Work Text:
Kent pointedly ignored his reflection in the doors to the incident room. Mansell was talking about plans with his sister, and he knew all too well what he’d see in his reflection, as his knuckles turned white upon the door handle. Riley must’ve noticed, cause she stepped up next to him, a soft smile on her kind face.
“Got any plans yourself for the night? Remember to have your own fun.”
Kent managed the smallest of smiles.
“Just on my way back for dinner with the flat mates.”
“That’s not a bad evening,” she said, enthusiastically.
“I suppose it isn’t.”
“Come on. Back home to some nice company and try to be happy for them, yeah?”
Kent’s jaw tightened. He saw the look Riley gave him, but this wasn’t something that was dealt with in a day. He’d gotten them back together and he would stop interfering, but he couldn’t change his emotions.
“Then at least put them out of your mind and focus on good things?”
“I can try.”
“But will you, you mopey mop,” she ruffled his hair, and he moved away a bit too defensively, too forcefully, not quite masking his annoyance as he replied:
“Yeah, sure.”
She regarded him for a moment. “Have a good night, Emerson.”
“You too,” he said quickly, pushing the door open. As he did so, he forgot to mind where his eyes wandered, and the pointed features of his own face grinned back at him through the door’s reflection.
He shuddered, as he pulled his hoodie tight over his shirt and suit jacket and zipped it up before adding his leather jacket on top. It looked a bit lumpy like that, and it was quite a few layers, but Kent would rather look a bit weird than freeze to death.
It was a lesson he’d learned from earlier nights.
Nights like this, where he wandered the streets.
He wasn’t going back to his flat mates for dinner. They’d gotten together a couple of months ago, and recently they’d started talking about getting their own place. He couldn’t stand being at home with them and their happiness that they were content to have without him, so he stayed out on his own, walking aimlessly until exhaustion forced him back to his flat, for a few hours of sleep until the next day came calling. This way he didn’t have to interact with them and have them rub their relationship in his face.
He started walking in a direction and just kept going. At least the early evening had a pleasantness about it.
The streets were slick with rain. Headlights and traffic lights reflected in them in a blurry effect that almost looked beautiful. They were alive with people too. Tired workers getting the last stuff done before they could head home for a meal and some sleep, people out on the town, all smiles and loud voices, and it seemed like no matter the time of day there was always a runner or a dog walker to be found.
As he kept walking, ignoring the growl in his stomach, the ache in his feet and the fatigue dulling his senses, the streets around him became sparser.
He went into the underground, searching for the last bit of life among the cold white tiles. Taking the train to a random stop just for a change of scenery. He’d walked the streets of Whitechapel too many times lately.
As luck would have it, he ended up pressed between two couples holding tightly onto each other as the train bumped and swerved.
He tried to ignore them. Their closeness. Their giddy euphoria. One of them stumbled a bit but was held stable by her partner, resulting in a giggly kiss. Kent sighed loudly and averted his gaze just to be met with a twisted gaunt reflection snarling back at him as it travelled through the underground alongside him.
In his sleep-deprived state it actually spooked him, and the start it gave him almost made him trip. With no one to steady him, he had to make do with a clumsy grab for a pole to hang onto. There was laughter around him. It was hard to convince himself they weren’t laughing at him.
At the next stop, he hurried outside, not caring where he’d ended up. The further he was from home, the more he’d have to walk, the more chances he’d have becoming lost, the better.
The Tesco Expresses were closing down for the day, and the people in the streets started to seem a lot more like him. People who were missing something, desperately trying to find it somewhere in the big city. Homeless people, drunks, and some types that called Kent’s nonchalance bluff, and made him cross the street with worry knotted in his stomach.
A car swerved around him and honked loudly. He replied by flipping the bird. Had he been the one in the wrong? Sure, probably, but it felt good to be yelled at and be able to reflect it back onto them.
He thought of flying at Mansell, his eye throbbing painfully as a reminder of the repercussions. This was probably a better outlet.
Another car nearly hit him with cold water splashing from a puddle, and he yelled at them, smiling as he let out his rage. He let his head drop, and as he looked into the puddle, so did his smile. His demonic self had been grinning up at him but was now scowling back at him like it had a vendetta against him. He kicked at the water to erase the stupid image, but all he got for his trouble were a wet shoe and sock, adding to his discomfort.
He turned around where light wasn’t as abundant, and fewer reflections possible. He ventured onto a walkway into a park lined with fallen leaves. He walked into the darkness, embracing the woody, earthen smells around him. He’d have loathed this place full of life during the day, but at this time of night, if there were any other people around, they were likely junkies or other people he didn’t have to envy.
In his deprived state, fear was starting to take hold. This was a sign that he should probably head home. He was, after all, still a coward.
He’d made the walk home needlessly long and cumbersome, something he now cursed himself for as he longed to be at home in bed, but still, he didn’t get himself a taxi. He didn’t have the money for it anyway, especially if he had to shoulder his rent alone until he could find new flat mates.
The clock was nearing 4am when he finally rested his head against the door to the stairway. He looked up at his reflection close as could be. This close, it still didn’t look like him. He was too thin, too sharp, his eyes dark and unfeeling.
He sighed as he pushed the door open and made his way upstairs with great effort. He let himself inside and barely bothered to kick off his shoes and his one wet sock, before collapsing onto his bed. He reached out to put his phone in the charger and set an alarm for the next morning.
A couple of hours.
It wasn’t sustainable. He barely had the energy to get dressed in new clothes, let alone shower or have breakfast before he had to leave.
His head was throbbing, and the cup of tea he made first thing when he came in, didn’t agree with his empty stomach, acid churning in his gut until he felt nauseated.
He managed to nibble down a piece of toast during lunch, which he ate by himself in the corner of the canteen, wishing the throng of people talking around him would just disappear. Ironically enough, being among this many people was his best chance at avoiding his colleagues at their chattiest.
Not that they weren’t chatty during work. As Kent sat at his computer trying to gather his fleeting thoughts into a single coherent sentence, he heard the others chatting around him. It was about their family lives naturally.
He still hated hearing about Mansell’s relationship with his sister. It was ages since he’d seen her, but he couldn’t stomach the two of them together, so he avoided her as well, even though she seemed to be his one tether in the world.
Miles, Buchan and Riley tried to include him in their chats and shared ups and downs about their lives, but they were ultimately more colleagues than friends, and Kent only shared the bare minimum in return.
Chandler was a hope so distant it could barely be called that anymore. He felt stupid and selfish every time he thought about being with him, and if his feelings were something he could control, he would have discarded those particular ones a long time ago. They were like a rock stuck in a shoe at this point, an annoyance that could be ignored most of the time but stung heavily the rest of the time.
He was tiredly massaging his eyes when he heard Mansell next to him.
“Did you go to a party last night?”
Kent glared at him, not trying to hide his feelings.
“Wow, look angry for a fiver. Stop stop I’m not a millionaire!” Mansell said quickly, holding his hands up in front of his all too punchable face.
Kent didn’t say anything.
“Geez man, that’s some hangover. Probably best to wait until the weekend, eh.”
Kent remained silent.
It worked. Mansell decided he wasn’t fun to hang around and left him alone to do his work.
Not that much work was being done. Kent could barely keep awake, let alone do anything productive, so his work mostly consisted of him moving the mouse every once in a while to avoid the screen from blacking out and showing him his own ugly mug. He wasn’t even sure if he feared the distorted version of himself or just didn’t want to see the degree to which he looked like shit.
Chandler was sure to tell him soon enough.
“Kent?” He called out of his office, as he appeared in the doorway.
“Yes sir.”
“I can’t see the witness statements anywhere. Did you forget to send them?”
Kent’s face dropped.
“I uh-“ he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Well?” Chandler frowned.
“I haven’t transcribed them yet.” He couldn’t meet Chandler’s eyes.
“What do you mean you haven’t transcribed them yet? You’ve had all day to do so. What have you been doing?”
“I-“ he looked at his computer. A skeletal version of himself looked back. He flinched as he hurried to move the mouse revealing a half-finished transcription on his screen. “I’m half-way done,” he over-estimated to not seem as bad.
“Half-way? Kent, what on earth is wrong with you? You come in looking like a mess, wrinkled clothes and unshaven, and as if that isn’t unprofessional enough, you’re not even doing your work,” he was barely containing his anger. Kent noticed the movement of fingers in his pocket, and sure enough, he was applying tiger balm the moment after.
“Kent!”
He startled.
“Yes sir?” It was an automatic response.
Chandler closed his eyes in frustration. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Oh,” Kent hadn’t been aware just how slowly his thoughts were meandering along until now. “No.”
Chandler leant close and took a deep breath. He lowered his voice to be more discreet.
“If there’s something going on in your personal life, I urge you to tell me or go see the psychiatrist about it. This is troubling behaviour.”
Kent swallowed the lump of shame in his throat long enough to lie.
“No, it’s okay, sir. I’m fine.”
“Kent, I’m not just saying this out of thoughtfulness and care. I need you to shape up. I need you to be part of the team. I can’t just have you looking and acting unprofessional. Get those statements done, and get yourself sorted.”
Kent kept his gaze on the desk in front of him.
“Is that understood?”
“Yes sir!” he answered promptly. He hadn’t even noticed his own lack of response.
Chandler turned around and his shoes clacked hard against the floor, as he returned to his office. The office chatter started up cautiously around him, pretending as if they’d been engaged in conversation the whole time and hadn’t been glued to the spectacle in front of them.
Kent got up from his chair and headed for the bathroom. He knew he was being obvious, but it was still preferable to cry his eyes out in the privacy of a bathroom stall than in the middle of the incident room.
It was all his own fault, but it still hurt. It hurt so bad and he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t just go home and rest and sleep and come to work all happy and ready to start the day. He was as high functioning as he could be.
As he washed his hands, the reflection staring back at him in the mirror was surprisingly regular, showing him the exact mess that the others had seen all day. His curls were wild, his eyes sunken, dark circles around them, and red veins visible throughout, his beard was unevenly growing in, his shirt collar and tie were messily aligned, and his suit jacket, the same from yesterday, was wrinkly and stained with sweat.
He had to blink back tears as shame welled up within him once more. He didn’t have time for this. Even though his brain was still lagging behind, the guilt he felt was a powerful motivator, and he returned to work, looking as miserable as ever to finish his work.
Riley grabbed him again as he headed out the door.
“You’re really not looking well, Emerson,” she said, her concerned eyes scanning over the unsightly features Kent just wanted to hide from the world. He turned his hood up self-consciously.
“I know.”
“If you feel like this tomorrow, maybe it’s better if you call in sick,” she suggested.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure? You can always come to me and talk if you-“
“It’s okay!“ Kent snapped, glaring at his reflection.
Yeah, show yourself. I don’t care. He challenged the exaggerated version of his own wretched features.
He didn’t stop sneering at himself until he noticed the worried reflection of Riley next to him. He cleared his throat and looked away.
“At least get yourself a good meal and some rest,” she tried, but he brushed her off once more.
“Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow, Meg,” he said and pushed the door open, happy to be out of the cloying environment.
He threw on his jacket and stepped out into the cool night air. His feet were already complaining from the previous nights, but that didn’t stop him from picking a direction and just walking.
Everything was awful but at least this ritual quelled his thoughts and emotions a bit. If he went home too soon it all became too overwhelming and he couldn’t take it.
Underfoot was an abundance of trash despite there being plenty of litter bins all around, gutters were littered with cigarette butts, and chewing gum had become a permanent part of the pavement everywhere he walked, but it wasn’t an unpleasant environment. Kent preferred it to the nice storefront facades he walked past until the hour they were replaced with security shutters.
The multilane traffic with its honking cars, screeching brakes and the flashing lights and sirens of the emergency vehicles whizzing past weren’t unwelcome either, matching the frantic velocity of his thoughts.
The exhaust of a bus speeding past burning in his throat and causing a coughing fit was something he could have done without, however.
His heel caught on a grate and he nearly tripped, legs already starting to betray him. He rubbed his forehead. It was too early to head home. He couldn’t take anymore people happily chatting around him. Work had had enough of that already.
He rested against a light pole for a moment, relieving his legs of some of his weight for a moment. A bout of dizziness came over him, his body exhausted from the cardio on an empty stomach and almost no sleep. He doubled over, throwing up nothing but water and bile.
A paper caught on his hood, as he leant back against the light pole exhausted, sniffling. Like most places in the city, it was peppered with entertainment flyers or other posters.
His throat constricted as he recognized one of them as an advertisement for his sister’s upcoming art exhibit.
She’d invited him a while ago and he still hadn’t gotten back to her. He hurried on his way as if the light pole was going to notify her that he’d been thinking about her show.
He ducked under some scaffolding and took a turn before he came face to face with a large group happily returning from some sort of show, discussing this and that as they went.
He found himself in an alley. The smell of rotting garbage, wet cardboard and mildew hit him like a truck as he stepped further into alley where the streetlights didn’t fully penetrate the darkness. He leant up against a rusty dumpster leaking an unidentifiable fluid and decided that this was as good a place as any to give his legs a rest, as he hoisted himself on top of the dumpster.
A metal edge caught on his hoodie and he heard it tear. He hoped it was his hoodie. It would be expensive if his suit jacket had somehow gotten caught.
A wash of light filled the alley as a car drove past, shining on various crushed cans, takeout cups and a puddle of motor oil before leaving him in the dark again. Maybe this was where he belonged. Maybe he could just vanish there. With no light there was no reflection to be seen, and with no reflection, maybe he’d just stop existing.
This was of course folly. He was as miserable as ever with his thoughts in the dark and it wasn’t long before he jumped down and made his way out of the alley.
Another car drove past and he caught an eerie glimpse of his reflection warped and weird in the oily puddle. It unnerved him more than it usually did.
He sighed. His anxiety was coming on earlier and earlier. Maybe he should actually listen to the people around him and try to get some rest.
His body was as restless as ever, but maybe he’d have calmed down a bit before he reached home. There was still quite a way to go. He hadn’t even oriented himself on where he was yet.
Mind and body warring with themselves, he began to plan his route back home and started walking.
Despite the layers, he soon found himself shivering. He didn’t want to give himself the comforts of life, but depriving himself of them just led to more self-hatred.
He felt so bad. Why was everything so bad?
His phone vibrated in his pocket. A moment of hesitation later, Kent picked it up to look at who was calling him.
Erica’s name flashed on the screen.
His finger hovered over the touchscreen.
Maybe he should answer. Mansell be damned. She was his sister, and if he told her how he was feeling, maybe she’d tether him once more, maybe she’d-
He swallowed hard as he focused on his reflection in the phone instead. His heart skipped a beat as he saw himself in a worse state than ever, distorted beyond recognition. An elongated skeletal face with voids in place of eyes stared back at him through the screen.
Kent yelped and dropped the screen in surprise.
Fuck, he hissed, as the phone stopped ringing.
He picked it up. Glass clattered to the ground, and he turned the phone around in frustration. The screen was cracked beyond repair. He groaned, eyes flickering across the many fractures in the screen, until he saw his damn reflection again.
Tired as ever, more miserable than he’d been in the mirror at the station earlier that day, but it was him again.
The reflection from before, ghoulish features creeping into a smile, was standing behind him.