Fic: Pathos
Title: Pathos
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Chandler, Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley, Buchan, (no pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post-Series 3
Disclaimer: ITV
Warnings: None.
A/N: I got bored of taking notes for my essay on the Napoleonic Wars, so I wrote this little drabble-type-thing instead.
Summary: Chandler's developing one particular habit that the team start to notice.
It starts off as a small compulsion, so small that the team barely noticed it at first. Compared to the dramatic turn that had accompanied the Kray’s net of iniquity tightening around them it was barely anything.
Every morning once the team had settled out of their coats and into their chair and having exchanged pleasantries with each other Chandler would smile slightly and stop whatever he was doing.
After that the routine became even more ordinary. He would stand and tuck his chair back behind his desk, and then take one step outside of his office, closing the door of which with a faint click. Then his eyes would flick between his four colleagues, he would take a deep breath and then.
“Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley.”
One brief nod later and then Chandler would turn on his heel, open his office door and retreats.
It’s as if he was trying to make sure they were still there.
This goes on for weeks, the pattern of routine alarming no one, but Miles noted the lack of elastic band around Chandler’s wrist.
Except one morning the pattern was broken.
“Where’s Riley?”
Mansell looked up from his paper at the tone of concern in Chandler’s voice.
Kent frowned and bit his lip, dipping his eyes away from Chandler and towards Miles.
“Who knows where Riley is?”
Miles held one hand up to Chandler in what would have been a patronising sign had Chandler actually been paying attention to his DS, instead of darting his eyes around the room.
“She rang me this morning. One of her kids has got chicken pox and she’s had to wait until someone can come and watch over him. She’ll be in by lunch time she said. She’s fine sir.”
Chandler froze, nodded once, jaw tightening before turning back to his office. The door swung shut with a crisp snap.
“Is he alright Skip?”
Miles turned his head from the door of Chandler’s office to the youngest member of the team.
“I don’t know lad, I don’t know.”
A few weeks later the situation propelled itself into the minds of all the team.
Chandler had just exited his office when Buchan stepped into the room, enthusiasm overflowing from the folders in his hand.
“Good morning, I have a precedent for the-”
“Ed, you shouldn’t be here right now.”
Buchan stopped in his tracks, but swallowed, holding his chin up above the files in his hands.
“I’ll return later then, when my work will be appreciated.”
Riley grinned at Buchan’s affronted exist from the room but it was Miles that turned to Chandler.
“Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley.”
He was turning back on his heel when Miles spoke.
“Buchan might be a nutter, but he hadn’t actually done anything that time.”
Chandler didn’t speak, instead became reanimated and reached for the door handle.
And again Kent turned to Miles with concern in his eyes.
“He’s not okay Skip is he?”
“No lad, no he’s not.”
It was less than a week later when the table turned.
Miles rapped his knuckles against the glass of Chandler’s office.
“Sir, may I come in?”
Chandler nodded, twisting the lid on this pen, twice one way, twice the other.
“I daren’t take my decent stuff home the little one has come into teething and those-”
Miles gestured to the pen with his head.
“-are just the thing. Oh well, you’d do anything for your family wouldn’t you?”
Chandler nodded, placing the pen down into its proper place.
“The team is my family now Miles, I understand.”
“Of course you do Joe.”
And Miles left before Chandler could ask why he’d come in.
A few moments later there was another knock on the door and Mansell raised something that looked suspiciously like a completed report.
“Sorry it’s late, but good things come to those who wait hey sir?”
Chandler shook his head, but extended his hand to take the report from him.
“Thanks sir.”
Kent pushed the door open quietly a few minutes after Mansell had left the office and when Chandler was flicking through the report.
“Come in Kent.”
Kent stepped up to the desk, fingers threading together.
“I’m sorry sir” Chandler looks up as though that was the last thing that he expected to hear out of the mouth of his youngest DC, but smiles fleetingly nonetheless and feels something that could be a weight beginning to lift when Kent slowly closes the door.
He’s intelligent enough to know what his team are doing, but it is a genuine smile when Riley knocks on the door of his office and pushes the door open with her elbow, cradling Chandler’s mug in her hands.
“Miles said that you were a fan of herbal tea sir.”
Chandler took the mug that she was offering him and brought it to his mouth, inhaling without drinking.
“Thank you Riley, thank everyone for me.”
“Of course sir.”
The office door closed, Chandler looked out through the glass at Riley passing his message on and placed the tea-as-offering on his desk, aligning the handle to be straight against the grain of the wood.
He would cope. He was supported. He would have to cope.
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Chandler, Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley, Buchan, (no pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post-Series 3
Disclaimer: ITV
Warnings: None.
A/N: I got bored of taking notes for my essay on the Napoleonic Wars, so I wrote this little drabble-type-thing instead.
Summary: Chandler's developing one particular habit that the team start to notice.
It starts off as a small compulsion, so small that the team barely noticed it at first. Compared to the dramatic turn that had accompanied the Kray’s net of iniquity tightening around them it was barely anything.
Every morning once the team had settled out of their coats and into their chair and having exchanged pleasantries with each other Chandler would smile slightly and stop whatever he was doing.
After that the routine became even more ordinary. He would stand and tuck his chair back behind his desk, and then take one step outside of his office, closing the door of which with a faint click. Then his eyes would flick between his four colleagues, he would take a deep breath and then.
“Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley.”
One brief nod later and then Chandler would turn on his heel, open his office door and retreats.
It’s as if he was trying to make sure they were still there.
This goes on for weeks, the pattern of routine alarming no one, but Miles noted the lack of elastic band around Chandler’s wrist.
Except one morning the pattern was broken.
“Where’s Riley?”
Mansell looked up from his paper at the tone of concern in Chandler’s voice.
Kent frowned and bit his lip, dipping his eyes away from Chandler and towards Miles.
“Who knows where Riley is?”
Miles held one hand up to Chandler in what would have been a patronising sign had Chandler actually been paying attention to his DS, instead of darting his eyes around the room.
“She rang me this morning. One of her kids has got chicken pox and she’s had to wait until someone can come and watch over him. She’ll be in by lunch time she said. She’s fine sir.”
Chandler froze, nodded once, jaw tightening before turning back to his office. The door swung shut with a crisp snap.
“Is he alright Skip?”
Miles turned his head from the door of Chandler’s office to the youngest member of the team.
“I don’t know lad, I don’t know.”
A few weeks later the situation propelled itself into the minds of all the team.
Chandler had just exited his office when Buchan stepped into the room, enthusiasm overflowing from the folders in his hand.
“Good morning, I have a precedent for the-”
“Ed, you shouldn’t be here right now.”
Buchan stopped in his tracks, but swallowed, holding his chin up above the files in his hands.
“I’ll return later then, when my work will be appreciated.”
Riley grinned at Buchan’s affronted exist from the room but it was Miles that turned to Chandler.
“Miles, Mansell, Kent, Riley.”
He was turning back on his heel when Miles spoke.
“Buchan might be a nutter, but he hadn’t actually done anything that time.”
Chandler didn’t speak, instead became reanimated and reached for the door handle.
And again Kent turned to Miles with concern in his eyes.
“He’s not okay Skip is he?”
“No lad, no he’s not.”
It was less than a week later when the table turned.
Miles rapped his knuckles against the glass of Chandler’s office.
“Sir, may I come in?”
Chandler nodded, twisting the lid on this pen, twice one way, twice the other.
“I daren’t take my decent stuff home the little one has come into teething and those-”
Miles gestured to the pen with his head.
“-are just the thing. Oh well, you’d do anything for your family wouldn’t you?”
Chandler nodded, placing the pen down into its proper place.
“The team is my family now Miles, I understand.”
“Of course you do Joe.”
And Miles left before Chandler could ask why he’d come in.
A few moments later there was another knock on the door and Mansell raised something that looked suspiciously like a completed report.
“Sorry it’s late, but good things come to those who wait hey sir?”
Chandler shook his head, but extended his hand to take the report from him.
“Thanks sir.”
Kent pushed the door open quietly a few minutes after Mansell had left the office and when Chandler was flicking through the report.
“Come in Kent.”
Kent stepped up to the desk, fingers threading together.
“I’m sorry sir” Chandler looks up as though that was the last thing that he expected to hear out of the mouth of his youngest DC, but smiles fleetingly nonetheless and feels something that could be a weight beginning to lift when Kent slowly closes the door.
He’s intelligent enough to know what his team are doing, but it is a genuine smile when Riley knocks on the door of his office and pushes the door open with her elbow, cradling Chandler’s mug in her hands.
“Miles said that you were a fan of herbal tea sir.”
Chandler took the mug that she was offering him and brought it to his mouth, inhaling without drinking.
“Thank you Riley, thank everyone for me.”
“Of course sir.”
The office door closed, Chandler looked out through the glass at Riley passing his message on and placed the tea-as-offering on his desk, aligning the handle to be straight against the grain of the wood.
He would cope. He was supported. He would have to cope.