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It was some ungodly hour of the morning. Or, as Jackson preferred to call it, 'dead man walking hour' — because that was what someone would be if they decided to wake him at such a time.
His phone had gone off — the blasted thing — and he'd grunted as he fumbled for it without opening his eyes. He had no idea where he'd put it, but he was sure it was within arm's reach.
A second phone had gone off — Catherine's — just as his stopped ringing, and of course just as he'd found it in his blind search. She was easier to wake, and so it was no surprise to him when she lifted herself up from the couch and grabbed the device from the table. She'd previously been asleep with her head on his leg, while he'd been sat back against the couch cushions, one arm slung over the end of the couch, and the other along the back. They'd been talking and working into the night, and decided at some point that it just made more sense to stay the night at the office than go home for a handful of hours.
"Your son called." Catherine said, her tone neutral and even, though he could clearly picture the hint of that teasing smile she often wore when she ribbed at him.
"I don't have a son." Jackson said, his eyes still closed.
An exasperated yet affectionate sigh left her.
"River."
Jackson grunted. "Before sunrise he's your son."
Catherine sighed again, and shook her head as she retrieved the man's phone from between the couch cushion and its arm — where he'd previously found it and then left alone after it stopped ringing. "Call him back."
"He called you too. Why don't you call him back?"
"He called me because he couldn't get you."
"Oh for fuck's sake." Jackson sighed heavily, a scoff leaving his lips as he finally opened his eyes and straightened up from his reclined position. "He's worse than a toddler."
"I didn't realize you knew so many toddlers."
"Of course I do. I have an office full of them." Jackson said, taking his phone from her while ignoring the disapproving glare she was giving him. "What did he want?"
"Call him and find out."
"Why not save myself the trouble, since he surely told you?"
"Jackson. Call him."
There was no fighting that stern, pointed gaze, as Jackson well knew. So, he gave her a look to show he was thoroughly annoyed at the imposition, and then hit the most recent contact name in his phone's call log. The panicked, stressed, desperate voice of River Cartwright came through the line almost immediately, and Jackson had to repeat his instructions for the young man to slow down multiple times. Of all his foals — or fuck-ups, whichever — River was most definitely the neediest, and the one who attracted trouble like manure attracted flies.
"What did you do?" Jackson asked, finally able to get a word in edgewise.
"I didn't do anything!"
"Bullshit. You always do something. It's ingrained in your DNA to cause a shitstorm."
"Jackson!" Catherine hissed his name lowly, and he held up a singular finger in response — though it definitely wasn't his index.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then River spoke quietly, so much so that Jackson almost didn't hear him. "Can you come get me?"
"Oh my fucking god…" Jackson leaned back on his heels and heaved a heavy sigh of exasperation.
There was a barely spoken 'please' in response to Jackson's exasperation, and the older man pursed his lips. River asking this politely meant the situation was serious, although the young man did not sound as if he was personally in any peril. "Why not call Louisa to come pick you up?"
"She'll just yell at me."
Jackson snorted. "And what exactly do you think I'm going to do? Hold your hand and tell you everything will be alright, and that you're not a massive fuck-up? Which, by the way, you surely are."
There was something mumbled along the lines of 'I can handle it when it's you', and Jackson couldn't help but smile slightly. It was a smug smile, of course, but there was a tiny bit of affection behind it.
A long silence filled the air after that, before Jackson made up his mind. "Alright. Tell me where you are."
As River told him the details, Jackson pulled on his jacket with some help from Catherine, who then collected her own coat and purse. It was no use dissuading her from coming, since she'd just fret about the office if he left her there. River was one of her favorites, though she'd never say so aloud.
"Alright, let's go fetch the kid." Jackson said, having since hung up the phone.
Catherine gave him one of her little smiles and walked through the office doorway, then waited as he closed the door behind them. "Thank you, Jackson."
"Save your breath, Catherine. The second he's back here, I'm chaining him to a desk and sentencing him to janitorial duty."
"How is he going to do janitorial work if he's chained to a desk?" Catherine inquired, feigning innocence.
Jackson scoffed as he lit a cigarette. "Don't get smart with me, Standish. You know perfectly well what I meant."
Catherine did indeed know what he meant, and allowed one of her more genuine smiles to grace her lips as they made their way down the stairs and out the front door. It was nearly sunrise now, and the city was beginning to awaken. "It's nearly sunrise, Jackson."
"Yeah, so?"
"He's your son now."
Jackson snorted and shook his head, following her to his car. "And a sorry son he is too. Can't even last a single night without needing Mummy and Daddy."
Catherine merely gave him another one of those small, knowing smiles, and climbed into the car. She knew as well as he did that all the members of their team were like kids to him, and to her as well.
Yes, they were like kids to him. Or, as might be more befitting for the name 'slow horses', they were like foals to him. Not that he would ever call them that.
No, Jackson Lamb much preferred to refer to all the young people on his team as 'a bunch of fuck-ups'. It left little room for affection, though the term itself wasn't inherently without it when coming from him.
His little group of fuck-up foals. That was what they were.
And Catherine knew he wouldn't trade or give up a single one of them.