Chapter Text

Strays

"Got your advent calendar, ma'am?" said the boy.

He was a tiny thing, wrapped in an oversized jacket that practically engulfed him, a woollen hat, mittens and a very thick, vibrant red scarf.

"Oh," Catherine stopped. She had been walking down Aldersgate Street absentmindedly, shielded against the cold by her navy blue coat. Around her, the whole block was slowly morphing into a big Christmas storefront, with golden, red and silver ornaments on the doors. There was even a tinsel garland and some holly in the Café's entrance.

"Uhm, thank you, dear. I already have one."

She was lying.

The boy looked at her, his pitiful expression almost too accurate not to be rehearsed, a pout in his lower lip. "We're raising money for children who are very ill, ma'am."

She sighed. "How much is it?"

His face lit up. "Twenty pounds; we're using it to give them a proper Christmas Basket to enjoy with their families."

Catherine was half tempted to say, "What will a Christmas Basket do?" but stopped herself. She wasn't about to feud with a ten-year-old. And it wasn't the proper display of the Christmas spirit, right? Truthfully, she had bought a charity Advent calendar once before, so it wouldn't hurt to do it again.

"I think I have…", she rummaged in her purse, and took out the notes. "Twenty, there you go. Are you here all by yourself?"

The boy shook his head vigorously and pointed to a woman clad in beige colours, sporting a very similar red scarf. She was standing nearer the corner, a plastic table in front, covered by Christmas-patterned cloth. Next to her was a banner with the inscription: Rainbow Fund.

"Ah, I see," Catherine said, with a soft smile. It was a good thing that people still cared about others. She had grown a little impervious to kindness, not because she could not offer it, but because she was surrounded by individuals too absorbed in their own suffering. Always going about life like they were the casualties of their own stories, wronged by the narrative of their lives.

Martyrs.

River had called her exactly that some time ago.

The boy was expectant, waiting for her to get untangled from her thoughts. He had retrieved a package from the cardboard box next to him; it was mostly red, wrapped in paper with an illustration of a big Christmas tree and people seated around it. It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't that small either.

Catherine accepted it. "Thank you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She had clearly arrived at Slough House first —the alley and grimy windows of the building both looked particularly deserted; the only sound, except for the usual bus brakes and sirens bouncing off the walls, was her heels clicking on the wet ground. The world felt distant, like a city happening behind a closed door.

The sky was still a mixture of blue and grey, but the sun was trying to peer through the thin clouds, bathing the top of the building in an orange and golden light.

River came up the alley a moment later, collar turned up against the crisp morning breeze. "No, thanks. Sorry," Catherine heard him say, and she guessed that the woman or the child had attempted to approach him.

“Morning," said Catherine, pulling her coat closer. "You’re early.”

“Thought I could get a move on with those suspicious traffic incidents you gave us yesterday.”

She looked at him, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “That’s…” she hesitated. “That’s great.”

River shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

He looked tired and not in the best of moods, but then again, that had been a constant lately. Catherine knew there was still too much to process, to accept.

“Are you okay?” she asked, extending a hand to brush his arm softly.

"I'm…" he scrubbed his eyes. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Catherine nodded. "How's your grandfather?"

"Alright, I haven't seen him again since last weekend," he gave her a small, half-hearted smile. "Sunday lunch."

"Oh, right, you told me. That sounded lovely."

River’s smile faltered and gave another shrug, as if to brush the subject away. “Yeah. Lovely."

She chose not to insist, not now. Getting him to open up was a mission that required care and patience, and frankly, she didn't always find the energy to do it.

It didn't mean he was a sealed shut book either. He had gotten a new habit of late. Once or twice a week, River called her after hours to ask about paperwork or e-mails; needless to say, it was an excuse to talk.

He most likely needs to hear somebody's voice, Catherine thought. Heavens knew that happened to her, too.

On those calls, after two or three questions —when it was painfully obvious that there was nothing else to discuss— Catherine would slowly bring the conversation to more personal matters. Sometimes, she could sense him withdrawing when the topics got too sensitive; the calls ended awkwardly on those days. On some occasions, she would ask about his grandfather or, less frequently, his mum — a bold move that paid off.

Recently, they had one of such breakthroughs.

"Isobel never calls or texts…" She had identified the bitterness in River's voice immediately. "Not unless I do that first."

Catherine had sat down on her sofa, with a beige and teal striped cushion on her lap, looking out the window; the neighbours downstairs were wrapping some Christmas lights around the mansion block's metal fence.

"Maybe she is busy?"

"She has been busy my entire life."

That evening, a thought had crossed her mind: "What if I tell him to come over for Christmas?" They could have dinner together, maybe invite Louisa and Shirley. She was almost certain Coe would say no, and honestly, she didn't know she wanted him in her apartment. Lamb was a resolute no on his part, although she wouldn't mind him visiting…

In any case, it had seemed like a reasonable plan. Fun, even.

But then she was reminded they would need a true Christmas miracle to share a normal evening without incidents, arguments or disasters. Picturing their lot —talking animatedly around her kitchen table, eating 'pigs in blankets' (that would give Lamb some ideas for humour), and smiling to each other — seemed the stuff of carols and fables. Utterly fanciful.

And she didn't believe in Christmas miracles.

"Earth to Catherine," River waved his hand in front of her face. "Lost you there, are you all right?"

"Yes," she ran a hand over her brow. "I'm tired too, it's Friday."

"Any plans?" he asked, finally climbing the stairs.

"Something relaxing." She followed him. "Thankfully, the holidays are coming."

"Never took you for a Christmas fan."

"Well, it can be nice…sometimes."

River inserted his key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door. Despite being new, it still got stuck; the frame was lopsided, and the humidity never did any favours. He shoved it again, breathed deeply when it didn't budge, and pushed one last time.

It opened.

"A new day in this merry place," she heard him mutter, going up the stairs.

Catherine closed the door firmly behind her.

Luckily, he has Louisa, she thought. And he has me, as well, if he needs to.

They had each other in the way Slough House allows you to, neither too deep nor too warm. But, sometimes, enough.

"River!" Catherine called. "I need help taking these boxes out."

Nothing.

She moved closer to the door. "Please, River!"

She left the smaller box on top of another in the corner and started taping the lid on the third. She heard his muffled voice, probably complaining to Louisa, and then his footsteps up the stairs.

"What have you got?" He still looked a little heavy-eyed. Catherine imagined that, after staring at the endless lines of reports on his computer screen for an hour, he had probably dozed off.

"Those two." She pointed at the pair in the corner.

He heaved them up. "What's in these?"

"Old Christmas decoration, we're buying new ones."

River stopped dead, leaning back very slightly because of the weight. "What?"

"It's a joke. It's just paper."

"Not sensitive documents, I imagine."

"Of course not."

He started going down the staircase, more slowly this time, manoeuvring the boxes in the small space. Slough House was oddly calm, and if they paid enough attention, they could hear Lamb's snores, travelling down the stairs in waves.

"Where's everybody else?"

Catherine sighed. "Ho's gone to buy some snacks. Shirley, I wish I knew."

She squeezed between the wall and the boxes and pushed the door open for him.

"Just leave them in a bin."

River glanced over the metal handrail. "That one over there is open."

He carried the boxes to the end of the alley and threw them in the furthest bin.

"There is one more," Catherine said, looking apologetic. "The last one."

River gave her a silent thumbs-up and brushed a speck of dust and lint off his brown sweater. She had started following him up the stairs again when a scuttling sound caught her attention.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” River turned, scanning the alley.

“That noise.” She was already heading back. “Oh, please, let it not be rats.”

“Well, they’re most likely rats.” River joined her, staring at the heap of rubbish —an old sweater full of holes, a few crumpled paper bags, and one closed bin.

Another sound, then what looked like an orange blur scuttled past.

“Listen,” Catherine whispered.

Softly, they could hear the smallest, thinnest meows.

“Kittens," Catherine said, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. "I think they’re behind the bin. Or under it.”

River crouched, peeked, and then extended a hand, feeling around under the bin.

“I can't...”

"Be careful… Poor babies, they must have been left here this morning.”

River looked up at her. Catherine wore the same worried expression she had when Shirley turned up at work with dark circles under her eyes, or when he mentioned his grandfather. A mixture of concern and —yes—affection.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get them.”

"It's cold today. They could freeze to death."

"I'm pretty sure they're here somewhere." River's hand was still groping under the bin. "What about Lamb?”

"What about him?"

"He won't like having animals in the office."

“Well… he wouldn’t hurt them, right?”

They exchanged looks.

“I suppose not. But he’s not going to be happy if we…gotcha!” River exclaimed, retreating his hand.

He held a small orange-and-white kitten by the scruff. Its fur was matted and half-wet, eyes sticky.

“Don’t hold him like that!”

River turned the kitten around. “I think it’s a her… no, wait. It’s a boy.” He scooped the kitten closer and began shifting some of the bags. “There have to be more here, ugh…”

Catherine helped him move a bin aside, nudging other bags with her shoe.

“Argh.”

“I know,” River gagged softly, but kept a firm hold on the kitten. Catherine knew he hated strong smells almost as much as the sight of too much blood.

“I can still hear them,” Catherine said, peering behind the other bins. “Where are they?”

“Over here.” River’s voice softened as he lifted the lid of the closed bin.

Inside was the box full of kittens, different colours and mismatched patterns. Four pairs of eyes looked up at them, unblinking.

From the sidewalk, they could hear the seller woman's cheerful voice, probably talking to the recent acquirer of a brand-new Advent calendar. "Merry Christmas and thank you for your good deed!"

River scratched the orange one’s ears. “How did you get out of the bin, eh?”

He got a very enthusiastic purr in response.

“For fuck’s sake!” Lamb’s voice carried downstairs. Slough House collectively stopped doing what they were doing, which was nothing productive, and held their breath for a second.

But only silence came after.

Louisa and Shirley exhale. They were in the latter’s office, enjoying a short break, waiting for the kettle to boil and for Catherine to return from the pet shop. Coe remained silent in a corner, hoodie up and earphones in. He hadn’t reacted much to the new arrivals.

“Why the fuck would Catherine bring cats in this shithole?” Shirley said, watching the calico kitten on her desk as if assessing how trustworthy it was.

Louisa eyed her. Shirley had been subdued lately, except for the moments when all that anger, all that frustration boiled over. Then everyone just got out of her way.

Despite not wanting to get involved in private business and uncomfortable confrontations, Louisa frequently tried to remind Shirley that they were all doing their best; that reminder wasn't always polite. We all need a massive fucking holiday, she thought. A leave of absence with no end in sight...and a pay cheque. That was a neat Christmas fantasy.

That morning, Shirley had arrived already looking irascible; she clearly wasn't a fan of the end-of-the-year merriment taking over the surrounding blocks. River, in his usual offhanded morning attitude, mentioned he was afraid of her punching the calendar kid in the nose for pestering outside; Shirley had scowled and flipped him off.

That was until she saw the kittens. She didn't say much, but her eyes gleamed.

They were dealing with one of the most ridiculous, if not the most ridiculous, scenarios in Slough House history. Louisa looked at her own kitten, a tiny tuxedo, napping comfortably in the crook of her arm.

“Don’t know,” she said. “They’re cute, though.”

Shirley waved a finger in front of the calico’s nose. When it tried to bite, she tapped the desk.

“Feisty,” she said under her breath. “But, yeah. Cute.”

“Positively angelic,” Lamb’s voice startled them. He stood at the door, having approached the office as silently as ever. “But this isn’t a zoo.”

Shirley, Louisa, and the calico looked at him. Lamb sighed.

“Well, it is a fucking zoo, but I have enough with you lot. Don’t need extra vermin shitting and pissing on my floor.”

Louisa turned in her chair, still holding her black-and-white kitten like a baby. “They’ve behaved quite well.”

“Oh, really?” Lamb poured every drop of sarcasm into the words. "Try convincing Standish when she finds a hairball, or something nastier, in her in-tray." He seemed to think for a moment, scratching his belly. "Or don't, she might find it endearing. I'll just laugh."

"I guess…she couldn't let them die outside in the cold," Shirley said, still focusing on the kitten chasing her finger on the desk.

"Whatever this bout of Christmas cheer you've come down with," Lamb gave the cats a withering look. "I don't give a fuck. I want them out by five…"

He was interrupted by River chasing the orange cat up the stairs. The kitten, having failed to climb the last step, launched itself off it promptly, landing face-first on River’s boots.

“Just calm down!” River groaned. “What’s up with all this energy?”

Lamb stared at him, while River fumbled to grab what looked like a very tiny, but quite relentless tiger, hopping around his feet.

“Fuck me and take me out of this low-budget Hallmark movie," Lamb pulled the cigarette packet and lighter out of his jacket and waved them. "I’m going to catch one before Standish gets on my arse. Keep those smelly things out of my office.”

He sighed heavily and headed back upstairs.

Louisa leaned against the door frame, watching River wrestle with the kitten. It bit at his sleeve and scratched his hands.

"I'm making tea," she said, voice mild. "You want some?"

“Yeah—Christ!” River’s hands already looked like he’d lost a fight with a rosebush. “Stay still!”

Louisa tilted her head, her kitten tucked lazily against her chest. “You get it now, don’t you?”

He glanced up, baffled. “Get what?”

“What it’s like…”

“I don’t—”

“To have to work with you.”

The orange one chose that moment to meow loudly and spring free again, landing with a squeak and vanishing down the stairs.

“Come back! Stop running around!”

Louisa bit the inside of her cheek, hiding a smile. “Exactly.”