vix-spes.livejournal.com

Title: Striped
Fandom: Whitechapel
Rating: PG
Length: 809
Summary: Even though there isn't anything that he can do, Chandler can't bring himself to leave the hospital
Authors Note: This is my first submission for the fan_flashworks comm. Thanks to persikay and slightlytookish for looking this over.

~*~

“This is all my fault.”

The words kept running through Chandler's head over and over again with no let up in sight. It was as though they were on a CD stuck on a loop with no way to turn them off. The thing was, Chandler almost welcomed them because he knew that they were true.

“You can't blame yourself for the way that they behaved.”

Despite Miles' words to the contrary, it was Chandler's fault that Kent was currently undergoing surgery. Kent was the youngest of their team and yes, they all teased and babied him on a regular basis, but he had the makings of a good detective. It was for precisely that reason that Chandler had sent him out with this job; he knew that Kent's diligence would ensure that they had as much information as possible. And now, because of Chandler's decision, Kent was currently in the middle of life (and career) changing surgery.

It had never really struck Chandler just how young Kent was, or how much he looked up to Chandler until he saw Kent lying on that gurney and Kent had been apologising to him. Kent, who had been slashed across the buttocks so deeply that the doctors had been (and still were) worried about damage to the sciatic nerve, had apologised to him. He almost couldn't bear to think about it. Why on earth would Kent be apologising to him? If anything, it should be Chandler apologising to Kent. He certainly didn't know how he would live with himself if these injuries meant that Kent's life was affected or he couldn't go back to work.

When the news had come through that Kent was in hospital, Chandler had thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest, it was beating that fast, and he had no doubt that Miles was in the same state where he sat in the passenger seat as Chandler sped through the streets of Whitechapel, undoubtedly breaking several speed limits in the process. He had never expected, when he had moved to Whitechapel, that he would come to care for his team as much as he had.

The minute that the doctors had wheeled Kent away, Chandler had headed straight for the station, anger and determination fuelling his actions. Needing to make some headway, needing for Kent to not have been so badly injured for nothing, he had carried on the investigation as best as he could but it had been to no avail and he had been distracted. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to do anything of benefit, he had returned to the hospital. Even if he couldn't do anything useful there, at least he was there and, in some very loose sense, Kent wasn't alone.

The nurses had directed him to a bleak corridor with several uncomfortable looking chairs and told him that he could wait here until they had some news for him. Apparently, Kent had said that Chandler and Miles could be informed about his treatment and status as his next of kin couldn't be there.

Chandler didn't know how long he sat there on one of those little plastic chairs, slumped over with his head in his hands as he waited for them to come out with news of Kent's surgery. He looked up at the sound of a throat clearing to see a surgeon stood there in, thankfully, blood free scrubs. He shot upright, wobbling a little at having been sat for such a long time.

“Kent! How is he?”

“Detective Inspector Chandler? I'm Mr Chahal, I was the surgeon working on Mr Kent.”

“Detective Constable Kent,” Chandler corrected absent-mindedly. “How is he?”

“Sorry, of course. The surgery went well and we'll be moving, er, Detective Constable Kent to recovery in a few minutes. One of the slashes came incredibly close to the sciatic nerve but we've managed to ensure that it didn't actually damage it. He'll be on crutches for a while and he'll be left with three striped scars across the buttocks but he will make a full recovery.”

Chandler slumped back against the wall in relief, completely missing the chair as he slid down to the floor. Taking a few deep breaths to slow his breathing, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone and dialled the familiar number, not noticing as the surgeon squeezed his shoulder and walked away.

“Miles? He's going to be okay.”