Notes: Written for Bloody-Lucky on tumblr, who gave me the prompts Chelmey & Barton and "Death of a loved one". Set sometime before Chelmey becomes an inspector, with spoilers for Chelmey's episode in Spectre's Call.

In general, Chelmey didn't do funerals if he could avoid it. Not because he didn't grieve the dead in his own way, but because he's such a gruff and uncomfortable person that he didn't always get his feelings across the right way at them. Others often thought of him as insensitive, so he preferred to pay his own silent respects to those who have passed on without being surrounded by a crowd of other people.

Today, however, he couldn't care less what anyone thought of him. Because there's no way he wasn't going to attend Inspector Gilbert's funeral. Especially after the man had done so much for him.

So he'd scrubbed himself up the best he could and made his way to the church at least an hour early, just to be sure that everything went well. You could never be too careful.

To describe the atmosphere as sombre would be a waste of words to Chelmey – because what else could it be? Gilbert had been a great man who had died far too soon. It was such a harsh blow to Scotland Yard, and to Chelmey, for him to be taken away when he was. And many people had come to the service that day because of it, probably close to two hundred, Chelmey reckoned.

But none of them sniffed quite as loudly as the stout man at the front. Gilbert's son, Barton.

Chelmey had met him a few times before and knew that he was working hard to become an officer himself. Although he lacked Gilbert's flare. And ability. Which might be horrible, but Chelmey had to admit it was true. On the upside, he certainly had inherited his father's passion for keeping people safe, a trait that Chelmey admired.

Right now the poor fellow wasn't feeling very passionate about anything though, sobbing into a handkerchief on the front row.

He had to talk to him, Chelmey knew that he did. There was no way that he couldn't, given that Chelmey had been the one who held Gilbert in his death. But he had been dreading seeing Barton all morning. The weight sat heavy in his stomach and he continued to put it off until much later on in the ceremony, once poor Gilbert had been laid to rest in the earth.

It seemed that Chelmey wasn't the only one giving Barton distance, as he found him sat alone at one of the tables, staring at his own feet. Probably everyone felt too terrible and didn't know what to say. Not that Chelmey did either, but he lurched over to the table all the same.

"Afternoon, Constable," Chelmey grumbled.

Barton jumped with a start, glancing up at Chelmey. Suddenly he was fiddling with his hands as if he was about to sit the most difficult exam of his life; "A-ah, afternoon, Constable Chelmey! It's an, um, an honour to have you talking t-to me!"

"An honour?" Chelmey checked, rubbing the ringing of Barton's nervous yells from his ears, "I'm surprised you'd say that about me."

"Why wouldn't I? You're a highly respected officer of the good Yard," reminded Barton, looking mildly confused.

"Well, I... that is your father and I, we were working together when he... when, you know what happened," Chelmey awkwardly muttered, "In fact, it was down to my poor decision-making that he-"

"Please don't say anything like that, sir!" Barton was on his feet and pointing a firm finger up at Chelmey. It was enough to make him recoil with surprise; "What happened was not your fault. You're a fine Constable and my father had only kind words to say about you. I'm sure that if he... if he were here right now then he'd be agreeing with me."

"Yeah, well..."

...What could he even follow that up with? Chelmey certainly didn't feel like a fine anything – not a constable and certainly not the inspector that he was tipped-off to be becoming. No doubt Gilbert would agree with his son, but ol' Gilbert was a soft-touch, even if he was the best on the force.

"Sorry if I spoke out of line..." Barton trailed off, "But I am glad that you came here today."

"After Gilbert did so much for me it was the least I could do," Chelmey assured him.

"He... did a lot for me, too..." replied Barton, staring down at his feet again.

Chelmey couldn't just leave the conversation on that. He felt more than just bad for Barton, he felt whole-heartedly responsible.

"And you're going to be doing a lot for other people, aren't you, Constable?" he reminded, "When I become an Inspector I expect to see you at the forefront of the Yard, keeping this good country a safe place to be in."

Quite unexpectedly, Barton saluted him. It was almost enough to make Chelmey embarrassed.

"I will do my duty as my father did, sir!" promised Barton.

"Ah... that's wonderful to hear, Barton. But you should save that sort of talk for in the office," Chelmey replied, trying not to pay attention to the people who had started to stare at them.

"As you wish, sir," Barton deflated, though he still looked considerably more cheerful than he had done to start with, "Now may I be dismissed to stop my cousins from clearing off the buffet table, sir?"

"You can do as you wish. I'm not your superior yet," grumbled Chelmey.

"No, sir, but you will be, sir," assured Barton, before darting off into the crowd.

Chelmey watched him go, trying to make sense of what just happened. That Barton was an interesting fellow, that was for sure. But he was every bit as bright and positive as his father had been, with just as much potential. So Chelmey silently vowed to protect him at all costs. As his duty to good old Gilbert.