Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

River was not having a good day.

Being kidnapped was something that happened to agents, and River had heard plenty of stories from his grandfather, but one of the very very few benefits to being a slow horse was that no one in their right mind would want to kidnap them. If anything, the Park would be glad to be rid of them.

Lamb was another matter, and normally River would take comfort in that. For all Lamb’s faults, and there were many, more than River could list without a pen and a good few days, he would never leave a joe in danger.

Now Lamb was walking into a trap, and it was River’s fault because he had screwed up and got caught, and now these bastards with a grudge from the good old days and Lamb had no idea and couldn’t prepare and River was going to be the reason an agent died-

The stair creaked, and River tried to scream a warning, but the gag muffled sound completely and one of the thugs silenced him with a vicious kick to the ribs. River doubled over, desperately fighting for breath and hating himself even more than he did already, and the thug crouched down.

“Save your voice for later. You’ll both be begging by the time we’re done.”

River could only watch helplessly as the four men checked their guns and left the room. Lamb was good, one of the best, but unarmed and unprepared-

Gunshots fired, and River thrashed helplessly against his bonds. This was a thousand times worse than being in the firing line himself. He struggled harder, straining for the cries that might give him some idea of what was happening, but the voices were muffled and drowned out by the gunfire and crashing of falling bodies, and Lamb was never going to go down without a fight but four to one wasn’t good odds.

Silence fell.

River froze. His heart was pounding and his hands were slick with sweat. His breathing was a ragged rasp as the door swung open.

“You really are a useless little shit, aren’t you?” 

River could only stare. Lamb was breathing heavily and there were fresh stains on his grubby old overcoat, but he crouched next to River with a grace that was no longer surprising.

“Should leave this on. First peace and quiet I’ve had in years.”

Despite his grumbles, his fingers were gentle as he removed the gag. River sucked in a breath, and almost regretted it at the smell that assailed him.

“How’d you know?” he rasped.

Lamb raised an eyebrow, and released a particularly vile fart. “Because,” he said, as River tried not to choke, “unlike you lot, I’m not a fucking idiot.”

River sighed, and slumped back against the wall. Under the circumstances, it was kind of hard to argue with that.

Chapter Text

It would surprise nobody who knew anything about Slough House that Catherine Standish was the only person who took even the remotest sense of pride in her place of work. That was to say, she was the one who noted anything broken or worn out, and dispatched the repair requests to the Park, where they were promptly filed and forgotten about. She made sure there was fresh milk and toilet paper, and fought a valiant rearguard action against the apathy of the slow horses when it came to cleaning.

It was unsurprising, therefore, that Catherine was the one to notice the blood.

It wasn’t a large spot, in fairness, but the half dozen highly trained spies crammed into River’s office really should have seen it too. They were a little distracted, it wasn’t every day a slow horse was kidnapped and rescued within the space of six hours, but still.

None of them noticed her step out of the office either. Catherine followed her instincts, and found another, larger spot halfway up the stairs. Stomach clenching, she climbed the long flights to Lamb’s office, and those same instincts made her open it without knocking.

She found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Catherine didn’t scream, but it was a close thing. Lamb’s face was utterly blank, his grey eyes sharper than she had ever seen them, and the gun was rock steady. For a long moment there was silence, then Lamb lowered the gun.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

Catherine, however, was a little distracted. “What happened to you?”

Lamb snorted. “Take a wild fucking guess.”

He shrugged on a relatively clean shirt, obscuring the messy bandage wrapped around his torso, and if Catherine hadn’t been watching so closely she would have missed the way his jaw clenched at the movement. An empty bottle stood on the desk, and Catherine forced her frozen feet to move. She took a second bottle from the stash he had never bothered to hide, and her hand didn’t shake as she filled his glass again.

“You should have gone to the hospital.”

Lamb knocked back the whisky, and waited for her to refill it before shrugging. “For this?” He scoffed. “I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s not the point,” Catherine protested. “You need proper care, you could get an infection… Damn it, Jackson, you’re not behind the Wall any more!” 

It came out more loudly than she had intended and she cast a quick glance at the open door. Lamb tilted his head, expression still unreadable. “You almost sound worried there.”

Catherine’s hands clenched into fists without her permission. “I didn’t particularly enjoy having my first boss die on me.”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then, isn’t it? Look,” he continued, before Catherine could say anything. “I’ve had a very long, very tiring day, and I need a kip, so why don’t you fuck off and make sure those tossers don’t burn down the building.”

Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but Lamb was settling in his chair like a hippopotamus in mud and his eyes were closed and she knew when a fight was futile. She closed the door, and stood for a moment listening to the harmony of the chatter downstairs and the heavy breathing in the office behind her.

Then she went to clean up the blood.