rareslash | Untitled Ficlet: "Whitechapel" TV series (Chandler/Kent)

Title: Untitled
Rating: R
Fandom: Whitechapel TV series (UK)
Pairing: Chandler/Kent
Disclaimer: Written purely for entertainment, not profit. I neither created nor own these characters.

"He'd go with you in a flash if you asked."

Miles sits opposite Joe at the green formica table. It's raining cats and dogs outside. Kent's in charge of orders, standing up in the queue, digging through his pockets for change.

"What makes you think that?" Joe says, impassively, and Miles sneers.

"Look at him."

Joe turns just as Kent looks up, searching the room for them, finding them, sending Joe a shy smile. "Fancies the pants off ya, don't he?"

Joe whips back round. "Rubbish!" he says, with a spluttering laugh. "I really don't think--"

"--Oh don't ya? Well I do, and all due respect Joe but I've known him a lot longer than you have." Joe opens and shuts his mouth. Miles reaches for his cigarettes. "Lads used to think he was a right nancy boy before you showed up."

"I'm not a--" He snaps his mouth shut, grits his teeth. "Eating healthily and dressing appropriately for the task in hand does not a homosexual make, DS Miles."

Miles snorts. "That right, is it?"

Joe sighs and rubs his temples. "Yes, alright yes, it's-- but I happen to like women," he says, and at Miles' raised eyebrow, "I like women!"

Miles gives him a yellow smirk. "'Course you do petal," he says and Joe blushes, sits back violently in his chair, trying to cross his legs but succeeding only in sending the brown sauce and pink carnation spinning.

"Alright, alright," Miles exclaims, settling everything down with the palm of one hand and holding onto the edge of Joe's sleeve for a long minute with the other. "Don't get your knickers in a twist," he says, gently, firmly.

Joe swallows and stares hard into his lap. There's a brief moment's respite before Miles starts up again.

"All I'm suggesting," he says, out the corner of his mouth, "is you take him out for a nice meal. One of your fancy jobs. Fella goes home to his mum every night. Can't be much fun at his age."

"But--" Joe licks his lips, preparing a calm and logical argument against Miles' proposal, but when he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is a rather desperate, high-pitched, "what on earth would we talk about?"

Miles looks at him like he's a lunatic. "Don't worry about that. You'll be fine. Get a drink or two down your neck."

"I don't really drink--"

"--Well have a bloody lemonade then! Fuckin' hell!" Joe clears his throat, glances sideways at the other tables. Miles leans forward. "I'm just saying, there are some lonely fuckin' bastards loose in this world Joe. And you're one of 'em. So pull your finger out and ask him."

"Ask him what?"

It's Kent, a tray wobbling in each hand, smile faltering, looking back and forward between them. "Alright boys?" he says uncertainly and Miles says, "'Course," rubs his hands together and gestures at the chair next to Joe. "Sit yourself down."

Kent nods, squeezes awkwardly past Joe, careful not to brush against him. "Bacon rolls all round and, um," he sends Joe an apologetic look. "There's your salad Boss."

Joe bravely unfolds his paper napkin and spreads it on his lap. "Thank you Kent."

"Pleasure."

He smiles and it is so full of hope that Joe can't help but give him a small smile in return. They eat. Kent tries to keep his elbows to himself, so does Joe, and the whole time Miles' eyes are crinkling at the edges, his lips twitching, like there's some happiness in there somewhere, itching to get out.