Chapter Text
Everywhere in this town people have been staring at him. The cab driver had been talking about there not being a tendency for tourists in Lavande but this was more hostile than a quiet local village should be. You would think tourist in a town like this would be a source of income to be welcomed not hidden from. River felt like he had walked unwittingly into one of those cult horror films and people were going to start jumping out with a crown of thorns ready for a murder parade. Le Blanc Russe was a small café, the sort of place that locals folk to for cheap familiarity and everyone else turns their nose up at. There were a couple of older men sat reading papers who looked at him over the top of the crumbled sheets with vague distain. Just past the counter in the corner there was a young lad on his phone with a coffee, steaming, in front of him. He had a Chelsea cap pulled down over his face, and was transfixed by whatever was on his phone.
“Salut?” the man behind the counter frowned.
“Bonjour,” River managed to pull his glance away from the teenager and dropped down the step to the counter proper. “Uh. Café au lait s'il vous plait.” His A Level French was making do but he really hoped he didn’t have to have any conversations any more complicated than this with anyone who didn’t know English. The waiter stared at him before turning back to the coffee machine. “Do you speak English?” he asked.
The pause and blink told River the answer before he received it, “non.”
Fuck. This was going to be more difficult. “Um, an homme, qui resemble moi,” River paused, gesturing to his face. “Il était ici il y a quelques jours?”
“Oui, je le connais.”
River’s attention was locked in. He knows the guy. This might be easier than he thought it was going to be; he would have leads. River just needed to know where to go next. “Il a une maison ici?”
“Non, non,” the man was looking at the door nervously, and then to the teen in the corner and then back to River. “Pas à Lavande, il est de Les Arbres.”
The trees? Ok that was still a lead. River saw the teen tense at the mention of Les Arbres. His head lifted away from his phone to take a sip of the coffee. The advantage of that was that he could see River, and stare through his soul. Somehow it felt like this kid knew who he was. Before River could say anything or even try and move in the kid’s direction. He was on his feet, coat pulled tighter around him and pushing through towards the door. It was just odd, a strange not interaction in a strange town. But River wasn’t here to investigate odd football supporting children. He was here to find out about the wannabe assassin. “Les Arbres? Où est-ce?”
“Continuez tout droit, trois kilomètres plus bas, dans les bois,” the man gestured down the road. River had a lead, he knew where he needed to go. He couldn’t stop thinking about that kid though.
“Merci,” River nodded, placing the cash down on the counter and taking his coffee. “Um, ce garçon?” River asked, gesturing to where the cup of coffee was still giving off little whisps of steam.
“Oui?” he frowned.
River took a sip of the scalding coffee and pursed his brow. “Il est familier, il habite ici?” River asked.
“Non, anglais, touriste ici avec son père,” the surprisingly helpful barista shrugged. He didn’t act like a teenage tourist just here with his father. His expression had shifted when he heard River asking about Les Arbres. This child was linked to Les Arbres, Adam Lockhead, all of this. River just didn’t know how.
“Merci,” River took another sip of his coffee. It was good coffee.
As River stepped out of Le Blanc Russe, he was sure he was being watched. Yes there were some of the townsfolk blatantly staring at him as he blinked in the sunlight, but that wasn’t it. He could usually shrug off eyes like that wouldn’t thinking about it but every time he moved he could feel phantom eyes all over him. Whoever this was, they were good. River glanced in every shop window and paused, moving erratically, in the hope of catching a glimpse. He was a hostile agent in this town and he was hoping for a little longer before someone of consequence realised he was here. He hadn’t even managed ten minutes. Whoever his doppelganger really was, he was hated unilaterally and it didn’t benefit River to take his time here. The longer he spent in the town the more at risk he was. Flagging down a cab was harder than expected, and the reluctance to go to Les Arbres made a not insignificant dent into his funds. It was only when the taxi pulled away, River felt some of the weight lift. River didn’t like not knowing. He had so many questions and he was going to get answers whatever it took. Nothing in his life could ever be easy could it?
The house was creepy. From the moment River climbed over the wall into the overgrown woods it felt like the place itself was watching him. It didn’t paint a happy picture with the assault course and firing range and campsite in the front garden and it looked like it hadn’t been properly cleaned in years. What it didn’t feel like, was abandoned. Every time he rounded a corner it felt like someone had just been in that room. Every mirror he passed, there was movement. The warm pot left on the stove and milk on the counter painted a twisted scene of domesticity amongst the ruin. The house creaked and groaned like it was breathing. He didn’t want to linger in the children’s bedrooms left to ruin; despite that the mural twitched something in his brain. It was so familiar in a way that he knew that he knew it but his brain didn’t want him to. There had been children here. River’s mind flitted back to the teen in the café. The waiter had been adamant that the lad wasn’t anything to do with Les Arbres but being trained, no raised, in a place like this would fuck anyone up. It would explain why River was so on edge around him. There was something off about that kid and being raised in what seemed to be a French child assassin cult would certainly do it. River twitched again, hearing floorboards creak as he tucked the photo into his jacket.
Then he started to smell smoke.
River sprinted out onto the landing with a stolen knife in hand. Leaning over the banister, all he could see was a deep orange cloud where he had entered the house. River didn’t believe in coincidences and this certainly didn’t dissuade him from that belief. Someone was trying to burn this house down with him inside. And they were doing a good job of it; River wheezed through the coarse fabric of his coat and coughed as he descended down into the smoke. Everything was alight with orange flames lapping at the wood wherever he looked. He needed away from the flames. River stumbled through a door way into one of the other rooms that hadn’t been fully consumed by the rolling waves of fire. Falling through the doorway, River wasn’t given a moment to orient himself before a sharp, winding pain to the back of his head send him scrambling to the floor. His instincts were right. River was not alone in this house. Rolling onto his back and levering himself slowly to his feet, River looked up and was pleasantly surprised to not see the face of the kid from before staring back at him. It was the guy from the photo, with the Westacres bomber. River swung, the blunt kitchen knife not even getting close to his attacker before River stumbled forward, his wrist in the grip of the arsonist. River scrambled, scratching and pushing and fighting with everything he had.
Then a gunshot.
River flinched, his ears ringing as the pressure of the knife on his throat disappeared. He wheezed in a lungful of smoke and rolled, trying desperately to get his body under control before the fight resumed again. But it never did. River was able to stumble to his feet with the help of this other new man he had never met before. This whole trip felt like River was a step out of sync; it was like everyone else had some key bit of information that he was missing and were acting like he should know it. His head swum, nausea bubbling in his chest as his head throbbed. The world spun as they ran outside, only stopping when he was pushed into the car. River looked up, to see a window smash. It could just be the glass heating up and fracturing. Apart from the fact that as he continued to stare at it, a small lythe childlike figure rolled out of the broken pane.
Then the gun met the side of his head and River saw nothing else.
The bed frame creaks as River wearly blinks his eyes open. The ceiling is drab and paint peeling away. This wasn’t Les Arbres. It wasn’t any place that he recognised. The bed creaked again and that paired with the movement as he tried to sit up, caused River’s vision to flicker and the decently sized bump on his head to throb. Coughs shook his whole frame as he inched to vertical and checked for any further bleeding. Twice in about five minutes, he’s surprised he wasn’t more concussed. Looking around the room, this wasn’t a prison cell. It just looked like an attic. River groaned and rubbed at his eyes as the window rattled, increasing with intensity with each moment.
“Fuck,” River cursed, falling backwards onto the bed again as he looked to the offending window. The kid. The kid from before was staring at him, wide eyed, as he hung from the wooden bar that framed the bottom half of the window. He continued to tap on the window expectantly as River stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open and still not completely sure this wasn’t a concussion hallucination.
Curiosity wins out over reason. Why was he been stalked by a blonde teenager, and how did the kid get up to the second story window anyway? River could deal with the consequences, but he had come here for answers not to find more questions. This kid was a mystery. The window was painted shut, and the rails were rusted. He could just break the glass but that would be loud and painful for the lad in the way. The kid rapped on the window again and with his free hand made with looked like a shovelling motion. River tilted his head, brow furrowing with confusion. How was digging going to help, he was on the second floor? The kid rolled his eyes, huffed a frustrated exhale before readjusting his grip closer to the base of the window. Again he tapped on the window frame; this time he mimed lifting up the window and then the shovelling motion again.
“Oh,” River hissed, eyes widening as he worked it out. The room he was being kept in was full of detritus; he needed anything that could chip away the paint and be used as a lever. It was clear that the guy who had kidnapped him was not a seasoned kidnapper and this was not planned. You don’t leave someone, definitely not an enemy operative, in a room with so many potential weapons. River made a triumphant grunt as he pulled out the mental poles from a broken table lamp. Slowly and quietly he chipped around the paint holding the window closed. The kid was looking bored; his arms weren’t even twitching from holding up most of his bodyweight as he waited. It was unnerving as River worked. Eventually the window creaked and with the pole, River was able to lever the window open enough for a thin teenager to wiggle his way through.
“Who the fuck are you?” River hissed. He stumbled backwards as the kid thumped onto the floor. He didn’t stay down for long and sprung upwards, dusting himself off.
“Really?” the kid groaned, looking at the raised metal pole outstretched in River’s fist like a sword. He tutted, disappointment in his tone before whacking at the pole with his forearm. In a flash, before River could react there was a stabbing pain in his wrist and the pole went flying.
“What the fuck?” River cursed, looking up and finding a taser pointed at his centre mass. Now he could see him properly the kid looked even younger than he expected. His eyes were deep and blue and piercing in their emotionless stare as River slowly raised his hands. There were still lingering patches of baby fat in his face despite the lean musculature of everywhere else. The unnerving thing, a day after seeing a distorted version of his face laying dead in a bathtub, was how they did look alike. It wasn’t a mirror but if he thought back to old school photos when he was held upright but the starch in his shirts and the tie constricting his throat, there was a very similar look to his face and clench of his jaw. What the fuck was wrong with this place? Were they breeding knock off Cartwright clones or something? This was insane.
“Who are you?” the kid asked, taser still firm and unwavering in his hand.
“Who are you?” River parroted back. His voice squeaked at the absurdity of it all.
“I’m asking the questions here. Sit down or I will make you,” he hissed.
“You’ll make me?” River laughed. “You’re like twelve?”
“I’m sixteen and I’m trained in using this,” he gestured the taser, “you ever been knocked down with one of these.”
River’s body twitched in memory of the crackle of electricity through his muscles, the force his twitching form hit the floor in Upshott.
The kid smirked, “you have?” He gestured with the taser again and River sat down on an old discarded dining room chair, crossing his arms petulantly. Who was this kid that he dared? “Now tell me who you are?” the kid lowered the taser but his finger remained firmly on the trigger. He wisely wasn’t taking any chances with River’s compliance. “A Brit coming in and asking questions about Les Arbres.”
“Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours,” River countered.
“No,” the kid chuckled. “I’ve got the advantage here. You’ll tell me what I want to know and I’ll help you get out of here.”
“I do not need a kid’s help to escape this random French house,” River scoffed.
“Oh and you are doing a really great job so far aren’t you,” the kid rolled his eyes.
River glared. “At least give me a name so I can stop calling you idiot kid in my head. I’m River.”
The kid paused, running his tongue over his teeth as he took in River in his entirety. Without the taser, River would have the kid in a moment and would have been able to break him like a twig. With the taser the kid knew he had the advantage. “Alex.”
“Ok then Alex. What’s your plan here?” River sighed. River had never been trained in either hostage negotiations or dealing with vulnerable witnesses. However despite being a kid, River could tell that Alex wasn’t either of those two things. He was something different that filled River with an ominous dread.
“It doesn’t matter what my plan is. What is yours?” Alex asked, leaning against the window frame.
“I’m MI5, I’m here on a case,” River lied, well it wasn’t really a lie. Those two sentences separately were both truths. He didn’t say it was a MI5 case.
“MI5?” Alex parroted.
“Yeah. I’m secret service so you can trust me kid,” River forced an awkward smile to his face. The kid’s posture didn’t change. “Why are you here?”
“Classified,” Alex replied.
“What?”
“Classified, it means that I can’t tell you,” Alex shrugged.
“I know what classified means,” River snapped. “I’m MI5.”
“Good for you,” Alex smirked, “it’s still classified. Why are you here?”
“Les Arbres. I’m here to scout out and see what’s going on there. So if you could just put the taser down and I’ll be going back to see what happened,” River patted his thighs and moved to get up, until the taser was levelled back at his chest.
“What so you can just run and leave me here?”
“Yeah, sounds good to me,” River kicked his feet out and crossed his ankles.
“Fuck that, plus your doppelganger seems to have a bit of a fan club. They’re looming ominously over the road,” Alex tilted his head towards the window.
“Fucking hell,” River groaned.
“What was your plan about that anyway?” Alex asked. “Coming to a town where your face makes you persona non grata? If I even believe you.”
“I didn’t know that,” River confessed.
“And so you just …”
Alex doesn’t get to finish his sentence as the final words are lost in the thud of the man with the shotgun slamming the door open. Both Alex and River flinch backwards and hands are automatically thrown up in surrender at the firearm waved in their faces.
“Ok, ok, it’s fine,” River yelled, slowly getting to his feet. Alex dropped the taser next to him on the bed when the gun was waved threateningly in his direction. “Who are you? What’s going on?” River rambled, trying to step forwards only to be forced backwards by the barrel of the gun. “Why did you hit me? Did we really need that?” he huffed when the first two questions got no response.
“Qui es-tu?” River tried, hoping the French might get him something more than a confused stare.
“Qui est-il?” the man countered, waving the gun in Alex’s direction. River didn’t know why he did it. It was a reflex. But as soon as the gun was pointed in the direction of the weird kid, River moved ever so slightly to but the majority of Alex’s body behind him.
“Vous n'êtes pas en danger. Nous avons des questions,” River tried to placate him but the finger was still itching over the trigger. He truly didn’t want to hurt anyone.
“C'était seulement censé être toi,” the man groaned, resuming to point the gun at River. “Elle vient te parler, pas à ton … fils non plus.”
“He is not my son,” River growled. That was ridiculous, River didn’t look that old did he? “Qui vient?” River tried again but no response. Alex stepped forward, ignoring and unappreciative of River’s efforts to keep him away from the gun. He brushed aside River’s arm and set off in rapid fire perfectly accented French which made River’s crude attempts soon like he was speaking a completely different language. And the worst part, it was working. The gun was slowly being lowered and the tension loosening in their captor’s shoulders. Then he nodded and gestured for River and Alex to head down the stairs.
“What did you say to him?” River hissed as they walked.
“Doesn’t matter, worked didn’t it,” Alex rolled his eyes, leading the way down the steps. River sighed. Fucking teenagers.
River and Alex both trudged down the stairs and were guided into the kitchen with by the shotgun wielding lunatic. Stood near the window was a woman. She was slight and her face was twisted into a nervous frown as her arms crossed over her chest. She looked like if she tried to move then all the tension she was holding in would snap. She looked up at the two of them but her frown only deepened as she looked into River’s eyes.
“Sit down,” she ordered, tone curt and tense. Alex and River both sat down, not looking away from the gun and the ropes on the table.
“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not the man from Les Arbres,” River snarled, not daring to struggle as the shotgun was shoved into his gut by their captor.
“I know that,” the woman hissed back with just as much vitrol as River.
“Then are the gun and ropes really necessary?” River quipped, earning an eye roll from his teenage compatriot as his arms were wrenched behind him and tied to the back of the chair.
“We do not know who you are, and you tried to escape with your partner,” she frowned, nodding her head to Alex.
“We are not partners.”
“I ain’t his partner.”
At least partner was an improvement on son.
She frowned, looking between the two of them a couple of times. Both Alex and River just stared back until the man came back around the front, happy with the quality of his knots. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m MI5, the man from Les Arbres. The one that looks like me. I’m just here to find out what he was doing,” River explains, quietly and calmly.
“Bertrand. He’s called Bertrand.”
“Well I’m getting the impression that he’s not that well liked here. It might help to know that he’s dead so you can put the gun down,” River continued.
“He’s not putting the gun down,” Alex mock whispered as the man kept the gun levelled at them.
“Natasha,” the man sighed.
“He was hated here. You should be happy he’s dead,” River frowned.
“He was my son,” Natasha whispered.
“Oh,” River’s eyes widened. His first thought was that Natasha must be a good source of information if one of the Les Arbres men was her son; then that felt cruel, he had just told her that her son was dead. He shouldn’t be wanting to capitalise on that.
“How did he die?” Natasha asked.
“He pretended to be me to try and kill my grandad, drug and drown him. He fucked up and my grandad shot him,” River explained. Alex’s eyes widened as he looked over to River but River only had eyes for the shotgun that was far too close to him.
“Victor,” Natasha sighed, placing her hand on the barrel and pushing it gently towards the floor. Victor looked at her in confusion but at her nod he backed away. The gun was still in his hands but looser and River could start to breathe again.
“I’m only here to find out why and make sure that there’s nothing else coming to hurt my family.”
Natasha tells them the story of Les Arbres. The story of Frank Harkness and the woman he kept around until they gave him a child then they were shunned. The story of him using Les Arbres as a base of operations for his illegal and heinous activities. The story of three boys who became so twisted and corrupted that she wasn’t surprised that one of them, Yves, blew up a shopping centre. River had no clue what he had stumbled into. But what he did know was that even though Natasha told him everything she knew, he didn’t have all the pieces. And what was the link to David Cartwright. Things were starting to slot into place; but he needed to go home and find the two last members of Les Arbres to get all the answers and eliminate the threat.
“I’m here investigating the group at Les Arbres,” Alex confesses to the shock of all three of the adults around the table. “That’s why I grabbed you. You rocking up here a couple of days after Bertrand left, looking like him and asking about him peaked my interest. My job was just to observe.” That was the greatest bout of candor that Alex had displayed since they met.
“Who do you work for?” Natasha asked.
“Classified,” Alex smiled softly as River mouthed it along with him and rolled his eyes. That line was getting really tiring, really quickly. “The other younger one,” Alex continued, pointing at the last unidentified figure on the picture.
“Patrice,” Natasha offered.
“Patrice…” Alex nodded, “left yesterday in a bit of a hurry. Frank was the last one at the house and was the one who set it on fire.”
“He’s trying to minimise loose ends,” River sighed and Alex nodded. “Whatever the plan was Yves and Betrand both fucked up and so he’s making sure there’s nothing that links it back to him.”
“He worked with others but the core group was just,” Natasha explained and tapped on the photo.
“We haven’t seen the others in a long time,” Victor added.
“Do you recognise the name SCORPIA?” Alex asked. And there it was again, that name that Alex seemed to be obsessed with that no one else knew anything about. River had been proper MI5 at some point and SCORPIA had never been passed over his desk.
“No, should I?” Natasha frowned.
Alex’s face fell. “No, no it’s fine,” he sighed, sounding not fine.
“We need to …”
The door shook with the force of the banging. “They really don’t like Bertrand do they,” Alex commented.
“That’s not good,” River mutters as the thumping on the door gets louder.
“I’ll go calm them down. When they know that you are not Bertrand they should leave,” Natasha nods, pulling Victor with her and leaving Alex and River sat together in the small kitchen.
“I wouldn’t bank on it,” Alex sighs. River can see him doing the same thing as River is trying to do. The knots were good despite the unprepared nature of their kidnappers and River’s fingers were slipping and sliding on the fraying strands. He risked another glance to the side and Alex was slid right down in his chair, and rubbing the side of a bracelet on the ropes.
“Is that a blade in your wristband?” River muttered, his own efforts to get free stalling in his surprise. Alex looked up, locking eyes with River before his lips twitched into a smirk. His floppy blonde hair was falling forward over his eyes as he writhed and he puffed out an exhale to try and get it out of the way.
“They don’t let me have a gun,” Alex commented and returned to his efforts.
“That isn’t an answer, and you are sixteen no one should be giving you a gun,” River hissed. The door slammed open, and the voices of the angry mob outside got louder. The rapid fire French lost River very quickly but based on the nervous looks Alex was casting towards the corridor, it was not going well for Natasha and Victor. River knew his doppelganger was not a good person based on the fact they met when he was dead in a bathtub after trying to kill River’s grandad, but this only solidified it that he would not be going anywhere else his evil twin had been causing chaos ever again. Alex’s hands flew free and he sprung to his feet. The blade was tucked back into the leather of the band and that was a definite health and safety risk; but River should not be critiquing the spy tools that were going to keep him alive because that was a tool from a spy novel not real life. Who was this kid? He paused, looking between the doorway and River and then the kitchen window.
“Alex,” River groaned warily, his eyes widening as he saw the indecision on the kid’s face. He bit his bottom lip, staring at the slightly open window. “I can help you. I know people and whatever your mission is,” River hoped the air quotes around mission were audible as he couldn’t give a visual aid for his displeasure, “I can help you solve it. That’s why you came to find me right?”
Alex looked away from the window and back towards River. “You are more competent than my handler. You in for the long haul taking down Harkness?” Alex asked.
River nodded, “whatever he has planned. We need to stop it. I would rather be on your side than against you.” River would rather the teenager was nowhere near this but if he wanted out of here and his grandad safe then using what the kid knew was his best bet.
“Partners then,” Alex smiled.
River sighed, loudly through his nose before looking up at the kid’s puppy dog eyes. He could see why this kid was effective, it was very hard to say no to that face especially knowing the shit that he had been through in his far too few years. “Fine.”
Alex nodded, dropping down and cutting through the restraints on River’s wrists.
As soon as the rope hit the floor, two things happened. River sprung to his feet with slightly less mobility than the kid, and Natasha’s cry told them that the mob was inside. “We need to go,” Alex hissed, diving for the open window. “Bertrand!” River’s head snapped round at the shout giving him just enough time to duck. The spatter tore through the cupboards sending shards of wood flying everywhere.
“Come on!” Alex yelled from the other side of the window. The shout kick started River back into action and he rolled through the window, letting out a winded oomph when his back hit the floor. Alex yanked him back onto his feet and they set off running just in time for a large dog to thunder towards the open window. River had never thought that he would reach the point in his life where he was being chased through the streets by an angry mob. All they were missing were torches and pitchforks as he trailed behind Alex sprinting through the streets. The lad had been in Lavande a lot longer than River had and so River had to put his trust that the teen wasn’t going to run him into a trap.
“Really,” River groaned. Alex pulled himself up on the drain and swung his knee up onto the slate roof.
“You’re a spy right,” Alex looked down over the edge of the roof with a shit eating grin. “You should be able to climb a building,” he tutted and then disappeared over the crest.
“Oh fuck off,” River grumbled even though the kid wouldn’t be able to hear him. The barks and shouts were growing louder and louder by the second. River pushed himself up using the windowsill as his step before swinging himself up to hang on the drainpipe. River had never really been in the field like this before. His only official solo mission had been Upshott and that hadn’t involved scaling buildings or ruining from dogs. But he did like to climb and run, he was good at it. And River was never going to let this twerp show him up. The pipe creaked ominously as River shuffled himself up it. Another window allowed him to shuffle onto more solid ground and swing himself up in a much less composed manner than Alex had.
“Took your time,” Alex called out from the next roof over.
“I didn’t have time to warm up,” River cut back, leaping over and rolling before springing to his feet.
They started to run again. Until the sounds of the crowd because more distant.
“This has been fun,” Alex quipped when they were finally able slow down to a walk.
“You have some weird ideas about what is fun kid,” River groaned, holding his hand to his side to try and ward off the stitch. River drops down onto the shed roofing but as soon as his shoe brushes against the rusted metal, the floor disappears from under him. River gasps, momentarily weightless before gravity kicks back in again. The tires break his fall but tires aren’t as soft and bouncy as you expect. A ripple of pain cascades down his side as he rolls out of the bundle. A groan squeezes out of him as River manages to get himself on all fours.
“You’re not very good at this are you?” Alex’s voice trickled through the throbbing in his head and River managed to shift his weight onto one shaking arm so that he could flip off the teen perched to the side of the River shaped hole. “Up and at em then,” Alex chuckled, dropping down next to River.
“We need transport,” River wheezed, rolling up onto his knees and then to his feet.
“I can hotwire a car,” Alex shrugged.
River bit back another exclamation about how a sixteen year old should not be able to hotwire a car. But the shock and horror was starting to get tiring; whoever had raised Alex to be Alex was going to have a lot of child abuse charges to contend with when River got his hands on them, but that was not going to help them now. “I am driving,” River huffed, limping after the teen.