Counting Up My Demons - Whitechapel (Emerson Kent)

[Bruyere]

Title: Counting Up My Demons
Fandom: Whitechapel
Word Count: ~3000
Warnings: Passing mentions of drowning; some discussion of OCD, specifically hand washing.
Notes: Set during Season 4. Title taken from Everything's Not Lost by Coldplay.

I have no idea how to summarise the business as usual nonsense of S4 but things that are relevant: Mansell is dating Kent's twin sister which he is not happy about. Chandler has OCD which shows up in various different forms throughout the series. Kent has a crush on Chandler. It's debatable as to whether this is actually canon but it really would explain a lot. Ed Buchan is a civilian helper, he maintains an archive of weird crimes which the team hopes will provide insight into the current crimes they are trying to solve. The whole team are being haunted/manipulated by someone who may or may not turn out be a supernatural being (and as the show's been cancelled I guess we'll never know). For Kent, he keeps seeing himself with a demonic face, something that symbolises how he's never happy for others. For Chandler he becomes obsessed with his failures and his OCD grows worse especially when the taps in his own bathroom won't stop dripping or will only ooze black water.

And as I guess this might not be a show that people are familiar with here are some handy visuals:

Emerson Kent in Ed Buchan's archive room

From top to bottom: Miles, Riley, Mansell.

Emerson Kent and DI Joe Chandler
 
-x-

“Right, Riley I need you with Ed on research. Kent and Mansell you head out and speak to the sister.” Chandler stared at them as they all sat motionless.
 
“Come on, move it!” Miles shouted and banged his now empty mug down on the desk for emphasis.
 
Kent glared at Mansell from behind his desk only to find the look returned. He made his way across the room to Riley just as she was doing the same to find him.
 
“I can’t go down there,” she said.
 
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Thank you.”
 
“Feeling’s mutual. But you’re going to have to sort it out with him eventually,” she said nodding at Mansell.
 
Kent grimaced. “She’s my twin.”
 
Riley rolled her eyes and pushed a load of folders onto him before gathering her jacket up and leaving with Mansell. Kent shifted the folders in his arms and sighed before making his way down to Buchan’s basement.
 
-x-
 
 Kent was sure that Buchan’s basement and archive was getting worse. Whitechapel nick was never exactly a warm place and it was a dank and miserable walk down the stairs before he’d even entered the room. He was beginning to understand why Buchan so frequently wore such terrible knitwear, at least the hideous jumpers were warm.  
 
“Ah, I was expecting Riley,” said Buchan as Kent entered. “Of course it’s a pleasure to have you here. There’s a lot to get through so we mustn’t delay! I’ve been going through-“
 
“Heh’kschhh!” Kent shook his head. It had taken him by surprise and he was forced to sniffle afterwards yet even that didn’t entirely rid him of the tickle.
 
“Bless you. Yes, it is a little musty down here. I’ve had the dehumidifier on but it doesn’t seem to be helping as much as it should. You know I just can’t get this mould to clear up no matter what I use on it.” He rubbed at the black patches on the wall with a cloth.
 
“Kshhh!” Kent sniffled again and raised his head from his elbow having buried it there in an attempt not to spray the files. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked in an attempt to get Buchan back on track.
 
Buchan pointed to an uncomfortable looking chair next to two towering piles of folders. “These are just to get us started.” Only Buchan would say that with such enthusiasm.
 
“Great. And these… these…” He trailed off. For a moment he felt like he was going to sneeze but it disappeared and he sniffled wetly again. “These as well?” He added the files from his arms on top of the pile.
 
“Yes, sorry. It’s going to be difficult to find anything helpful with such unspecific parameters and yet… the supply of fresh information will not be a happy occasion.” Buchan shook his head, popped his glasses back on and disappeared behind a stack of archives apparently lost in the contradictions of his job again.
 
Kent settled into the chair and pulled the first file towards him. Newspaper clippings about a series of stabbings in Whitechapel in the late 19th century. So, another day ending in -y then.
 
He worked his way through the first few files without interruption and without turning up anything helpful or relevant to the case but he slowly became aware of a growing need to sneeze, a faint prickling in his sinuses which wouldn’t quite escalate to a sneeze. He sniffled again and dug into his trouser pockets to find a tissue to wipe his nose with.
 
He made it through another two files before the sneeze finally blossomed and he barely had time to duck his head away to avoid contaminating anything. “Hschhh! Heh-chshhh!” He looked around to see if Buchan was going to say anything but he  was still hidden away so he must have still been engrossed in his research. He rubbed his nose in the tissue and it almost felt like the tickle was gone when he rubbed his nose too hard and another sneeze tripped out of him. “Ischhhue!”
 
“Bless you,” said Buchan from wherever he was hiding although he said nothing further so Kent just grunted in acknowledgment.
 
He made it through another file, more stabbings, before the tickle returned with a vengeance. He barely had time to cup a hand to his nose before another two sneezes escaped him. He held the tissue to his nose as another couple of sneezes followed. He put his current file back on the desk and then dug further in his pockets to see if he had any more tissues. He came up empty and made do with wiping his nose and sniffling.
 
“Are you alright?” Buchan’s voice echoed through the room.
 
Kent nodded, tissue still against his nose then realising Buchan hadn’t seen him. “Fine.” His answer seemed to satisfy Buchan and as no more sneezes seemed to be forthcoming he cautiously removed the tissue.
 
The next two files were relatively short and light on gruesome details which made for a change. He was almost through the stack of files that Riley had handed him which meant that he’d probably only be down here for another hour working through the stack that Buchan had set out. If Buchan hadn’t found more for him to go through by then.
 
“Kschh! Kschhh! Hehh-ksshuu!” There was hardly a chance to catch a breath in between them. He realised his nose was running and he jammed the tissue against his nose again despite it being clear it wasn’t going to survive another assault from more sneezing. He closed his eyes and fought against the urge to rub at them as they prickled with tears as well.
 
“Jesus!” He exclaimed as Buchan appeared from nowhere and placed a box of tissues in front of him.
 
“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” he asked.
 
Kent shook his head. “I… Heh… Ishuue!” He grabbed at the tissues and buried his head in a handful of them, turning his body away and hoping that he wasn’t blushing given how embarrassed he felt. “Ishhhue!”
 
“Bless you!”
 
Kent hesitated then blew his nose. “Excuse me. No, I feel fine, just sneezy. I’m alright to carry on.”
 
“If you’re sure,” he said. “There is a lot to get through…”
 
“I’ll be fine.” Even as he said it he could feel the next set of sneezes building but Buchan seemed satisfied and slipped back into his hidey-hole.
 
Once he was alone again he rubbed at his nose more violently. He managed to make it through another three files without interruption by pinching his nose tightly every time he felt the urge to sneeze. It was working well until he felt his eyes begin to water again. He reached forward to snatch a couple of tissues from the box to wipe his eyes with and this break in his concentration seemed to be enough to tip him over.

“Ishhhue! Ishuue! Eeh-ishhue! Shit,” he muttered, grabbing another handful of tissues. “Eshuue! Eshhhue! ESHhhue!”
 
“DC Kent I really think-”
 
“Ishhuue! Ishuue!” He blew his nose and then scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. God, they itched. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d forgotten to take his Benadryl at the height of hay fever season last summer. Except then he’d had to deal with a deeply unsympathetic Mansell rather than an increasingly concerned looking Buchan.
 
“It would seem to be an allergic reaction of some sort. You’ve never had a problem with dust or the archive papers before though,” said Buchan.
 
Kent looked up at him and started to answer before sneezing again. Buchan was right; it had never bothered him being down here even for extended periods of time. He blew his nose again and then rubbed at his eyes. “’s just hay fever and cats that get to me normally.”
 
“Well there are no cats down here and I think it’s highly unlikely your hay fever has kicked in. It’s still far too early and there’s no windows down here.” He frowned at his basement room, the hum of the dehumidifier filling the silence. “Of course! No windows!” He smiled at Kent.
 
“I don’t fo… follohh, hhhh, hishuue!” He pinched his nose and gestured for Buchan to carry on.
 
“The mould, allergies to mould are not uncommon.” Buchan gestured at the offending black patch on the wall.
 
“I haven’t… I’m not…Eshhuu!” He grabbed another couple of tissues and blew his nose. “Shit.”
 
“I think you should consider yourself excused DC Kent.” Kent wanted to point out that Buchan had no authority over him to dismiss him but given that he was going to leave anyway it was as well to escape now and hope that Buchan would take over his reading as well. “Get yourself cleaned up and I’ll leave the files on your desk upstairs.”
 
“Thanks,” he mumbled behind another handful of tissues as he made a hasty exit.
 
-x-
 
He had another sneezing fit as he walked up the stairs, irritating, ticklish sneezes that never seemed to go anywhere and offered no relief from the constant need to sneeze. He wavered at the top of the stairs, Miles and Chandler might be out but if they weren’t he didn’t really want the DI seeing him looking such a mess.
 
He made a quick detour to the gents to try and clean himself up. His eyes were reddened and while he knew the fact that he occasionally broke down and cried in private was an open secret, he had no desire for the ribbing that would follow if he returned to the incident room looking like this.
 
He should have taken the tissue box from Buchan’s desk, he realised grimly as he took a handful of toilet paper to blow his nose in. “Ishuuu! Heh-Ishuue!” He moaned before blowing his nose on the rough toilet paper again.
 
He splashed water on his face to calm his eyes after he’d finished sneezing. It felt wonderfully cool and refreshing. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar then stuck the plug in the basin and watched as it slowly filled before bathing his face in it. It was soothing  against his hot and irritated face and slowly he submerged his whole face in it, welcoming the relief and quiet that it bought him. He was vaguely aware of the door opening and someone else entering but he didn’t care what they thought. It was hardly going to be the strangest thing they saw all day at the nick.
 
He thought he heard his name and was just about to lift his head out of the water when a strong hand on his shoulder startled him. He reared back, cracking his head against one of the taps as he did so and elbowing whoever had touched him hard in the ribs. The other man cried out and stumbled backwards in surprise. Kent span round to face whoever it was, wiping water from his face and backing away from him.

“Shit! Sorry, sir!”

“Kent! Are you alright?”
 
“Sir?”
 
“I saw you and I thought-” Chandler let out a noise that could only be described as hysterical. “The water. I thought…” And then he definitely did laugh hysterically.
 
“Um,” said Kent. Everyone knew that Chandler was highly strung and that the string was stretching tighter and tighter with each weird case they were presented with but it was one thing knowing this and quite another being presented with a DI who was babbling about drowning and seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. “Sir, are you okay? You seem to be… be…” He trailed off as his breath started hitching.
 
Chandler’s distressed body language dissolved and he seemed to find his composure, his bearing instantly returning to that of a DI. “If you’re searching for the right word I think on our last sensitivity course they said ‘emotional’ was okay.”
 
“No, sir! I, hhh, have to… to… Ishuuu! Eshuuu! Hershuuh!” He made his way back into the stall and grabbed another handful of toilet roll before blowing his nose and cringing at the noise of it. “Sorry sir, I… Ishuhh! The mould in Buchan’s room and- heHSHHuhhh! Urgh.” He blew his nose again and then added, embarrassed. “Think I got water up my nose as well.” He twitched it and rubbed at it with his knuckle.
 
Chandler blinked at the display but said nothing.
 
“I’m not contagious. It’s just an allergic reaction. Sorry, I know I must seem a mess.” He glanced at his reflection in the mirror.  In addition to the watery eyes, his nose was still red and water had got everywhere. The collar of his shirt was soaked and his hair was drenched as well. He stared at the floor embarrassed, hoping that he wasn’t about to get one of Chandler’s increasingly common dressing downs. He hastily fiddled with his collar and tried to work the knot of his tie back into a presentable shape.
 
“It’s not germs,” said Chandler with a shake of his head. “It’s… It doesn’t matter. Here, sorry.” He pressed a clean handkerchief into Kent’s hands. “Use this.”
 
“Thanks.” Kent gently unfolded the handkerchief and now feeling utterly self-conscious he half-turned away from Chandler and blew his nose. The handkerchief felt wonderfully soft against his nose after the toilet paper. He caught sight of Chandler looking at him and then the basin. The tap was dripping into the half empty basin and water was all over the floor.

“It’s not the germs,” Chandler muttered again. He flexed and clenched his hands and then darted over yanking the plug out by the chain and turned the tap until it was no longer dripping. His hands gripped the side of his basin til his knuckles turned almost as white as the porcelain.

Kent rubbed a hand through his hair, wincing as he hit the spot where he’d bumped his head on the tap. “We make quite a pair.”

Chandler laughed and his grip on the edge of the basin relaxed a little, the colour returning to his fingers.  “Two of  Whitechapel’s finest detectives.”

“Or something lihhh, like thahhh kschh!”

“Bless you.”

“Something like that,” he repeated rather more successfully. He scrubbed at his face and sighed at the headache that was starting to make itself known more insistently with each sneeze.  Chandler nodded and pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and began mopping up some of the mess they’d made.

“I can do that sir,” Kent offered.

“No, let me. I think I’m responsible for most of it.” He handed Kent a few paper towels so he could properly dry his face.

“Sorry, I must look a ktschh! state.”

“Bless you. A little damp around the edges perhaps. If you need to go home-”

“That’s not necessary sir. I’ve got some Benadryl in my desk. It’ll soon calm down after I’ve taken some.”

“Good.” Chandler wiped his hands on a paper towel and then took a small oblong silver container from his suit pocket which he placed on the edge of another basin in the row. Next to it he placed the little round tin of what Kent knew to be tiger balm although the Chinese lettering and picture on the front were fading away.

 Chandler stuck the plug in the basin and let the water run before he opened up the silver box and extracted a bar of soap from it, placing it on the side of the basin. He bathed his hands in the water before picking up the small bar of soap and lathering it over his hands before placing it back in the box. Kent watched, transfixed as Chandler scrubbed at his hands, twisting them over under, over under, lacing and knotting  his hands until every tiny spot of skin had been covered with soap and scrubbed.

“I should get back.” Kent started towards the door, unsure if Chandler wanted to be alone or not as he realised he’d been staring.

“Stay. It’s not-” Chandler rubbed his hands together one last time before pulling the chain from the basin and turning on the taps and rinsing his hands, “It’s not like it’s a secret.” He glanced at Kent in the mirror, as if it might have still been a question; did the rest of the team apart from Miles know about his habits?

“No.” Kent shifted on his feet. “Sorry.”

Chandler nodded, drying his hands on a paper towel. He placed the lid back on the soap box and unscrewed the little jar of tiger balm before dipping his finger in and applying a little of the balm to each temple. The rich smell filled the room. It was a scent that Kent linked automatically with Chandler and his office, with late nights and stalled investigations  fuelled by lukewarm cups of tea and coffee.

“No further leads sir?” he asked, his mind turning back to work as they both walked towards the door.

Chandler shook his head as he slipped the tiger balm and the soap back into his suit pocket. “I was hoping that Ed might have come up with something. Or provide some insight as to where else we should be looking?”

Kent shook his head. “Perhaps Buchan has- Heshuhhh!” The sneeze had materialised so fast he’d barely had time to raise a hand to his face to cover it. “Eshuhhh!” He sniffed and retrieved the handkerchief from his pocket before blowing his nose and groaning a little. The unexpected force of them caught in his throat and he coughed. “I don’t know where they came from I thought maybe I was done… Huhhh, huhh, ishuhh! Ishuhh!” He blew his nose again.

“Ah, this might be my fault,” said Chandler looking embarrassed and taking a step away from Kent. “The tiger balm has menthol in it, sometimes it sets people off. Tell you what, I’ll make you a cup of tea and then see you back in the incident room. It’ll give a moment for it to fade and then you can explain why you’re here rather than out with Mansell?”

Kent groaned and blew his nose again. “Yes sir.”

“White, one sugar, isn’t it?”

Kent nodded, still sniffling into the handkerchief. His one sugar was almost health conscious in comparison to Miles’ two and Mansell’s three and a habit he’d clung on to despite Chandler’s efforts at reform but it felt common when he knew the DI would be drinking green tea.  

Chandler smiled and before they left looked at Kent more closely. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Good, I’ll see you downstairs shortly.”

Kent let Chandler go ahead and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. For a moment he half-expected to see the twisted version of his face that had been haunting him. Mouth curled in a vicious sneer, his eyes dark and cold, filled with bitterness and hatred but it was just him. Curls sticking out in all directions, pale face with shadows under his eyes and his nose redder than ever. It was a welcome sight in comparison to what he'd feared but hardly the sophisticated image he was trying to project. He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his tie again, it would have to do. If he hurried downstairs and took a Benadryl perhaps he could make it through tea with Chandler without sneezing.