#I said 'moderate swearing' but i think my view of that is skewed just by being English

[virtualchaoticgood]

It's Never a Good Day to Die in Slough House

Fandom: Slow Horses (TV)

Words: 4108

Warnings/tropes: blood and injury, stabbed, weak, passing out, worry for loved one, mistaken for dead, moderate swearing (as per canon)

Hey there, I don’t post on here other than to reblog. But I wrote (and actually finished) something and wanted to share. 

I binged all 4 current seasons of Slow Horses over a long weekend recently, and have had this scene playing in my head on repeat since then.

It’s kinda set post season 4, but also doesn’t have any spoilers. Just that River and Louisa’s friendship is more season 3/4 vibes.

Also, just a WARNING to those not expecting it: cigarettes are referred to as 'fags' a couple times, because England. The single headcannon I have for this show rn is that Lamb absolutely calls them that and you can trust me on this because I'm English.

Thanks so much to @deepwoundsandfadedscars who read this through for me and helped me figure out tags and such on here and Ao3!

Summary: River gets chased into Slough House by some foreign operatives wanting just two things from him: his recently acquired USB stick, and his life.

You can read it on Ao3 too!

It had been a long night. 

Not the usual long night you got from working at Slough House, the ones that you question why you still even bother going in each day. No, this had been the kind of long night that you get kidnapped by a foreign operative, claiming to be a turncoat, who then gives you a USB that seems to have a dangerous amount of your top secret files mixed in with a healthy dose of their own. 

Obviously River hadn’t believed them. Right up until the point that they got taken down by a trained team speaking the turncoat’s native tongue.

He still wasn’t sure he trusted their reasoning behind coming to him with that USB instead of literally-fucking-anyone else. They knew enough about him to know he was MI5, so they also knew he was relegated to Slough House. They said something about “under the radar”. He figured it was more like “plausible deniability” for everyone else involved except for lucky-old-him. 

He’d probably call it in at this point, but the turncoat had helpfully taken his phone and then failed to give it back before kicking the bucket.

So he was alone. 

But he was on his streets, not theirs. And he knew somewhere nearby that, in an hour or so, would have people that would (well, might) help him stay alive.

It was only about an hour before River would have been arriving at Slough House for work this morning; had it been a normal morning. Instead he was walking up the road to it after dawn had barely broken, pissed off and, frankly, highly paranoid. He hadn’t got a good look at the team that had taken down the turncoat, too busy getting the fuck out of there, so he was watching anyone around him that seemed to be going the same direction for a little too long.

Why were there so many people going to work this early?

Sure, he was too, technically, but he was pretty sure that none of the people walking past him had been kidnapped and almost killed last night.

He was on the right road, just a block or so down. There was someone he spotted, over his shoulder on the other side of the road, hanging around and watching him. But they didn’t make as if to move, and held his gaze when they met it. He turned back, quickening his pace. He was almost at Slough House, and for the first time ever, he was glad. 

Someone stepped out in front of him with something glinting in their hand. River didn’t have enough time to react, he had been too focused on people following behind him. Idiot. The man brought the blade up, making for River’s gut, but wasn’t able to cut that deep as River pulled back at the last moment. It was a quick cut, but, damn, did it still burn. The man went for River again, his chest this time, but River swerved, getting just his left wrist cut in the process. He hissed, he could feel this one was deeper, but he didn’t have time to check it.

Before the man had the chance to swipe at him a third time, River pulled back and landed a punch. He wasn’t sure what part of the guy’s face he hit, but it was enough to make him double over, which was enough for River to break out into a sprint for Slough House.

He heard someone running after him, there was probably more than one, but he kept going. 

Hopefully the worst they had was knives. 

He threw himself around the corner and towards the metal staircase leading to the front door. With every step, the cut in his side felt like it was tearing further open and his left hand was getting slick with what could only be blood. Taking two steps at a time he fished the keys out of his pocket, quickly covering them in blood as well. As he jammed them in the lock, only going in the second time he tried, he chanced a look back down the stairs. There was one guy at the bottom, seemingly the one he had punched, then another shortly after him. 

He twisted the keys and slammed his weight against the door. 

It groaned but stayed closed. 

He twisted the keys back and forth and threw himself at it again. 

Still the fucking thing didn’t budge. 

He could hear the footsteps of the two men almost on him. River let out a yell in frustration. He was going to die and Slough fucking House, the god damn building itself, was going to be the reason. 

They had reached the top of the stairs. The one in front with a bloodied nose and a pissed off look raised his knife, looking like he was aiming for River’s face. River didn’t go to defend himself, instead deciding to try the door one last time, wondering briefly if they left his corpse up against the door might Lamb finally get it fixed?

He twisted the keys and shoved, watching the arc of the knife as it sailed down towards him, not expecting it when the door suddenly, finally, gave way. 

Instead of hitting his face, the knife lodged deep into his left shoulder. He yelled in both surprise and pain as he fell through the doorway onto the floor of the corridor, his attacker surprised too as he fell on top of River, losing grip of his knife in the process. The stars swimming across River’s vision took a few, precious seconds to subside. 

The guy on top of him scrambled to right himself, trying to hold River down while he did, thankfully blocking the one behind him from being able to get through the door. 

River was on his back. His side and his wrist had already been screaming at him. The amount of pain radiating from his shoulder was so great it felt foreign, to the point he wasn’t entirely sure it was going to still be there as he looked around for something to fight with, slapping away the hands going for his throat. There was nothing. Even those pointless fucking boxes of files were around the corner, outside Roddy’s office. So River gripped the only thing he had and couldn’t help the scream he let out as he tore the knife from his own shoulder. His mind addled by experiencing that level of pain for a second time, only instinct and training sent the knife quickly plunging it into the neck of the man above him before he had a chance to defend himself. River’s view came back into focus as he stabbed again, a second and third time, to make sure the guy was done. With a thud, the body hit the ground, still half on River who desperately pushed to roll it off as the second man clambered through the, now emptier, doorway brandishing his own knife. As soon as his legs were within reach, River stabbed at them, not letting up until the guy fell to his knees. Then he quickly shifted to stab upward towards his neck. He didn’t see if the knife did any damage as his shoulder immediately gave way under him and he fell back down onto it, hard. His vision went white. The pain overwhelmed him. His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears. That was the only thing he could hear except for deep, ragged breaths that seemed to be his too. After a few moments he came back to his senses to hear choking and coughing from the second man, blood pouring from his throat and mouth. His eyes were wide and both his hands were gripped tightly around his neck but doing little to stop the flow of blood. 

River slowly, carefully, stood himself back up using the wall for support, trying not to slip again on all the blood pooling on the floor around him. He tried to close the door but the legs of the first man’s corpse were in the way and he knew he didn’t have the strength to move them now. Gripping his knife tightly in his right fist, he made his way further into the building. He clambered over the second man who made some final blind swipes that River clumsily kicked away. Stumbling around the corner, River could see Roddy’s office door was closed and there was no glow from his half dozen monitors. He hadn’t expected Roddy to be in, but it was nice to confirm that he hadn’t just been fucking sitting there the whole time, ignoring the sounds of River fighting for his bloody life. He wouldn’t put it past the prick. 

He wandered slowly down the corridor towards the bottom of the stairs, dragging himself against the wall to be sure he would stay upright. Nearing the end of the corridor he heard something that made him stop.

The creaking of the metal steps outside.

Someone was walking up them, carefully. It sounded like there was only one. It was too early, still, for it to be a friendly (if it had been any other moment he would have burst out laughing at the idea of calling any of the other slow horses ‘friendly’). 

Adrenaline coming back to him with a new threat closing in, River hurried around the corner onto the bottom of the stairs. He wouldn’t get far running, so he stayed there, two steps up, hugging the middle wall, knife tight in his grip, and trying not to breathe.

He heard them pause just outside the door. Then maneuver over the bodies. Then slowly make their way down the corridor. 

In spite of the new adrenaline rush, he was feeling tired and slow. Every blink felt a little more like he might just not open his eyes back up again. 

But the newcomer had reached the other side of the wall to River, and it was then that their gun finally came into view. They were pointing it at Roddy’s office, presumably trying to see if he was in there. 

He knew, with a knife against a gun, getting in close would be his best chance. Well, running the fuck away would’ve been his best chance but that wasn’t an option anymore. He tried to raise his arms in front of him without making a sound, but his shoulder strongly protested.

He thought about how little Jackson Lamb would care upon finding his body. About him celebrating, even, that a thorn he’d had stuck in his rotten, oily arse was finally gone. 

He grimaced at the thought of Lamb’s rotten, oily arse. 

Steeling himself with his spite, he raised his arms in front of him: knife gripped in his right, left shaking with only a slight tremor. 

He saw, now, for the first time, just how much blood was coating his hands and arms. He had no idea how much was his own.

The gun started to move, turning to go up the stairs River was standing on. He waited until he could see enough of the person’s forearm come round the corner and then lept.

He was down the steps in a moment, grabbing the closer forearm and sinking the knife into it in one motion. The person yelled and fired the gun. It was right next to River’s ear and deafening. Even though the bullet went harmlessly into the wall behind him he was immediately off balance. So as they drew their injured arm back, River lost grip of the knife.

He had no weapon and felt dead on his feet, his ear still ringing from the gunshot. The person drew their gun back to take aim at him properly. There wasn’t the time to think.

River rushed them, the gun now pointed right at his chest. He tried to grab it but his hands were slippery. They both yelled as they fell to the floor, River on top of the gunman. He could feel the cold metal, but he wasn’t sure what part he was holding. 

He didn’t know where it was facing when it went off a second time. 

It was muffled by their two bodies wrapped around it, and with how much he was hurting already, River couldn’t tell if he had been hit or not. He wrenched the gun from the other’s hands, was he getting stronger moments before death or were they putting up less of a fight?, then backed away from them just enough to point the weapon at their chest and pull the trigger two more times.

He collapsed backwards onto the cardboard boxes littering the bottom of the staircase and looked down at himself. The clothes he had been wearing to work yesterday were almost unrecognisable; torn and bloodied. He tried to breathe more steadily, but it was hard with his heart still hammering in his chest. Over that, there weren’t the sounds of any more people coming up the stairs outside– for now, at least.

The gunman gurgled from the floor. River weakly kicked their foot, but they didn’t respond. 

He thought he had been tired while he was fighting, but the exhaustion that was hitting him now was on another level. Bringing the gun up to rest on his lap and leaning his head back against the boxes behind him, River waited for the next person to walk up the metal steps outside. He did manage a chuckle this time (although it came out much more like a strained wheeze) at the fact he was hoping that the next person he saw was a slow horse. 

He could have sworn only a few moments had passed, only a few heavy blinks of his eyes, but suddenly he was aware of someone standing directly in front of him.

He raised the gun, aiming at the centre of the blurry mass that he couldn’t quite pull into focus.

“Put that thing down, you fucking prick.” 

What?

Oh.

Amazing that he would be grateful for both Slough House and Jackson Lamb on the same day. Although, thinking about it, it would make sense if it was the day he dies.

Jackson Lamb, horrifically, was somewhat early for work. He wasn’t even sure where he had gained the half hour or so. Maybe he had smoked through the rest of that pack of fags faster than normal… or maybe more cars had got out of his way as he, with the correct amount of recklessness, had driven into work. Whatever it had been, Lamb seriously considered turning back and doing fucking anything else for 30 (better make that 40) minutes rather than give The Service even more of his time than they even fucking pay him for. 

But he had just turned off the pavement to head for the metal staircase when he had noticed the time. And right after that he had smelled something odd. Metallic. 

Blood.

Any other person might not have considered it that odd to smell blood in a place that normally stank of piss on a good day. But not him, and not here. No one could say with a straight face that he cared for any of the useless idiots that worked at Slough House, but if someone had killed one of his Joes, today was going to be a very fucking bad day for him and the pricks that did it.

He started walking up the steps, slowly, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He could see it now – the blood. There were drops of it on the left side of some of the steps, and smeared up the handrail in places. It was sticky and starting to dry. At the top of the stairs, Lamb briefly leant his head around the corner to glance at the door. 

It was open. And someone’s legs were keeping it that way. 

He glanced around again, the legs were dead. There was another body just inside the door and a lot of blood pooling between them. He didn’t recognise them immediately, but he took a few steps back down the metal stairs before going any further.

The tone rang twice before Guy answered.

“Where are you?” Lamb asked.

“I’m on my way in, why?”

“Well, get here fucking now, Guy. And call the others. Someone’s fucking dead.”

With that, he hung up. It was vague enough to light a fire under her arse. And at this point, for all he knew, all the others might be dead in there too. The idea of that upset him, not because he’d miss them, of course, but because he’d just get sent a whole new batch of losers and idiots he’d have to figure out how to mess with. He’d already put in all the work with this lot. It’s basically all The Service pays him for at this point, whether they know it or not.

With a scowl, Lamb climbed back up the rest of the steps, through the door, and over the two corpses, unable to entirely avoid the blood – they definitely weren’t any of his. Around the corner he saw a trail of blood across one of the walls leading to another body slumped half against the wall of Ho’s ‘office’. No signs that the little prick was in there right now. From this distance Lamb was pretty sure the third body also wasn’t one of his, but he could see a shoe sticking out from the bottom of the stairs that looked upsettingly familiar. 

He was less cautious as he walked up to it, knowing what he was probably going to find. But being prepared for it didn’t make it feel any better. 

River was wearing the same clothes he had been the last time Lamb had seen him yesterday. But now they were soaked red all over. From his face and hair down to his shoes, the amount of blood on him made it seem like he probably killed the other three. He had a gun resting loosely in his lap. His head was leaning back against a few of those stupid fucking boxes, and his deathly pale face, looked almost fucking peaceful, like he was having a goddamn nap.

“Fuck, River.” 

So this was going to be a bad fucking day.

Lamb’s face screwed up tighter as he stood and looked down at his dead Joe.

A Joe that suddenly took a breath. 

Lamb stepped back, genuinely startled out of his somber thoughts. River’s eyes opened lazily and his grip on the gun tightened.

He seemed to abruptly notice Lamb’s presence and tried to raise the gun level with him. But his wrist was mostly limp so the gun wasn’t even pointing the right direction.

“Put that thing down, you fucking prick.” Lamb said as he knelt down next to River and tried to tell where the blood that was his was coming from. After a moment River let the gun drop back down to his lap and made a noise that sounded like he was trying to laugh, and when Lamb looked back up at his face, he saw a dopey grin spread across it. 

“The fuck are you grinning about, you idiot?” Lamb asked, trying to rile River up while taking his phone back out of his pocket and putting it on one of the boxes. He’d found a wound on his shoulder and one on his wrist that seemed pretty bad and was trying to apply pressure.

“I never thought,” River said weakly, “I’d ever be glad to see you.” 

Lamb looked at him, bewildered, and then joined him laughing. Only stopping when he heard someone loudly charging up the outside staircase. Lamb grabbed the gun off River and aimed down the corridor. But it was only Guy who came racing round the corner yelling his name.

“Lamb!”

“Guy, shut the fuck up and come here.”

She jogged over but stopped short when she saw River. 

“Oh fuck, River. Oh fuck.” She said as she tried to kneel down on the staircase on the other side of River, with her hands raised up towards him like she was about to heal him with fucking prayers. 

“Guy.” She didn’t look away from River. “Guy, stop fucking looking at him!” Finally her attention turned back to Lamb. He raised the gun to give to her.

“Take this and check we don’t have any more uninvited guests wandering around upstairs.”

She took the gun and stood, but hesitated. 

“Should I call an ambulance?” She asked, once again staring down at River who didn’t seem to be fully aware of what was going on anymore.

“Guy, you do your fucking job and I’ll do mine.” Lamb said back, raising his phone where she could see him pressing nine three times and then the call button. Seeming satisfied with that, Guy went up the stairs, gun trained in front of her. 

Lamb gave the address to the poor sod that had answered his call after probably traumatising them and setting in motion the creation of a new training programme for 999 phone operators. After which he hung up. 

River stirred. He was sloppily trying to reach into his pocket. After watching him try and fail a few times, Lamb took his hand off River’s shoulder wound to fish into the pocket for him. When he pulled out what was in there he found himself looking at an, only slightly bloodied, USB. Lamb looked at it quizzically a moment longer, then looked back at River and waved it in front of his face so as to ask the question without needing to say it.

“It’s what they were after.” River explained between heavy breaths. “Killed– turncoat.” He added, then raised his hand, weakly, to point at the USB. “Ours– and theirs.” Lamb waited remarkably patiently for River to follow up with something more coherent. When he didn’t he just said:

“Right.” And put the USB in his jacket. 

The stairs creaked loudly as Guy rushed back down them.

“The rest of the place is clear. None hiding, no bodies.” She reported as she reached the bottom step and knelt down next to River again. She looked him over, tears coming to her eyes that she was obviously trying, and failing, to hold back. She turned to Lamb, “What can I do?”

He was about to tell her to go wait outside for the ambulance that had better be here any fucking minute, but then thought better of it. She wanted to be here and if Lamb was the one waiting outside, he wouldn’t have to try and be decent to River if these end up being his last moments.

“Put your hands where mine are and press hard.” She swapped to kneeling where he had been, and he moaned as his knees cracked and complained as he stood. “I mean it,” Lamb said, looking at what Guy was doing, “Press fucking hard, Guy.” She pressed harder, River mumbled something but didn’t react otherwise.

Lamb took a fresh pack of fags out his pocket and put one in his mouth as he turned and walked quickly to the front door, saying over his shoulder, “I’m going to find us some fucking paramedics.”

Outside, Lamb stood at the entrance of the alley, blood on his hands and clothes, noting the looks he was and wasn’t getting while he smoked. He wanted to take another look at the USB, but there were definitely a few people standing around out here that also wanted to, and they weren’t hiding it well. Where he’d normally have clocked them for looking too much, these few weren’t looking enough at the guy standing in an alley, smoking and bloodstained. 

Thankfully the paramedics only took another minute. Lamb beckoned them up the stairs, taking a pause from smoking to tell the paramedics, “Three of them are already dead.” Then turning back and continuing to smoke without waiting for a response.

He’d expected Guy to be sobbing over River’s corpse when he led the paramedics in and pointed them over to him. But, remarkably, they didn’t immediately pronounce him dead, so she seemed to only be crying over him while he was still alive.

Satisfied that River seemed to be sticking around for now, Lamb turned back to wait outside for the police that were inevitably about to turn up, too. He could have really done without this fucking mess, but it seemed like maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad a day as it could have been.

[achrisstevenson]

Young Adult—Naughty or Nice?

 Young adult books are generally aimed at readers in the 12 to 18 year-old age bracket. However, it can vary sometimes by a few years either way. There is also a sub-classification of “upper” and “lower” YA. Lower might be 12 to 17 years-old, whereas upper could be around 14 to 19 years-old. Young adult books are not really age oriented as much as they are content categorized. I lean toward the upper young adult level of 14 to 19 years-old. There are no fast and hard rules about this. It’s a generalization because there is also a huge crossover appeal to adult readers. Look no further than the Harry Potter books which started out as middle-grade, then slid upward to young adult and then shanghaied the adult audience.

 LENGTH

 YA books can be shorter than adult books and get away with it. I’ll shoot for around 200 to 300 pages. I feel comfortable with that; I plan it that way. Only because I want to appeal to younger readers who do not feel trapped into reading a long and detailed tome. They have lessened attention spans. YA book can be of the novella size, which are shorter still. As much as the term is not widely worshipped, I write what I consider “beach reads.”

 SEX, DRUGS AND ROCK ‘N ROLL

 Generally, with adult books you can pretty much let it rip. I think you know what I’m talking about. If you go too far with mentions of physical sex, drugs, multiple partners, adultery, violence, foul language, suicide, law-breaking and other stark and unsavory topics, you’re entering ghetto, punk or erotica territory. Graphic adult romance is nothing new, although there is the sweet variety that is very popular—more so than the other type.

 The same applies to young adult books only you have to be very careful of what you include in the text and storyline if you want to keep it clean, safe and non-threatening. After voluminous reads and research in this category, I would think that holding hands and kissing would be the best way to go without offending scruples, religion, or the adults who might be the purchasers of such books for their teens. Anything more could be a turn-off to one of the largest audiences and purchasers of young adult books—the librarians. They recommend books to all manner of sources, but particularly to schools. Such books have to pass muster with the teachers. It’s definitely a form of censorship. It is not the type of censorship that violates freedom of speech rights. It is more of a checks and balances of morality with what might be considered appropriate and sane. Notice I said “sane.”

 There are some publishers and reviewers who have stated, in words to the effect: “I don’t go for the sweet and innocent portrayals of teens that are unrealistic and status quo. Rip my face off and tell the blunt truth about how real teenagers act, live, believe and talk. To be sure, these preferences are in the minority. But there’s a heck of a lot of gray area too. There are some things you can get away with, and ride the fence, and there are times when you’ve crossed a boundary line. The question is, how much naughty can you get away with without drawing fire, yet still remaining true to the characters and real life circumstances?

 Not much—it’s limited. You can touch upon taboo subjects from afar, or hint or make reference to them. Even then you should to careful. When you start painting images via innuendo, it will show itself in the eyes of an on-guard adult reader. Believe me, condemnation is more prevalent when you’ve crossed the naughty line as opposed to receiving praise for telling it like it is in all its naked glory.

 I’m very conscious of what I write in young adult books now more than ever. It does not take much to set somebody off. When you start crossing lines you have word-of-mouth critics to contend with. Anything that is negative about your written word can go viral and dash a book to smithereens. Never mind your reputation. That was the first thing that went!

 Example: I’ve made mention of drugs before in my books but kept them out of use. I’ve had older teens take a few sips of alcohol under stress. Such scenes were over before they began. I dropped the F-bomb and several other swear words about a dozen or more times in the length of a book. I had my main characters witness a copulation scene from a hundred yards away, and forget about it in the next moment. I’ve had some unintentional nudity in scenes, but there was no emphasis on it. To me, these scenes and subjects were relevant to the plotline and situation. I had to strive for realism. Even if it was borderline. The result was, 90% of the readers took it in stride. The other 10% were offended by it and voiced their opinions. Nothing can destroy your review rank faster than a reader who blatantly disagrees with your subject matter. I know, I know…to hell with that bunch. (hey, I used a swear word)

 The balancing act between naughty and nice is skewed toward the nice. That’s hardly unexpected with young adult books. Remember those librarians and teachers? It’s not a good idea to lay it all out there if they’re going to grab a copy of your book. They are a credentialed gatekeeper. They have a heck of a lot more experience with literature than you or I. If they are young adult book librarians their expertise is magnified three-fold.

 Chris, what about sex behind closed doors? Teens indulge in this activity whether we object to it or not. It’s all part of the growing up process. It’s instrumental in every facet of their passage into adulthood.

 I wouldn’t. The characters might talk about it. Leave it be. It’s giving the green light to underage sex. Stay away from it. At 18 years-old plus: knock yourself out, or knock the boots of your characters (doh). Although use a little moderation. In case you haven’t noticed, the NA (New Adult) category was created for one of its most primary reasons—permission to lay and get laid. Never mind college. Think Spring Break, wot?

 So what the heck can we get away in this very subjective analysis? I can only guess and give you some borderline examples of what you or your reader might find inoffensive in this analysis. Remember, everything in moderation. You will have to ultimately decide where your comfort zone is.

 Fondling

Nudity

Alcohol consumption

Drug use

Bullying

Extended suicidal depression

Dirty jokes (not kidding)

Groping

Gross violence

Physical and mental abuse (particularly toward female characters)

Animal abuse

Murder

Marriage (this one requires parent’s approval depending upon the country or other facts)

 I’m learning more and more about moral turpitude in this category. My sister even advised me to have characters marry before sex. Not a bad idea. Didn’t Stephanie Meyers hold her characters back for three volumes before anything happened? I can’t remember. It’s a great hook technique—keeps the reader guessing.

 Christian young adult fiction usually abstains from sexual activity before it is morally and legally appropriate. That goes for other religions and cultures.

 But, Chris, doesn’t your views make you an unrealistic prude? Not really. I was a teenager once too, although some will dispute this! I know what goes on. The trick is to read between the lines where there is a lot more there to discover about messages than you think. I’m lucky enough to pull off this kind of subterfuge. I just can’t get away from blundering on occasion. That happens to all us scribblers. I hope you don’t blunder.

 Just remember, there are not only some speed bumps that you have to consider in writing young adult literature, but there are some barriers which are best not crossed. The parents and librarians will never need to wipe sweaty brows or unclench a fist after reading your story. If…you are mindful.

 Happy travails. I’ll red-shift outta here….