the Royal London are they sir?”
At Chandler's nod he clicks his seat belt into place.
“Well, we better get going then, it ain't nice to be alone after something like that.”
So Chandler drives.
It isn't until they've pulled up in the hospital car park that they speak again.
It doesn't take long for them to be pointed in the right direction, police ID, suits and a hurried gait help in formal situations.
“I told him to watch his back,” Chandler mutters, all but to himself as they approach the double doors, but Miles slows momentarily to look at Chandler.
“Well then, we'll just have to watch it for him now.”
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Chandler, Miles
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: ITV/Nerina Pallot
Warnings: Angst!
A/N: The sequel to "These thorns in my side, this heart on my sleeve" from Chandler's POV. I know that it's been quite a while, but the fic's been written up in a notebook for a while but I've not been up to being online much because of events of the last month. But with things starting to get back to normal, I bring fic. Title from Nerina Pallot's Blood is Blood.
Summary: "So flesh is flesh, and it twists the soul. Like a tourniquet, like a begging bowl, like something long forbidden treasure in the dirt. Blood is blood and it's on our hands, that's the price of grace for the common man. For that one good hour you pay with all your life."
The case isn't going brilliantly, there's something about Dukes, something key and he can feel it slipping through his -the teams- collective fingers. All they're getting at the moment is misleads and uniformed aggression. There's nothing concrete about any of the information that is being gathered.
Just the legend of the Krays hanging above them.
His phone is vibrating on the table in front of him as he sits with Miles, watching the farce of a confession.
“Aren't you going to answer that sir?”
It's as though every action that he takes is another nail in the coffin for this investigation, and now-
“Speaking.”
An external and unrecognisable voice, it's not his aide, but it's taking this case to new and dizzying heights.
“Kent? What sort of incident? Has he been badly injured?”
Miles' grip on the edge of the table- which had loosened after the confession, tightened until Chandler could see the whites of his knuckles.
Holding the mouthpiece of the phone away from his face he turned to Miles, concern and anger flaring up in his eyes.
“Talk to Mansell about collecting Kent's belongings from the site.”
There's a momentary hesitation and then Miles is reaching for his own phone.
“Which hospital?”
The paramedic, Georgia, is kind and concise with her answers, but they do little to calm either Chandler's nerves of his spirit.
Miles nods in his peripheral vision.
“Tell him Mansell is collecting his bike and that sergeant Miles and I will be there as soon as possible. Thank you.”
He's standing up as soon as the call has been terminated.
Miles is with him out the door the next moment.
There's no thought about informing DCI Cazenove, just that they need to be elsewhere. Miles grabs at a uniformed constable at receptions and barks something resembling “detective constable Kent” and “hospital” but Chandler just keeps walking.
It's only once they are sitting in Chandler's car that Miles catches him in a stare that he can't hope to ignore.
“Sir, what has actually happened to Kent?”
The steering wheel is suddenly fascinating. He doesn't understand. He knows that Miles has a Ripper shaped scar in his stomach, but it feels as though it were his hand holding the knife that attacked Kent.
But Miles is insistent.
“He's been attacked from behind, violently.”
Miles nods, just once and Chandler can see the man compose himself.
“Taking him to the Royal London are they sir?”
At Chandler's nod he clicks his seat belt into place.
“Well, we better get going then, it ain't nice to be alone after something like that.”
So Chandler drives.
It isn't until they've pulled up in the hospital car park that they speak again.
It doesn't take long for them to be pointed in the right direction, police ID, suits and a hurried gait help in formal situations.
“I told him to watch his back,” Chandler mutters, all but to himself as they approach the double doors, but Miles slows momentarily to look at Chandler.
“Well then, we'll just have to watch it for him now.”