#river cartwright x oc

[lilacsnid]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔, river cartwright

"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶... 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨."

The name of her father always followed her wherever she went. 

Being the daughter of 'Bad Sam' Chapman came with a reputation she could never escape, even as she tried to forge her own path within the service. It was no different when she found herself assigned to Slough House, the very place that served as a dumping ground for dead-end spies.  Among the washed-up agents and misfits, Tilley Chapman felt like she had something to prove, not just to the service but to herself.

It's when she meets River Cartwright, another cast-off with his own set of frustrations, that Tilley tries not to let her guard down. 

At first, they clash—both too proud and too stubborn to admit their faults. 

Tilley starts to see that River's cynicism masks a deep sense of duty, and River begins to understand that Tilley's not just another burned-out spy—she's someone with the potential to surprise everyone, even herself.

They soon come to realise that maybe they have more in common than they once thought. 

COMING SOON ✔︎

[annaelizabethhenry1]

Echoes from the Past - Chapter 3

Apologies for the long delay in posting this chapter, but the holidays and end of year work stuff was such a huge time drain. Hope the wait was worth it! If you've missed the earlier chapters you can find chapter one here

Chapter Three

All hushed and still within the house Without – all wind and driving rain But something whispers to my mind Through rain and through wailing wind                                             Never again Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine                                                  - Emily Brontë

David Cartwright woke early, blinking and attempting to bring the dim room into focus. He reached over to his left to grab his glasses off the nightstand. Finally, after putting them on things came into view. His heart sank. This wasn’t home. Yes, there was a wardrobe of his things and his favourite slippers were on the floor next to this bed, but this was an institution. A place to tuck away a problem you didn’t want to deal with anymore. Sighing, he reached for the picture frame on the night table. It was of him and River taken a few years ago almost around the time he began his training for MI-5. Rose would’ve been proud, but concerned. She always chided David for training River since he was a boy, but he couldn’t help it. They boy was sharp and was good at being stealthy, all qualities he’d need to be successful.

Smiling, David thought back to around the time River’s tenth birthday. While he couldn’t remember a damn thing from yesterday, he still remembered things like this so vividly. How the day was unseasonably warm for late April and how bright the sun shone on their walk to the village to pick up some things for Rose and the cake she was baking especially for River’s birthday in a couple of days.

“So young man, you’re going to hit double digits soon. Excited?”

River nodded and smiled. “Yeah, it’s so cool. Next thing you know I’ll be old enough to drive!”

“Ha! That’s not for a while, my boy. Though if you get a good grade on that maths test this week maybe I’ll let you sit in the driver’s seat to see how it feels and I can explain all the levers and knobs.”

“Really?” River asked excited at the prospect of feeling more grown-up.

“Yes, really.”

Once at the market, David nudged River, “What did I teach you?”

“Take the whole space in. Notice everything, don’t have tunnel vision,” River answered.

“Excellent. What have you noticed so far?”

“There’s a man over there stealing grapes by eating them to the left. Ms. Hamilton is busy gossiping at the register to our neighbour Mrs. Farley and it looks like the rolls in the bin are leftovers from yesterday since there are hardly any left.”

“Very good.  Anything else?”

“The butcher is chatting up that young woman with the little girl in the trolley.”

“Perfect!” David said smiling brightly. 

They picked up the groceries from the shop and came in through the side door nearest the stairs and heard Rose talking to someone.

“Rose? We’re back.”

“Oh, excellent, David. There’s a special guest in the kitchen for River.”

River looked at his grandfather, David shrugged.

They entered the kitchen together to find Isobel sitting at the table which caused his heart to sink. He hoped she wasn’t here to take River away. He had promised Rose he’d never allow it, but then he wasn’t yet attached to the boy. David loved River with every fibre of his being. River was his whole world along with Rose.

“River! You’re so tall!” Isobel said smiling and looking up at him from her chair.

River just stood there with a confused look on his face.

Isobel got up and went over to him to give him a hug which he didn’t fully return. David could tell River was wary, as well he should be under the circumstances. She might be his daughter, but he was disappointed with her as a mother. It took full year for them to bring River around, make him feel comfortable and safe and loved. Now she decided to show up unannounced and make a muck of things. 

David looked to Rose who shot him a worried look.

“Yes, well boys do shoot up when they’re growing, Isobel. It’s been three years,” David said.

“I know. How’s my chap?”

“Fine.” River said shyly avoiding his mother’s eyes.

“Well that’s not the welcome I expected.”

David and Rose looked at each other again knowingly.

“Sorry, mum. I…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I thought I’d surprise you for your birthday!”

River looked less than pleased. David knew that because he could see the look in his eyes change from happy content boy to the scared and cautious one that arrived on his doorstep three years ago.

“Isobel has just returned from Malta. She’s thinking of coming back to England, David,” Rose said.

“Oh, really. Well I’m surprised you would want to given you enjoy living aboard so much in the warmer climes,” David said glaring at Isobel.

“Yes, well I’m not certain yet on what I want to do next, but I thought it would be nice to see River,” Isobel said stroking River’s arm affectionately.

River shrunk back from her touch. David could tell River wanted to retreat to his grandmother’s side for protection as he eyed her, but all Rose could do was smile back at River.

“Why don’t you take your mum to see your room, River. I’m sure she’d like to see it,” David suggested.

River of course obliged and took his mother upstairs.

“What the devil is she doing here, Rose?”

“I don’t know. She showed up in a taxi with some luggage. I was stunned,” Rose said getting up from the kitchen table.

“You had no idea?”

“No, she only sends River postcards and letters. I had no clue. Maybe she’s run out of money”

“Well if she has, I’ll gladly give her some to get her out of here. Did you see how unsettled River looked?”

“Yes.”

“Like you said Rose, he’s ours now. She’s no good for him. “

Rose nodded.

Later that evening after a very strained dinner, David took Isobel to the side while Rose did the washing up and River went upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Isobel you can’t have River back.”

“What? He’s my son.”

“You left him here with hardly anything one afternoon to run off to Spain with a man who is now long forgotten. I promised your mother, he stays here.”

“No. I want another chance.”

“Isobel you had your chance. He’s our boy now. You forfeited your rights that day.”

“Mum would never agree,” Isobel said.

“Yes, I would,” Rose said re-entering the room, drying her hands on a tea towel. “You abandoned him on our doorstep and haven’t seen him in three years. You don’t get to pick him up like a toy you suddenly want to play with again. He’s a sweet and loving boy who deserves more than your half-hearted interest. He doesn’t need you to discard him again when you get bored of him. He deserves more.”

“Rose is right Isobel. By all means spend time with him here, but I will not allow you take him,” David said.

While River was quite good at remaining unseen his grandfather spied him peering from around the corner towards the end of the conversation and River darted off when he had been ‘made’.

Late that night after everyone was in bed, River went downstairs as the fire in the study still blazed and his grandfather sat in the near dark room, clutching a crystal tumbler.

In a small voice River said, “Grandad?”

David turned to see River clad in his cosy flannel pyjamas with no slippers – better for creeping about soundlessly which River had achieved. “Yes, my boy.”

“I want to stay here with you and Nan.”

“Of course, you do and you will. I’m sorry you overhead that business earlier. I saw you lurking.”

“I should’ve hidden better.”

“You were upset and not thinking. But do remember there may be a time when you’re emotional and have to keep your head,” David said.

“Yes, I know. When it’s important I won’t let you down, Grandad.”

David smiled. “I know you won’t, River.”

And when it did matter River didn’t let David down.

“He came for me that night…he made it better...” David mumbled as the past merged with the recent present.

David’s heart swelled. He did train River well and he did make him proud no matter what the Park thought of his grandson. He was too good even for them.

**************

River woke slowly Saturday morning, blinking as the room came into focus, a sliver of light peeped through the curtains in the middle. He moved to get up but his head throbbed. “Ugh,” he said plopping his head back down on the feather pillow. He glanced over at the night table with the empty whisky bottle and glass, the evidence of his solo drinking stint and his pounding head. River rubbed his eyes and yawned. He had to pull himself together. He was in dire need of aspirin and coffee.

Still in his clothes from yesterday, he hoisted himself from his grandparents’ bed. The contents of the box strewn about him. He staggered to the loo and was about to go in when knocking on the door left him groaning. Who would be here so early? The knocking continued. “Coming!” River shouted.

Bounding down the stairs as quick as his aching head would allow, he ripped open the door to find a surprised looking Catherine Standish holding a box of pastries. “Catherine?” River asked.

“River did you just wake up?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s after eleven in the morning.”

“Shit – is it? I was up late and fell asleep going through some stuff.”

“It smells more like you were going through a bottle.”

“Yes, I had a little something to drink.”

She cocked her head, staring up at him with her laser vision eyes, assessing him. “Judging by the state of you, I’d say it’s not a little. Let me make you some coffee.”

River extended his arm welcoming her into the house. As she’d been here before she knew where the kitchen was located and went straight to work. He wondered what Nan would have made of Catherine. She’d like that she was tidy and considerate and well organized if nothing else.

“Why don’t you get freshened up while I make you breakfast. It’ll help.”

River nodded, went upstairs to shower and change and popped some pain tablets. True to her word when he returned to the kitchen Catherine was sliding scrambled eggs onto a plate and he could smell coffee brewing. “Everything smells great. Thank you, Catherine,” he said shyly not making eye contact with her.

Catherine smiled. “Of course. This is such a hard time for you River. I want to help. Eat up before it gets cold,” She urged. “I’ll tidy upstairs.”

Shit, he hadn’t tried to hide the whisky bottle as he didn’t think she’d go upstairs. “Catherine you don’t have to!” he shouted as she went up the steps.

“No, it’s fine I don’t mind!” she shouted back.

River felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to let yet another person down, especially after she pulled him to the side a few weeks ago realizing he had been coming to work hungover a little too often. Catherine warned him this is how drinking problems started. He sighed and dug into his eggs and once done poured himself coffee and one for her as well.

“River really?” Catherine held up the empty whisky bottle in one hand.

“I know. I don’t know how it happened. I was looking through all those things in the box and time got away from me and I fell asleep.”

“More like passed out. Do you want to be like Lamb? That’s where I see this heading, River!” Catherine chucked the whisky bottle in the recycle bin and it made an angry sound as it hit bottom. She huffed over to clean the crystal glass he had used last night at the sink.

“I made you some coffee,” River offered as he brought both his empty plate and a steaming mug to her.

“Thank you,” she grabbed the plate and fork and cleaned them vigorously.

“I am sorry. I had no intention of drinking that much last night. I found that box and it upset me and just brought so much back…” River said making eye contact this time.

Catherine put the plate and fork in the drainer on the sink. “I saw the things strewn across the bed. Did you make those for your grandparents?”

“Yes. I was surprised they saved all of it. Grandad never seemed sentimental.”

“Sometimes we can know people our whole life and never really know who they are because they don’t want to show us their true selves because they are afraid it will make them look weak.”

River broke in that moment. He’d never heard anything truer spoken about his grandfather. Months of dealing with his grandad and the fallout with his father and his mother’s lack of responsiveness about everything came washing over him in that bright, sunny kitchen at that very moment. He began to sob uncontrollably.

“Oh, River,” Catherine said putting the mug down she had only just accepted a moment before. She didn’t know what else to do but to embrace him. “Come here,” she put her arms around him and let him have a good cry. He had no one else and she was glad to be useful and supportive. She needed to save him from the demons that were creeping into his life where he thought drinking was the only answer.

After a couple of minutes, River broke away, “God, I’m so sorry, Catherine.” River wiped his face with the back of his hand. His blue eyes as sad as ever and so very bloodshot.

“No, don’t be sorry. We’re friends and friends support each other. Now, why don’t you freshen up and I’ll have my coffee and maybe we can go visit your grandfather?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” River turned to leave the kitchen, but turned back around. “Thank you for coming Catherine – you’re a real-life saver.”

Catherine smiled all the way to her eyes, she succeeded and made a difference and hopefully saved River. “Glad I could be here for you, River.”

*****************

River pulled up to the care home. Catherine got out of River’s car and grabbed her pastries from the backseat. They walked up the path and into the care home together and River lead her through to where the day room was but he didn’t see his grandfather. He spotted Orla helping a resident with her needlepoint.

“Orla, sorry but where’s my grandad?” he asked.

“Oh, River, hi…is this your…” Orla began as she looked over at Catherine.

“This my friend, Catherine. She knows my grandad. She looked after him recently,” River replied, cutting Orla off from assuming who Catherine was to him.

“Oh. He’s in his room. I think the stimulation in the common rooms are too much for him. Sylvie said he seemed better this morning and even asked for you,” Orla replied with a warm smile.

“Would you like a pastry?” Catherine offered.

���No, I’m good. I do appreciate it, though. I have some homemade shortbread waiting for me during my tea break.”

River smiled and motioned for Catherine to follow him.

“She’s a lovely young woman,” Catherine said as River guided her down the hallway towards David’s room.

“Yeah, she’s nice and seems to care a lot for the residents from what I can tell so far. Let’s hope he still wants to see me as things weren’t great yesterday when I left.”

“Sadly, that’s normal for someone with his condition. I hope I don’t upset him. I am worried about that as I’m not tied to the best memories he’s had,” Catherine said furrowing her brow and looking up at River.

“Nah, last time he saw you he seemed fine,” River said as he paused and peeped into his grandad’s room to find him in the chair by the window, practically where he left him yesterday but at least this time he had a book.

River knocked on the doorframe. “Grandad?” River said expectantly.

“Oh, River, my boy! That woman said you’d come and you did!” David smiled brightly at River who returned the gesture.

River crouched down to give his grandad a hug. He looked into his eyes when he pulled away and saw that old, familiar glimmer. He was cognizant for the time being which lifted River’s heart. He hoped it would last the whole visit. “Grandad, I brought Catherine. You remember her from when she looked after you.”

“Hi David, you stayed at my flat.”

“Oh, yes. You were with Lamb and Big Sam. How is Sam? I could always depend on him”

“Umm, David…” Catherine began.

“He used his flight fund to get away. Lamb got a postcard from him recently,” River lied. He wanted to spare his grandfather being the cause of Sam’s death. Plus, no need to change the tone of the visit unnecessarily.

“Hope it’s somewhere warm and tropical for his sake,” David said with a smile.

River wondered if there was a hell and if so, if people like Sam ended up there. He forced that thought from his mind given all the things he managed to get himself into since Slough House. “I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you!”

David chuckled at the old line he would tell River when he was too young to hear some of the more alarming spy stories David and the others at MI5 got up to back in the day.

A couple hours passed, including David having lunch and the pair even playing chess. David conceded that River could learn a lot from Catherine’s skills at the chessboard as she was a superior player. As the visit began to wind down River worried his grandfather would get upset when he left, as he always did as he wanted to go home with him.

“Knock, knock,” Orla said popping into the room, smiling.

“Oh, hey,” River said.

“She’s also better than you at chess.”

“Oh?” River asked confused.

“We played last night. You must be terrible if I’m better than you,” Orla said with cheeky grin.

River felt his cheeks warm. “Apparently I need to brush up on my chess skills from the sound of things.”

Catherine went to get her coat which alerted David to everyone’s imminent departure. “You’re not leaving me here still, River? Surely I’ve been here too long already.”

‘Grandad we’ve been over this before, it’s not safe at home.”

“River is right,” Orla added, “You see this place is really a sort of safe house for very special people and it’s still not safe for you to leave. I know it’s hard to be away from the place you love. I’m far from home, too.”

David narrowed his eyes, looking between the three people standing around him. He did remember that awful business with the man who wanted him dead. “Is the lunatic still out there then?”

“Yes, grandad, he is. The Park is working very hard to find him.”

There was no point telling his grandfather anything else if it placated him. At least he still understood certain concepts like a safe house for now.

“And your father is still out there then, too?”

“Yes, he is.”

“You need to be vigilant then, my boy. He’s very dangerous!” David said clearly becoming agitated.

Orla came closer, smiling and said, “Your grandson is very capable and he’ll be fine, won’t you?” she asked looking over to River.

River gave her a small nod, “Yes, absolutely. Don’t worry, I’ve got this, grandad.”

River did wonder if he truly had everything under control where Frank was concerned. The man was a highly skilled maniac and could come back to do God knows what to him or his grandad.

While Catherine said her goodbyes to David, River followed Orla out into the hallway to have a chat.

“Thanks so much for spending so much time with him and trying to keep him calm. I do really appreciate it,” River said with a smile.

“Oh, I owe you,” Orla said with a sly wink.

“What?”

“It was ages ago when we were kids, but I used to stay with my grandparents some summers when I was like ten or twelve. They lived a few houses away from your grandparents house. The Murrays?” Orla could see a light bulb go off in River’s expression. “You saved me and my kitten when I stupidly went up the tree to grab her.”

“You had very long hair then. God, I didn’t recognize you! I feel so stupid.”

“No, it’s fine! I didn’t realize you were the same River as I didn’t remember what your surname was since so much time had passed since the last time I saw you. Though I did think it unlikely I’d run into someone else in Kent named River.”

River chuckled. “Yeah, not one of the top ten baby names in the UK to be sure.”

“It’s a lovely name,” she said.

“My grandmother invited you to dinner a few times too now that I remember.”

“Yes, when your grandfather mentioned his wife Rose, it dawned on me. I rang my grandmother, she lives with her sister in Cornwall since my grandfather passed years ago now. I asked her and she confirmed it was the right family. It was such an odd coincidence, no?”

“Very odd, but definitely a happy coincidence,” River said with a broad smile.

“Indeed,” Orla said feeling colour rise in her cheeks. She was grateful when Catherine joined them in the hallway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Orla!” River said as they were leaving and even gave a small wave accompanied by a smile.

“Absolutely.”

“I feel like I missed something,” Catherine said as they got outside into the cold air.

“Apparently Orla and I didn’t realize we knew each other as kids when she visited her grandparents in the summer.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I like her, River. She really cares about the residents.”

“She does,” River said.

Catherine smiled noticing the far away look River had on his face. She hoped Orla might prove to be a positive distraction for him.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Barrelling through the wall into your asks for a ficmas request! 🎄Please may I have:

💃 Office Christmas Party with River (and if you can find it in your heart for there to be smut I will be forever grateful 🤭)

Merry Christmas! xx

Christmas Sprit(s)

Ahhh Alex! I'm so happy to give you this 😄

For @cillmequick - shenanigans at the work Christmas party with River. F!Reader insert - no use of y/n, l/n, smut lies within. Squint and you might just see some Lamb/Standish as well 🤭

Can we all guess which motivational video enabled me to complete this today?!

Merry Christmas! 🎄

You hated organised ‘fun’. 

Mostly because it was about as far from fun as you could possibly get. 

Forced proximity, fake laughter, god-awful jokes… all made ten times worse at Christmas.

Why on earth couldn’t you just be on your sofa, with a bottle of Baileys and that new Netflix film that combined Christmas and Magic Mike.

Why did you have to be fraternising? 

You’ve made somewhat of an effort at least, you’d only be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t crack out the glittery mini-skirt. It was a truly excellent skirt, it deserved to see the light of day at least a few times a year.

Roddy Ho had nearly tripped over his tongue when you walked in. 

You throw back the remains of your cocktail - hoping the tequila will kick in soon and save you from this misery.

Across the room, you spot River’s arrival. Even in the dimly lit room, you can see the way his shirt brings out the bright blue of his eyes. He claps Ho on the back in greeting and shakes JK’s hand, eyes scanning the room for the others. 

Catherine is apparently in a standoff with the head waiter about the table location.

Lamb is next to her, insisting he doesn’t give a shit where the table is, as long as there is one. You notice his hand on the small of her back as he leans into her slightly. The small gesture seems to work, she brushes off the waiter and turns back to give Lamb her attention.

“This is fucking miserable.” Louisa mutters as she shoves another Paloma into your hand. 

“Yep. Thank fuck for tequila.” You clink your glasses together.

At the bar, Shirley is very quick to put her drink on River’s tab. She wanders over to you, successfully brandishing a very blue cocktail, with River in tow. 

The expression on his face is unreadable. 

“What the hell are you drinking?” Louisa’s nose wrinkles in disgust. 

“Blue Hawaiian, wanna taste?” Shirley offers the straw and you take it in turns to give it a try.

Out of the corner of your eye, River is watching with amusement. You can feel his eyes on you, but you know it’s just in the hope that you’ll choke on the disgusting drink.

“Gross,” you declare, turning immediately back to your Paloma. 

“And yours isn't?” River asks.

You offer up the glass, salted around the rim. 

His tongue darts out to take a sip and you have to bite the inside of your cheek.

He keeps his eyes on you as he drinks.

“Nice. Tequila?” You nod, the power of speech is non-existent. There’s salt on his lower lip from the glass and if you weren’t in a room full of people, you’d lick it off yourself. Alas, he gets there first.

Who are you kidding? Of course you wouldn’t actually do that. 

You wanted to though.

But no one needed to know that. 

You kept your crush to the confines of your mind. 

And your bedroom when you’re alone.

If anything, you were remarkably proud that you’d kept your megacrush under wraps for so long. It was almost like a challenge to yourself at this point that you did have a real life secret you’d take to the grave. 

He looks even better than he did a few hours ago at the office, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

You’ve been in your brain a little too long, their conversation has moved on, and you haven’t been paying attention at all.

“... and then she went fucking ballistic that Ho had put mistletoe above her office door!” 

“Well if they weren’t sneaking around -” 

“Is it really sneaking if we all know about it?” 

“I didn’t know, did you know?” 

“Course I fucking did! And she does,” you manage to tune in just as the trio turn to you. 

“Yep. I knew,” you confirm. “What do I know?”

“Were you not listening?” Louisa chastises you. 

You hold the drink up.

“I was admiring Paloma.”

“We’re trying to work out who knows about Lamb and Standish.”

“Ohhh, that. Yeah I did know that,” you admit.

“How the hell did you know?” Shirley asks, outraged.

“I have eyes, Shirl.” 

“Are you seriously the only one who doesn’t know?” Louisa queries.

“Fucking looks like it,” she shorter woman grumbled. “I didn’t know he knew though,” she jabs a thumb in River’s direction.

“I have eyes, Shirl.” He repeats your explanation, looking at you over the edge of his glass as he takes a drink. “I’m very observant, actually.”

“Ha! Yeah, ok, dicksplash.” Shirley laughs.

“Oh yeah, super observant,” you can’t help but join in. He doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyebrows pinch together in a little frown. There’s movement in the room, Catherine is rallying everyone to the table. “Quick, let's get another drink before we have to sit down,” you step away from the group, making a mental note of the round.

Blue Hawaiian (gross).

Paloma (glorious).

Gin and tonic.

Rum and coke.

“I’ll give you a hand,” River follows. The restaurant has gotten busy. Plenty of other office groups with their own parties going on. 

A large man blocks your path on the way to the bar.

“Alright, love?” He asks loudly.

“Fine, thanks.”

“Buy you a drinky?”

“No, thanks.”

“Not even a dirty martini?” He leers, blatantly looking down the v-neck of your top.

“She said no, thanks.” River insists with his hand on your waist. With a little push, he guides you past the man. You’re half expecting a fight, but the man puts his hand on River’s shoulder.

“Fucking legs and tits on that, mate. You jammy bastard.” You hear him mutter, congratulatory. 

Your hand balls into a fist, ready to turn on the wedge heel of your shoes and throw a punch.

River’s hand slides down your arm and covers your fist, working open your fingers and intertwining them with his own.

“Come on, lets get to the bar before Catherine fucking kills us,” he tells you, pulling you along to the bar. His voice is low in your ear, and close enough to draw goosebumps.

It’s too busy to stand side by side at the bar, so he stands directly behind you. 

Even in the heels, he’s a head taller than you. 

You feel him lean down, his chest against your back as he puts his mouth to your ear.

“You look lovely.” He smells incredible. So good, you have to bite back a sigh.

“Thank you. Very observant of you,” you tease.

“If you only knew the things I’d noticed.” He declares, raising a hand to encourage the barman in your direction. You don’t grace him with an answer. Just a laugh and a shake of the head. “That colour suits you.” His head is close to yours again.

“Hi, double gin, double rum, a Paloma and a Blue Hawaiian please?” You ask the barman with a smile. “It’s a black top, River,” you roll your eyes, getting your credit card from your bag.

“I mean the bra.” He replies without lowering his voice. 

The drinks start lining up in front of you.

He traces a line down your shoulder blade alongside the strap of your bra, nudging it back into place from where it has escaped from beneath the strap of your top.

You dare not speak as you try and shake off the heat pooling in your belly from the touch of his hand. You wave your credit card at the machine, thank the barman and pick up two of the drinks. He picks up the other two and you follow him to the table.

Lamb is holding court at one end, with Catherine at his side. 

The others are scattered around and there are two seats left, side by side. 

While you’re busy handing Louisa and Shirley their drinks, he pulls out the chair for you. 

You’re about to thank him when Lamb stands up, demanding everyone's attention.

“Right then, gobshites. Merry fucking Christmas and all that, thank you for your efforts for another shitty year.” He raises his glass, “cheers.” 

You all join in the toast and the food starts arriving.

Catherine is the queen of organisation, a list readily available for anyone who’d forgotten what they’d pre-ordered. The wine flows far too freely and the table is soon sharing food, stories and laughter.

It doesn’t happen often at Slough House where the default tone is sarcasm and derision, so it’s actually nice to be nice to each other.

Everyone is very merry. Ho, JK and Shirley are playing a drinking game - rules unknown - but they appear to be spying on the other company parties going on around you. At the top of the table, Lamb has his arm around Standish who is nursing an orange juice. She leans against him with a soft smile. You’re contemplating a drink for the road with Louisa when you notice River watching you.

There’s that unreadable expression again. 

“I think I’m going to head off,” you tell Louisa.

“Nooo! Have another!” She pleads.

“My bed is calling,” you tell her with a giggle. 

“Paloma neeeeeds you,” she all but begs. She's not wrong. Tequila for the road makes sense, it's cold outside, the smooth agave would warm you up. 

“Go on then, twist my arm,” you bop her on the nose with a festive red-polished fingertip. 

“Gin?” She asks River, who nods and downs the last splash in his glass. 

The last drink is perfect, but you're on the drunker side of tipsy and ready for your warm bed. 

You frown at your phone like your granny does, and try to bring up the Uber app.

“I've got it,” he mutters quietly next to you. 

Chairs have moved around, tables pushed out of the way for the more social groups who want to dance, and his chair has ended up even closer to yours. You feel the muscles in his thigh as he leans into you to get to his opposite pocket. “10 minutes. Can go past yours on the way to mine?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you murmur. 

You should probably check whether anyone else needs to jump in as well. 

“We're going to the cluuuuub!” Shirley sings loudly from the centre of a Louisa and Ho sandwich. 

“Enjoy -”

“You're coming too!”

“No, I'm not.”

“But you have to,” she insists with a pout.

“Nah, I'm too pissed -” this time it's Louisa who cuts you off.

“Fuck that, if she's making me go to a club then you're coming as well. River, cancel the Uber.” 

“But -”

“Cancel. The. Uber.” Louisa told him through gritted teeth. 

“Yep, done.”

“River,” Catherine appeared anxiously beside him. “You will make sure the girls get back safely?”

“Course he will, Standish. He knows I'll have his balls if he doesn't,” Lamb holds her coat out. “C’mon, I'll buy you a bag of chips on the way home. I'm still starvin’ after that poncy rubbish.”

“They'll be fine, I promise. I might even persuade them to drink some water.” River assures her.

“Fat fuckin’ chance, pal,” Shirley barks a loud laugh as she shoves your coat into your hands. “Get ya coat, you've pulled.” She winks with a subtle nod towards River. 

*

The bar she takes you all to is even busier. 

“More drinks!” Louisa shouts over the noise and points at the bar. 

You form a single file conga line. Linked hands and fingers hooked on belt loops holding you all together. 

River's hand is attached to your hip, simultaneously pushing you just enough to keep you close to Shirley in front, but also pulling you closer to him. 

At the bar, you crush up against each other. 

With the crowd, it's impossible for anyone else to see how low his hand has slipped on the small of your back. 

You chance a look up at him while he's looking past you to Shirley. He continues talking to her while you take in his profile. 

Stubble just long enough to be called a beard, angular nose. 

Those blue eyes. 

Your social battery is just about on its arse but once someone - Ho, obviously - passes you a fortifying shot of something disgusting, you and that sequined mini skirt are up and dancing. 

You can feel River's eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, the drink tells you that if you turn around, you know you won’t be able to stop staring. 

At least with your back to him, you can't see him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place.

He's taking the chaperone duty seriously, not wanting to get on Catherine's bad side. 

Roddy has managed to grab a couple of seats at the bar so you leave Louisa and Shirley on the dance floor and squeeze in between them. You take a sip of River's drink, yours is long finished. 

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt. 

You glance across at Ho, but he's distracted by a party of girls in tiny elf costumes. 

“He's not looking, don't worry,” River says into your ear. His nose nudges your hair aside, his lips brush your earlobe and your knees buckle. 

The hand you have on his thigh grips a little tighter, leaving crescent moon nail indents in his jeans. 

Your breath trembles as you exhale.

You turn your head slightly, feeling his stubble graze your cheek.

The tiniest of whimpers escapes your mouth. Impossible to hear over the noise of the bar.

The gentle kiss on the pulse point under your ear tells you he heard it anyway. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods, pulling back from you a little, and finishes most of his drink. He offers the last of it to you.

“Need to try and get them out of here,” he looked across at Shirley and Louisa who were doubled over laughing. “I promised Catherine.”

“I'll get them,” the pressure of your hand on his thigh lightens as you stand wholly on your own feet again, wincing a little. 

It takes longer than you'd like. Apparently Shirley is very into nostalgic Christmas party songs so she's currently moshing around the dance floor to Slade. 

Finally, you drag them both with you, one in each hand like naughty toddlers. 

“I don't wanna go!” Shirley stamps her foot. Literally stamps her foot. Ho thinks it's hilarious. 

“I do, I'm fucking knackered. I want to sit on my kitchen floor and eat a ham salad sandwich.” Louisa muses.

“Oh,” Shirley looks at her in wonder. “That does sound… sooo good, actually. Yeah let's go,” she holds onto River's arm, unsteadily letting go with one hand to pull on her coat, and swapping to the other hand. “Thanks, Riv,” she pats his cheek. 

“It's a bit unsettling having you be nice to me, Shirley,” he grins at her. 

“Back on form tomorrow, tosser.” She promises with a lopsided, tired smile. She lets him put an arm around her shoulder, his other hand reaches behind to take yours, while you make sure you have Louisa. Poor Roddy tears himself away from the sexy elves and brings up the rear.

Outside, the booze hits you. 

Fuck. 

Had you seriously just propositioned River Cartwright?

He was clearly just going to push you into the next taxi and go home, like any sensible person would. 

“Right then, Lou and Shirl, time to go, go, Ho,”

“With you?” Shirley squints. 

You're cuddled up to Louisa, keeping warm and upright. 

“That's right, Roddy Ho is hot to go and you ladies are coming with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you if you don't stop rhyming Ho and go,” Louisa tells him tiredly. She sounds somewhat sober.

“Yeah, alright,” he deflates a little. 

Louisa presses a warm kiss to your cheek and tilts her head to whisper in your ear. 

“Be careful,” she says urgently. “Do not be afraid to say no. He's not going to think badly of you if you do.” 

You blush, ashamed that you’ve been so obvious.

Bloody tequila.

“Come on then, let’s go. If I stay out here any longer I’ll need to pee.” Shirley bounces on the balls of her feet. They pile into a cab with Roddy reeling off the addresses one by one.

“Be a good girl!” Ho shouts to you as they drive off. 

Bloody tequila.

While you’re admonishing the tequila, River has summoned a cab. He holds the door open for you to slide across the back seat. You give the driver your address and River does the same.

The driver is speeding through traffic before you even have a chance to search for a seatbelt. You haven’t moved quite far enough along the seat, so as he rounds each corner, you're pushed further into River.

“Sorry,” you mumble as another corner is taken at a higher speed than necessary. It smushes you into River’s side again. “Jesus, is this guy ready to finish or something.” 

He puts a hand on your thigh, “you ok?”

“Yeah fine.” The heat of his hand lights up your skin. 

You both look at his hand on your leg, and then back to each other. 

The streetlights illuminate you both and then send you into darkness again. 

You don’t know if it was an unconscious move or deliberate, but his thumb brushes gently in small circles on your bare skin. 

You’re sure he must be able to see your heart pounding through your top. 

As he leans into you, his hand moves up another inch and as you gasp at the sensation, he lightly kisses you.

“Here we are, then.” The taxi driver interrupts. 

River reaches for his wallet but you hand over twenty quid before he can get there. 

He steps out of the car and extends a hand to help you out.

“You coming back in, fella?” the driver asks. 

River looks down at your hand to find he’s still holding it.

“No thanks, mate.” 

You’ve barely got the front door closed behind you before he’s pushing you up against it and kissing you with a fierceness you were desperate for. 

Your hands worked fast, pushing his jacket down his arms and onto the floor with a thud, and pulling him back to you by his t-shirt. 

He’s got one hand up in your hair and the other is on your leg, halfway up the skirt while he kisses your jawline. 

His body presses against you and you can feel him, hard through his jeans.

You bring up the leg he’s got a hand on and he hooks it over his hip, it tilts your lower body further into his and he is so close to where you need him it sends you dizzy. 

It's impossible to disguise the neediness of your moans and the hand that he has up your skirt is moving further up to grip the fleshy soft spot between your hip and thigh. 

"God, River -," you whine, your hips canting towards his.

"Sure you want this?" 

You nod against his shoulder. 

"Talk to me, babe," he asks. 

A reasonable request given that your blood probably has an 80% tequila content.

"Yes, yeah I'm sure," you're pulling at his t-shirt, dragging it over his head.

When he mutters "good girl," against your collarbone, you're certain you could come there and then. 

He traces the seam of your knickers with his fingers, feeling just how wet you are for him, "jesus," he murmurs against your lips. 

He slips his fingers inside you and presses his thumb to your clit. 

Your knees buckle and he presses you harder into the door. 

The foot you still have on the ground is on tiptoes but you can tell he’s got you. 

He seems to know exactly what you need, and just when you're at the brink, grasping for the release that's just out of reach, he kisses you again. 

It's hot and rough and sends you right over the edge. 

“Fuck, River,” you moan against him, “fucking hell -”

He gives you a minute, a slightly softer kiss, and takes back his fingers from your still clenched thighs. 

When he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, you quickly realise you don’t need a minute, you only need him. 

Your shaking hands fumble with the button of his jeans until he takes over and does it himself, he's dug out a condom from his wallet. You're still fully clothed, still wearing the wedge ankle boots that, with his help, have you at exactly the right height for him to push into you. 

It's everything. 

Everything you've fantasised about since the day you were introduced.

He thrusts into you using your hips as leverage, your heel grazing the back of his thigh. 

Your hands hold fast to the back of his neck and his shoulder, 

"River, fuck, you feel so good," your name is reverent on his lips as he comes but he doesn’t stop until you’re there too. 

His pace slows as his hips stutter, and your head rests in the crook of his neck while you catch your breath. 

All at once, he's gentle again, carefully bringing your leg back down and making sure you're steady on your feet. 

He looks a little sheepish as he steps back away from you, taking your hands to help you stand up away from the back of the door.

"You ok?" He asks, still breathless. 

You pull your skirt back down into place, his eyes on your legs as you do so. 

"Yeah, yeah fine. You?"

"Yeah, course." 

He looks like he can’t get out of there fast enough, his hesitation and unease rub off on you. "I should go though -"

"Yeah, no I figured as much."

Partly true, but there is still an element of surprise.

"It's just been a fucking long day, y'know?" He explains, tidying himself up and looking around for his t-shirt and jacket.

"Yeah, I hate Christmas parties." You agree. 

He must have seen the brief look of hurt that crossed your face, "not that it was a mistake… but maybe, probably shouldn't have happened? Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a fucking dick. We’ve both had a lot to drink -"

"I get it, River. It was fun, but it didn't mean anything." 

It didn't mean anything. 

Probably the biggest lie you've ever told, and it's out of your mouth like you knew it had to be said all along. 

“Right…” He looks confused, almost as if he expected tantrums and anger. “So we’re -”

“We’re fine,” you insist. “G’night.”

*

“... I…” Louisa frowns, holds up a finger to prevent you from interrupting, and tries again. “I… didn’t picture him just… leaving.” You pass her the biscuits and wrap your hands back around your mug of tea. 

“Well, he did.” Another email pings in from Catherine two floors above your head. “Probably for the best. We drank so much -”

“Bullshit, we all had. You said yes, didn’t you? Like it was totally clear that you wanted to…” she raises her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh yeah, he knew I wanted to. Look, it’s fine, it’s out of our system now. We wanted to know, and now we do, end of story.”

“Hmmm.”

“Don’t hmmm me.”

“Is that why you’re hiding?”

“I’m not hiding, this is my office.”

“Which you’ve barely left.”

“Terribly sorry, I have work to do. You know how it is,” you brush her off with a grin and open Catherine’s email.

You’re halfway through her list of fraudulent bank transfers when you notice how dark it has gotten outside. 

Louisa said goodbye at least an hour ago, you were only going to do a couple more and then leave right after her, but time had drifted. 

You’re only lit by the computer monitor so you don’t notice River until he’s standing right by your desk making you jump.

“Fuck me, River! Why didn’t you put a light on?!”

“I came in to turn your screen off, I didn’t know you were even here!” 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Gone, it’s nearly 7pm.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise the time.” You’re cursing not leaving when Louisa did. 

Work has been fine in the few days since the Christmas night out, but it’s easier with a buffer. 

Without someone else filling the gaps, the lapses in conversation feel huge. “Trying to get this done before we break up.”

“Yeah. I’ve hardly seen you since…” he trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence he started.

“Since the other night,” you finish for him.

You feel your heart rate speed up as he looks at you.

There’s something in his gaze again, as there had been at the party, but it’s dark and you’re sure you’re just imagining it.

“Since then,” he agrees quietly. 

There’s a moment of silence that should really be filled, but you're damned if you know what to say.

You stand up so he’s not completely towering over you.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind is consumed by the memories of that night.

You can still feel the slight burn where his beard had rubbed against your skin.

The fingertip bruises on your hips from his tight hold.

The tension in your belly that you can’t seem to quell - no matter how much you draw on the memories of that night.

The heat coils tighter again as you struggle to ignore it. 

“Are you sure we’re ok?” He asks suddenly. 

There’s a hint of vulnerability in his question. 

He’s genuinely concerned about your feelings.

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. 

You know you should brush it off as a drunken encounter, but the intensity had taken you entirely by surprise.

The way your body had responded, the empty ache afterwards.

You hadn’t anticipated the effect he’d have on you in such a short time.

The thought of what you were missing out on both terrifies and excites you.

“I’m sure, River,” you reassure him. “I don’t regret it, I knew what I was doing.”

He looks visibly relieved, even in the dim light.

“No regrets. Huh,” he murmurs, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t seem to stop looking at it. 

“That’s good,” you hear him add. 

“How about you?” 

The question is out of your mouth before you can stop to think.

You really don’t need to know the answer.

“No. Not about that night.”

“Good,” you whisper. “That’s good too.”

“Well, possibly one, actually.”

Your heart sinks as you brace yourself for the inevitable. 

“Oh?” you manage to squeak, your voice betraying your anxiety.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed off?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

You can feel his gaze on you, studying your face. 

His eyes land on your lips and linger there, as if he can’t help himself.

“That skirt was…” he huffs a little laugh, a shake of his head. “You looked incredible.”

The compliment catches you off guard, especially today when you’re wearing the biggest, warmest jumper you can find. 

“Bit of a contrast to today,” you point out with a small smile. “But this is much warmer.”

River laughs, “I can see that.” He takes a step closer, his eyes raking over your body. “You’re swimming in that thing.”

Your heart is thundering in your chest. 

There’s no alcohol to dull the senses this time, everything feels electrified.

You could go up in flames with just one look.

Your thighs press together desperately, clenching on nothing.

“I should have had a better look when I had the chance,” he says quietly. Hesitantly. 

His words send a shiver down your spine.

“Another regret,” you tell him. 

He smiles, satisfied that he hasn’t overstepped.

“Exactly,” he agrees, brushing your hair from your eyes.

He’s standing so close to you now that you can feel the heat from his body.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, you feel his fingers at the bottom of your jumper, toying with the knit. 

His breath ghosts across your cheek and you lean into it.

“Yes?”

He weighs his words carefully. 

“Did you want me to leave?”

You shake your head slightly, “no,” you whisper.

He lets out a small breath, his hands bunching in the thick jumper as they move to your waist.

“That’s good,” he mirrors his earlier response.

Your gaze is locked on his mouth as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

As he leans down to kiss you, you feel the edge of the desk press into the backs of your thighs.

The kiss is insistent and demanding, somehow more confident without alcohol.

He pulls you closer, his tongue parting your lips as he deepens the kiss. Your hands reach up to grip his shoulders.

The kiss turns more urgent, his tongue tangling with your own while one of his hands wanders underneath the oversized jumper to touch your warm skin. 

The evidence of his desire is hard against your groin and he shifts to push his thigh between your legs.

You can’t help the soft sigh that escapes as the pressure against your core sends a wave of heat through you. 

River kisses down your neck, biting gently at your pulse.

His hand under your jumper reaches further up to cup your breast over your bra. His touch is gentle and light at first but he soon grips you more firmly, one hand on your hip keeping your body flush with his.

He mumbles something against your skin, his breath ragged and uneven as he continues placing hot kisses on your neck. He brings his hand out of your jumper and cups your chin, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip.

“Want you now,” he insists, his voice rough. “But not here.”

He pulls away, his forehead resting against yours. 

“Roddy’s probably got cameras,” he explains on seeing your disappointed pout. “Besides, this time I want to be patient enough to at least take your clothes off first.”

“Let’s go then,” you push him away from the desk so you can stand properly. “You’ve got a present to unwrap.”

[moonmaiden1996]

Silent Persuit Chapter Four

River’s plan unfolded flawlessly, each encounter crafted to feel accidental, as if the city itself had conspired to place him along your path. He’d settled himself into your surroundings so seamlessly that he became part of the backdrop—an unassuming figure who simply seemed to belong in the coffee shops, bookshops, and stations you frequented. If he had once been a stranger, he was now a familiar one, woven into the rhythm of your life in such a way that his presence no longer registered as unusual.

On mornings when he knew you’d pick up breakfast from the bakery, he’d arrive just minutes before you, idly perusing the selection. As you entered, he’d give a slight nod, lifting his coffee in a friendly, familiar gesture that seemed to say, Good morning. You found yourself nodding back, a smile playing on your lips—a routine so natural it felt like something you’d shared with him for years.

In other places, too, River kept that careful distance. Like that rainy afternoon in the crowded bookshop, where he waited just out of sight, pretending to flip through a novel until he heard your soft footsteps. Then, with timing perfected by practice, he would step back and “accidentally” bump into you. When he turned around, surprised and apologetic, you’d look up, recognise him, and share a quiet laugh, surprised yet somehow reassured by the coincidence.

At the Saturday market, he’d linger near a stand you wouldn't be interested in but one that you would have to pass, glancing up just as you strolled past. His gaze would meet yours for a brief moment, and there it was—that polite nod, a quick exchange of familiarity, like two regulars bound by the same rhythm. Sometimes he’d murmur a simple “hello” as he passed, nothing more, always light and easy, never more than the casual comfort of a familiar face.

Each time you saw him, you felt something shift. At first, you brushed it off, dismissing the encounters as the city’s typical coincidences. But soon, the pattern emerged. You began to expect him in certain places, glancing around out of instinct, almost eager to spot him. The mere thought that he might be there sparked a strange sense of excitement.

Over time, it even began to feel like you were the one always noticing him, starting to watch for him before he’d even appear. The first time you caught yourself doing it, you laughed it off, but the thought lingered: what if you were the one keeping tabs on him? And each time you tried to let it go, there he was again, as if reading your mind, already seated by the window or passing through a door. He was always just a step ahead, so casual and unassuming that you couldn’t bring yourself to question it.

The tipping point came one evening as you stepped off the tube. There he was, just a few steps ahead of you, his presence almost imperceptible, yet somehow reassuring. You hesitated, pausing to let him catch up, and when he did, he gave you a gentle smile—a look that seemed to say, I know you’re tired. Without a word, he walked on, leaving you to continue on your path. But the warmth lingered, deepening the inexplicable connection between you.

And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he began to retreat. The mornings in the café, the nods exchanged at the market—each occurrence started to thin, a calculated absence that left you noticing his lack of presence. When you didn’t see him, a quiet ache grew, a faint longing to spot him, even just in passing. Without realising it, you began searching for him, missing the silent reassurance of those familiar nods and smiles.

It was an intricate balance he’d crafted, and by the time you noticed, you were already pulled into the fabric he’d woven. River had become part of your world, a piece of the city you hadn’t known you wanted until he was no longer there. And in the stillness he left behind, he knew you’d come to see that he was more than a stranger—he belonged. Soon he would be right where he wanted to be— with you, in every sense of the word. 

xxx

“Why the fuck did you drag me all the way back here?” Lamb groaned as he flopped into his armchair, the fabric creaking under his weight. He let out a rather impressive belch, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The others had long since gone home, the perfect place to have this meeting, where no one else would overhear. “I’ve got better things to do with my spare time than sit around and converse with you, like taking a shit,” he grunted, lighting another cigarette and staring across at Louisa with a look that suggested he wasn’t remotely interested in whatever she had to say.

“Look at these,” Louisa replied, shoving a series of photographs across the coffee table toward him, the glossy prints catching the light.

“I know you two have grown close, but I think following Cartwright with a camera is a bit overkill. I really can’t be arsed with the issues this is gonna bring up with HR,” he mumbled, barely glancing at the images, his mind already conjuring excuses to avoid the impending drama. He knew what this was, of course he did. But it was something he would much prefect not to bring Lousia into, it would save the headache.

“Just look at the pictures!” Louisa insisted, her voice rising with frustration. “For the past six months, River has been following this woman. Six months, Lamb! At least that was before I picked it up.”

Lamb rolled his eyes, his irritation palpable. “So what, River’s been wandering around London chasing this bird because he can’t figure out how to talk to her? He probably doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. And he’s right—she’s got a decent pair and a nice face, and he’s a lanky piece of piss.”

“God, Lamb, take this seriously! River has been stalking her, and now he’s started dropping himself in places where he can meet her, bump into her. It’s not just some silly crush anymore!” Louisa’s voice shook with urgency as she slammed her palm on the table, making the photographs rattle.

“And?” Lamb leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “Do I look like Cartwright’s caretaker? I’m not getting involved in this mess. It’s not my problem.”

“Do I look like I give a shit? If you won’t do something, I will!” Louisa snapped, rising abruptly from her seat. Her chair scraped against the wooden floor as she stormed out, leaving the door swinging behind her.

Lamb sagged deeper into his chair, exhaustion creeping into his bones like a slow poison. He felt old now, too old for this type of shit. The dim light in the room seemed to mock him, casting shadows that mirrored the weight of his thoughts. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl into the air. “Oh River, River, River. You wanted to be just like the old bastard; well, congratulations, you prick.”

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble that had begun to grey. Lamb glanced at the photographs Louisa had left behind. The first few showed River from a distance, hidden in shadows, a look of determination plastered across his face. In the next, the woman—young, beautiful, and seemingly unaware of the chaos surrounding her—moved through her day. 

“Christ, what a mess,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he contemplated the inevitable storm brewing ahead. River was going to get himself into trouble, just like his grandfather before him, and Lamb was the only one who knew, he supposed he’d have to step up, whether he liked it or not. “Just like old times,” he smirked wearily as he took one last drag of his cigarette. 

I honestly could hold myself back from writing Lamb, he was really daunting to write but I am proud of how he came out.

Please let me know what you think! Next chapter will be heating up as River's fantastic plan is about to be detrailed by a new player then means he has to go to plan b.

As always, comment, like, leave a request. xx

[noforkingclue]

The Heartford Arms (OC x River Cartwright x Reader)

It's here! Bisexual panic River is here!

Hope you guys like it!

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

It was an accident that River found the pub in the first place. He was walking around, trying to clear his head from another shitty day in Slough House, when he ended up walking in a random direction and resisting the urge to throw himself in the Thames. The pub looked… nice? Small and down a cobblestoned alley. It clearly looked like the type that locals mainly used. No fancy overpriced cocktails or pub grub that was less pie and mash and more sous vide cuts of meat with pomme puree and micro veg.

All in all, it was the type of place that River wanted to go into. Drinking alone on a work night was never a good start but he needed this.

There were a couple of people already in the pub. Dark oak floors and counter with a hint of rich brass. The seat covers of the booths were a rich red but time had faded the fabric. It felt old. Not the false old of some of the newer pubs. This was a pub with History. The few people looked over when River came in but quickly absorbed themselves back into their pints. The only person who didn’t look away, and seemed out of place, was the bartender. His gaudily coloured shirt was an unpleasant bright spark in the otherwise comforting gloom of the pub.

River approached the bar and looked over the beers on tap. A few microbreweries (this bartender seemed like the type of knob to have them) but then there more usual, expected beers that River would expect a pub like this to have.

“What’ll be mate?”

River looked up and locked eyes with the bartender. Fuck, his eyes. Fuck, his face. Maybe that was why he wore that hideous shirt, to distract people from his impossibly handsome face. To River’s surprise, a pint was put down in front of him.

“But I-” River started but the bartender held up a hand

“Nah, mate I get it.”

Oh fuck. He spotted River staring.

“When I had to deal with Jackson Lamb all fucking day I had that same look on my face.

Wait? What?

*

If anyone asked River why he kept coming back to the Heartford Arms he’d said that it was because Robin gave him cheap pints and on a Slough House salary every little helped. Well, that was part of the truth but also there was another reason…

“River! Good to see you. Usual?”

And there was the second reason.

Beaming smile. Actually happy to see him. All round good person. Knew his order off by heart and would actually talk to him without sneering.

Fuck.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you into something new?”

You grinned at him and you poured his pint. Fuck, you could tempt him into hell and back but instead River shook his head.

“Just the usual, thanks.”

“Come on Riv, don’t you want to try something new?”

River jumped as Robin practically silently walked up behind him. Robin gave him a sympathetic look and when you’re back was turned whispered,

“Sorry, bad habits are hard to break.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You turned back and gave the two of them a beaming smile. You didn’t know about them being Service or Slough House and River wanted to keep it that way. River could sense Robin relaxing next to him and couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Robin got to work with you day in and day out. Robin ran a successful business. Was handsome, charming, funny and had the balls to leave Slough House. Everything that River didn’t have. Why would you looked anywhere other than at Robin?

“Cheers.” said River as he moved into his usual booth

You stared at him with worry etched across your face. You leant closer to Robin.

“Is he ok?” you asked

Robin sighed, knowing he couldn’t tell you the whole truth.

“He will be,” he said, “he just needs his head screwing on.”

*

It’s funny how quickly good things can come to an end.

River had popped out briefly for a cheeky lunchtime pint. Lamb was fuck knows where and Slough House was unusally quiet. Well, now River knew why.

“Hey River! Come join us!”

Min’s voice carried through the quiet pub and River groaned. He slowly approached the others and said,

“How the fuck do you know about this place.”

Louisa nodded towards Robin who was already pouring River his usual.

“Left before you joined,” she said, “did he keep that from you.”

“No. He just didn’t let me know that you guys came in as well.”

River sat down heavily and sighed,

“Well this place is fucking ruined.”

“Don’t say that,” said Min, “where else are you going to find a pint for less than a fiver in London?”

Well, that was true. Even the dirtiest Spoons was still expensive. Robin put down River’s pint and said,

“Don’t let Lamb catch you guys here.”

“We won’t.” said Min

“How many times have we been here and he hasn’t caught us.” said Louisa

“Why, you still afraid of him?” asked Min

“No.” Robin said, a little too quickly earning a smirk from the trio

“Does he even know about this place?” said River

“Oh yeah,” said Robin grimacing, “came in one time and stunk the place out. Fucking arsehole. One day I’m going to bar the cunt.”

“Good luck with that.” said Louisa

“I’d like to be in when that happens.” said Min

“No you don’t,” said Louisa, “you know he’ll just ban us from coming here.”

“What Lamb doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” protested Min

“He’ll find out,” said Robin, “he always has a way of finding these things out.”

Just at that moment the door to the pub opened and the four of them looked over nervously. Instead of the imposing figure of Lamb, a rather tense looking Catherine entered. She was clutching her bag tightly and looking nervous. Robin immediately hopped up and said,

“Catherine. It’s been too long.”

“Yes, well,” she said curtly, “you run a pub.”

“I do serve tea and coffee and soft drinks.”

“Well,” Catherine said, “still…”

Robin winced, realising he put his foot in it.

“Sorry.”

Catherine gave him a soft smile, knowing that he didn’t mean any harm. She turned her attention to the others.

“Jackson wants you three back in the office,” she said, “and for Robin to stop serving you at lunchtime.”

“He said that?” asked Robin with raised eyebrows

“Not quite those words.�� admitted Catherine

“Seemed a bit too restrained for him,” said Robin, “but you guys should leave.”

Robin clapped River on the shoulder, causing River to blush and Min and Louisa to share a knowing look. Robin moved behind the bar where you were. River’s gaze drifted to you and you gave him a bright smile before looking back at Robin.  Robin smiled down at you and you laughed at something he said and got out a cocktail shaker.

“Thank fuck,” muttered Min, “she trying to teach him how to make a decent cocktail.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” asked Louisa

“It’s got to be better than the shit cocktails he serves us.”

The rest of the conversation was lost on River. He was too busy focusing on the way Robin touched you and the way you leant into his touch. You laughed at Robin’s attempts at making a cocktail.

“Cute couple.”

Now this snapped River out of his thoughts. He looked down at Catherine who was looking at you and Robin. River clenched his jaw briefly before downing his pint and slamming the glass on the table. He stormed out of the pub, earning a confused look from Catherine.

“What was that all about?” she asked

“River’s pinning.” Min said in a low voice

“Over who?” asked Catherine

“We don’t know,” said Louisa, “although my money’s on y/n.”

“Nah,” said Min as he double checked he had his bag and all his belongings, “it definitely Robin.”

Catherine watched them leave before slowly following. If Louisa or Min had bothered to ask her, she would’ve said that the answer was obvious.

It was both.

[oneiric-thoughts]

String Theory - Opus 1

River Cartwright x Eliza Zhou (OC)

Preview: It didn’t get more Slough House than this, a babysitting gig for someone who meant bugger-all to River's career in the grand scheme of things. Yet staying indifferent to his principal—the violinist—was proving to be harder than he'd expected, especially when she turned up with proper coffee, fresh pastries, and a smile bright enough to light up half of London on a blackout day.

Piece played: Sarabande from Bach Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor

Word count: 2,010

The first chapter is finally here! Giggling and kicking my feet while writing this and got carried away 😆 Let me know what you think!

River was nursing a migraine. 

From what, he didn't particularly know. His job hadn't been stressful lately—not that it ever was. Retyping surveillance notes or vetting outdated intel couldn’t exactly have him clocking seventy-hour weeks. Maybe it was the copious amount of bad coffee he puts in his system. Or just the general misery of working in this dump finally taking a physical toll. 

All River wanted was to turn off the lights, shut the blinds, and sneak a thirty-minute nap. So when Lamb’s thudding barrage pounded three times on the ceiling, it was as if the man himself had descended from his lair above, wielded a sledgehammer, and aimed straight at River’s skull. He mulled over his options: feign unconsciousness and let Louisa shoulder the fallout—paying the favour back with drinks as soon as his head didn’t feel like someone was jackhammering his eyeballs—or exert the last of his remaining energy to endure whatever delight Lamb had in store.

Another three well-aimed thumps. Right. Louisa wasn’t in, then.

River sighed, wishing for death as he lifted his head, pushed his chair back, and trudged upstairs. The moment he cracked open Lamb’s office door, his senses were immediately assaulted by the familiar stench of last week’s curry, Lamb’s signature odour, and something that was—if River let his mind wander dangerously close to specifics—vaguely reminiscent of stale garlic. 

“Took you long enough.” Lamb didn’t look up. “Thought you’d finally found the sense to fuck off for good.”

“Did you call me in just to take the piss, or is there actually a job involved?” River’s head throbbed as he spoke, but even debilitated by the migraine he felt compelled to lob something back at his boss.

Lamb just snorted. “Oh, you’re in luck, Cartwright. There’s a job. Security detail.”

He lazily flung a file across the desk, slim and pristine compared to the usual sludge. River flipped it open and found the face of a young woman staring back at him—dark hair, darker eyes, draped in a gown he suspected was worth more than the building’s annual upkeep. 

“This is…?”

“Eliza Zhou. Concert violinist. American. His Royal Pain in the Arse invited her for some fancy fiddling at his gala, then the Proms.” Lamb paused, his chair creaking as he shifted, and unleashed a long, unmistakably lethal fart. Biohazard, River thought, eyes watering. Lamb, impervious, continued, “She’s a treat for the moneyed lot.”

River held his breath, quickly skimming through her file: twenty-seven. Born in Xiamen. Current residence, New York. Graduate of The Juilliard School. No potential threats. “So what exactly is the palace worried about? Rogue cellists?”

“Not even that, really,” Lamb said, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it with all the flourish of a man doing a favour for the world by shortening his life expectancy. “Which is why it’s your job, see? Taverner doesn’t want the press saying some royal visitor got shivved or had her precious violin nicked on her watch, and she’s even less interested in using anyone important to prevent it. So, here we are.”

River flipped another page, barely glancing until a detail snagged his eye: Current instrument: Solomon ex-Lambert, 1729 Stradivarius. Estimated value: USD 2.1 million. On loan from the Nippon Music Foundation. He could feel his migraine getting worse. Was this the job? Playing bodyguard to a glorified antique worth more than his entire career? “Two million? For a fiddle?”

“Imagine the headlines,” Lamb drawled, lips curling as if savouring a private joke. “Royal guest has her priceless pluck box pinched on British soil. Taverner’s worst nightmare. And officially your problem.”

“Honoured to be of service,” River muttered, suppressing the urge to hurl the file back to Lamb’s face. It didn’t get more Slough House than this, a babysitting gig for someone who meant bugger-all to his career in the grand scheme of things. Not a diplomat, not one of the top brass of the Service, not their second cousin’s sister’s niece—not even the world-class violinist, by the looks of it, but her bloody instrument. It was as if Taverner had carved it in stone: Slough House, the bottom-feeders of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

“Tomorrow morning,” Lamb added, looking immensely bored already, “you’re to make an appearance at Kensington Palace, 10 sharp, to meet her team. They’ll tell you where she’ll be, what to look out for, and where to stand when you’re looking out for it. Shouldn’t be difficult. Not even you can cock it up.” He leaned back in his chair, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Don’t prove me wrong, and wipe that sour look off your face—you’ll give the girl nightmares. What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway? Didn’t think I’d assigned you to sort through the bins today.”

River just sighed in response, the briefing sucking his willpower to stay upright, not having it in him to throw a comeback. He stuffed the folder under his arm and started for the door before Lamb could add more insights. 

But of course, he did. “And, Cartwright—try to keep your hands in your pockets. Don’t need you to start a diplomatic incident.”

“I’ll restrain myself.”

Lamb glanced at him with a smirk, beady eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Good boy. Now piss off before I decide to show some affection and dock your pay.”

River finally headed out, wondering how long it’d take for the novelty of guarding Eliza Zhou to wear off. He gave it twenty minutes, thirty if she played something he recognized.

By morning, the migraine had eased up, leaving River in a state that almost passed for human. He dragged a dark blue suit from his pre-Slough House days out of the back of the wardrobe, actually bothered to shave, and made his way towards the car.

He spent most of the drive to Kensington Palace forming a mental picture of this supposed darling of the classical music circuit—daughter of pianist and conductor William Zhou, a titan on his own right. River concluded that she must look something like a Manhattan socialite crossed with a trust-fund dictator: perched in some opulent suite with a dozen cowering servants at her beck and call, fussing over an espresso like it was on trial for high treason. His assignment, no doubt, was to play the part of a security valet—somewhere between bodyguard and errand boy. Fetch her bags. Stand by the door while Miss Zhou ‘performed’ her artist act, which probably meant a lot of strumming and pouting for cameras. A Park Avenue heiress whose talent was as deficient as her character. 

But when he knocked on the door of her suite, the first surprise was that there was no entourage, no flock of assistants waiting on her feet. The “team” Lamb had referred to was one woman with the kind of bearing that suggested she was in charge of calling the shots at Pentagon, not taking care of a musician’s PR: tall, blonde, dressed in a sharp black blouse tucked into an even sharper pair of brown tailored trousers. “Morgan Knox,” she introduced herself briskly, sizing him up with a cold glance. “Eliza’s agent. You’re Cartwright?”

"That’s what it says on my badge," he replied. Knox didn’t seem amused. 

She wordlessly gestured for River to step inside. What greeted him was the sound of the violin—a piece he didn’t recognise—the melody simple, the pace deliberate. He followed the notes toward their source, turning left to see Eliza Zhou standing in front of the big glass window. She traced her bow across the strings, face scrunched with an expression that looked like concentration. 

No, not concentration, he realised. That look was closer to sorrow.

The melody slithered into the depths of River’s mind, unlocking a box containing memories he’d rather kept untouched. His nan’s funeral. Watching his granddad cry, for the first and last time. That cursed day he’d dropped him off at the home, David’s voice still ringing in his ears: You promised you wouldn’t do this to me, River!

He blinked a few times, struggling to resurface from the fragments threatening to pull him under. The violin hadn’t stopped; Eliza was still playing with that look on her face, minor keys and heartbreak spilling into the room.

The piece concluded with a quiet vibrato, the final note fading away on a downbow. Eliza exhaled, something like relief, and, as if catching the sense of someone else in her self-spun storm, glanced up toward him.

“Oh—hi. You must be River Cartwright.” And just like that, the clouds cleared, the skies returned to blue. She set down her violin and moved toward him, extending a hand. “Eliza. Nice to meet you.”

Her voice was warm, a far cry from the drawl he'd half expected. She was a head shorter than him, and what yesterday’s migraine had fogged over was the fact that she was beautiful: glass-like skin, high cheekbones, and hair dark enough to suck all the light out of the room—

River dropped that line of thought fast, right as Lamb’s voice pierced through the back of his mind: “Try keeping your hands in your pockets, lover boy.”

“Yeah, likewise,” he managed a reply, shaking her hand, feeling the rough brush of her calloused fingertips. She slipped her hand away, reached for a paper sitting atop a nearby table, and handed it over, flashing a smile.

“Thought you might need this.” Inside were two pastries, smelling fresher than anything he’d had in weeks, and a coffee. Black, from the looks of it—just how he took it. “You look like you need it more than me.”

He blinked. “Sorry, what?”

She took a sip from her tea, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t know who decided a violinist needed a security detail from MI5. A bit overkill, wouldn’t you say?”

“Here for the violin, actually.” River felt his own mouth twist into a smile he hadn’t seen in months. “The Palace would rather lose a corgi than have a relic stolen on their watch. Wouldn’t look good on the papers. You’re just collateral, I’m afraid.”

Eliza snorted, but then nodded with a resigned sigh, as if accepting the fact that her 300-year-old instrument was worth more than herself. “Well, still seems a bit of a downgrade for you, doesn’t it? I mean, what does MI5 do, exactly? Leaping out of helicopters and tearing down motorways in Aston Martins?” She had that tone—like she’s talking to some kindred spirit at a niche fan convention, not her assigned minder. 

But he wasn’t in the mood to entertain her with the reality of the Service, either—that it was more about putting out whatever fire the bigwigs had sparked this week than dodging bullets. Nor did he have the heart to let on that her “agent” was practically a case study in how to land oneself in the gutter of the Service.

“Mostly paperwork,” he replied, deadpan. “Not much glamour in intelligence work, sorry to say.”

Her eyes crinkled at that, though he knew she didn’t quite believe him. 

“Alright,” Eliza says, beaming at River so brightly it might have singed his eyebrows, “what’s the protocol here? Do you follow me around with an earpiece and sunglasses, or are we going for more of a ‘blending in’ vibe?”

River’s lips twitched. He couldn’t quite say she’d won him over, but tolerable was more than most got—so maybe this job wouldn’t be hell after all. “I’ll do my best not to ruin the atmosphere. But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Noted.” Eliza’s grin widened, and she pointed to the sofa in the living area. “Let’s get into it, then shall we? Morgan will run you through my schedule, and I assume you’ll enlighten me on security protocols?”

River nodded, trailing after her and reviewing the entire mental catalogue of snide retorts and reasons to despise the job. But here she was, looking up at him with a mixture of humour and genuine curiosity, and his list of complaints suddenly seemed flimsy.

Permission to tag @cillmequick @noforkingclue @daydreamgoddess14 @lilacsnid! Love your River fics so I thought I’d share mine with you guys ❤️

[rebicha]

Hey everyone! After a looooong time thinking about it, I’ve started a new side blog dedicated to fanfics, fandom meta, and everything in between. I want to engage with other fans and share some of my own stories. I'm waiting for my invitation to start posting on AO3 as well 🤓

📚 What to Expect: this is a space to dive deeper into my love of fandom storytelling.

Fanfic updates (starting with my new Slow Horses-inspired fic because that 5th season can't come fast enough)

Art, mood boards, and playlists inspired by my stories

Meta posts and headcanons about my favorite fandoms

🎨 Here’s a sneak peek of my upcoming fanfic poster for The Long Game

What’s the fanfic about?

Espionage, corruption, and conspiracies in the world of MI5, action, all of that.

A slow-burn, friends-to-lovers journey between River Cartwright and an original character. I looooooooooooove friends to lovers, and also platonic dynamics.

If you're a fan of Slow Horses, feel free to follow @miri--writes and also please share your own stories to read, cause I need them!

Thanks for reading!

[no-way-0ut]

The urge to write male original character x river cartwright stuff...

Slow horses brainrot...

[amoromniaodium]

Slow Horses

Irina Agapov (OC x River Cartwright)

Irina Shayk as Irina Agapov

Jack Lowden as River Cartwright

Gary Oldman as Jackson Lamb

The rest of the cast as themselves

Introduction

When Irina was a young girl, too young to remember everything clearly, her mother brought home a British spy. It’s important to note that Irina did not know who he was until years later. He was very different from the usual men her mother brought around. For one, he wasn’t Russian. He was smaller than the typical Eastern European men, and when he spoke Russian, his accent made her giggle. Even at her young age, Irina could tell that he was dangerously charismatic. After his third visit, her father disappeared and was never found. Her babushka told her he had died for Mother Russia, but Irina knew, even as a child, that it was really the strangely charismatic man with the piercing glare—his eyes, blue like the deepest part of the ocean—that was responsible. That’s the only thing she truly remembered about him: the eyes.

Later, her mother and she left Germany for England to start a new life. However, at that time, England was not kind to Russian immigrants. It was there that Irina learned to build masks and switch between them quickly. She developed an ability to read situations and analyze human reactions—skills honed while running from bullies, but some would say they were passed down by her father and grandfathers, all men involved in the world of espionage. So it was no surprise that the same man who visited her mother when she was young continued to keep an eye on Irina—until she disappeared to America at the age of 16.

Jackson Lamb knew deep down that little Irina was going to be a problem. He just never realized what kind, until it was too late.

—-

Irina has worked worldwide for government agencies and private companies in need of her services. Her exploits, as terrifying as they are magnificent, are in high demand everywhere. However, when she learned that Jackson Lamb now works at Slough House—and has for years—she couldn’t resist visiting him. She had also heard that he had grown particularly attached to his group of misfits, especially one named Standish. Finding work in London wouldn’t be difficult for Irina, but the real issue was that this particular group of incompetents would somehow worm their way into her cold-blooded heart, especially one River Cartwright, whose grandfather she despises.

This is the story of how a little Russian girl became one of the most feared assassins, but if you were able to find a way into her cold heart, she would be willing to do anything for you.

This is the story of River Cartwright, a kind and gentle soul whose stupidity might outweigh his competence, but whose love will bring about great change.

This is the story of Jackson Lamb and the little Russian girl with big green eyes—whom he was never able to forget, but wishes he could.

This is the story of the Slow Horses, whose incompetence may make them the best agents in MI5—if only they had one superhuman addition.

This is the story of Lady Di, who will regret knowing Jackson Lamb for the rest of her life.

——

Preview:

"What happened to you? You used to be an extremely attractive man."

"And how would you know? You were only five years old."

“River Cartwright, you say? Cartwright, as in…?"

"Ah, yes, you know my grandfather?" River replied.

Irina couldn’t help but burst into laughter—not a soft, elegant laugh, but the kind you get when you realize that karma has delivered a perfect blow to your biggest enemy.

"Ah, perfect! The old bastard’s grandson in Slough House—this is better than anything I could have done to him. How did he react when you told him?"

River wasn’t sure how to respond.

"No, don’t tell me. I’ll let my imagination run wild for the next two months. Thank you, you’ve truly brought me joy," she said before brushing past him to go upstairs, shouting, "Lamb, Lamb! Please tell me you have a picture of the—"

River didn’t hear the rest, but he could guess where she was going. The only thing he managed to say, five minutes too late, was "You’re welcome."

He wasn’t sure if it was her confidence, perfect posture, perfume, or her face that made his brain slow down, but he knew one thing: her presence here was definitely not going to help his chances of getting back to the Park.

[burymeinwillow]

[Bonanza Fanart x OC Art, Heather/Joe]

Heather POV: Falling in love with the guy you strictly told you'd never be interested in EVER

The short snippet I wrote that inspired this doodle below the read more:

Heather pulled the neckerchief from her neck with a sigh before she bent down towards the stream, gently wetting the cloth in the running water. Droplets wetted her skirt as she lifted the now soaking neckerchief and placed it on the back of her neck underneath her dark red hair. The coolness from the water spread down her back and chest, like she had dipped her whole body into the stream and she would never forget that feeling of immense relief. She looked up to see the younger Cartwright doing the same thing on a rock in the middle of the river, closer to the bottom of the waterfall they were currently resting by. 

Hoss Cartwright was waiting further up the hill from the river by the wagon. The little stream and waterfall had been a nice rest point to stumble upon on a hot Nevada day.

She watched as Joe Cartwright stood up placing his own wet neckcloth to his neck and letting out a deep sigh. Why he had decided to stand on the little rock island in the middle of the river, Heather didn’t know. Probably to show off, she figured. There was a part of her that got annoyed by it and yet she didn’t take her eyes off him. He didn’t notice. 

And if you think, for one minute, that I will EVER fall for you and your pretty boy charm, you’re dead wrong! 

Her own words rang in her head from months ago. It had been one of her first interactions with Joe Cartwright after first meeting him at Doc Henderson’s office. He had turned his charm up to the highest level and approached, only to get snapped at in a way that had sent his head spinning. Heather had been adamant that she wouldn’t get involved with anyone, not even friendship. 

Yet something had worked. Something had changed. 

She watched him with expressionless eyes as he patted the back of his neck with the wet cloth, wringing the last water from it before draping the rolled up neckerchief around his neck. 

Green eyes met hers and he smiled at her. Heather didn’t smile back, but she slowly stood up, keeping her eyes on him. 

Joe stared at her in return, raising an eyebrow. Her expression was unreadable, her hazel eyes vibrant and focused on him. It felt like she was staring into his soul and poking at all his deepest secrets and fears that neither his Pa or brothers knew of. His smile faded. They stood there for what felt like an eternity just staring at each other, the sound of the waterfall and river surrounding them and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. 

Joe’s heart skipped as Heather took a step forward onto a rock in the river. She took another step onto another rock and with graceful movement she walked onto the rock he was standing on. She was barefoot and he felt her toes bump into his boot as there was barely space for the two of them to stand there together. 

Joe’s green eyes were wide as he stared down at her, feeling her brush up against him. The fabric of her shirt covering her bustle brushing against his shirt. He felt her breath on his collar bones. Her eyes kept his gaze like she had bewitched him. Joe felt his heartbeat pound in his head. 

The wind rustling around them made Heather’s hair flow gracefully around her face as if it was dancing and trying to tell him her thoughts. With every breath she took, her chest expanded and brushed against his. It made his head spin and yet his eyes wouldn’t leave hers. 

Heather’s hand touched his as they were hanging loosely by their sides. Her index finger lingering on his and even the smallest touch sent sparks up his arm. Her lips parted ever so lightly, her head tilted further towards him. Joe had never breathed so hard or felt so disconnected from his surroundings than he did in that moment. Something in her eyes changed and a tinge of hope touched her eyebrows ever so lightly. Her finger had fully wrapped around his. 

“Hey you two! We’re about ready to head out!” 

Hoss's voice calling broke their gaze in a second and before Joe could even gather himself Heather was gone off the rock and onto the other side of the river and heading towards Hoss and the wagons. 

“We’re coming!” He heard her voice call and Joe remained on the rock by the waterfall. He watched her walk up the hill and she didn’t even look back once. 

“Hey Lil’ Joe, you comin?” Hoss's voice asked gently and Joe swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m comin’”

He stepped off the rock and onto solid land. Hoss gave him a concerned look which Joe waved off and began walking up the hill to their wagons with what felt like a hollow chest. 

[annaelizabethhenry1]

Echoes from the Past - Chapter 2

Summary: River visits his grandfather post season 4 at the care home. The visits conjure memories of River’s childhood and teen years as he grapples with his grandfather’s declining mental health and how once he’s gone he’ll have no one left. Warning – spoilers for all four seasons.

A big thank you to my coven and our endless discussions about this fic and scenarios for Little River and the tough discussions around dementia. Writing may seem like a solitary endeavor, but its always a group effort - hugs and kisses to Alex @cillmequick and Dot @coffeeflavored <3

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

As it was a long bank holiday weekend, River decided he’d stay at his grandfather’s house to make visiting him daily for the next few days simpler. The light was going down rapidly along the garden’s treeline and River hurried inside, clutching his bag of curry take-away. He flipped on the lights in the study and the kitchen. He also switched on the heating as it was freezing in the house. He missed the days when he would visit and the house was lit, warm with the fireplace crackling. Now the house was just an empty shell of its former self. It sat cold and dark, no life stirring from within it. 

As the radiators banged and hissed to life, River took out the curry, pulled a fork from a drawer and was about to sit down at the empty kitchen table and sighed. “God, how pathetic,” he muttered. Was this going to be his existence going forward, sad take away meals alone in a drafty house? He never realized how much he enjoyed his grandfather’s company until it had been taken from him. He took for granted the camaraderie they shared over the years. 

River walked back to the study with his curry and sat down in his usual chair as he couldn’t bring himself to sit in grandad’s as it would always be his even after he was gone. Mind you the chair River sat in used to belong to his Nan, but after she passed grandad told him it was his spot from now on which made it different. 

It was so quiet in the country compared to his noisy flat in London where there were always sirens, cars rushing by and people shouting. Just like when he first arrived here when he was almost seven, the silence made him feel lonely and isolated, like you’d survived some dystopian horror and only you were left. The silence hadn’t scared him for ages, but now it suddenly did because before even with the silence there was the chatter of his grandfather to fill the void and that was now missing.

River thought back to one of his first nights in the house. When everything seemed new and rather frightening. He’d never lived outside of London before nor had he ever stayed somewhere so fancy. It reminded him of how people on the telly lived. 

On the third night with his grandparents, River lay awake in his bed in what his grandparents called the guest room, but there was talk of making it more comfortable for him.  He wondered if that meant it would his room. He’d never had his own room before – usually he slept on a pull-out sofa or in a sleeping bag. He couldn’t fathom having a whole room that was just for him. Grabbing his bunny, he shuffled from under the cosy comforter and went to the window to look out.

River could not understand his grandparents yet. He always made a point to figure out how his mum’s latest boyfriend worked. What would upset them, what would make them happy or at least indifferent to him. With Nan especially, nothing seemed to trouble her. 

River whispered to Mr. Hoppinheimer, “I don’t get how they haven’t yelled at me yet. It’s been three whole days…I thought for sure when I spilled the milk today Nan would yell, but she didn’t.”

His grandparents were obviously older, but did this mean they yelled less or was it something else? An owl hooted in the tree near his window and River jumped. “What was that? A monster?”

The wind tossed the branches outside and one was close enough to scrap the house, scaring River further. He clutched his bunny while another sound echoed in the night sky and River shuddered as tears ran down his cheek.

River’s door creaked opened and light from the hallway poured in as his grandfather appeared, smiling. River quickly wiped the tears away, his mum hated it when he cried.

“River are you all right, lad?”

He shook his head no because he was scared and confused. River worried what his grandfather would do next. Best case he’d ignore him, worst he’d yell.

“Well we can’t have that,” David said coming into the room and turning a little lamp on that cast a soft glow about the room. 

His grandfather sat down at the edge of the bed closest to River, “Come sit next to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

River looked at this grandfather who smiled and patted the spot next to him. River hesitated, but went over and sat down. Grandad wrapped an arm around him, “Are you scared?”

“Yes, but I promised mum I wouldn’t be any trouble…”

“Oh, River my boy being scared isn’t causing trouble. You don’t have to worry anymore because I’m here to protect you, so is your Nan. We want you to be happy and we can’t do that if you don’t tell us how you feel, all right?”

Grandad pulled River closer and kissed the top of his head.

River didn’t know what to do. He felt so different. Like for the first time someone didn’t mind him being there. It was almost like they were happy he was here with them, especially his Nan.

“It’s so quiet here…but when I hear things…they scare me,” As if on cue the owl hooted. “Like that!” River snuggled into his grandfather’s sweater hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, that’s an owl. Tomorrow we’ll go out and investigate the garden and I’ll show you where the owls live and maybe if we’re lucky enough we’ll see an owl in the daylight as they usually hunt at night.”

“What’s investigate mean?”

“Explore. There’s so much to see around here. I can take you down the road to where the neighbours keep their horses. You’d like to see that, right?”

River brightened up. Someone wanted to do something especially for him. He didn’t understand it but he was glad his mum left him here. Mind you, he didn’t trust it yet, but this felt so different than what he was used to. 

“I like it here even if it’s scary at night.”

“It won’t be scary for long. You’ll get used to the different sounds. But you can always come to us if you’re scared. You don’t have to stay here afraid.”

“Won’t you be cross if I wake you?” River asked afraid he pushed too far.

“Cross? No, never.”

Grandad soothed River, tucked him back in, bunny and all and shut the light, but left the door open so he wouldn’t feel alone.

River thought wistfully on that moment, it was the first time he felt truly safe and loved. He knew recapturing that now was impossible given his grandfather’s condition. It also made him wonder if his grandfather was afraid when he was lucid, that he knew he was slipping away and couldn’t do anything about it. What could River do to soothe him? He had to find a way to comfort him after everything he had done for him. River knew his grandfather was flawed – more than ever now after finding out who his father was and what lay behind it. But still he owed him and deep down he knew his grandad had done his best for River all those years ago. 

River started as his mobile rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Catherine’s name appearing on the screen. He thought it odd she’d call this late. He hoped everything was all right. “Hi Catherine. Is everything okay?” 

“Oh, hi River, yes. Just wanted to check in with you. I knew you said you were visiting David this weekend. I wondered if you had gone down.”

“Yeah, I did. He wasn’t so good today…he wanted to go home and then later he didn’t know who I was…”

“Oh, River…I’m so sorry. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Why don’t you try bringing some photos over with you? Remember the article I sent you mentioned that often helps them as their minds often live in the past, so seeing photos of you when you’re younger might bring him around,” Catherine urged from the other end of the line.

“Right. I forgot about that. I’ll go find some when I finish my curry.”

“Take away again, honestly,” Catherine huffed.

River chuckled. “It’s not like I’m in the mood to cook.”

“My offer still stands.”

“I know. I’ll see how tomorrow goes,” River said.

Catherine Standish had offered to come by for the day and visit David as he was familiar with her from their “adventure” together after River left David with her when they perused by both the Park and an assassin.  

After River finished his curry and tidied the kitchen, he went upstairs to his grandparents’ room. The door creaked as it opened, turning the light on the room came to life. He looked around, everything was tidy. The bed made, the curtains closed, the furniture recently polished. He wished he could take credit for it, but right after he left his grandfather at the care home, Catherine came by to help organize things with River, which included a weekend of tidying-up the house as it was long overdue for some sprucing up. 

River opened the closet door, staring at the sparse contents as half of it was in the care home with his grandfather and the other space belonged to his Nan who’s clothes had been donated long ago. A box caught his eye on an upper shelf. It looked like a hat box that would’ve belong to his grandmother. Reaching up he removed it and was surprised by its weight. Placing it down on the bed, River opened the lid, “Oh, wow…” It contained cards, drawings and other ephemera River had made growing up. He had no idea his grandparents had saved these. They were bundled neatly unlike his own memory box. 

As he shifted the piles and removed them to the bed, he saw the weathered rocks he decorated for the garden when he seven or eight. Then there was the ‘Best Grandad’ pin River bought for him one Father’s Day. He held it for a moment remembering trying to pin it on his grandad’s sweater with his little fingers and being pricked by it. River smiled. Digging further he found a child sized watch with the face scratched. 

“He kept this?” River muttered feeling his face flush as he looked up at the ceiling blinking back tears. The battered watch held a special memory for River, it was the catalyst in his bonding early on with his grandad. 

River had been with his grandparents almost a month when they presented him with a very cool digital watch that had a special little button that made it light up in the dark. He’d only taken it off to have baths since he received it, but one Sunday evening he realized it was missing from his wrist. He was seized by panic - his grandparents would be so disappointed in him if he already lost the watch. 

While he was still trying to understand his grandparents, River knew this was definitely the type of thing that would lead to yelling – it had to. He lost far less precious things when he was with his mum and she got so cross, calling him careless. It was no wonder that she left him here. Now where would he go if his grandparents got tired of him losing things or being clumsy? But with no father, who would take him in next? River remembered watching Oliver on the telly a while ago and thought how horrible it would be to live on the streets being a thief. Would Fagan be nice to him? River doubted it as no one seemed to like him. He’d not be able to keep Mr. Hoppinheimer or his new bear Benjamin who had a very smart bowtie. 

“Wait! Maybe it’s in the bathroom!” River darted across the hallway into the loo. 

River looked on the floor, under the rugs, by the sink, and under the towels that were neatly stacked. It wasn’t anywhere. He was so crestfallen and slumped to sit on the cold, tile floor, scared to tell them he lost the watch. Near tears, River tried to take a breath, but could feel his chest tighten as he was near hyperventilating. He breathed in and out harder. He had to think, where had he gone today? The kitchen, dining room and study – oh the garden! 

Earlier before dinner he and his grandad went into the garden to check on the pots to see if anything sprouted up yet. Grandad even gave him gloves to put on that were too big for him. Maybe the watch fell off then.

Darting back across the hallway, River went into his room to put his shoes on and then realized how would he get out of the house without explaining to his grandparents why he was going outside? The house was very creaky, but he already knew which steps made the most noise as he liked playing a game where he avoided them hopping around.

Tip-toeing in the hall and down the stairs avoiding the creaky spots, River edged around the wall and poked his head into the study and spied his grandparents involved in their books while the fire crackled. Seeing they were occupied, he made a dash to the kitchen. River peered out the kitchen door noticing the light was fading fast. He went into what his Nan called the jumble drawer where random things like screwdrivers, tape measures and a small torch were kept. He slid it from the drawer noiselessly as possible. The doorhandle was an odd lever River hadn’t completely remembered how to use and it squeaked a little when he turned it the wrong way. His heart pounded as he froze. All he heard was ticking from the clock in the entry hall and a tiny throat clearing from his grandad. River sighed. He pulled the door open just enough for him to get out. He immediately dove out of sigh against the chilly stone wall. 

“Whew, okay that was close,” River mumbled as he turned the torch on and began his search around the clay pots.

Just as he looked between the last batch of flower pots with the torch he heard the kitchen door squeak shut. “NO!” River whispered turning quickly and arcing the torch beam into one of the windows. He hastily turned it off less to draw attention to the garden. River went on his hands and knees in the damp grass to hide when he noticed his missing watch in a tuft of high grass around one of the larger planters. 

River wrapped the watch around his wrist and proceeded to crawl back to the house to stay out of sight till he reached the back door. Slowly, he got up and peered through the metal and glass panes. The kitchen was dark, so no one was there. River turned the lever but met resistance. “It’s locked,” River whispered in a panic. Now what? He pushed on the door to see if it was stuck, but it didn’t budge. “Wait…the key under the yellow pot.” Nan told him about it in case he ever got locked out in the garden. He retrieved the key and ever so slowly turned it, hearing the click he breathed a sigh of relief and quickly returned the key under the pot and slinked back into the dark kitchen.

Just as he was about to make a dash to the stairs light flooded the room as his grandfather appeared from the pantry area, “River whatever have you been doing out in the garden in the dark?”

Grandad walked towards him and took the torch from a stunned River’s hand. “Well?”

This was it, he was done for, off to an orphanage for him or worse. “I…I…umm…” 

“David is everything all right, who are you talking to?” Nan shouted from the study.

“River, he came down for a glass of water,” Grandad coolly replied.

River was surprised his grandfather lied given he caught him sneaking around.

“River love, do you want a snack?”

“No, Nan, I’m not hungry, thanks!” River shouted back.

“So, what were you up to?”

River felt like he could trust being honest since his grandad just lied for him. “I lost my watch, Grandad. I went into the garden thinking it was there and it was,” River held up his wrist.

“Why didn’t you just ask? We would’ve looked with you, River.”

“Mum always said I was careless and I didn’t want you to be cross,” River said looking up at his grandad with those sad blue eyes. 

“My boy, we all lose stuff, wait till you’re my age, I misplace things all the time!”

Impulsively, River hugged his grandad around the waist, tight, which took David by surprise and he wrapped his arms around his grandson. “I have to say I’m impressed as I didn’t realize you left the house. I came to put my mug in the sink and noticed the door was open a little and closed it. Only when I saw the light did I realize you were outside. Always remember if you hear noise when sneaking about with a torch to turn it off immediately and then hide.”

River pulled away and looked up curiously at his grandfather, “What? You didn’t mind I did that then?”

“Well, best not tell your grandmother, she wouldn’t approve, but I see you’ve got potential,” he replied with a warm smile.

“What’s potential?” 

“Ah, in this case it means,” Grandad leaned in and whispered, “I think you could be a good spy one day.”

“Wow,” River managed.

“That’s between us, remember,” his grandad winked.

River tried to wink back but only achieved an awkward form a blinking which made his grandad chuckle.

The memory in retrospect was even more bittersweet than River liked to admit. The irony of him ending up in Slough House, being the biggest disappointment anyone could ever be to a grandfather who had been first desk. Maybe it was a good thing Grandad couldn’t remember things anymore, it saved him the embarrassment. 

**************************

David Cartwright shambled through the hallway that led back to his room. All the chatter from the dining room became too much for him. He was used to his home and the quiet, not constant yammering. Turning the knob to his room he heard his name called and twisted to find the small lady who always seemed happy coming at him. 

“Did you not want to play bingo?”

“Bingo’s for old people,” he responded turning back to his room and pushing the door open.

Orla chuckled. “Yes, of course and you’re clearly too young for that kind of thing. Would you like to play chess or checkers with me?”

David plunked down in the leather chair. “I hate all the noise, so no thank you.”

A lightbulb went off, he hated the dining room and rec room because it was too much for him. “We could play in here where it’s quiet. And maybe you’d like cup of tea, too?”

“Maybe…I used to play with River. I taught him to play chess. He never got very good at it, always was an impulsive player. Where is my boy?”

“He was here earlier at lunch, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I don’t remember. He hates me anyway. He only comes because of Rose.”

Orla was beginning to see the picture more clearly now. Not only was it just the dementia at play, but a family rift or misunderstanding. There wasn’t much time to repair this either given how quickly the dementia seemed to be progressing. “No, I spoke to him earlier, we had tea and cake together. He cares about you very much, I can tell. I think it’s hard for him to deal with his feelings. Let me get that chess set and come back, okay?” 

“Yes, whatever,” David mumbled.

Orla returned a short while later with a boxed chess set and Sylvie bearing a small tea tray. The two women set everything up near where David sat.

Finally sitting down across from David, Orla began to put the chess pieces on the board. “I’ve had a long day, it’s nice to sit down quietly here to be honest, I can see why you wanted to as well.” She knew that many dementia and Alzheimer’s patients became frazzled from too much stimulation depending on what stage their condition was in, but she did wonder about David as he seemed so sharp sometimes. She’d have to chat with River further about his thoughts as he was the best judge.

“Yes, well I’d rather be in my own quiet home.”

“Where would you be right now if you were home?”

“My study with my books and some whiskey.”

“Avid reader?”

“Yes.”

“I love Dickens. My favourite is the Pickwick Papers.” 

“That’s a terrible choice. Why not Bleak House or at least David Copperfield?

Orla smiled and continued to place the chess pieces down. “I like to be different. It’s his only truly humorous work and I do so love to laugh.”

David cracked a shadow of a smile. “I see you know how to set the board up. Let’s see how well you play.” 

“I’ wager you’ll route me in no time,” Orla said with a cheeky wink.

Orla knew she was far from a chess champion, but David Cartwright despite his age and mental health was still quite the chess player as within the hour she had been corned into checkmate. 

“Checkmate!” David said triumphantly.

“Ooo! Damn!” Orla said. “Sorry…”

“No, you’re within your right to swear. You weren’t paying attention to your bishop earlier hence you’re in this mess now. I always told River not underestimate the power of your bishops. Not that he ever listened either.”

“You love River very much, don’t you?”

“Of course, he’s my boy.”

Orla sat quiet for moment. She wanted to say that his grandson was his son in every way that truly mattered and I’m sure River felt he same way. She decided to push a little. “Yes, I can tell. You’re very proud of him I’m sure. Though I do wonder why you think he doesn’t care for you.”

David’s face changed, Orla saw it immediately. She lost him. Damn!

“Yes, well he left me here to die,” David said gruffly, pushing the little card table with the chess set towards Orla.

“He did that to keep you safe. I know it’s not easy to admit, but sometimes we need help.”

“Help? This is what you call this hotel hospital environment? We’ve all been left here to die because someone who loved us just can’t be bothered.” He crossed his arms and turned his face away.

Orla did hate to admit that she had seen many people left at care homes who had no visitors and it always broke her heart. But this wasn’t the case for David Cartwright. His grandson cared a great deal. “May I call you David?” he shrugged in response. “David, your grandson is a busy man with a career and no doubt a personal life and he just can’t quit his job and stay with you as you do really need constant support to ensure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’d rather die than be here.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe when River comes by tomorrow it’ll make you feel better about all of this. I’ll get Sylvie to help you to bed if you’re ready. Maybe you can watch some telly or I can get you a book from the library.”

“Just leave me alone!” He said much louder than he intended.

“Okay, have a goodnight and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Orla said with a sad smile and tiny wave.

Two steps forward and one step back she thought. Tomorrow was indeed another day and she’d make the most of it.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Here she is! 🎉

Ella Cole - the only reject at Slough House to view her banishment as a fresh start and a chance to change her life for the better. Ella never again wants to draw attention to herself the way she did at the Park, but the past has a nasty habit of catching up with even the most cautious of people, and Ella is about to find out that keeping herself distanced from everyone is no guarantee she can keep them safe.

Taglist: @theskytraveler @moonmaiden1996 @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

Masterlist

Warnings: *I want to be super clear on warnings so this might give away a handful of spoilers* Mentions & depictions of DV (not graphic or laboured), minor mentions of SV (not dubcon or rape, more like coercion and 'feeling obligated'), stalking, impact of all of this shit on a child, OFC is a single mother so there are depictions of motherhood. My inbox is open if you have any questions or want to talk 😘

The Escape Artist - Chapter 1

Six months. For Ella Cole, it had been six months of living hand to mouth, trying to pay for flats, bedsits or house shares with mould on the walls and mushrooms growing out of the carpet. Drug dealers on the stairs, unlicensed dogs barking night after night, bits of kids more than half her age with flick knives and vapes. She didn't bother them, and they didn't bother her. She knew this world and understood the ecosystem and flashpoints. She leaned against the front door and wiggled the key, the only way to get it to lock properly. It was still early, quiet in the stairwell bar one other person who kept his hood up and his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Lend us a tenner, El?” 

“I'm skint Dozzer, sorry.”

“Just till tomorrow?”

“No, Doz. Get down the clinic when they open, they can get you something to get you through the day.”

“Ain't allowed in there this week. ‘Ad a row with the security gaffer.” He sniffed.

“They'll kick you out for good if you keep that shit up. I've got to go, ask Mike.”

“Thanks anyway, bab.” She didn't see anyone else on the way out. The girls would still be sleeping, false lashes caked in mascara and lipstick stains bleeding into the soft lines around their mouths. She had to get out of this block, she'd only accepted it out of desperation. The black mould on the walls of the last place stank and it was wreaking havoc with her lungs. Putting her foot on a mushroom growing out of the carpet was the last straw, but after two months she'd also had enough of bumping into addicts and sex workers in the corridors, and she was sick of the girls pimp trying to enlist her. The fellas would love ya, you could make a killin’ babe he told her. Despite the early hour, the smell of weed in the building entrance was overwhelming. 

“Ugh.” A small voice next to her complained. She'd stayed quiet so far. She wasn't always keen on Dozzer, even less so when he was after money. 

“I know, baby, it's gross.” Ella wrapped her arm around her daughter's shoulders and guided her out into the street. “It's cold, zip your coat up.” If there was ever a reason to get out of their current accommodation situation, she was it. 

“Can we go to the cafe?”

“Not today, you're in breakfast club.” They navigated the street, avoiding puddles from the never-ending rain and bags of uncollected rubbish. Ella checked her watch, late again. She only had half an hour to get to the school and then on to Slough House. Lamb never said anything if she was late, just an arched eyebrow and withering stare. She still had no idea how much he knew - or didn't know - about her. She'd certainly not told him anything. She hadn't told any of them, six months of polite-ish conversation and pointed silence. Grabbing the girl's hand, Ella dashed out onto the pedestrian crossing outside the school. An approaching car slammed on its brakes and sounded the horn. Ella spun around to face the driver.

“It's a fucking crossing, you twat!” She yelled. The driver glared at her. The driver she recognised glared at her, and then quickly realised that they knew her. “Fucking hell, Cartwright, you trying to kill us?” She raised her middle finger and continued across the road and into the school gates. She waited at reception for the breakfast club staff and said her goodbyes. As she walked back towards the road, she saw his car parked up across from the school. He beeped the horn once and gestured for her to get in. 

“Sorry, I was miles away.” He said as she got into the passenger seat. 

“My own fault. I shouldn't have rushed us out.” She muttered. “We were running late.” He didn't say anything. He merged with the traffic and drove in silence to Slough House. “I didn't mean to call you a twat,” she said as he went to open his door once he'd parked up. 

“Yeah you did. You gave me the finger after you'd recognised me.”

“Yeah I did,” she replied sheepishly. “Can you umm… can you not tell anyone?”

“About giving me the finger?”

“About her.” 

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Does she… does she have a name? Am I allowed to know?”

“Thanks for the lift.” She ignored the question and slammed the car door, trudging up the death stairs of Slough House. 

“Oh, on time I see? Just about.” Lamb sneered. He perched on the edge of Ho's desk. 

“Just about is still on time,” she told him on her way past. 

“Fucking hell, a Cartwright on time as well. You pair are spoiling me today, am I dying?” He jeered as River shoved the heavy door open. 

“God I hope so.” River muttered, dragging himself up the stairs behind Ella. By the time he'd stopped off to see Louisa, Ella had made a cup of tea for herself only, and pulled on noise cancelling headphones. “Make my own then, shall I?” He dropped into his wobbly, missing-a-wheel office chair and got stuck into the files Catherine had left on his desk. An hour later, Ella looked up from her files to fingers clicking in her face. She frowned and pulled off the headphones. 

“Yes?”

“You haven't said anything for like, an hour.”

“I'm working?”

“Well, yeah but -”

“Did you want something?”

“Can I ask a question?” She didn't reply so he went ahead. “What's her name? How old is she?”

“That's two questions.” He waited, expectantly. “She's eight.” Ella sighed. 

“And?”

“You'll take the piss out of her name so I'm not telling you.”

“You really think I'm in a position to take the piss out of someone's name?” She pursed her lips to hide the small smile. 

“Her name is Clover.” She braced for laughter, or a derogatory sneer which didn't come. 

“It's nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, cute. Very hippy, I don’t envy teenage Clover. Did you choose it?”

“I did. I thought… I hoped she'd bring me luck.”

“Is that why you're here? Bad luck?” She shook her head slightly and put the headphones back on. End of conversation. “Right. Good chat, at least twenty more words than usual so that's progress.” Her head had dipped again, back to the files. 

“Are you talking to yourself?” Shirley asked from the doorway. 

“No, I'm talking to… her,” he trailed off miserably when it was clear Ella wasn't listening at all. 

“Twat. Lamb wants you.”

“Two twats in one day. I am a lucky boy,” he sighed, leaving Ella alone. 

*

As much as Ella appreciated Clover's preference for the sex workers over the drug addicts in the small block of flats, it made it somewhat trickier to explain why she wasn't allowed to pop and show them her freshly painted nails - which they always loved to see - or why she couldn't hang out at their flat for any longer than it took to say hello in the corridor.

“Why do they always have visitors?” She grumbled, admiring the purple glitter polish Ella had let her have on for the weekend. 

“Because that's their job lovey, their visitors pay to come and… play games together.”

“Like monopoly?”

“Something like that.” Ella mumbled, head halfway in the oven which wouldn't light. She idly wondered how long the gas would take to kill her, then she remembered she hadn't paid the bill. “Shit.”

“What's up?”

“McDonald's for tea. Get your shoes on.” Ella sat back on the kitchen floor, stained with god knows what, and always sticky no matter what miracle cleaning products she brought. It had to get better than this. Surely it had to get better than this. She gritted her teeth, breathing in short huffs to try and keep the tears at bay. She'd felt a pang of terror after giving away Clover's name to Cartwright. For six months she'd been so careful, not daring to speak about her to anyone just in case, just in case, it somehow reached other ears. She had no way of knowing who Cartwright was in with. He appeared above board, but didn't they all? In sleep deprived delirium, she'd even researched how to change Clover's name via deed poll. She hadn't slept properly for nearly a week, hadn't paid the gas bill, but she had a fiver in her pocket and a handful of change - enough for a kids meal and maybe something for herself if she was lucky. She leaned into the door and wiggled the key, and led Clover out, passed the congregation of kids on the stairs and straight into the girl's pimp.

“Alright, El? Still got a job for you if you want it?”

“No thank you Pav, payday on Monday. I'm sure I'll get by til then.”

“A loan then? You don't even have to pay me back in cash,” Pawel Wójcik leered at Ella, a rolled cigarette caught between his teeth. 

“Nope.”

“They love a milf ya know? Could get you forty quid a go?” Forty quid sounded like a lottery win but Ella stood fast. She held Clover's hand tightly.

“Bye, Pav.” She kept it polite, always kept it polite. He wasn't a man she wanted to upset or demean, she didn't have to work for him, he still had the ability to make her life miserable. She hadn't realised how much of a sliding scale ‘miserable’ was. She'd been miserable before but at least they'd been warm and well fed. She hadn't had pimps offering her work or addicts asking for cash. Bills were paid, and Clover had her own room. It wasn't going to be for long, she soothed. She was fighting hand over fist to get back the security deposit from the flat before. The letting company were trying to lay the blame for the mould on her and were holding onto the deposit to pay for the flat to be cleaned. Another call on Monday to get them to pay up and once they did she'd be back on her feet again. Assuming she made it to Monday. They huddled in bed together, even with the lack of sleep Ella finally felt peace. Her baby in her arms, too old really to be sleeping in her mother’s bed but when there was only one bed the options were limited. Ella thought it funny how Clo proclaimed to be a big girl who wanted her own room back, her own bed back, but who suddenly became so small again when it came to bedtime. Her stomach rumbled, the small burger she’d managed to scrape together the change for wasn’t really enough. She hoped the girls down the hall would be up in the morning, they usually had plenty of bread for toast. Pawel wouldn’t allow them to go hungry, it was bad for business when the sounds of hunger got in the way of the blow jobs. 

“Fuck me, you look like shit.” Sofia told her the next morning through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Can we borrow some bread til tomorrow?”

“Sofia, look at my nails!”

“Oh Clo, they look beautiful! Why don’t you ladies come in for a cuppa.”

“You don’t have any visitors?”

“Nah, we’re free til lunchtime. Don't expect to see Lulu though, she's sleeping off a big night.” Clo raced through the flat to the plush pink velvet sofa and flicked on the TV. Sofia put a gentle hand on Ella’s arm. “Rough week?”

“Awful. I need to call that letting agent again tomorrow, if I had that money back we’d have a safety net. I wouldn’t be hunting for fucking change to take to McDonalds.”

“Can you even pay cash there anymore?” Sofia put a huge mug of tea down on the table. Ella cleared her throat, nodding over at the draining board which was laden with dildos. “Sorry, washing up. I’ll hide these.”

“Please don’t make me explain to an eight year old what a dildo is.” Ella grimaced. With the dildos away, a plate piled high with buttered toast made its way to the table. Ella ate until she felt sick.

“Better?”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we had to come to you.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather look after you two than a fifty year old on viagra,” she shuddered. “Heart attack waiting to happen - and my first aid at work is not up to date.”

“You haven’t heard anything?”

“If he’s out, everyone’s keeping it quiet. I’ll tell you if I hear otherwise.” As Ella left, Sofia pushed a twenty pound note into her hand. 

“I can't take -”

“You can, you will.”

“I'll pay you back.”

“You won't. I've been there babe, I promise it'll be worth it.”

*

“Cole, with me.” Lamb ordered as lunchtime drew near on Monday. Ella's face fell, she'd planned a Subway payday treat before her wages were swallowed by bills and school clubs. She glanced over at River who shrugged and then followed Lamb outside, down the stairs and round the corner into the Chinese restaurant. His usual order was on the table already. “Whatever the girl wants.” He told the staff.

“Oh, no I'm fine.”

“You ain't paying, I know you’re broke.” Ella blushed. “Saw you nicking biscuits from Ho's desk for breakfast last week.” 

“Chow mein please.” She mumbled, eyes tracing the red gingham tablecloth.

“Get her some other bits as well, will ya? Put it on my tab. Now, what I'm trying to work out is why you're so broke. It's not the old fizzy lifting powder, you're not as twitchy as Dander. Longridge is the resident gambler -”

“Just had a few big bills this month.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you asking me? You could just find out from the Park. Or Ho.”

“I'm asking you,” he said sternly. After a few sloppy bites of noodles, he softened. “Look, you don't seem as brain dead as the rest of the idiots upstairs. You've done everything I've asked for six months, and stuff I haven't asked for, you haven't complained, you've had your head down and got it done. Some people far more stupid than me might actually think you were enjoying it.”

“Believe it or not, I am.”

“But why?” She pushed the chow mein around her plate. 

“I was married. I am married, actually. He's a big deal in organised crime, moves things around, makes things disappear. Money, drugs, people, gold, you name it. The Park were watching the gang, he made me doctor some images and change some tracking details to throw them off. Taverner found out it was me.”

“Did they get him?”

“Only on a lesser charge. A few of the lads went down for him on the big stuff.”

“He’s a bully then. Must be if he got his underlings to go down for him?” Ella swallowed thickly. 

“Yeah. He doesn't like… disobedience.” 

“Where is he now?”

“Serving a year, but he might be out by now.”

“And Taverner sent you to me. Why didn't she have you charged?”

“My dad is a copper. Between them they made it go away.”

“Bet daddy dearest was happy about that.”

“I wouldn't know, I haven't seen him for years.”

“Disowned and yet he still saved you from the clink, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“What a pickle you're in. A fallen woman, pushed from a life of luxury into squalor. You should write a book. Make sure there's lots of pictures though, otherwise Cartwright won't be able to read it.” He laughed loudly at his own joke and followed it up with a belch. “C'mon eat up. Will he come after you?” 

“I've been staying low, I know a few people who are listening out for me,” Ella thought of Sofia and Lulu, teasing any snippets of information from clients they knew of who had links to him. Lamb nodded, seemingly happy enough with her response. 

“We'll see, shall we? And the money?”

“I ran away with nothing. I've had to get deposits and advance rent together, it's just been a bit hard that's all.”

“Let's call this your six month probationary review, eh? Congratulations, you've passed and it comes with a payrise effective right now.” He pulled a battered wallet from his pocket and handed her a wad of notes.

“No, that's not right -”

“You're on less than the others, even Dander and she's only about twelve. Someone fucked up on payroll. Accept it and say thank you, Lamb.”

“Thank you, Lamb.”

“You're welcome, now this ain't a fucking charity so that's your lot. Sort your shit out and don't bring it to my door.” Ella hesitated, feeling like she should acknowledge Clover somehow. 

“Just so you know, if everything did go to shit -”

“Oh fuck off, Standish can keep your fucking cat if the ex offs you.”

“I have a daughter.” Lamb stared. 

“What do you want? A medal?” His cutlery clattered onto the empty plate. “Alright. Say no more.”

“Thank you.” 

“Don't get all fucking weepy, you're better than that. Pull yourself together and get back to work.” Ella nodded and got up from the table, leaving Lamb alone with the leftovers and his thoughts. 

*

Feeling  buoyed by her conversation with Lamb, Ella took advantage of Cartwright going to get a coffee and called the letting agent. She was halfway through giving them an earful when he returned. She knew he was eavesdropping, the page he was reading hadn't turned despite only having a handful of text on it. Unless Lamb had been right and he couldn't read. 

“Look, you owe me that money, that flat was not fit to be lived in. I have photos from the day I moved in, I have my hospital records which show I had three successive chest infections caused by black mould and I have a solicitor who specialises in getting deposits back from fraudulent landlords. I will put those pictures on every single platform I can and tell everyone that you're putting children at risk.” She kept her voice low but it dripped with anger. The monotonous voice on the end of the phone barely registered her threats. Ella balled her hand into a fist and bit down on it to keep from shouting. She didn't notice River get up from his desk until he was leaning over hers to pluck the phone from her ear. 

“Pay her the fucking money back or I'll be down your office in an hour with the police.” Ella stared, River listened to the response. “I don't give a shit how long it's supposed to take, it's taken long enough.” There was silence again while he waited, tapping his long fingers on her desk. She watched his hand, not daring to look up at him. “Thank you.” He handed her the phone. “Check your account,” he left the call connected while Ella opened her banking app. Her jaw dropped, confirming the payment had been received. He took the phone back again, “That's come through. See how easy it was? Don't let it happen again.” When he passed her the phone again, she flinched. “Sorry, I shouldn't have interfered.”

“It's fine. Thank you.”

“You should go and get the cash out, hang on to it.” Ella frowned. Her new cash is king world was still taking some adjustment. She'd been so used to waving a platinum credit card, her phone, her watch, at a pin machine. She was amazed at how quickly she'd become frugal. The watch and her latest model phone - traded in for a basic handset - had been sold to buy a bed.

“Yeah, you're probably right.” She sighed heavily, an odd feeling settling in her chest that she couldn't quite place. Relief. For the first time in months she felt relieved. 

 

She didn't abandon her vigilance entirely, but between telling Lamb and Cartwright - a duo she never envisaged being remotely trustworthy - the bare minimum, she relaxed enough to be able to sleep at night. She ensured that her private life remained completely private. No one but Lamb knew of her ex, and no one else other than Lamb and Cartwright knew about Clover, and she intended to keep it that way. But she found herself drawn to swapping book recommendations with Catherine, and even the constant arguments between Marcus and Shirley occasionally raised a smile. And then of course, there was Lamb. 

“Turnock’s fucking teacakes?”

“They were out of jaffa cakes.”

“And you see me eatin’ marshmallow do ya?”

“Don’t turn your nose up. What’s the suitable alternative?”

“I dunno Cole, use your brain. Knew I shouldn't have told you you had half an extra brain cell than the others.”

“Hobnobs. Shall I get you some hobnobs?”

“Fucking hobnobs,” Lamb grumbled, pouring a scotch from the fresh bottle he pulled out from the bag. “Least you got the scotch.”

“As if I'd leave you hanging there.” Ella put her hand on the box of teacakes, intent on taking them back downstairs to have one with a cup of tea.

“Leave the teacakes.” He eyed her though the bottom of the glass.

“Thought so.”

“Jaffa cakes tomorrow or you’re out of here. Got it?”

“Jaffa cakes tomorrow.” She agreed. He ripped open the box.

“Oi here y’are.” She caught the airborne red and silver wrapped teacake he threw at her and beamed.

“Cheers, Lamb.”

“Off you fuck, work to do.” Ella slipped through his office door and gave Catherine a wave on her way down the stairs. She managed to find two reasonably clean mugs and made tea, popping one on the desk next to hers and one on her own desk. Headphones on, she unwrapped the chocolate covered marshmallow and took a bite.

“Bit early isn’t it?” 

“Cartwright, there is no early when chocolate is involved.” She dragged off the headset and let it hang around her neck.

“Did you get me one?” 

“Nope.” 

“So that’s how it is?”

“I made you tea.” She popped the last bite into her mouth and nodded at his desk. Next to the mug of tea was a packet of hobnobs. He smiled, small, but a smile nonetheless.

“Thanks, Cole. Still sucking up to Lamb?”

“It’s not sucking up, he actually likes me. You’ll never know what that feels like.” She put her hand to her heart and pouted. “Sucks to be you.”

“See all you've done there is lure yourself into a false sense of security,” he opened the packet and snapped a biscuit in half, dunking it in the tea, “he doesn’t like anyone.” Catherine made her way through the maze of offices with a pile of files. 

“Morning you two. Thank you for the book, Ella, very enjoyable. These are tax returns from the early 90s relating to the Havilland job.”

“Love a dodgy tax return,” Ella gratefully received her half. “I'll bring you the next in the series if you like?”

“Lovely, I've passed the first one onto Louisa.”

“That's great, I told her she'd love it.” Ella smiled. River frowned. 

“Since when is anyone actually nice to each other around here?” He muttered holding the second half of his biscuit in the tea for a fraction too long. It broke off with a solemn plop into the liquid. “Bollocks.” Since Lamb had taken a chance, Ella thought to herself. Since she'd allowed herself to feel the tiniest modicum of joy that she'd managed to escape from hell and had survived. It was far better than the self-flagellation she'd gone for originally, there might be a mountain to climb but she had to celebrate the achievement of making it to base camp. That evening, come 5pm, there was a mass exodus from Slough House and after six shit months and one less shit, almost verging on normal month, Ella felt able to actually smile at her colleagues as they departed. She walked down the slippery stairs with River, into the evening rain. 

“See you Monday,” she said, opening her umbrella. He was looking past her at the bus stop. “Oi, dickhead, see you Monday?”

“Yeah, Monday.” His brow furrowed as he looked not quite at her, his attention still on the bus stop.

“Cartwright?”

“Do you need a lift to the school? It's pissing down.”

“No thanks, I'll live. You're going to the pub with Louisa anyway.”

“You should come next time.” He said, finally looking directly at her. 

“We'll see. I should go.” 

“Have a good one.”

“You too.” He watched her leave, walking in the opposite direction of the bus stop where the figure he'd been watching had vanished. 

Chapter 2

[moonmaiden1996]

Silent Pursuit- Chapter three

Surveillance was an art. River Cartwright had honed it to perfection under his grandfather’s sharp, unforgiving gaze. It wasn’t just about watching—it was about truly understanding the target: their rhythms, their impulses, their habits. It was knowing their thoughts before they even crossed their own minds. Timing, positioning, and flexibility were all essential in getting ahead of them without ever being seen. And yet, somehow, he’d underestimated you.

He’d treated you like an ordinary mark—someone predictable and easy to read. But you weren’t just anyone. You were perceptive, sharp, unknowingly playing the game right alongside him. River had moved too clumsily, too overtly. And, of course, you had sensed him. After all, you were you—sweet, kind, with just enough naïveté but you were also smart. You were aware, in a way that excited him and that made you perfect.

This time, there would be no mistakes. He’d planned everything meticulously. The coffee shop on the other side of town was ideal—far enough from his flat to avoid suspicion but close enough to you to seem natural. It was a place you frequented just irregularly enough that his presence wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. A quiet, artistic café where the chance encounter could happen as if by fate. You would see him, and then, you would come to him. This would be the first step in a courtship you wouldn’t even realise was happening—until it was too late.

The coffee here wasn’t to his taste—too fancy, filled with intricate designs and pointless garnishes. His grandfather would’ve mocked it called in bollocks and dumped it on the floor. But you liked it, and for River, that was enough. He could tolerate any triviality if it brought him closer to you. Today, he sat with his back to the street, staring at his reflection in the ornate mirror above the table. Normally, he would’ve preferred a seat with a view of the door and the street—all the angles covered. But that would have been too obvious. This way, you’d spot him first. You’d approach him.

The air outside was biting now, autumn settling in, and he knew you’d stop somewhere to warm up on your way home. River’s grip tightened on the cup in his hands as he brought it to his lips, his anticipation rising with every moment. And then, right on cue, your familiar figure passed by the window.

He forced himself to stay composed, to act surprised. Seeing you up close again made his pulse race, even though he’d imagined this scene countless times. You moved to the counter, and he shifted slightly in his seat, pretending to be engrossed in the book in front of him. From there, you’d see him, and—

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice hesitant. “I don’t know if you remember me from last week…”

River looked up, a casual smile playing on his lips. “Of course,” he replied smoothly, turning towards you. There was a faint awkwardness in your smile, which only thrilled him more. You were standing there, so close, but thankfully, the table between you kept him from reaching out, from letting his instincts take over.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice carefully measured—not too eager, not too indifferent—just enough to make you feel comfortable.

“I’m good,” you answered, though there was a small, distant note in your tone. After a brief pause, you added, “I’m sorry about the other night… I was being silly.”

“Don’t be,” River said, his response smooth and quick. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

He wanted to tell you that he understood your caution all too well—that it was the very reason for his obsession with you. But those thoughts remained hidden for now. You didn’t need to know just how closely he’d been watching you. Not yet.

“Anyway,” you said, your voice brightening slightly, “I wanted to thank you. Could I buy you a coffee? Or maybe some cake? You could share it with your girlfriend.”

The word hit him like a punch to the gut. Girlfriend? River’s stomach clenched, but he quickly forced a chuckle. “Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Your voice squeaked in surprise, your face flushing pink as you blurted out an apology. “I thought—I saw you with someone, Louisa, and I assumed—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” River said, his tone gentle and reassuring. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way you fumbled over your words, how your blush deepened, and he explored just how far it went down. He wanted to see you flustered more often; he wanted to be the cause of that shy, sweet reaction. “Why don’t you sit down?” he added, motioning to the empty seat across from him. “You look like you could use a break—and this book is bloody dull.”

For a split second, River saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, a brief flash of wariness. But then you smiled apologetically and slid into the seat, nodding as if to accept his offer.

As you settled into the chair, River felt a rush of quiet satisfaction. It was a small victory, but a critical one. You were letting your guard down, little by little, exactly as he had planned. Soon, you wouldn’t just see him as the man you bumped into at a café. Soon, he would be an undeniable presence in your life—constant, reliable. He would weave himself into your world, as subtle and unavoidable as your own shadow.

River leaned back slightly in his chair, making a deliberate show of relaxing. His body language was open, unthreatening, as though he had all the time in the world to listen to you, to let you settle in. He wanted to make you feel comfortable, to lull you into thinking this was just an ordinary encounter—a chance meeting with a kind stranger. Not someone who had orchestrated this, who had been waiting for you.

“Rough day?” he asked, his voice soft and conversational. He glanced at your hands resting on the table, noting the way your fingers fidgeted slightly—tiny movements that gave away your discomfort.

You gave him a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could say that… things have been weird lately. Working too hard, I guess,” you said, awkwardly scrunching up your hands.

He nodded sympathetically, as though he understood. He didn’t, not really; there was a sense of guilt for making you feel this way. He was the one you felt following you, but it was for the greater good.

“I see… hope you’re taking a break, taking some time off.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your hands stilling on the table. “That’s exactly it.”

He smiled warmly, “I guess we all need a break from it sometimes. Even just a cup of coffee can make you feel better. That’s why I like this place; I only discovered it recently. I love their foam art—it makes me smile.”

You laughed, a light, relieved sound, and River’s chest tightened. He could sense the tension starting to melt away, your guard dropping ever so slightly. He knew how to pace this, how to stretch out the conversation until you were no longer on edge. There was a pause, the kind that felt natural, and River let it stretch out, making you feel like the silence was comfortable. He didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. No, this was about patience. Building trust. Slowly drawing you into his web, one strand at a time.

“So,” he continued after a beat, his tone light, “what brings you here today? Just escaping the cold, or…?”

You shifted in your seat, your body language softening just a bit more. “Yeah, I needed a little break before heading home. It’s been one of those days.”

River leaned forward just a touch, not enough to invade your space, but enough to show he was engaged and interested. “I get that. I’ve been trying to make more time for little moments like this. Life moves so fast, you know? If you don’t slow down, it can feel like you’re just… going through the motions.”

You nodded, and River could see the flicker of recognition in your eyes. He was speaking your language now, echoing thoughts he knew you had. You would start to open up, and that’s exactly what he needed: a shared sense of understanding. He was making himself feel safe to you, relatable—someone who wasn��t a threat.

“You’re right,” you said quietly, as if thinking out loud. “It’s easy to get caught up in everything and forget to just… be.”

River’s smile deepened, his eyes soft as he studied you, as though he were seeing more than just your words. As though he were seeing you. “Exactly.”

The way he said it, like a gentle reassurance, had an effect. He saw it in the way your shoulders relaxed, in the way you tilted your head just slightly, as if you were starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, you did deserve a moment of peace—a reprieve from whatever worries you carried with you.

River kept his voice steady and smooth, designed to put you at ease, as he drained his cup. “It’s nice to run into you again,” he said, his words carefully chosen, as though this really was just a coincidence. “I wasn’t expecting it, but… sometimes things just happen for a reason, right?”

You looked at him, your expression softening. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He took that as a sign to keep going, pushing the conversation deeper but still keeping it casual and unthreatening as he shrugged on his coat. “Funny how life works like that. You cross paths with someone, and maybe you don’t think much of it at the time. But then you run into them again, and it feels… I don’t know. Meant to be, in a way.”

You smiled, but there was a small flicker of hesitation in your eyes again. River noticed it and adjusted immediately. He couldn’t afford to come on too strong.

“Of course,” he added quickly, his tone shifting back to light-hearted, “it could just be that we both happen to like this place. Either way, it’s nice.”

You laughed again, and the sound was more genuine this time. He felt the tension between you ebb further, like a knot slowly loosening. The false sense of security he was building, brick by brick. Soon, you wouldn’t question why he was here, why you felt comfortable enough to sit with him and share a conversation. Soon, you wouldn’t realise how much of your guard you had let down, how close he had managed to get. He could see it happening already. Slowly but surely, you were starting to trust him.

“I hope to see you again,” River said, smiling before turning swiftly and giving you a wave as he stepped out the door. No matter how much it pained him, he needed to be slow and cautious, he would make his move when you we open and suggestive to the idea of him. You just needed a little push to be ready.

[noforkingclue]

Kisses (James 'Spider' Webb x OC x River Cartwright)

Summary: The Park always have the best Christmas parties. Unfortunately this year, not everyone agrees

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

There was always something to say about Service Christmas parties. The job was fucking serious which meant that people always needed to unwind. As such, the parties were always fucking great. Good food, an open bar and for once, some time to really let your hair down and forget about the seriousness of the job for one night.

River was standing to the side, observing the crowd. He took a sip of his pint, savouring the taste. It was a good beer, probably for some poncy microbrewery that knew how to keep its mouth shut about who it was supplying for. He has put a lot of thought into his outfit. Smart but still with a hint of casualness about it. No tie and the top couple of buttons of his shirt were undone. After all, Becca wasn’t overly impressed by flashy displays of wealth. Yes, he was well paid but there was no need to flaunt it in people’s faces. Unlike another person he knew… He grinned to himself as he spotted a familiar glimpse of red hair and downed his pint, pushing his way through the crowd.

James was on the other side of the room to River. He sipped his whiskey and winced at the taste. He wasn’t usually a whiskey person but he wanted something that made him seem… classy. Tailored suited and handmade shoes. Even though this was a party there was no need to slob it up so his tie remained on and his shirt fully done up. After all, you never knew when you might be called back to duty. This might be a party and yes, it was slightly more relaxed, but still you needed to be on your guard. He took another sip of his whiskey and walked around the outskirts of the party, trying to find his friend. He relaxed as he saw the comforting sight of Rebecca’s red hair and made his way towards her.

Rebecca broke off from the middle of the group feeling pleasantly buzzed. She finished the rest of her drink and made her way over to the buffet table. The Service always put on a good show at these sorts of things. No expense paid after all. She got to the table and looked around for something to eat. Just then a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up at as the person said,

“Mistletoe.”

“Oh.” Rebbeca glanced up and felt her cheeks get hot, “right.”

“It is tradition after all. Do you mind…”

“Not at all. Just like you said, it’s tradition.”

Surprisingly rough hands cupped her cheeks as he leant in and pressed his lips against hers. Rebecca could faintly hear drunken whoops of joy around them.

River froze at what he saw. Of course the cunt would use mistletoe to get what he wanted. River couldn’t see the face of who Becca was kissing but he could see the familiar blonde hair to know that it was Spider. Damn cunt. Of course he’d take advantage of her like that. Not giving her any choice and playing on tradition to manipulate her into kissing him. River could feel the unfamiliar coil of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He needed some air.

James froze when he saw Rebecca under the mistletoe kissing someone else. And he knew exactly who that person was. River fucking Cartwright. Only he’d be the type of person to get someone under the mistletoe just to kiss them. Couldn’t Cartwright see that Rebecca wasn’t interested in him in that way? But oh no, Cartwright couldn’t bare not to be Rebecca’s favourite. Cartwright wasn’t even interested in Rebecca until he found out that James was. James turned on his heel and marched outside. He needed some fresh air to clear his mind.

Rebecca broke the kiss and looked up at the agent. Tall (well, everyone was tall compared to her), handsome, blonde. Fuck, was everyone agent in Service blonde? She’d seen him around and thought his name was Harry. Yes, definitely Harry. She remembered him getting some files from Molly. Harry smiled down at her.

“Happy Christmas.” he said

“Happy Christmas.” she replied

James let out a sigh of relief as he finally left the party. The cold December air was surprisingly refreshing although, being in the middle of London, it was hardly fresh.

“Satisfied?”

He looked over sharply at the familiar voice. River was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and glaring at him. James gave River a cold look and took another sip of whiskey. He made sure not to wince at the taste. He couldn’t let River see him wince at something as simple as the taste of whiskey. River pushed himself off the wall and slowly made his way towards Spider. They were the only two out there. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the open bar to want to go outside in the cold.

“It was a dirty and low move, even for you.” said River

“What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Spider, “think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, mate.”

“You and Bec- Rebecca.”

“What about us.”

“Under the mistletoe. Couldn’t even find the balls to kiss her without resorting to that.”

“What the fuck do you mean? It was you who-”

River and Spider made eye contact and came to the same conclusion. Spider groaned and ran a hand through his hair and gave River a disgusted look. River looked slightly guilty for a fraction of a second before he masked it again.

“So,” River said after a tense couple of seconds, “what are we going to do about this.”

“You mean, work together?”

Spider wrinkled his nose at the thought and River shared his sentiments. However, he was able to mask his feelings better. Spider was never going to make it as an agent if he couldn’t even do that.

“Well,” said River, “I do have one idea.”

“Only one? Slacking there Cartwright.”

“Fuck off.”

*

Rebecca grimaced when she saw the email in the New Year when she came back from leave. She looked over at Molly as she wheeled past her.

“Since when did mistletoe become banned?” She asked

“Apparently people complained to HR,” said Molly as she handed Rebbeca some files, “now back to work.”

As Rebecca turned back to her work Molly watched her intently.

“And seeing you certainly enjoyed yourself under it, I can only wonder who would do that.” Molly said under her breath

[oneiric-thoughts]

String Theory | Series

Opus 1

River Cartwright is dispatched on a fool’s errand—minding violin virtuoso Eliza Zhou, guest of the royal family, during her week-long stint in London. The task is mind-numbingly, humiliatingly simple: smile, nod, and avoid a diplomatic catastrophe.

A joke of an assignment without a hint of a real threat, the very picture of what Slough House was made for.

But Eliza’s relentless kindness cuts through River’s defenses before he even realises it, morphing dangerously close into feelings he’s meant to keep buried if he ever wants to claw his way back to the Parks’ good graces. Fraternising with a principal—getting involved—is the express route to the end of his career.

Besides, a week isn’t nearly enough time to fall in love with someone.

Surely.

I'm a sucker for grumpy x sunshine and bodyguard tropes—although River isn't exactly a grump, he's definitely somewhat a cynic, and my OC Eliza Zhou here navigates life with a nearly inhuman optimism to cover her own severe impostor syndrome and perpetual anxiety.

I'm also a huge fan of classical music, so you'll find rambles and discussions about that in here (via Eliza, haha) :)

There's a drought of River fics—so this is mostly self indulgant—but I hope everyone can enjoy Eliza & River's dynamics as much as I love crafting them. Stay tuned for chapter one!

🎶

DISCLAIMER

I do not own any of the Slow Horses characters or original stories, only the plot and original characters of this fic.

[amoromniaodium]

Chapter 1: Unexpected Games

River Cartwright x Irina Agapov

There have always been whispers about what her father and grandfather did for the country—living as infiltrators, getting close to individuals, and ultimately betraying them by relaying sensitive information. They created a persona that didn’t truly exist. Many believe that when you enter the world of espionage, you lose a part of yourself that you can never recover. Like members of a cult, they mold you to fit the role, even if it doesn’t suit you. And we Russians have mastered that process.

They say spies must appear as ordinary as possible. They should be able to sit on a bench next to you, and you’d never remember they were there. The brilliance of espionage lies in its simplicity: if people know who you are, you’ve failed. That’s why the true legends—the myths—are only uncovered years later, and even then, no one fully knows what they had to do to survive, especially in places like Berlin.

The fall of the Berlin Wall led to an unprecedented level of poverty, so severe that many doubted survival was even possible. But those conditions were perfect for spies to thrive and do their best work.

As Jackson Lamb knew, the best time to kill a legend from the other side is when they least expect it. That’s why, on a cold November night, he killed Agapov in the most unremarkable way—lying in his own bed, betrayed by his wife, with his little girl asleep just a room away. Agapov never saw it coming, a good death for a spy of his caliber, the kind many only dream of.

What Jackson didn’t anticipate was what awaited him when the job was done. As he prepared to leave, he was met by the darkest shade of green—watching him from the doorway. It was Agapov’s daughter, a beautiful child, no surprise given her mother’s looks. But it was the understanding in her eyes, something far too intelligent for a three-year-old, that startled him—a look she’d inherited from her deceased father.

She spoke, her voice slightly slurred, probably from a missing tooth: “Почему вы были в комнате моего отца? Мой отец не любит, когда его тревожат во время сна, только я могу это делать.” (Why were you in my father’s room? He doesn’t like to be disturbed while sleeping. Only I’m allowed to do that.)

Jackson wasn’t sure how to respond. He simply told her that her father wasn’t sleeping, and that they were discussing an important task. He took her small hand, led her to the kitchen, and sat her down. He warmed some milk on the stove, then sat beside her as they drank together. It was a rare peaceful moment, one of the few he had left in his life.

Lamb didn’t know then that years later, a similar scene would unfold in his own kitchen, with the grown version of this little girl and the grandson of the old bastard. After the milk was finished, Jackson carried her back to bed. At the same moment, her mother returned home and understood that it was done. Jackson left that night, wondering if any of it was truly worth it. But he had one more task to complete before he could leave for good.

However, that wasn’t the last time Jackson was in that house. For the next couple of years Lamb would visit them for information. However, after her father’s death, little Irina never let him touch her again, always suspicious, already too clever for her age. They sat together, read books together—he never commented when the book he was reading found its way into her hands, though she couldn’t yet understand the words. He also never said anything about her spying on his and her mother’s conversations, or about the little notebook she kept, filled with notes about him.

It was a simple exchange: her mother fed him the information he needed to shut down the remaining Russians for good. Before he left them for the last time, he took her little notebook.

A few years later, Irina ended up in England, where she was mocked for her accent, bullied for her appearance, and even worse, hated for her intelligence. It was no surprise that by 16, she fled to America, where she learned a new kind of self-defense—one that will lead her into become one of the most feared assassins.

——-

Jackson Lamb has let himself go, not because he ever cared about what people thought of him, but because it makes things easier. People see his disgusting, smelly appearance and either avoid him or, even better, underestimate him. It gives him the freedom to do whatever the hell he wants without anyone paying too much attention. His team of Slow Horses might beg him for a shower, or at the very least, to hang one of those air-freshener trees around his neck permanently—but nothing ever comes of it. Lamb does things on his own terms.

All of this is to say that nothing really shocked him. Plenty of things annoyed him—see every single person who works for him—but true shock was rare. The closest he came was dealing with River Cartwright and his stupidity, but even that never moved him enough to show it. That was until he dragged himself up the stairs, nearly giving himself a heart attack, only to walk into his office and see a stunning brown-haired woman sitting on his desk, dressed in clothes that probably cost as much as the building they are standing in.

“What do you think you are, the fucking villain in a James Bond movie? Please, don’t embarrass yourself like this.”

——

1 week ago

She knew from the moment she arrived in London that she was going to hate it. The city was rainy, grey, and full of people who seemed to loathe both themselves and everyone around them—that’s what London does best. She also knew that, officially, she was no longer Russian or American, but British. The only thing that made being in London remotely tolerable was her demand to be included as a consultant for MI5. That, and the pleasure of annoying Diana—her second-favorite pastime.

Irina quickly realized just how incompetent and dull the so-called “dogs” of MI5 were, especially that ferret-like one who seemed to have developed an unhealthy obsession with her. It didn’t surprise her much—obsessive men and women had always followed her. Her mother had warned her when she was young: beauty and brains don’t attract normal people. And she wasn’t wrong. But Irina’s real reason for being here was Jackson Lamb. If she wanted to truly shock him, she needed to dig deep into that group of failed spies who worked under him.

She dreaded finding out just how bad they really were, especially after seeing the “dogs.” Two still scurried under Diana’s stilettos; there was a nerdy pervert who knew everything about computers, someone she could easily manipulate with her looks (low self-esteem, big ego, and a weakness for pretty girls). Then there was an incompetent fool, and finally, Luisa—the only one remotely capable. Luisa wasn’t exceptional, but she was competent enough to have simply ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But what really enraged Irina was River Cartwright. The name “Cartwright” sparked a particular hatred in her, one that started with her father’s death and that old bastard’s involvement in incidents that never should have happened. Discovering that Cartwright’s grandson had failed so spectacularly brought her a twisted sense of joy, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since the first time she plunged two knives into her enemies in perfect synchronization.

She followed River and came to a simple conclusion: he was lonely, deeply insecure, constantly overcompensating for what he wasn’t. He would have been an excellent agent—if they were living in a TV show. Cartwright had remarkable analytic skills, could handle himself physically, and could gather the information he needed. But he lacked common sense, and most importantly, the ability to think before he acted. His grandfather’s towering legacy overshadowed his own potential. If he could ever stop and think before rushing in, he might become the agent he believed himself to be. But that would either never happen or take far too long.

Such raw talent, wasted on such a flawed mindset. If Irina had gotten her hands on him, she could have molded him into the perfect spy. But her hatred for his grandfather ensured that she could never bring herself to like him, no matter how tragically beautiful his failures were.

She also knew many secrets about the elder Cartwright—secrets that could get her killed, especially concerning River’s mother and father. But that would come in time.

Her target was Jackson Lamb, and after quickly figuring out that his only real weakness—if you could even call it that—was Standish, the terribly sweet woman who could make a damn good cup of tea, Irina knew the best way to get under his skin was to attack what he valued most: his filthy, disheveled existence.

First, she had his office and the entire building thoroughly cleaned. She tossed out all his cigarettes and bottles of Scotch. All his paperwork was completed and sent off to inventory. His favorite Chinese restaurant was mysteriously closed for the next three weeks due to “health concerns.” Even his little yellow car had been cleaned and checked, with two small trackers discreetly placed alongside one Roddy already had on him. Every small detail was handled in a way that would set off alarms in Lamb’s head, sending him into a paranoid scramble to assess potential threats.

But the most crucial part was meeting Standish. After a lovely conversation, Irina realized Standish was unaware of what Lamb had done to her beloved boss—another death, another secret, and now another potential blackmail. Yet her true focus remained on River Cartwright. She needed to cross paths with him before fully setting her revenge plan into motion.

A disguise was necessary—blonde curls, casual clothes typical of a woman in her twenties. The setup was simple: a slight bump into River as he was going in for coffee, just as she was coming out. Irina had already seen him slip his keys into his jacket’s left pocket, so her timing was perfect. She “accidentally” collided with him at the doorway and played the part flawlessly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Please, you go first,” she said, taking a step back with her hand on the door to let him pass. River was immediately thrown off by how stunning she was, his mind short-circuiting at her voice and smile. He stood there, frozen for almost a minute, unsure of how to respond.

When he finally realized she was waiting for him, he awkwardly stepped forward, only to back into the door, causing her to twist into his chest. Their near-miss had her lips brushing his cheek and her hands landing on his chest to steady herself. River, for what felt like the thousandth time that day, felt like a complete fool, and it wasn’t until later that he realized his keys were gone, taken by that same graceful hand.

He stammered, “I’m terribly sorry! I could buy you a coffee or something…”

Irina found it amusing—how could this man be related to the old Cartwright she despised? “It’s okay, really,” she replied with a warm smile, squeezing his arm. “I have to meet an old friend.” She left, knowing River would be staring after her until she disappeared.

With that, one more “horse” was down. Now, only one remained.

—-

She arrived at the office before anyone else, had the place scrubbed from top to bottom, and then settled herself into the now pristine chair in Jackson Lamb’s office. The door was shut, the lights were off, and she waited. She knew that the moment Lamb woke up this morning, he’d sense something was off. What she also knew was that he’d never expect it to be her.

River when he talked to Irina