Chapter Text
“Hey,” Shirley greeted Louisa’s back as she entered the kitchen Monday morning.
Louisa moved slowly as she fixed her tea, as if underwater. Her only response to Shirley was a grunt.
Shirley chose to let that slide, even though it was pretty fucking rude. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, she began rinsing it in the sink. “Any news on River?”
Louisa sighed. “Nothing good.”
Shirley glanced at the other woman's profile. She looked exhausted.
Probably not sleeping much, Shirley thought to herself. In the days after Marcus’s death, Shirley had barely slept. Hadn’t wanted to. Sleeping meant nightmares. It meant waking up feeling okay for a splitsecond the morning after, then having to face the pain all over again. Best to avoid sleeping, remain right here in the real-life nightmare, instead of finding yourself unwillingly forced back to it.
Shirley had done a lot of coke and adderall for the first week after Marcus had died. At one point, she’d been half-sure she was ODing, the way her heart was pounding, the way she couldn't get hold of her racing thoughts, the way she couldn’t breathe. She’d curled up on her bedroom floor and whimpered until she came down.
Then she’d finally slept. Turned out sleep was important. Louisa should try getting some sleep, she thought sagely.
The other woman paused mid-pour and, turning the carton of milk right-side-up, shook it. She turned to Shirley with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, looks like we’re out of milk.”
Shirley shrugged. Par for the course round this place. She leaned her head past Louisa's shoulder to peer at the kettle behind. “Still any hot water in there?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Louisa lifted the kettle and handed it to Shirley.
“So, River?” she prompted again as she drowned her teabag.
“Right.” Louisa’s voice was weirdly monotone. “He’s, um, he’s got pneumonia now, on top of all the rest. So…” She blew air out of her lips and shook her head. “He’s just really sick,” she finished, and Shirley could hear the lump in her throat.
Shirley swirled sugar into her tea. “Sorry,” was all she could think to say.
Louisa managed a watery smile before retreating to her office.
Catherine set Lamb’s tea down on his desk and placed the card neatly next to it.
Lamb paused, eyeing both it and Catherine with suspicion. “The fuck is this?”
She smoothed her skirt. “Tea.”
Lamb fixed her with a flat stare. He picked a corner of the card up between his thumb and forefinger and held it away from him as if it were soaked in unknown bodily fluids. “And this weird-looking crumpet?”
“That’s River’s get well card,” she told him.
“Oh, a get well card?”
Catherine nodded.
“Were they all out of ‘sorry you’re a fucking vegetable now’ cards?”
She pursed her lips. “Jackson,” she scolded. “River is not a vegetable.”
“Hasn’t woken up yet, has he?” Lamb countered.
Catherine's patience was, as always, exemplary. “It is a medically-induced coma. They haven’t tried to wake him yet. They are keeping him sedated to give him a chance to heal. But they said, in a few days, as long as his lungs are looking better—“
Lamb waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don’t need a play by play. Go on, then. Off you fuck.”
She paused. “Are you going to sign the card or not?”
Not even the Romans, hearing that Jesus had escaped his grave, could have managed an expression as incredulous as the one Lamb wore in that instant.
“Not,” he snapped.
Catherine rolled her eyes and reached for the card.
Smirking, Lamb dropped it just as she was about to pluck it from his fingers.
“Cute,” she said dryly, lifting it off his desk.
As she took a step to leave, she hesitated.
“What?” Lamb barked.
She turned back to him. “It’s fine if you don’t want to sign the card, I didn’t expect that you would, but Jackson…” She bit her lip. “River hasn't got anyone else. We need to support him.”
Lamb threw his arms up, aghast. “Standish! Support? He’s got loads of support. A whole room full of machines going beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. What more can you expect me to do for him?”
Catherine shook her head and grabbed yesterday’s half-empty teacup before exiting the room. Sometimes Most of the time, she wasn't sure why she even bothered.