Later.

"God, you look so posh." Carol teased, running a hand through her cousins' dark hair. He ducked but the damage was done and he had to try smoothing it down while juggling his keys and making for the front door.

"I love these new clothes. They must cost you a fortune but!" She tweaked at his new coat. Kent tried to slip past, but her grip tightened. "Here, is this tailored? It is, and is that a real silk lining or…"

Kent wriggled past her and made it to the door. He escaped into the early daylight and strode over to his scooter. His posh clothes wouldn't matter if he was late.

Miles didn't give leeway for time spent getting your jacket to sit just right, or your hair laying perfect. Talking of his hair, he wasn't sure why he spent so much time on it in the morning – he just flattened it into a mess every time he put his helmet on.

He sighed as he did just that, then did the strap up under his chin, kicked the stand back and pulled into traffic.

He wandered if DI Chandler would talk to him today. He had a couple of days ago, thanking Kent for some bit of information gathering. Those few words had seen his spirits rise quite a lot.

Kent was having to work hard to get anything out of Chandler lately, after the way his boss felt he had mishandled Morgan Lamb. He still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something fishy about her. And he was resentful of being made to go and apologise for his line of enquiry in their interview of her.

She was dead now though, and it was all in the past, but he still had to regain Joe Chandlers trust all over again. He'd been trying hard to improve his appearance, his tidiness and general work habits, hating it when the DI's eyes passed right over him. Kent wanted him to start seeing him again.

But just like with his new coat, what Emerson Kent wanted was never going to be what he got. He could never catch a break.

His attempt at dressing better had gone wrong from the start. Carol might have been impressed by his 'tailored' waistcoat and jacket, but it had cost a packet and when Kent had been close enough to compare it to his boss's he could tell it was still inferior, even if it did fit better.

He had observed with envy the almost invisible smooth stitching in Chandlers coat. Meanwhile his own expensive clothes still had puckers and loose threads everywhere. Some times he thought that that was the way it was always going to be for him, no matter how he tried. He'd always end up inferior quality, always the lesser man.

But that was on the cold days, when Chandler didn't even glance his way. Normally he felt determined that if he kept on studying Chandler and listening to Miles, then a time would come when things would go his way and Joe would look on him as an equal and then ... well and then he didn't know. Anything could happen. Anything at all.