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When James had imagined the MI5, he had imagined a dark building filled with mysterious secret agents and other kinds of dangerous people. Not a cramped office with four tables pushed together and a coffee-stained floor.

And he certainly had not imagined River fucking Cartwright.

“I have never been more grateful for having a single than when I have to fetch one of you.” He drawled, his eyes flickering from Cartwright to Baker.

Baker snorted, “heard.”

“You could help me, you know.” Cartwright groaned from the floor, where he was desperately scrubbing at it, a broken mug beside him.

“Oh, but it’s much more fun to watch you suffer.”

“Ha-ha,” Cartwright rolled his eyes. “This wasn’t even my fault; I’m just being nice.”

“Oh, it was most definitely your fault, Cartwright.”

James gave a snort, with raised brows and folded arms.

“Why are you here anyway? Thought you were too busy being Taverner’s lapdog.” Cartwright mocked.

James straightened his spine and turned to Sid Baker. “I am here to let you know that River Cartwright will not be available for the security detail on the fourteenth to twenty-first and you have instead been assigned with Coe.”

“Not available? That’s a first.”

Cartwright glared at her.

“He has requested a personal leave of absence, which we missed when we first assigned you to the detail. I apologise for the inconvenience-”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Cartwright interrupted.

“-and we will compensate, if you so wish.” He continued.

“A personal leave of absence, you say?” Baker inquired.

“That is what I’ve been told,”

“I’m right here,” Cartwright rolled his eyes. “Just ask,” He sighed.

“If you insist,” Baker turned to stare down Cartwright. “I was convinced you didn’t know what a vacation was, you know.”

“How funny.” Cartwright deadpanned.

She shrugged. “Always the first to stay for Christmas and New Years and-”

“I think I got it thanks.” Cartwright mumbled something under his breath and turned back to the mess on the floor.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sorry.” James said. Baker shook her head. James never knew where she stood or why on earth she was forced to sit with Cartwright and the rest of the circus of all the on-call agents. And he did not like the glint in her eye that sparked every time he and Cartwright stood beside each other.

“I said,” Cartwright enunciated. “It’s none of your business.” He picked up the pieces of the broken mug and briskly left the room.

James watched him leave. Odd, he thought, but not odd enough for him to care.

“Got what you wanted?”

“Huh?” James turned to her.

“C’mon, you’re just as interested as I am, as to why River would willingly take a day off.” She regarded him with a smirk. “I see you, Webb.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Baker.”

“You wanted to know what possibly could get perfect River Cartwright to break his streak.” She smirked. “Or maybe you wanted to know what -or who- could whisk him away from here.”

James felt his ears go hot. “Letting any changes of assignments be known to agents under my supervision, is in my job description, as you very well know, Baker.”

“But it could just as well have been an E-mail, Spider.” She gave him one last look, before he marched out of the cramped office, feeling Baker's eyes on his back. He could never quite shake the feeling of ice sliding down his back every time Cartwright was mentioned. Sue him for being extra careful and good at his job.

River had always prided himself in being good at change. From moving from flat to flat, city to town to city, and acting as his mother’s boyfriends hadn’t been introduced to him mere weeks ago.

When he was left at his grandparents, it was easy to act as if he had always lived with them. They were nice, never let him go to bed hungry or scared.

It was hard for River to imagine his mother being raised by them, in this big house. He liked being able to go on long walks or play in the garden and getting stories read to him, though his mother scoffed every time he asked her to read for him and never wanted him to play outside.

It was like a dream he’d had a long time ago. Running through fields, dancing in the rain and eating cake every day. It was how people on the telly lived and River yearned for it. He wanted his mum to move them to a small town, with a church and pub, in a house with a chimney and garden.

The house his mum had driven him to fit his dream to a t. All was exactly as he had imagined apart from his mum. He had never imagined his mum driving away once she’d told him he was going to live here. He had thought they would get a cat or maybe a dog, and his mum would meet a nice man or maybe none, and he would go to school and have friends and come home to a home cooked meal every day, instead of some cheap takeaway. But instead, she left him at the doorstep of strangers, he was supposed to know but didn’t.

His grandparents were nice. He had only ever heard of them from his mum, when he was supposed to be asleep, listening in on her conversation with her friends. But she always talked about how awful they were and how she wished she hadn’t been their daughter. River thought it must be a punishment to be sent to them for an undisclosed amount of time, if they truly were so awful as she had made them out to be.

But while his mum had just pulled the covers over him, his grandfather had sat at his bedside until River fell asleep every night and his grandmother always cooked the meal River requested, and when he asked if he could get a new shirt, they went to London and brought him enough to clothes a football team. His mother had never done any of that, at his request or not.

Slowly, day by day, River stopped waiting for his mum to come back and instead wished she’d never come get him ever again. They only thing he had gotten from her since she left was two postcards, one with only a happy birthday and a return address written on the back, and the other, a summary so short of what she had been up to lately, River felt he would’ve learnt more if she hadn’t written anything at all.

But even then, he stuck to every word she wrote, ignoring the looks his grandparents shared when they thought he wasn’t looking. He wanted to know what could possibly be so important she had to leave River and do it alone.

When River saw the postcard in his grandfather’s hand, he knew it was different from the rest. This one didn’t have a drawing on it. Had she thought that was too much effort?

River had been watching his grandfather collect the post from his bedroom window, as he did every morning before his grandmother came to ‘wake him up’.

His grandfather left early every morning, often before River ate breakfast, driving away in a big black car with tinted windows, different from the one they drove to town or London in. River was woken every morning like clockwork. by the creaky door of the bathroom and water falling from the shower. He waited with his head under his covers for his grandfather to put the kettle on and get the paper before eating, as his grandfather always did, a ritual River was the silent observer to, every single day.

His grandfather didn’t, however, stop before reaching the door with a pale face, eyes darting to River’s room.

River didn’t duck quickly enough, and his eyes met his grandfathers.

He hurried back into his bed and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He heard the front door open, then close and his grandfather making his way up the stairs on quiet feet. He stopped outside River’s room, but before he could open the door, River heard his grandmother ask what was wrong, and then nothing.

He stuck his head out from under the covers, the voices becoming clearer.

“What does this mean?” His grandmother asked.

“I don’t know yet,” his grandfather sighed. “I’m going to have to drive to the park and get the answers, but Rose…”

“I know.” River didn’t have to see them to know they were doing the silent communication he’d only ever seen them do. “And River?”

River threw the covers back over his head and tried his best to even his breathing.

“I don’t know how much he knows, but he saw the card.” His bedroom door opened. “You can come out now, River.”

A gentle hand pulled the covers down from River’s face. When River opened his eyes, he was met with his grandmother’s worried face, his grandfather still standing in the hallway. His grandmother smiled and sat down on the corner of his bed.

“You’re up early today, huh?” She said, pulling her finger through River's hair. “I’m afraid breakfast isn’t ready yet.”

River stared at her with big eyes. “Is my mum okay?”

“Your mother is fine, River,” his grandfather said. “But I think it would be a good idea to come down and get some tea.”

His grandmother nodded and took River’s hand. It was still dark outside, the only light coming from the yellow bulb flickering over the table. As River sat and drank his tea, his grandmother prepared breakfast.

His grandfather had taken a call in the study, something usually reserved for hushed voices and closed doors. But now the door stood wide open, and River could hear his grandfather’s raised voice.

He couldn’t remember ever hearing him yell before. He heard his mother’s name once, twice, three times before his grandfather joined them in the kitchen.

“I have talked to your mother,” he said in between sips of his tea.

“And she’s fine, right?”

“She is perfectly fine, River, this isn’t about her, it’s,” he looked to Rose. “It’s about your father.”

“My father? He’s dead.”

His grandmother laid a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently, as she said: “I’m afraid that isn’t true, darling.”

His mother drove into the driveway just as dinner was served. His grandmother told him to stay put, before going outside.

River watched from the window as his mother threw her arms up as she yelled, her face turning red and tears falling down her cheeks. His grandmother pulled her into a hug, the same one she pulled River into just this morning, the one where you couldn’t do anything but relax into her hold and let yourself be held.

His grandfather had yet to come home, River heard his grandmother say, before she opened the door.

“Thank god.” His mother said, as she took her coat off, still having not looked at River a single time.

River stared at his empty plate, hearing his mother go further into the house, away from where River sat. He felt his grandmother’s hand on his shoulder.

“Your mother is going to wait for your grandfather in the study.” She said, sitting back in her seat and filling River’s plate.

“Does she not want to see me?” River whispered, after a few bites.

“Oh, honey no,” His grandmother said, laying her hand on his. “She just needs to make sure of some things and then she’d love to see you. She just needs to know everyone is alright first.”

“You mean my father? That he is alright?”

His grandmother tilted her head. Before she could reply, the back door opened, and his grandfather stepped in. River startled, he hadn’t heard the car as he usually did, hadn’t even noticed it had parked outside.

His grandfather barely said hello before rushing into the study, closing the door harshly behind him.

His grandmother tutted, shaking her head. “All manners out the door when she’s here.” She mumbled; not meant for River to hear, he knew.

They ate the rest of dinner in silence, River trying to hear what was being said in the room beside them, to no success.

He tried not to think of his mother walking away from him as if he was a stranger, not even saying hello. It was the first time he’d seen her since she left him here, and she couldn’t even be bothered with a simple greeting. He felt his eyes filling with tears, quickly blinking them away before his grandmother could notice.

Together they cleaned up, leaving a plate for his mother and grandfather, his grandmother washed, and River dried, as they did every evening.

The sun had nearly set, before his mother and grandfather finally exited the study, and joined River and his grandmother in front of the telly. His mother stood in the doorframe watching River, he could see in the reflection of the window behind the telly. His grandmother stood up and asked if she should reheat dinner, walking into the kitchen, leaving River alone in the room with his mother.

She was silent and River was not going to say anything if that was what she was waiting for. He could pretend to watch the news for as long his mother wanted to stand in silence, hours if it came to that. But it didn’t.

“River.” She spoke. When he didn’t turn, she walked closer to him, taking the remote lying on the coffee table and turned the telly off. “Look at me, please.”

River’s eyes stubbornly stayed glued to the black screen.

“River, I don’t have time for this.” She crouched down in front of him and tilted his chin to look at her. Even with closed eyes he could see the outline of her. “Even if you won’t see me, you can hear me.” She sighed and stood back up. River heard the tell-tale of the sofa being sat in, an old creaky mess his grandparents had talked about replacing since the day he got here.

“I don’t know how much they’ve told you, but the fact is, River,” She took a deep breath. “Your father is alive and has been living in France, and really there is no nice way of saying this- “

“Do you really think it’s appropriate to tell him, Isobel, he is just a child.”

“You never seemed to have any such intentions when I was his age, always telling me exactly how things were in all its gore, didn’t you, Dad?”

“This is different, and you know it.”

River pulled his arms around as far as he could and tried to make himself as small as possible. He never liked when his mother argued with anyone, but it was much worse when it was with one of the two people in the world who seemed to genuinely care for him.

“He needs to know, whether you like it or not!” His mother shouted.

“There are other ways to tell him,” His grandfather raised his voice. “He shouldn’t have to hear it like this, it would be best if we eased him into it and-”

“I know what is best for him, I am his mother!” His mother interrupted, fury lacing her voice.

“Then act like it!” His grandfather bellowed.

The silence from his mother was unexpected, River had heard her argue with countless of her boyfriends for far longer, over much more important things. But maybe this was more important than they’d let it out to be.

When his grandparents had told him that morning that his father was alive and there was an ongoing situation involving him, River hadn’t known what to think. He had thought, at first, his mother hadn’t known he was alive and that she might be in danger, though his grandfather was quick to reassure him that she was on her way here and seemed alright over the phone.

Before either of them could continue the arguing, his grandmother had walked into the room, right behind River. He removed his hands from his face and looked up. His mother and grandfather were looking at him as his grandmother pulled him up from where he had shrunk in on himself.

“Take your arguing with you, away from here.” She pulled River to her side. “You must be very confused, River, a lot has happened today. I’m sure we can all discuss this properly over some biscuits.” She finished with a pointed stare levelled at her husband and daughter.

She walked to the kitchen with River under her arm, his mother following a step behind. River sat down in the chair beside his grandmother and reached for the plate of biscuits. His mother had opted to stand behind the chair in front of him. He still avoided her eyes but nodded when his grandmother asked if he wanted a cuppa. At last, his grandfather returned to them, a heavy box under his arm.

“I’m sure you have questions, River,” he said, to which River nodded. “And I’m sure you have much to answer.” He said to his daughter. “But it is getting late, and River really should be in bed, so maybe some of this could wait for tomorrow.”

“But,” River said.

“No, River.” His grandmother stated with a fond look on her face.

River pouted and looked to his grandfather with big eyes.

“That doesn’t work on me, sir.” He pulled a hand through River’s hair as he walked past him. “You can ask three questions before you have to go up, understood?”

River nodded eagerly. “What’s in the box?” He asked, pointing to the box his grandfather had put on the counter.

“Answers to your questions.”

“That’s not an answer.” River moped.

“Isn’t it?” His grandfather smirked.

His mother sighed loudly. “They told you your father is alive, yes?” At River’s nod she resumed. “Well, no one knows where he is, which is an issue.” She paused as her eyes flickered to her parents. “When they looked for your father, they- well they didn’t find him, but they did find someone else, quite a few others actually and-” She stopped herself. “They found your… brothers.”

“My brothers? I have brothers?” River demanded.

“Half-brothers, yes.” His mother nodded. “They were born before you, so I met a few but,”

“You knew I had brothers?” River asked. “You knew I had brothers and never said anything?”

“It wasn’t safe,” his grandmother explained, calming him down. “She needed to keep you safe.”

“From whom?” No one answered him as he looked from one to the other. “Is that why you left me here, to keep me safe?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that,” His mother finally sat down. “Your father isn’t a nice man.”

“Is it him we are hiding from?”

“We aren’t hiding you from him,” His grandfather cut in. “He knows where you are.”

“If he knows where I am, why haven’t I met him?” River shook his head and placed his teacup back on the table, before he spilt the tea. “Does he not want to meet me?”

His grandparents shared a look over his mother’s head. “It’s not that simple,”

“You keep saying that!” River yelled. “I’m not stupid, you don’t need to simplify it!”

“You’re not stupid,” His grandmother agreed. “But this isn’t about how smart you are, River, it’s about how you’ll feel if you get the whole story,” She smiled sadly. “I don’t want to make you sad or angry.”

“I promise I won’t be angry, if you just tell me, please!” River begged.

“We won’t tell you now, River.” His mother informed him. “And you won’t ask any more about it for now, understood?” River could only nod as his mother stood back up and pulled her jacket on.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, Isobel?” His grandfather questioned.

“Do not lecture me!” She pointed a finger at him. “I trust you can find the other children; I’m sure River wouldn’t mind knowing his brothers.” She said before storming out of the house.

River didn’t think before he ran after her into the cold, dark evening. “You’re leaving again?” His eyes got teary, as he looked at her.

She stopped, car door halfway open in front of her. “River…” She murmured. She shielded her face from the rain pouring down. “You can’t come with me, not to where I’m going.”

“And where are you going? You haven’t said anything of where you’ve been or why you left me here!” He screamed, with tears streaming down his face, the dam finally breaking. “You can’t just leave, not again, that’s not what mothers do!”

She pulled her hand down her face, wiping off the raindrops. “I love you, River, that’s why I’m doing this.”

“If you loved me, you would do as I ask.” River argued.

“I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“And how would you know what’s best for me? You haven’t seen me in a year!”

His mother rested her forehead on the car door, before shutting it harshly. River took two steps closer to her. His mother crouched down to his eye level and took his head in her hands.

“I promise you,” she started. “That I will tell you everything I know when you’re ready, and while that might be now, I am not ready yet. Do you understand?” River nodded. “Good.” She placed a single cold kiss on his head and pushed him away from her. “I’ll see you, River.”

She entered the car and turned on the engine, driving away from the house she left River in, just as she’d done once before.

James never went out after work unless he wanted something, a fact everybody was regretfully aware of. When he’d first joined the service, he hadn’t tried to hide anything, a firm believer in playing with open cards, so everyone knows what you have, and no one notices the cards up your sleeves. Sadly, as he learned, everybody plays dirty, and no one cares if the rookie plays cards while others play chess.

He had made it a game to figure out what game the others played, desperate to find an edge on everyone. While it may not make him well liked, it did get him a job. But that was back in training, and this is not that, as Sidonie gleefully reminds him, while handing him the beer he requested.

“I’d pray for the park if they made you an agent, gosh.” She took a swig of her beer. “I know it must be thrilling for you to dig into River, again, I remind you, but he will tell you everything you want to know if you just ask him.” She rolled her eyes.

“But where’s the fun in that.” He mocked. “I’m surprised he isn’t here.”

“That’s what you expected?” She asked with a raised brow. “River has become more antisocial since the academy days, you must know.”

“He is always out Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He countered.

“Keeping track, are you?” Sidonie smirked and chugged the rest of her drink. “I don’t know where he goes, but it’s not with any of us.” She said, looking at the group of tipsy coworkers behind them. 

“And you never asked?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really care what he does in his free time, Webb, I’m not you.” She snorted.

He huffed. Baker left her chair and joined the rest, while he kept his seat. Cartwright always left exactly on time Tuesdays and Thursdays and always stayed late every other day. James had assumed he’d joined the rest from the park, who always went out for drinks those days, a tradition that started years ago and was kept alive. He himself had even gone out a couple of times through the years but nobody wanted to mingle with their superior, as he learned. And nobody wanted to mingle with him.

Even at the academy he was left to his own devices. He was an asshole to everyone around him, never shied away from telling people when they were fucking up. When you had gotten as far as every single one at the academy had, no one appreciated being told they were a fuck up. Not even Cartwright, no matter how many times he returned to sit beside James after being told to fuck off.

James learned that he wasn’t the only asshole in their class after being stuck with him. Cartwright was good and quick and learned faster than most, but he was insufferable and only thought of himself no matter the situation. James wanted to study him like a bug under a microscope.

He talked a lot but never about himself and if it was, it was never anything personal. When they got to the park, he was known only as the O.B.’s grandson, and every recruit from their year were quick to gain favours from their superior by telling them anything they had been told by River.

It seemed James was the only one to remember the months it took for anyone to even put together, that the infamous O.B. and the blond who excelled in every subject, shared a last name. And once the rumours took root, it didn’t take long before Cartwright was surrounded with all the morons of the academy.

Yet he still spent most of his free time in silence, without the flock of dolts looking over his shoulder.

James was put with him more often than not, his classmates at least noticing how Cartwright seemed to be the only one immune to James’s quibbling, which James was thankful for, or else his faith in the future of the British intelligence service might have dwindled out completely.

He had entered the service to make their mistakes few and far in between, and River Cartwright had been his biggest struggle to date.

Finding out your father was alive wasn’t as exciting as finding out you had siblings, River decided, as he looked at the trains rolling into the station. His grandmother was holding his hand in a tight grip, face pale.

His grandfather said they couldn’t know what to expect, or if his brother even wanted to get to know River, that it was pure luck it worked out getting them to England in the first place. He said his brother was born just a few months before River and that his name was Bertrand, that he was going to live with his mother, who hadn’t had much to do with either him or his father until very recently.

They were supposed to come to the house, but his grandparents had decided it would be better to pick them up and figure out what they wanted to do from there. But then his grandfather was called out of London. His grandmother said not to worry, but it was hard not to, when her face pulled into a grimace every time River asked if everything was okay.

His grandmother pressed his hand and used her other to point at the train that’d just pulled to a stop.

“I believe that is them,” she said.

A blonde woman with a darkhaired boy beside her stepped out and looked around. River didn’t need to get any closer to them to know, he was looking at his exact reflection, it only getting more obvious the closer he got to them. “Natasha?” His grandmother asked the woman.

Her son turned before she did, eyes like River’s looking them over.

“Oui,” she said and smiled. “Rose? I talked to your husband.”

She nodded. “That you did.” She pulled at River’s hand. “Well?”

River took a step towards his brother, who in return took one back. River didn’t let that stop him however and reached a hand in front of him. “I’m River.” He introduced himself, trying to sound as clear as he could.

The boy ignored his hand. “Bertrand.” River waited for more, but Bertrand stayed quiet.

After a silent second his grandmother cleared her throat. “Lunch?” She asked, her voice higher than usual.

Natasha smiled, relief shadowing her face. “That would be lovely.”

His grandmother navigated them to a restaurant not too far from the station. She fell into conversation with Natasha, though never letting go of River’s hand, as he walked a step in front of her, right beside Bertrand. Bertrand hadn’t said much and ignored any attempts River made at conversation. He just walked with a straight back and forward gaze, just like the men who sometimes came to talk to his grandfather.

They were waiting for their food when his grandfather joined them. River was happy to see him. Bertrand on the other hand went rigid. River could see Bertrand’s hand go white with how hard he was squeezing his thigh.

His grandfather placed a kiss on River’s head and shook Natasha’s hand. He sat down beside his wife and took off his jacket.

“How was the journey over? I do apologise for not being able to pick you up from the station.”

“Oh no, no need to worry.” Natasha smiled. “The train was fine, right Bertrand?”

His brother nodded. His lips were pulled into a tense smile, a smile River could recognise from himself when he was truly uncomfortable, and by the look on his grandfather’s face, so could he.

The lunch was stilted, even though his grandmother tried her best to keep conversation flowing. Bertrand was quiet and River was nervous. River hadn’t been sure Bertrand spoke English, but he responded to his grandmother, even if it was only with a nod or shake of his head.

He had been picking at his food, cutting it into a hundred small pieces without eating a single one. River had offered to switch with him, but Bertrand had just wrinkled his nose.

While the lunch had been a disaster, his grandparents still invited them to stay at the house for the weekend.

Bertrand had sat himself in the middle of the garden as his mother drank afternoon tea with River’s grandmum. River too had sat himself on the grass, with a book he was flicking through without reading it.

He let out a sigh and closed it abruptly. Just because his brother was moping didn’t mean he had to too, or let Bertrand do it alone in the wet grass.

River pulled a chair through the garden and sat on it right in front of Bertrand. He couldn’t ignore him like this, River thought, and if he did, it had nothing to do with him.

River stared at Bertrand, who had closed his eyes and was now taking deep breaths as if he were asleep. River didn’t buy it.

“You grew up with our father, right?” He asked, making sure to say it quietly enough for his grandmother to not hear him.

Bertrand opened his eyes and gave a curt nod.

“Will you miss him?”

“Who’s to say I don’t already?”

River shrugged. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t started truly missing his mother until weeks after she left. For Bertrand it had only been a week.

They sat in silence, long enough for a cloud to shadow the sun and darken the day.

“I don’t miss him.” Bertrand said. “He wasn’t nice.”

“Oh.” River hadn’t thought he was nice, his mum’s boyfriends rarely were, but it was different hearing it from his brother. The way their father treated Bertrand; he would’ve treated River.

“Is your mum nice?”

“I think so,” Bertrand murmured. “But if she really is that nice, why wouldn’t she have come get me sooner?”

River didn’t have an answer. He still hadn’t gotten the whole story about what happened, not from his grandparents or his mother. His mother hadn’t even called or sent a postcard since she left. But he didn’t think it would be fair to ask Bertrand what’d happened.

“Do you want to see my room?” River asked instead.

Bertrand shrugged but stood up, following River. River led him up the stairs and into his bedroom, which was decorated with fairy lights, a gift from his grandmother. River wasn’t sure if Bertrand and his mother would stay the night, but the offer had been made. Bertrand would sleep in River’s room and his mother in the guestroom.

River sat on his bed. Bertrand looked around the room, before taking the chair at River’s desk, and flipping through a couple of papers River had forgot to tidy up.

“You’re in third grade?” Bertrand asked.

“Aren’t we in the same grade?”

Bertrand shrugged. “We were schooled at Les Arbres.” He froze and his eyes flickered to the door that stood open. River paid it no mind and wrote it down under; things I am going to ask my grandfather about. He had made a list in his head and had tried to write it down but every time he got to one thing, another came up and he decided it would be easier to just try and remember it all.

River wanted to ask Bertrand, but he knew it wouldn’t end well, even if he tried to formulate it as a not question, River had a feeling Bertrand would see right through it.

James clocked in at exactly eight in the morning every day. He checked in on the agents in the field, then the agents in house, and then he made himself a cup of tea. It was his little ritual that filled the gap he had in the mornings, before he was called to second desk for the morning debrief.

His agents would be sitting at their desk, waiting for their assignments, which James would give them, and the morning would go on without a hitch.

But when he reached the little office, he saw Baker, Guy, the empty desk belonging to Coe, who was still in the field, and the empty desk of Cartwright, who was decidedly not there. Not even a jacket hung over his chair or a mug on the desk.

“Where’s Cartwright?”

“Not here, yet.” Guy replied, without looking up from her computer. “Anything for me?”

“Security detail for the minister of state.” He dumped the file in her hand without looking. “He does know you are to be ready at eight sharp, right?”

“He’s never been late before,” Baker spoke. “As I’m sure you know.” She said pointedly.

“He hasn’t called in sick?” Guy asked. James knew she and River were some kind of friends, even though how that came to be was a mystery for him.

“No.”

“Maybe he’s just late.” Baker didn’t sound too concerned. “I mean its River; anything can happen to him. He might be stuck in traffic.”

Guy shrugged. James left their office and went on with his work, though his mind was in another place. Baker was correct in saying anything could happen to River, but that did not settle his mind, far from it.

Taverner was standing up as he entered her office, which was never a good sign, James had learned.

She offered him the chair opposite her, but didn’t sit down in her own. James was left staring up at her, as she looked down on him.

“Everything in order?” She asked sharply.

“Every agent is accounted for,” James swore he saw her let out a sigh of relief before he went on. “Except Cartwright.”

She closed her eyes, her mouth pulling into a tense line. “I see.”

James waited for her to go on, but she just sat back into her chair and folded her hands together. “Am I missing anything?”

“David Cartwright had the park called to his home,” she told. “When we showed up, there was no sign of David Cartwright or any other. We tried to get a hold of River Cartwright, to no luck, and any other we have contacted haven’t heard from him either.”

“Is this a course for concern?”

“When a retired member of the park, who served one of the highest positions we have, calls in an emergency and he is nowhere to be found, once we get on scene, it is concerning, quite concerning, Webb.” She raised her voice. “Especially if his active agent grandson is not responding to a summoning from his handler, which, do I have to remind you, is considered an act of treason.”

“I’m aware, ma’am.” James nodded his head down. “Has there been no sighting of either?”

“None.”

“Who is assigned to the case?”

“Slough house.” She replied, leaning back in her chair. “I am considering getting a surveillance team on it too, it has been too long without any form of contact.”

“Slough house?” James asked, agitation colouring his voice.

“I believe them to be adequate service.” She looked him directly in the eyes, a silent challenge for what, James didn’t know.

“Of course,” He easily agreed. “I will put a surveillance team together.”

She nodded and stood up. “I would appreciate if you kept this quiet, I don’t want any unnecessary panic.” She smiled. “I’m sure you know what kind of rumours would go around if anyone heard the gist of this.”

He began to make his exit from the room when she stopped him.

“And keep the surveillance team small, expendable.” She called after him.

“I will.” He promised, with crossed fingers.

River didn’t know what his grandmother and Bertrand’s mother had been talking about, but when they came back down the stairs, they were conversing as if they were lifelong friends.

Over dinner his grandmother confirmed Bertrand, and his mother, would be staying the night.

River helped her make the beds and tidy up the rooms a bit. He always thought the house felt the best when it was filled with people. It rarely was anymore, but his grandparents often told him of the dinner Parties they had held when they were younger, before his mother was born.

After dinner as River was helping with dishes, he saw out the corner of his eyes Bertrand sneak up the stairs. He excused himself and went after him on tiptoes.

The door to his room stood open, and Bertrand was standing in front of the small collection of books laying in a pile on River’s desk, his finger going over every spine. River watched him go to the other side of the room and quietly look through the clothes River had hanging on his door. It was nothing interesting, but Bertrand was going through like it was the most interesting piece of art in a museum.

Bertrand turned suddenly and stared at River. “I was just seeing where I would be sleeping.”

“Okay.” River didn’t want to ask. “We’re both sleeping in here, if that’s alright?”

Bertrand nodded and stepped towards River.

“Good. I’ve never shared a room with anyone,” River admitted. “Have you?”

“Yes.” Bertrand replied shortly.

“Was it fine?”

“I liked my roommate.” Bertrand shrugged with a hint of a pained expression. “We shared our room since before I remember.” He looked defeated and River felt like a knight slaying the evil dragon.

“What’s his name?” River asked.

“Patrice.” Bertrand responded. His lips lifted into a not quite smile. “He is with his mother now too.”

“Have you talked since?”

Bertrand shook his head. “I am not allowed to talk to anyone from there.”

“Oh.” River breathed. He wished his grandfather had told him more than he did about that, about everything. “Do you want to? I’m sure my grandfather can-”

Bertrand interrupted him with a huff. “Yeah, I’m sure he can do whatever he wants.”

River blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Why do you think I’m here, instead of home? He is the reason everything went to shit!” Bertrand rolled his eyes.

“You can’t say that word.” River chastised. He didn’t know what Bertrand meant at all. “I thought you hated it there?” He asked in a small voice.

“It is still my family! Now I’m stuck with someone I barely even knew existed, and here with you, and your family that I have no relation to, and I don’t know any of you!” He yelled. He turned sharply, looking out the window, but not before River saw the tear falling from his eyes.

River froze. He learned what to do when someone was angry or frustrated, he had to when his mother’s boyfriends so often had a temper, but he never had to comfort someone. He slowly stepped closer and pulled his arms around him, tightening his grip when Bertrand tensed. His grandmother always said there wasn’t anything a hug couldn’t help.

Bertrand relaxed into the hug and let out a quiet sob. River just held him as tightly as he could and hoped his grandparents wouldn’t choose this moment to call them down for dessert.

River counted to a hundred and forty-two before Bertrand tried to get out of his hold. River let him and stared as Bertrand’s face fell back into an emotionless mask.

River searched his eyes -for what, he didn’t know- but he nodded satisfied with what he found, and took Bertrand’s hand, dragging him down the stairs.

“We have ice-cream and Grandmum is making dessert, but I don’t know if you’ll like it, I don’t,” River ignored his grandfather’s raised brow when he walked past him and opened the freezer. “Chocolate, vanilla or raspberry?”

“Whatever you like,” Bertrand shrugged. “I’ve never had ice-cream before.”

River gasped, shadowed by his grandmothers.

“Well that simply won’t do,” she said and looked at Bertrand’s mother. “And that pitiful leftover will not cut it. What do you say about a trip into town?”

The hallways of Regents Park were not made for being run through, maybe in the events of a national crisis it could be allowed, but James did not consider this that, even with the way his heart was unexplainable beating fast.

He slammed the door open to the office he left not even an hour ago.

Guy looked up at him with a shocked expression.

“Where’s the fire?” Baker asked drily from behind him, a steaming mug in hand. It said a lot about James' current state of mind that he did not even notice her behind him.

“I’m reassigning you from all current cases.” He stated, closing the door behind Baker. He looked from one side to the other and pulled the drapes, that barely covered the window and door, shut. “There has been an emergency regarding Cartwright. Both Cartwrights.” He added.

Guy sat up in her chair. “What kind of emergency? Is River alright?”

James ignored her question. “Cartwright senior sent for the park and haven’t been heard from since. We have tried to open communications with Agent Cartwright, to no avail. The dogs were sent,” He checked his watch. “Two minutes ago.”

“Fuck!” Baker gasped. “Do we know if this has anything to do with River?”

“Obviously it has something to do with River.” James rolled his eyes. “Second desk doesn’t find the case too time sensitive and asked me to pull together a small team to work together with the one she deemed fit for the case.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “I believe you to be reliable enough for it, though you have the opportunity to pull out if that is what you wish.” Both Baker and Guy shook their heads. “Good.”

“You seem awfully… affected.” Baker spoke.

“Who is the other team we will be working with?” Guy asked at the same time.

“Slough House.” James sighed, ignoring Baker.

“…Slough House?” Guy did not sound impressed. “As in Jackson Lamb? Don’t you think someone else should be assigned, someone who isn’t known for hating O.B.’s guts?”

“What I believe to be best for the case does not matter, Taverner chose who she chose, and we will have to work with them.”

“So, you’re working with us? That’ll be interesting.” Baker did not sound pleased. “Are you even allowed?”

“I went through the same training as every agent in this building, Baker, yes I am allowed.” James looked down at his phone. “Jackson Lamb has agreed to meet us in twenty minutes; you will both be there.” He ordered. “I will meet you there.”

They both nodded.

“I am reassigning both of your current cases; you will be asked to send notes to the agent taking over.” James’s mobile began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the caller ID. “Excuse me.” He said and left the room.

He answered the phone with a clipped hello.

“James Webb?” A female voice asked. As he confirmed, she went on. “I am Jackson Lamb’s secretary; I think you should get here as soon as you can. We have found something you should see.”

River’s room was warmer than he could remember it ever having been before. He liked when it was a bit chilly at night, but he could ignore his preference for Bertrand’s wish. They had been put to bed nearly an hour ago, yet River was still fighting sleep.

He looked down to the floor where Bertrand’s still body was laying. He had insisted, even after River offered him his bed to sleep in.

River couldn’t tell if Bertrand was asleep or not. He hadn’t moved since he laid down and his breathing hadn’t changed. River was usually good at knowing when someone was asleep. His mother and him would share a room when she was less fortunate in the flats they moved to, and even if it was just temporary, River learned the pattern of his mother’s breathing. Sometimes she would sit back up, when she thought River was asleep, and leave for a bit. She would pretend she had never left, and River didn’t ask in fear she would be mad he wasn’t asleep.

River was getting impatient. He stuck his head out the frame of his bed and stared at Bertrand.

“Are you awake?” He whispered.

There was silence before Bertrand’s head turned on his pillow. “Oui.”

“I can’t sleep.” River said. “It’s different with you here. How was it back where you come from?”

“Normal.” Bertrand sat fully up. “I mostly slept by Patrice anyway, and he’s quiet.”

“Oh,” River brushed his hair out of his face. “What was he like?”

Bertrand shrugged. “Nice. Nicer than the others at least.”

“How many were you?” River pried. “They didn’t tell me much; you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” He tried to reassure him.

“It is fine.” Bertrand pulled his knees under his chin and rested his head on them. “Yves was the oldest, then Patrice and then me.” He closed his eyes. “There were others, older, but we did not know them much. We were by ourselves.”

His grandfather had mentioned his brother wasn’t the only one there and then hadn’t elaborated. River did not ask about them. He wished he had now.

“It was a bigger room than this.” He revealed. “It was right under the roof, so you could see the stars, not like you can here, but brightly.” He paused. “But it was cold, very cold.” 

“Are you cold now?” River asked. “I have an extra blanket, or you could sleep in my bed, and I can sleep down there.” He glided down to the floor. “It is colder down here.”

Bertrand stared at him with searching eyes, before standing up quickly and laying down in River’s bed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” River fluffed his pillow and too laid down. “I’ve never slept on the floor. It’s weird down here.” He giggled.

“Frank made us sleep on the floor always.” Bertrand said.

River stopped giggling. His brother laid in his bed with closed eyes and a content look on his face.

“It’s nice having a bed.”

Slough House was as much of a dump as James had heard. The door only opened after a kick, and the stairs were dark and dirty. He could smell Jackson Lamb before he saw him. He sat in his chair, with closed eyes and his bare feet on the table, loud snores emitting from him.

“Agent Webb?”

James turned to the woman who called for him. Baker and Guy stood behind her, Guy with a hand on her gun and Baker with a look on her face James would describe as disgusted.

“I was the one who called you.  Catherine Standish.” She did not offer her hand. “I believe you would want to see what Lamb found.” She said and stepped into a small kitchen, the three following. “Tea?” She offered.

They each shook their heads.

“We won’t be here for long.” James said in a clipped tone. “You said Agent Lamb found something.”

“I did.” A voice drawled behind him. Guy had a gun trained on the older man before James had even turned. “Put that down, god!” He rolled his eyes. “You’d think the park trained you to notice people, not just point your gun at them.” He let out a sigh. “Taverner sent you?”

“Well-”

“It’s not everyday Lady Di calls you up, you know.” He spoke over James. “Said something about some Cartwright’s gone missing.”

“Yes.” Baker said.

“Well, I don’t know about junior, but the Old Bastard was neither well-loved nor liked. The list of people wanting to do him harm is a long and broad one, starting with my name.” He let a loud yawn.

“So, you have an idea of who is behind this?” Guy asked.

He wrinkled his nose. “Ho!” He yelled loudly, making James cringe. When he got no response, he pointed at Standish who then walked past Baker and down the creaky stairs. “I don’t know what incompetence is taught at the park these days, but the lot here are the thickest agents I’ve ever worked with,” he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it before going on. “And even they could find something fishy.”

“Taverner did not believe this case to be one of importance.” James spoke.

“Hmm.” Lamb grunted. “She might want to reconsider ‘bout that.” He took a drag and blew the smoke right into James’ face.

Bertrand and his mother spend the rest of their weekend in Kent. River showed Bertrand around the nearest town, and his grandmother had talked his grandfather into letting Bertrand stay with them, the next summer.

They drove together to the train station, where they had picked them up. It was crowded and River nearly lost Bertrand, as he slithered around the masses of people, to get to the train. As his grandparents and Bertrand’s mother were saying their goodbyes, River pulled Bertrand into a hug. He held him till Bertrand closed his arms around River.

“I’ll call you,” River promised. “And I’ll do anything to find Patrice.”

Bertrand nodded into River’s neck. “Thank you.” He whispered. His mother pulled him onto the train just as the doors were closing. His grandfather's hand weighed on his shoulder as River waved.

They rode back to the house in near silence. River with his head up against the window, counting every tree they drove by.

He helped his grandmother tidy up after their guests and then joined his grandfather in the yard. His grandfather had donned the gardening tools for a beige file. River knew he wasn’t allowed to see his grandfather’s work, but he so rarely worked outside where River could come by and just accidently look over his shoulder. He knew that whatever was in that file, it must have something to with himself.

“Did you find Patrice?” River asked.

His grandfather calmly turned the page he was reading. “Not yet. It seems there is a lot I do not know about what has transpired.”

“Bertrand said you were the reason they were taken.”

“I am the reason they were taken by the right people.” He agreed. “If we hadn’t jumped in, someone else would’ve.”

“Like my father?”

“Someone who knows him, most likely.” He nodded his head. “Your mother-”

“My mother wanted me to know everything.” River cut in. “So why are you not telling me anything? You didn’t even tell me I had brothers.”

His grandfather closed his eyes. “There is much I know that you don’t. But I do not know everything.” He closed the file. “Your mother made me aware of information I did not have. I tried to help her before you were born, but it seems I did more harm than good, to those who are not your mother.”

River rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Mum said you ruined her life.”

His grandfather let out a deep sigh. “And I’m sure that is what she believes.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “What else did Bertrand tell you?”

“Not much.” River shrugged. “He mostly talked about Bertrand and Yves, then a little bit about the others in the house.”

“Others?” His grandfather probed.

“He said they mostly were with ‘Frank’, but that he was not very nice. He made them sleep on the floor without a proper bed.” River fidgeted with his hand. “I think…”

“What?”

“Is Frank my father?”

His grandfather removed his glasses from his head. “Yes.”

River moved to sit down, in front of the garden chair. “Mum told me his name was Matt.”

“She also told you he was dead.” His grandfather spoke. “Your mother is not the most reliable person to go to for the truth, River.”

“Do you not think Bertrand was telling the truth?”

“I think,” His grandfather started. “Bertrand was your father’s son before he became your brother.”

They did not go back to the Regents Park, not because Lamb advised them against it, but because James felt it did not matter where they had this meeting, and it would be less evident something had happened if they did not broadcast it to the entire MI5. It was not often Jackson Lamb was inside the walls of Regents Park, and James had never even heard of his entire team of rejects coming along.

So, he chose a nondescript hotel, not too far from Cartwright's flat, but close enough to the Regents Park if Taverner needed him.

Jackson Lamb had not been helpful in the slightest in the search. He did not care for the older Cartwright and the care he had for River was pure curiosity. He started listing any who would harm David Cartwright in Slough House and didn’t stop till they reached the hotel.

James did not think he had needed to put the gods above as a threat against David Cartwright.

Guy set up their computers with the unwilling help of Roddy Ho, the designated IT head of Slough House, an infamous figure in MI5. James never thought he would ever have the displeasure of having to work with him.

Neither first nor second desk had tried to contact him, or Guy or Baker. Not that they had any reason to, the last couple of weeks had been, and James hated the word, slow. There hadn’t been any terrorist attacks, attempted or otherwise, no unexplainable murders or any other kind of threats to the Great Britain.

He’d had time to take control of things, make sure everything was exactly as it should be. And it was. So, of course, River Cartwright had to come and mess it all up.

“What have you found?” He asked the team, huddled around the computer.

“River was caught on a security camera walking out of his flat, early last night.” Baker replied. “Nothing out of the ordinary it seems.”

“He took his car,” Guy presumed.

“We are assuming he took his car,” Baker corrected. “We see him walk to the car and then we see it driving on a highway that connects to the road to his grandfathers.”

“So, he took his car.” James stated.

“Yes.” Guy nodded. “His grandfather is a bit trickier to place, but we are assuming he was the one to call for the park.” She pointed to the screen. “River drove from his flat an hour and forty minutes before the park was at David Cartwright's house, so if we are assuming River was at his grandfathers, he would’ve been there for thirty minutes at most.”

“Which is long enough for River not to be the reason the Park was called.” Baker summarized. “Not that we thought that in the first place.” She side eyed Guy and him.

“There’s a car,” Ho drawled. “That drove to Cartwright senior's house at noon.” He hadn’t looked up from his own screen a single time since James re-entered the conference room. “Rented, no name, only an address to a hotel in Dartford.”

The three turned to stare at him. “And you didn’t think that was important information?” Guy demanded.

Ho shrugged. “Didn’t know then, did I? Someone’s put a self-destruction on the website, hard to crack.” He smirked. “You should be thanking me, really, it would’ve taken any other hours to get by-”

“In Dartford, you said?” Baker asked. “We need to go by the house too. Up for a fieldtrip, Webb?”

James let out a sigh and thought of every way this could blow up in their faces, but then again River could be blown up somewhere too without anyone knowing, then gave a defeating nod.

River’s life went on. He talked to Bertrand on the phone as often as he could, and tried to get in contact with his mum, but the only reply he ever got was a postcard with no mention of anything, other than the beautiful views she’d seen.

His grandfather told him he was doing everything in his power to locate Patrice, but that he ‘hadn’t found anything new since you last asked, River’, a reply River was displeased by but knew wouldn’t change in the foreseeable future, no matter how hard his grandfather worked.

But still, he was restless, the feeling something big was about to happen never quite leaving him.

River had begun spending his days outside, walking up and down the road to the house, weaving through the trees surrounding them and trying to memorize every tiny detail he could find. His grandparents had noticed, his grandmother shaking her head in defeat and his grandfather nodding with a prideful eye. Though they had never told him in detail what exactly it was his grandfather’s job was, his mother had told him more than enough for River to string enough together and get a picture.

He had begun to tell him stories before bed. He always said they were made up, never happened, but River wasn’t sure. He had seen the pictures of his grandfather in the army, or what he told him was the army, and even though River knew that wasn’t the usual army uniform, he held his mouth. He knew he worked with important people and knew secrets; sometimes secrets even his grandmother couldn’t know about.

The story he told him was about regret and terror, knowing that by doing the wrong thing you’re doing the right, and though he gave the ‘characters’ names River didn’t recognize, he did recognize the descriptions. Sometimes, from the few pictures kept in the house, those not of family, but most often from the people following him and his mother.

She hadn’t wanted him to know about them at first, but he felt the watchful eyes from the moment he could remember. She told him they were there to protect them, shadow them, knowing where they were. River never believed her. Every time he told her he saw one following him, she would pack their bags and be miles away before the next day.

He hadn’t told his grandfather that though, fearing he would stop his tales if he became aware River knew what they were truly about.

His grandmother had rolled her eyes the first night she heard him telling stories in River’s room. River didn’t know what she knew, his mother had never spoken much of her, other than telling him she existed. River now knew it was because she never had much to say. His grandfather had been a right bastard, never understanding her in any way or form, no matter how hard she tried to make him. And her mother had been there. Always neutral in the war happening in her house, but still straying to her husband’s side, as her daughter turned more and more bitter.

River thought she did her best, all things considered.

He knew she knew more than she let on, not that she’d let anything on for a while. But she wanted him to know, everything or just enough, he didn’t know, but she wanted to tell him. Now he just needed a way for her to do it.

James had seen David Cartwright’s house once before, a memory he had tried to supress since. The late weeks of training was no walk in the park, for any of the agents who had gotten that far, the last weeks were filled with the toughest assignments they would be sent on, to weed out the agents who slipped through the cracks but weren’t good enough when it got to it.

For James it was the last step of the climb to the park, he didn’t want to be a field agent and therefore didn’t need the years of training required. But he still needed to be ready for field action, if the worst were to happen.

It was easy when he got to it, but in his mind, it was set in stone; he was not meant to be a field agent. Everything had gone relatively smooth, he reached all the checkpoints, with time to spare. He hadn’t needed to hurry but the quicker he could be over with it, the quicker he was done with his training.

He hadn’t minded walking through London days on end, a much better alternative to the first, more primitive, training they all had to go through, as the first; ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?’. James did good in that exercise, not the best but far from the worst, enough to show he was good, a great spot for one who wished to work behind the scenes, away from any immediate danger.

But alas he needed the last bit of his practicum to go perfectly.

And it would’ve if River Cartwright and his messes hadn’t sneaked in without James’ noticing.

He’d seen him from the corner of his eyes, when he left the second to last checkpoint, sneaking around a corner. He most likely wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the frantic and quite loud conversation he was having on the phone. He couldn’t make anything out, only River’s voice, which seemed to carry in the otherwise loud and crowded area.

James ignored it and went on. Even if it was important, it hardly had anything to do with him, and if it did it could wait until he was finished. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Anything involving River Cartwright never was.

He minded his business, or made it seem he did, keeping an eye on the man supposed to lead him to the last checkpoint, not that the man knew. But instead of the man walking to the tube, as James had been told he would, he jumped into a car and drove away, right in front of James face. He didn’t react to it but inside his emotions boiled.

He wasn’t told to follow the man everywhere, only to the last checkpoint, but if there wasn’t a man to follow, he wouldn’t know where it was. He let out a sigh and checked his phone. He almost had an entire day left of the assignment, more than enough time to find the checkpoint himself, but he couldn’t let them know he’d lost the main ‘target’.

He was good, good enough so even if he failed this, he would still pass and get the job he wanted, eventually. But he didn’t want to wait and waste for the right opportunity, he wanted to get straight to it, establish himself as the true leader he knew he was.

He needed to find a way to get to the checkpoint with time to spare, preferably before the park realises their information was dated, or just plain wrong this day. He knew that these assignments, undercover or not, were alike if not the exact same, for decades agents had to go to the same checkpoint, to give everyone a somewhat even trial.

River didn’t ask questions when James asked to borrow his car for a couple of hours. James hadn’t expected him to, yet he was relieved he didn’t have to lie. River must’ve known James still would be on the assignment, probably assumed whatever he needed his car for would be better left unknown. He just handed over his key and went on with his work, without a second glance at James.

He rushed to the car and found what he was looking for. For being such an excellent trainee, River was still just that, a trainee, having not yet learned the hard way not to leave an accessible GPS in his car, showing every road he’d driven on the last months.

It was easy to turn it on and find the way to River’s grandfather’s house, easier to drive there and meet the notorious David Cartwright. He knew just what to say to get the checkpoint and be off before River even knew what he’d done. It would all be so easy and no one ever had to know.

It was with the air of confidence he made his first mistake, assuming David Cartwright had taken retirement calmly, happy with being just another pensioneer, a civilian to any who didn’t know better. River didn’t mention him often, but when he did, it was just as his grandfather, never an active agent who still knew his way around holding a pistol, or in this case a shotgun.

James took in the man in front of him, with his hands raised in the air. White hair. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, staring directly into James’ eyes without a single emotion showing. James should’ve known River’s grandfather would recognise his grandson’s car and know when it was not being driven by him. James had been stuck in a car with River behind the wheel before, and to say their driving was different would be an understatement. David Cartwright must have noticed it wasn’t his grandson driving the car, before James could’ve even seen the house.

Before James could say anything, argue his way out of the situation, David Cartwright lowered the gun.

“Webb?” He asked in a voice of authority.

“Yes.” He replied, letting his arms fall limp at his side. He didn’t ask how he knew who he was simply by seeing him.

“Is this about River?” James shook his head. The older man regarded him with an expression of stone. “Why are you here?”

“I heard you created the task roster,” James stated. “Including the checkpoints.”

“River doesn’t know you’re here.” He voiced. It wasn’t a question.

“No, sir.” His spine rigid. This wasn’t a man to cross, James knew, lying to his face would be out of the question, so James only had the truth left. “There was an unpredicted misfortune with the mark, causing a disruption,”

“You lost him,” Cartwright corrected.

“I was told only to follow him to the checkpoint, not further.” James tried to justify.

“And you are sure he did not reach the checkpoint after you lost him?”

“I was told,” James said impatiently. “Not to follow him,” He stopped. He thought back to how he eased through the assignment, had time to spare, everything going without a hitch. “It was on purpose.” He sighed.

Cartwright made a gesture. “An easy way to tell how quick an agent is to think on their feet. I will say, no one has ever come for me in my own home.”

“Well, River needs-”

“Don’t.” Cartwright pulled a pen from his pocket. “I know my grandson,” he took James’ hand. “This will be a good lesson for him,” he informed him. “Knowing who to trust.”

He scribbled on James’ hand, the pointy tip of the pen digging into his flesh. James wouldn’t be surprised if there was blood on his hand when he looked. But right now he could only watch the old man standing in front of him. For all he’d heard, he didn’t look like much, but he had just held a gun to his head, so maybe James was already being manipulated, as he had heard the man excelled in.

David Cartwright monitored him as he walked back to the car, the feeling of his eyes on him not leaving James until he was kilometres away.

He parked River’s car, throwing the keys through the letter hole in his door.

If James wanted to make it, he needed Cartwright away, out of the bigger picture James was painting. What James had called a necessary allyship, and River might’ve called a friendship, ended that day, not with a big betrayal or a bang, but with the promise of a future in the service hanging over their heads, like a guillotine.

River waited patiently, began sitting in his window every morning, waiting for the post again, hoping to get just a hint of where his mother might be. That was all he needed, just a stamp telling him where in the world she was hiding.

He stopped asking his grandfather about Patrice at every opportunity, but still sat and talked to Bertrand, for what could become hours, every day. Bertrand didn’t talk much, but he had begun to teach River French, saying his accent was atrocious, even for a Brit. River didn’t mind, as long he talked to his brother and got to know him, just a little bit, he was alright with anything Bertrand called him.

Bertrand told him more about their father, keeping the details annoyingly vague. He told him his mother, and Patrice and Yves, all went away, and they were made to forget. Bertrand’s mother was different from the others, he told River, she stayed in town, always trying to get Bertrand’s attention. Their father didn’t like that.

He said he thought Patrice was jealous, that they all were. He was the only one worthy enough for his mother to come for him. He didn’t consider River to be lucky, though, his mother leaving before he was even born, letting him be raised away and in ignorance. Even after much prying, he wouldn’t tell River what was so bad, but not bad enough for him not to wish River was with them too. 

River talked with Bertrand’s mother too, though their conversations were not long. She wanted to speak to River’s mother. She told him she hadn’t known her well but still wanted to know how she was doing. His grandmother said she needed advice and River’s mother was the only one who could give it to her.

But his mother still didn’t write or call, and the hope she would show up and come back in his life slimmed every day.

It was just shy of his tenth birthday, the day the parcel showed up. It wasn’t big, and it looked like it had travelled from another galaxy to get to him, bumped and bruised. It hadn’t come with the morning post, instead being sent directly to his grandfather’s office, causing a slight panic, his grandmother informed him, as she handed him the gift.

“It’s not my birthday yet,” he argued. “Aren’t I supposed to wait?”

“It’s fine just this once, don’t you think?”

River shrugged and started carefully removing the tape from the paper, opening the wrapped parcel. Inside was a rolled-up canvas, the paint bleeding through it slightly, with a big bow holding it together.

River undid the bow and unfolded the canvas to reveal a big, beautiful painting of London, Big Ben in the centre of it.

River didn’t need to see the signature to know it was from his mother.

“Oh, that’s beautiful!” His grandmother exclaimed.

“It is,” River agreed, letting the painting roll back in to the shape. He carefully put it on the table. “Can we frame it?” He asked. “I want it to hang in my room.”

His grandmother squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sure we can work something out. I believe your mother left some of her equipment here, if we can find it. You know how messy the shed is.”

River nodded and spent the rest of the day helping his grandmother tidy up.

The painting ended up on the wall opposite River’s bed. His grandmother said it would do him good to have a piece of her mother to feel asleep looking at, an argument even his grandfather couldn’t debate.

He fell asleep that night restlessly and awoke with the feeling he was forgetting something important.

Bertrand wouldn’t be able to visit for River’s birthday, but that was fine, River didn’t visit for Bertrand’s birthday either, not that he’d known when it was until after it occurred. His grandparents had talked about a bigger outing, with both Bertrand and his mother, at the zoo during easter break. Nothing was set in stone yet, his grandmother said, but River knew his grandfather could make anything happen, if he really wanted to.

In the evening, when River was waiting for sleep to come over him, he stared at the painting, making up stories that turned into dreams.

In one, River’s mother was haunting Westminster bridge, destined to a life with the clock telling her, at every moment, how long she had been stuck there, with no way to leave. River had come to get her free, almost succeeding, just before he woke up and soon after forgot about it all.

In another, an evil wizard had cursed her to be stuck inside the tower, with the big bell being the only way she could communicate with people outside. River came to rescue her, but was stopped by the evil wizard, who had laid evil plans, at every try.

The last one River had before his birthday was a copy of Cinderella. His mother had to be back at the clock before midnight or something bad would happen. But before River could come and rescue her, he woke up, feeling disoriented.

It was the middle of the night, the sky pitch black and not a sound to be heard.

River stood up and left his room, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs trying not to wake his grandparents. He drank a glass of water and went back to his room. Whatever had woken him couldn’t have been anything of note, otherwise his grandfather would be up too, so River felt he could go back to sleep easily enough. But after an hour of laying in his dark room, he gave up on sleep and turned on the light.

He tried to do his homework, then switched to the book he was reading, but he was too tired to read and too awake to sleep.

His eyes wandered back to the painting.

Watching his mother paint was the first thing he could ever remember seeing. Her standing in a room, while he sat and played, watching the colourful brushstrokes build the painting. She would sell the artwork for a bit of extra money, usually when they were about to leave and she needed a quick way away, not wanting her boyfriend to take notice.

She taught him bits and pieces about what it took to create, how it wasn’t just talent or passion, but persistence and hard work that made an artist. She didn’t think her work was good, but River thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He giggled when she drew a tiny doodle of his plushie into the work, a secret just between the two, painted over before it was sold, but in the work permanently.

But one thing his mother had always managed in her works was for River to want to be in the painting, to be in the room, the forest, the place.

His mother’s painting was her heart, his grandmother told him. And the only place River wanted to be forever, was in her heart.

The front door was open, clattering back and forth in the wind.

James stepped towards the house just as the car with the rest of the team, and selected members of Slough House, came to halt in the driveway.

“River sure is a country boy, huh.” Baker noticed, under her breath.

James smelled when Lamb halted beside him.

“We don’t know what we’ll find in there,” Lamb spoke. “It could be ugly.”

James rolled his eyes.

“Baker, Guy, backdoor,” he ordered, pointing behind him. “You’ll get the pleasure, Lamb.” He waved a hand towards the front door.

With a hand on his gun the dirty spy moved. In the blink of an eye, he had moved across the porch and kicked the door open, walking through each room passing them with sharp eyes, before climbing the stairs. Guy walked through the house and out to James.

“Nothing,” she said. “Not a sign of anyone.”

Baker nodded in agreement.

“Really?” An incredulous voice asked. “Nothing at all?” Lamb sauntered to them, stopping to light a cigarette. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you might be worse than my lot.” He took a drag of the lit cigarette. “Nothing my arse.” He murmured.

“Well, what did you find then, Agent Lamb?” James queried.

“Stop with the Agent bullshit, Webb, you can’t pull it off.” Lamb rolled his eyes. “The house is abandoned,” He nodded his head, greasy hair falling in his eyes. “Great work you girls, I’m sure no one else could’ve seen that.”

“Just answer, Lamb.”

Lamb ignored him and walked into the house again, this time with James and the rest following him.

When they reached the kitchen, Lamb stopped and pointed around.

“What?” Ho drawled. “They left before they finished tea. What’s odd ‘bout that?”

Lamb rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, they just left the doors open and ‘forget to finish tea’,”

“It might have been the dogs,” Guy spoke.

Lamb snorted. “Gosh are you all really this stupid? The dogs haven’t been here!”

“Taverner said-”

“Lady Di lied! What’s new.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, James following him, as he strode into a small study, and began opening drawers and cabinets.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching.” Lamb replied. “What does it fucking look like.”

“For what?” Baker asked.

He watched them with a raised brow. “This is David Cartwright’s office.” He stated. “It’s filled with state secrets,” he turned a book upside down before throwing it mindlessly behind him.

“You think they might’ve been after state secrets?”

“No, I’m after state secrets.” He crouched down, his knees cracking as he went. “The amount of dirt that man had.” He mumbled under his breath.

James stared at the man. His jaw would be on the floor, if he hadn’t trained himself out of unnecessary reactions like those years ago, and when he turned, he saw his agents with much of the same expressions.

James cleared his throat.

“Guy, Baker, search the area,” He ordered. “Ho, just stop that,” He yelled at the man opening a bottle of bourbon in the kitchen. James let out a sigh. “We would… appreciate your help,” He forced. “I don’t see The Park sending us any more resources, so for the love of god, don’t fool around.”

Ho shrugged. “I’m on the Wi-Fi, but it’s bad bro, capitol B. Lagging worse than in the eighties, I would say.”

“Wi-Fi did not exist in the nineteen eighties.” James messaged his temple.

“I doubt David Cartwright kept anything you could access online,” Baker spoke, following Guy. “He’s known for being old fashioned, even by the old fashioned.”

“An old-fashioned Bastard.” Lamb agreed.

“Just,” James sighed, moving his hands away from his head. “Do what I tell you to. I don’t expect much else from you,”

“Uh, Webb?” Guy yelled from the garden. “I think you should see this.”

Lamb was out the door before James had turned, surprisingly fast on his feet considering. When James got to where Guy was standing, both Baker and Lamb had taken a place beside her, looking at what she found.

“Hmm.” Lamb rumbled.

James followed their eyes and was met with a rosebush, dripping with a familiar red liquid.

“Someone took Alice in wonderland a bit too seriously, huh?” Baker tried to joke. 

Lamb crouched down, this time without crackling, and felt the at leaves, fondling them. “They’re not dry just yet.” He spoke. “We need to change our believed timeline.”

“Taverner said no one was here earlier this morning. Whoever was here came after.”

“And how exactly would she know? She didn’t fucking send anyone.” Jackson flicked the blood off his fingers. “You’d think you’d know this already. Always check anything they say yourself, the Bastard living here taught me that.” He pointed back to the house.

“There is not enough blood for them to have died here,” Guy told James. “It sprayed all over the place, most likely from a gunshot. If it had been a stab wound to an artery, they would have died around there,” she pointed to where he was standing. “But there is no blood anywhere else. I’m assuming he was standing there and got shot, it would explain the blood only being right on that bush, he would’ve had time to put pressure on the wound.”

James nodded. “We will assume whoever got hit is still alive.” And in great need of medical help, he thought.

River’s birthday went without much fanfare. It was a small affair, only him and his grandparents, on a cold may day.

His mother didn’t show, and he hadn’t expected her to.

His grandfather sat on his bed, when the day was over, and told him a story. It felt more important than the others, but River was fast asleep before he could hear the reason why it might be.

Bertrand called that evening. They didn’t talk for long; he only called to tell River him and his mother were moving. He would not tell him where exactly, and River didn’t ask if it was because he didn’t know or because he didn’t want River to know, but he sounded glad. He hadn’t told River in as many words, but River knew he hated where he lived. It was with his uncle, close to where he lived with their father, in the village not far from the woods he knew but wasn’t allowed to go in anymore.

His grandfather told River to stop Bertrand from saying anything more, which River unwillingly obeyed, and asked how his grandfather even knew what Bertrand had told him in the first place, which led to a lesson in how to tell if your telephone was being taped. His grandfather taught River a lot of lessons like those, never saying why exactly River would need to know. He had tried to show River how to handle his shotgun, but his grandmother was quick to shut that down with a thorough scolding, the first time River had ever seen his grandfather afraid.

It was during breakfast the next day, right after his grandfather had left for work, River asked if it would be possible to go to London.

“Today?” His grandmother asked.

River nodded. “We don’t have any plans, right? And it has been so long since I’ve been, I have never seen Big Ben, you know, or the big Ferris wheel there is being build. When d’you reckon it will open?” River asked in between bites. He didn’t wait for her answer. “And Grandad has lunch free, he told me so yesterday,” River tried to copy his grandfather’s way of speaking, the way that left one without a doubt he was telling the truth. But River could tell she wasn’t buying it. “Belated birthday trip?” He tried with a half-smile.

His grandmother sighed. “If you are so sure, dear,” she placed a kiss on the crown of his head. “You better get dressed then.”

River’s eyes didn’t leave the window the entire drive. It had been a while since they had a day trip to London, the last time was when they left Bertrand, and his mother, at the train station, which was ages ago, according to River. 

Even though it was cold, River begged his grandmother to let him get an ice-cream before lunch. He’d heard one of his classmates tell how every time he was in London he got treated to the best ice-cream ever, at a parlour in the Jubilee Garden. His grandmother let him dictate their journey with a tight hold on his hand, as he skipped and jumped through the flocks of people.

He finished his ice-cream just as he got to the middle of the bridge.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” His grandmother asked. “The winds are picking up.”

River shrugged. “It’s not that chilly.” He argued. “And the view is best here, even if all the tourists are standing like that.” He looked at a man talking loudly into his phone and at a family who was now on their fifth picture in front of the tower.

“We do need to be at the restaurant for lunch in thirty minutes, River.”

“I know,” he said. “Just five minutes more? It’s all very pretty.”

His grandmother gazed at the grey sky with a frown playing on her lips. “If you wish so.”

He did. And only after the five minutes had passed and it felt like nothing had changed, not like his mother made him feel all those times in the past where he was invited into her paintings, was River ready to go.

River was silent as they ate. He looked down at his plate for the entire meal, not hearing anything his grandparents said to him, or anything that was happening around them. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed a man sitting across from them, a man whose eyes never strayed far from him. But he didn’t and therefor when a man in a suit walked to his grandfather with an air of importance and asked him to take a step outside, leaving River and his grandmother alone, River just kept eating in silence.

His grandfather didn’t return, but his grandmother didn’t seem worried, so River wasn’t either. She even got him dessert, which River accepted without reminding her she’d already treated him to ice-cream not even an hour prior.

It was then River took notice to the pair across them. Two men sitting in silence each with a beer in front of them.

River frowned.

Something was off.

His grandfather would’ve been able to see and tell River every tiny detail he noticed, every point in which they acted oddly, if he had been there.

His grandmother stood up and told River she was going to the restroom. River just nodded and tried to see what about the men it was, that set a quiet alarm off in River, making all the hair on his arms stand up straight. The second his grandmother was out of sight one of the men downed his drink and stood up. River looked away hoping he hadn’t noticed his eyes burning a hole in his back.

He ate the bite left of his cake and swung his leg back and forth, then he felt a presence behind him. He turned his head and saw the man he had just watched. It couldn’t be possible for him to move so quick and quiet; River hadn’t noticed him putting his jacket on, let alone walk the distance of the room to stand behind him.

River tried to say hello, but the man put a hand over his mouth before he got the chance. It was then River realised they were the only left in the dining room.

“Happy birthday, River.” The man said. American. “Or belated, I suppose. I sadly couldn’t be present but,” River felt the hot air of the man’s sigh on his neck. River tried to wiggle out of his grip, but the man held him so tight River wasn’t sure he could even breathe. “It’s good to see you.”

River knew then, why this man seemed familiar, why his mere presence was enough for River to feel dangerously on edge. Why the stranger knew his birthday.

River mumbled into his hand, into his father’s hand, tried to rip it off his face, tearing at what he could reach, to no avail. He felt the wetness of blood dripping from where River had ripped the skin of his hands open.

“Stop.” The man ordered. “Or I’ll have the man standing outside the toilet shoot your grandma.”

River gasped against the cold palm and stilled. He could only hope his grandfather would come back, that he would know something was wrong, that his wife and grandson were in danger, or that the man he’d spent the better part of last year swearing River to never search for, turned up in the very same place he had just left.

When his father, his father, finally let go of the tight grip he held River in and removed his hand from River’s mouth, River took a deep breath and screamed.

At the same moment his father startles, River took the butter knife laying on the table and turned and swung it at his father with closed eyes. He heard the surprised groan from the man and ran to the door but was grabbed by his arm just as he opened it.

“Listen here you little shit,” The other man from his father’s table said. He had an accent like Bertrand’s, River noticed. But he also knew if the man was here and not with his grandmother-

“Grandmum!” River screamed with everything he had in him.

The man holding River dragged him back to his father, who was standing with a hand pressing down on his leg, blood fussing out. River saw his frown, but not the sign of pain he should be seeing.

“Drop him.” His father commanded. “Now!” He yelled when nothing happened.

The French man let go of the tightness of his grip but still held on to River, tighter than he would’ve liked. He tried to pull his arm back but was stopped by the glare his father sent towards them both. River wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or the man holding him.

“Didn’t I tell you to not leave the woman alone no matter what? Now the entire fucking British intelligence is going to be outside in seconds, if they aren’t already!” He rushed to the window where all the drapes were pulled shut and peaked out.

River would’ve laughed at the situation if he had been anywhere else with anyone else, it looked comical. He couldn’t wait to tell Bertrand about this, if he made it out. He felt tears well up in his eyes.

He hadn’t looked at the possibility that this could be his last moment on earth. What else would his father want him for? His mother and grandfather had been in agreement that his father wouldn’t look for him, that there was nothing they would let him do to River. They’d promised they wouldn’t let him come for River. He wasn’t here to take him, River knew. He was here to tie a loose end up, just as his grandfather told River he did in his early days, and River thought he might still do, if he was being honest. But the stories his grandfather told him of tying up loose ends had been nothing like this, not even in his most child appropriate versions of his bedtime stories.

His father paced back and forth, pulling a gun from his jacket and checking the magazine. River watched his every movement with sharp eyes, not straying from the man he knew so much about yet heard so little.

He wasn’t anything like River’d imagined. His hair was long enough to be pulled back behind his ears, and he had the shadow of a beard, looking every bit of a man his grandfather hates.

River couldn’t take his eyes off him, not even when the man holding his arm pushed him backwards and into a chair. The chair could’ve had pins sticking out of it and River wouldn’t have noticed till he sat down.

His father came and crouched down in front of him. “Now River,” he smiled a not kind smile. “I’m sure you know I don’t have much use of you,” he laughed, loud. “Though I admit, you have intrigued me. It’s not everyone who gets a go at me.” He looked down at his bloodied leg. River could still see a small ripple of blood running down. “You surprised me,”

“What do you want.” River demanded.

“Don’t be rude.” His father raised an eyebrow. “If you just answer what I ask, everything will be just fine, see?” He looked into River’s eyes and stood back up, towering over River. “Now, your mother might’ve not told you this, but you have a brother.” He told.

River tensed. He knew his father noticed the change, yet it was too late to back down. “What?” River whispered. If it was a question to his father or to himself, River didn’t know.

“Yes,” his father nodded and laid his palm on River’s shoulder. “And I lost him, which made me very sad. But,” his father’s eyes flickered to the door. “Now I found you, which is making me very happy.”

River’s mind was going a thousand thoughts a second, yet the loudest was screaming to know if Bertrand was safe. But maybe, River thought, this wasn’t about Bertrand at all, maybe this was about the others. River knew Bertrand was safe, with his mother in their new apartment, he had talked to him just yesterday and if something horrid had happened his grandfather would have told him, even if it would hurt River.

But. River knew he had brothers and if his father didn’t know River knew he had brothers, what was he here for? It couldn’t’ just be to tell River he wasn’t an only child.

“What do you want,” River repeated. “With me?”

“Finally asking the correct questions, River, very good.” His father praised. “I don’t want anything with you, you weren’t meant to be here, it was a mistake. I only needed to see your grandfather. And then, there you were.” His eyes crinkled as he looked down into River’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, River, and truly it’s been my pleasure.”

River doubted that. “Then why keep me here? Why not let me go?”

“Why would I let you go once I have you?”

River could come up with hundreds of reasons, all his father did not want to hear. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that today was the day his father would corner his grandfather, the same day him and his grandmother went to London.

The other man said something to his father in quick French, too quick for River to understand, but he got the urgency in his tone. River took a deep breath. It was his grandfather, he told himself, he was here to fight the bad guys and save River. He couldn’t have been locked in here with the two men for more than ten minutes, maybe even less. His grandmother would’ve had more than enough time to call his grandfather, or run to the building he works at, to get help. River knew it wasn’t far from here; it was the reason it was one of his grandfather’s favourite places to eat, close to the office he said, but River himself didn’t know where ‘the office’ was, exactly.

River frowned. If his father was here to see his grandfather, did he know where his grandfather worked? And if he did know, was it a breach of national security?

River felt the panic he had been trying to hold at bay falling in waves over him, drowning him. He let out a wet gasp.

His father paid him no mind, more interested in talking to the man about how, from what River could pierce together, they could get away.

There was noise coming from the other side of the door, one with a table pushed up against it. River didn’t know if it was him or his father who heard it first, but it took only a second for River to hide under the table, hide his eyes and hold his ears, before a loud bang and a flash turned the world static.

He came to in a car, resting against his grandmother, who was gently pushing hair away from his forehead. He blinked the brightness away and got his grandmother's attention.

“We are nearly at the hospital dear, only a couple of minutes.” She assured him. It was then River heard the sirens. Everything was muted for just a minute, before the blue light and honking cars, along with the cold air, made River sob. His grandmother pulled him close and tried to shelter him.

He was looked over and sent to a room for rest, all while he was slipping in and out of consciousness. His grandmother hadn’t left his side through it all, either holding his hand or speaking soft words to him.

He knew he slept through the night when he saw his grandparents share breakfast, once he opened his eyes. They looked tired, his grandmother wearing the same clothes as yesterday and his grandfather wearing a shirt with a stain, that looked suspiciously like blood, on the collar.

Everything was foggy and River felt like he was on a boat during a storm. When he told his grandfather this, he nodded with a grim expression.

“Many has been lost to the sailor curse,” he said. At River terrified look he laughed. “You simply have a concussion, River. As long you don’t read for a couple of weeks you will be fine.”

“No telly either, I’m afraid, dear.” His grandmother said. “We just have to keep you still for a bit.”

River didn’t think he could move right now even if he tried, he could lay still for a week or two, no problem. His head hurt and his vision swam, but he tried to listen to what his grandparents told him happened. But when he fell asleep again, he couldn’t know if anything they said was true or just a dream.

Though River Cartwright’s impending doom hadn’t happened yet, it couldn’t be long, James knew.

They found River’s gun further back in the garden, missing four bullets, and with four separate pairs of fingerprints. Whose fingerprints they were or who shot the gun was a mystery. Without the help of the Park, getting a team out to sweep the house and garden would be impossible. Lamb said he might ‘know a guy’, but of what nature, he would not disclose.

Though James had heard the horror stories of working with the agent considered a legend, he had also heard the tales of triumph, how the agents Lamb helped train went on to become some of the best the service had seen.

And while he had put off making his own opinion, it was hard to keep his thoughts to himself.

“God…” He whispered as Lamb let out a loud fart. Lamb might be working with them on the record, but off it? They would be getting more help from a dead man.

Baker shook her head from where she was standing beside him. He had searched the house along with the rest but got stuck on the picture wall; while not showing any evidence relevant to the case, it could still tell them something they didn’t know. That’s what he is telling himself at least.

“I’ve worked with him before, you know.” She spoke. “Some cold case from ages ago he helped close back then, suddenly got a fresh lead. It was my first year as an agent, I hadn’t heard that many stories about him.” She smirked. “We didn’t really work the same type of jobs, you see.”

James hadn’t known, though it didn’t surprise him. It was Sid Baker who was chosen for the cases that ended up with a bright red ‘classified’ tape around them, one that even James couldn’t get past. River often joked she should be working for MI6 instead of having a boring desk job. He knew, better than anyone, that a boring desk job is not what she does. She was deep undercover when they first got assigned their shared office, River didn’t work with her till six months after he became an official agent, with enough paperwork to warrant an office. She spent just as much time sitting behind a screen as she worked top secret jobs for Diana Taverner.

Once, when River had pulled James out for a drink, he called her Taverner’s Sam Chapman. He did it with a laugh, meaning nothing serious, but James thought it was the harsh truth. Baker might be an excellent agent, but to Taverner she was nothing more than someone to do the work she didn’t feel like doing herself. When you become second desk, you can’t get your own hands dirty, better to get someone to do the work for you.

It was James' own job in a way, he knew.

“He wasn’t like this.” Baker cut into James’ thoughts. “He was every bit of cold war agent in action. He knew what the men would do minutes before they did, walked away from five dead men without a single scratch.”

James looked at her with a raised brow.

She shrugged. “He told me the lead was a lie, that he closed the case for good. I didn’t believe him and neither did Taverner. I should’ve. They were after him, said he had intel they needed, and in return would give us intel we’d want, about someone he had supposedly killed decades ago. He wouldn’t tell me how he knew they were bluffing, just that he knew.”

“That wasn’t enough for Taverner.”

Baker snorted. “Not enough at all.” She took a picture down from the wall. “She had me infiltrate the group. Lamb got me out before they did damage and told me the story.” She tilted her head. “What I needed to hear anyway. It was enough, at the time.”

“Now you wonder what it was he left out.” James said.

She hummed in response.

James let his eyes flow over the pictures on the wall again. There were many he had seen before in River’s flat, of his grandparents and him, even a couple of him with his mother, along with graduation pictures. Though the majority was of River. River as a toddler, River as a child, River climbing a tree, River asleep, awake, doing God knows what. It was -James despised himself for thinking it- cute.

“He was a cute kid, huh?” Baker asked, hanging the frame back on the wall. James looked at the photograph she hung and frowned. James had seen the picture before, at River’s flat, it sat at his bedside and the one time James had asked of its origin, River had fumbled a reply so badly James decided just to shut him up.

He nodded his head half mindedly and went over the pictures beside it. They were all of River and his friends, some taken in the house, some in the garden and some from places James didn’t know. It wasn’t odd for him to not know where childhood pictures of River were taken, so why were these pictures so curious to him?

He shrugged the feeling off and left to find Ho. While insufferable, Ho was adequate at what James needed him to do, though James wouldn’t mind never having to work with, or even see him, ever again.

Lamb was still going through cabinets and begging Guy to make him a cup of tea from the Cartwrights Kitchen. Guy was nowhere to be seen, or at least not anywhere close to what Ho had decided was his corner. James couldn’t blame her. The main screen was playing a videogame while streams of texts were coming from the others.

“Ho!”

“Yeah?” His eyes didn’t fray from the screen. “D’you need something?”

“I need you to do your work and pay attention,” James seethed. “I could have you fired for seemingly conspiring during an investigation!” He angrily gestured to the screens which Ho was still looking at, ignoring his superior.

Ho snorted. “They tried that once already, that just landed me here, didn’t it? I’m too good to be working anywhere else.” He said with a smirk.

James glared at his neck.

“And it’s not like I haven’t done anything,” Ho kept going. “That hotel in Dartford? The car was registered to a room registered to a woman.”

“And?” James asked impatiently.

“And I googled her,” Ho turned a screen towards James. “Pretty, heh?”

James turned on his feet and bolted out of the kitchen. He searched the wall for a picture that hadn’t caught his eye when he first looked, but now…

“Did you get a name?” James interrogated. Baker and Guy were looking into the room, a question on their faces.

“Who do you take me for,” Ho whispered with a huff. “Meet Natasha.” He tadaed at the screen. “Mid-forties, blonde, French, milf…” Ho let out a dreamy sigh. “But I wouldn’t think you would find any of that interesting,” He eyed James. “Not the first time she stayed at the hotel, pretty systematically stays there a couple times a year since two thousand, maybe even before.” He clicked his tongue. “Pretty old school place, not the place I would take her.”

Guy had sneaked up behind James and was looking at the screen with a thoughtful expression. She looked at the frame James was holding and pulled it out of his hand.

“It’s the same woman.” She stated.

“I know,” James replied.

“She is in a lot of the other pictures.”

“I know,” James huffed. “I’ve met her.” He revealed. Guy turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“Can you hook me up?” Ho asked. “Totally my type.”

“For fucks sake, Ho.” It was Baker, this time, speaking up. “Where’d you meet her? Was it River who introduced you?” She tilted her head. “Is she his mother?” She sounded incredulous.

“She’s not his mother.” James rolled his eyes. “He said she was his aunt,”

“I thought David Cartwright only had one child?” Baker asked.

“And River was born from the Virgin Mary, with only one parent?” Lamb boasted from the other side of the room, where he had entered quietly, standing beside the fridge. “Did he say from which side they were related?” He spoke to James.

“I didn’t ask,” James told.

“You should’ve,” Lamb sniffed. “The car she rented was here, is it confirmed she was in it?”

“Nah,” Ho typed on his keyboard. “The driver isn’t visible.”

“And there weren’t any passengers?”

Ho shrugged.

“Great, such a big help you are.” Guy let out a laugh bordering on hysterical. “All the pictures with Natasha were taken at events, see? Birthday, birthday, Christmas,”

“It wasn’t a national holiday yesterday.” Baker said.

“Or River’s birthday.” James added.

“So why was she here?”

They stood in silence, Ho’s game playing on.

“We’re missing something.”

“Obviously, Sherlock.”

“Guy, go to the hotel, Baker, stay here, see what else we might have missed. It could be easier to find if we assume Natasha have something to do with it.” James listed. Guy nodded, but Baker seemed undecided.

“There is nothing here,” she said. “The garden was an oddity, the rest of the house is clean.”

Guy nodded in agreement. “If anything happened in here, whoever did it, did an excellent job, leaving not a single thread of evidence.”

“Then you go to the hotel, Baker.” James sighed. “Guy can stay back.”

He was met with twin stares.

“Okay,” Baker agreed. “Are you driving?”

James nodded slowly and pulled the car keys from his pocket. Baker walked over to him, took the keys out of his hand and walked out the door.

Guy followed her with a shrug. “You know River well, maybe you can find something that was missed.”

The door shut close behind her. James didn’t even want to follow them, this day had drained him in a way he hadn’t been drained since his training days. He cursed River Cartwright and prayed to every god above he was alright.

The hospital was dry and dull, River thought. He had never stayed past a couple of hours in the emergency room, even that being enough for the lights to blind him and the smell make him nauseas. His grandmother sat by his side day in and day out, reading magazines aloud to him and feeding him biscuits she made his grandfather pick up.

His confusion had subsided after a day, but he still felt out of the loop, even more than he had before. His grandfather hadn’t asked about River’s meeting with his father, and River wasn’t sure his grandmother even knew who the two men, who’d ‘held him’ captive, were at all. He didn’t ask her. He had relaxed after she’d gotten off the phone with Natasha, only then had he been a hundred percent sure Bertrand was completely safe.

He waited for the afternoon, where his grandfather visited, straight from work, with a man trailing a couple of feet behind him, standing outside of River’s room.

His grandparents played a game of chess; a game River had never understood their love for.

He’d begged his grandfather to lend him a phone, so he could call Bertrand, but was told no again and again, until a doctor came and told him he wasn’t allowed to speak on the phone until his head got better.

River thought his head would feel much better if he was allowed just a ten-minute conversation with his brother. His grandfather put his foot down and River was forced to accommodate him. He felt, once again, he was being kept out of something, which Bertrand had agreed with several times, only now Bertrand knew too, and River was the only one left out.

Thinking too much made his head ache, and he felt content to space out to the sound of his grandparents bickering over dinner, a nostalgic sound, even from the few days River had spent away from home.

His grandmother left, when exactly, River wasn’t sure, but the feeling of his grandfather’s gaze on him, woke him from the partial slumber River had fallen under.

His eyelids felt heavy when his grandfather sat at his bedside and pushed hair out of River’s eyes. There was a small cut right under his eye, the doctor said it wouldn’t even scar, but River liked the thoughts of physical evidence he survived his father’s force, however brute he ended up being.

“Did you get him?” River asked.

His grandfather startled slightly, not enough for anyone other than River or his grandmother to notice, but enough for River, even with a concussion, to.

River frowned, something must be wrong, he voiced.

His grandfather nodded. “You’re hurt and in hospital, River.” He explained, as if that would be enough reason to jolt his unflappable grandfather.

“You’re worried.” River stated. “Why? You got him, right?” When he was met with a stare, River repeated himself. “Right?!”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing! Like everyone, always!” River’s heart began to race, the machine connected to him beeping with every beat.

“Shh,” his grandfather tried to calm him. “I will tell you everything I can, when you get better.”

“Why? Why not now, I can take it.” River argued, with a pout.

“I don’t want you to take it,” his grandfather let out a sigh.

River ignored his look and folded his arms over his stomach, rolling down on the mattress. “He said he was there to meet you,” River broke the silence.

“Did he say why?” There was no reason to ask who ‘he’ was.

River shrugged. “To kill you?” It sounded weak even to his own ears.

“Did he really say that?” He quired.

“It was implied.” River tried to convince. “He didn’t know I would be there.” After a moment he shamefully whispered: “I didn’t recognize him.”

“Why should you have? You have never met him or even seen a picture, and I’m sure Bertrand and Natasha hadn’t given you a description either.”

“But aren’t you supposed to know? I would know mum anywhere.”

His grandfather didn’t answer. The silence lingered on, until his grandmother came back with pizzas, enough of a distraction for River to forget anything he wanted to ask his grandfather. He didn’t mind, his head hurt the worst in the evenings, and he’d much rather sleep the pain away.

River had gotten used to the heart monitor connected to him, but still, the loud noises from the rushing hospital wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts quiet. He laid awake wishing he was allowed to leave the room and walk the streets or maybe even go on a run to calm his head, even though the nurses told him that would definitely make his head worse. Still River doubted it could get much worse than how it already was.

His grandfather had stationed an agent outside of River’s door, his grandmother told him, just after his grandfather left, as River was getting ready for bed. River thought it would help his dreamless nights or at least calm his grandmother, who had failed to try and hide her frantic motherhenning from him. He liked having her fussing over him, he would never admit it of course, but his mother left much to be desired in her parenting. Actually, being parented, first of all.

He had never spent much time in London, his mother and him never stayed for more than two days at a time. River knew now it was because she didn’t want to run into her father, who knew the places his daughter would be if she came to the city, and spent his free time strolling through the areas, looking for her.

River didn’t know if his mother knew he was in the hospital or if she knew he met his father. He wasn’t sure she would care either way, every time he’d injured himself when he lived with her, she would make sure he knew it inconvenienced her, and every time he asked after his father, she would tell him to never ask again and go to sleep.

Yet now, more than ever, he wanted to talk to her, ask her about his father, about her, just anything that might give him an answer. He just hoped one day she would be fine with seeing him again.

But he couldn’t allow himself to think like that, not when his father was probably still in London, not when Patrice is maybe with him and not when River’s head starts pounding with every other thought.

His grandfather woke him up the next morning with bread and biscuits and the entire day off. It was Sunday, his grandmother would’ve hit him if he didn’t go to church with her, yet it still surprised River when he found his grandfather reading the paper and drinking tea beside him.

“I convinced your grandmother to go alone,” his grandfather spoke. “She doesn’t know the church here.”

River nodded sleepily. “What’s ‘time?”

“Just past eleven, your grandmother will be back by noon.”

River yawned. “Can I come home today? Is that why you’re here?”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid.” His grandfather said, apologetic. “I figured we should talk, no?”

River blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up straight, stars swimming in and out of his sight at the sudden movement. “About what happened at the restaurant? I thought that there wasn't much else to say.”

“You don’t have more to say about the matter, but I do. I need to explain what happened and why you thought what you did.”

River furrowed his brow, confusion rushing through his veins. “Okay.” He agreed. “Can I get a biscuit first?”

His grandfather let out a startled laugh and reached into the bag. “Here, kid. You should be eating some bread first.”

“Grandma doesn't need to know.”

His grandfather shook his head with a smile, his expression morphing into a more serious one as River chewed. “Bertrand wanted to come see you, he’s worried.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, they are in England now, for a matter of fact, but.” His grandfather stopped, almost as if he were looking for his next sentence. “There are some things we need to go over with, before I can let you see him.”

“Like a debrief?” River asked, excited. He had always wanted to debrief with his grandfather, staying up late to hear one-sided phone calls where he knew his grandfather was being told long tales and then trusted to know what to do or what not to do. Maybe this was like that.

“Of a kind, I suppose you could say.” His grandfather coincided.

“It was a planned meeting, River.” He said after a deep breath. “Your father and I have been in contact for a while now and needed to meet at a neutral place for a discussion. I would eat lunch with you and your grandmother, then I would go, with the necessary repercussions, to the meeting place. Though I was called away to an emergency, that we now know was scripted by your father, and before I could go to meet him, your grandmother reached the service.”

“But- “

“Let me finish.” His grandfather cut him off. “I did not see him in the restaurant, nor did I have even the slightest idea he could’ve been there. The man that was with him was not a part of what we had agreed. I did not know to look out for more men than your father. That is on me and no one else, understood?”

River nodded.

“If you ever find yourself in a situation like this, always look for everything, even the least conspicuous thing in the room can turn out to be disastrous. Now River, if you ever see the man you met, you will go directly to me, no running after him or any other business, straight to me. If I’m not available, get The Park involved.”

River nodded again. He did not know if he could trust himself not to scream and yell at his grandfather if he tried a verbal response.

His grandfather let out a sigh and put a hand on River’s shoulder. “I believe the man was Patrice’s father.”

River startled heavily and coughed, a piece of his biscuit getting stuck in his throat. “What?” he gasped.

His grandfather hit his back and went on. “I had agreed to meet with him to discuss the other children. I came to the understanding, after Bertrand visited, that most made it back to their mothers or other family, though a few were returned to their fathers or even some orphanages. I have next to no derestriction in France, I simply have no way of knowing where those children are.”

River felt his heartbeat pulse through his skin. He had wanted this, yes, but now it wasn’t sounding as he had hoped. Patrice needed to be saved, but had he even thought about the others? He couldn’t remember. He knew of Patrice because Bertrand knew Patrice, but Bertrand had said he didn’t know every single one of the others there. He had spoken about Yves, but not like had about Patrice. Maybe there was a reason for that, River thought.

River stared at a point just above his grandfather’s eyes and tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill. “Did I ruin it? Was he supposed to come back?” The first tear ran down his chin, quickly followed by many more.

His grandfather tried to speak before he wrapped River up in a hug, rocking him back and forth slowly, till River’s sobs were reduced to small sniffles.

“You didn’t ruin anything River,”

Even his grandfather's reassuring words did nothing to calm River’s thoughts. This entire week had been hell and every time River thought it might change for the better, he was hit with even more terrible news.

“We were meant to talk of the children only, nothing else. I might’ve wanted to ask questions about your mother and what her stay with him was like, how he was like.” He let out a barely audible sigh. “I didn’t get to. But,” he started when River’s eyes once again filled with tears. “When we had the area surrounded, a word came in about a possibly suspicious car, a car no one would have looked twice at if it wasn’t for your surprise hostage situation.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” River mumbled.

“Well, River, in that car we found a kid about your age,” His grandfather went on, ignoring the burning look in River’s eyes. “Pretending to not understand English, looking scared and, even if we hadn’t had a suspicion, we still would’ve taken him to custody, he could have information that could help the investigation. Always get the story from as many as possible, understood?”

River didn’t nod, instead he asked in a small voice. “Did you find Patrice?”

“No River, we didn’t.” His grandfather didn’t stop, even as River’s shoulders drooped. “We found Yves.”

River stopped breathing.

“The other kid Bertrand talked about, you remember. He was never placed with his mother, only temporary care, easy for your father to come and collect him without too much fuss. But he is with us now, Bertrand is with him-”

River was running before his grandfather could finish his sentence. He didn’t know where he was even running to, only that Yves was here, and Bertrand too, and they needed him, he needed to be there, with them, now.

He didn’t get further than out of his room, before stars appeared in front of his eyes, and his grandfather was gently guiding him to the floor, before he could fall headfirst. 

A nurse came running and suddenly he was getting checked over by the doctor, hearing how his grandfather explained that he ‘had no idea’ why River would run so suddenly, and he would ‘try his best to let him rest’.

River looked out the window, ignoring the look his grandfather had on him.

“They won’t let you see him until we know you feel fine,” He grandfather explained.

“I am fine.” River growled.

“It is not only your health they are concerned about,” his grandfather ignored him. “We have no idea how Yves is feeling. He could have any kind of illness and no way of knowing with the way he was raised, where he was raised. We are uncertain if he has ever even been to the doctor before.”

River felt bad. Of course, it wasn’t only him they were thinking about, and it was stupid of him to think so.

“Then why can Bertrand see him? And why can’t I see Bertrand?"

“River,” his grandfather sighed. “Let’s wait a day, see how you are tomorrow.”

“It’s ten AM.”

“Eleven,” his grandfather corrected.

River rolled his eyes.

“Sleep, River.” He ordered. “You’ll heal quicker when you sleep.”

Sitting on River Cartwright’s childhood bed, searching his room, was not how James had imagined his day to go, any day to go, actually. He knew more about River than most, but looking at River’s room, he realised even that was smidge, compared to what he needed to know to get even a hint of what happened to him.

His room was dated, but then again so was this entire house. River had told James about his grandfather liking the classics and rarely strayed from what he knew, but even River’s room felt like it could come from a pre-war novel.

They couldn’t get further, not without the help of Taverner and the rest of the park. They were stuck, he was stuck, with a team that really just rather be back at their office. At least it felt like that with the way they worked and the speed it took them, but then again, they were from Slough house.

He could only hope Baker and Guy got something that could finally end this mess.

He let his head fall into the wall behind him and let out a long sigh.

A wet cough echoed through the room. “Working with Cartwright always feels like this.” Lamb commented.

“I doubt David Cartwright is worse than River,”

“I’ve worked with them both,” he told. “And they’re worse together.”

James just closed his eyes, not even caring this was the most civil conversation he’d had with the agent, ever. “Did you find anything?”

“Called an old friend.”

“Did your friend find anything?”

Lamb gave him a stare before stalking out of the room.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” James mumbled and followed him. Even if he had lost sight, he hadn’t lost smell of the senior agent and quickly found himself standing too close to him in a small closet.

“What?” James hissed.

Lamb only kicked a box lightly, the insides rattling. “Open that.”

“You do it,” he argued. The glare he was met with was one to rival Taverner’s. He opened the box. “Jesus.” He whispered at the containments. He picked up one of the books.

“Names on the back.” Lamb said, taking a cig out of his pocket and lightning it. Smoke filled the closet, making James cough.

He flipped through the pages, starting from the late ninety’s, day after day, week after week. A diary, James noted, or maybe more of a calendar. And written, it surprised him, in River’s handwriting. But also, pictures, pictures of roads, forests, people. David and Rose Cartwright made their appearances, along with River’s mother and the supposed ‘aunt’.

James frowned. “It’s a book, hardly revolutionary.”

Lamb blew smoke out his nose. “Last I checked, River Cartwright’s name wasn’t Bertrand.” One badly manicured hand pointed to a picture of River being hugged by Natasha. Only-

Only, River was in the picture, but he wasn’t the one being hugged. No, he stood behind them, beside one of the kids from the wall downstairs. Or was it the other way around.

“River would have mentioned having a twin.” James said in disbelief.

“He could be dead.” Lamb offered.

“Did you tell Ho?”

“What good would that do,” Lamb snorted.

What good would it do indeed. Maybe if they had some actual evidence of what had occurred Ho would be less insufferable. Hopefully.

He ought to give Guy and Baker a call, maybe they could get something out of the surprise revelation, other than the shitty jokes Ho was throwing at them.

He didn’t find anything, not a throwaway Facebook, not even a hint of any other Cartwright’s but the ones they were aware of already, and with only a first name it was impossible to find anything. After thirty minutes Ho shrugged.

“I mean, at this point it’s deliberate.” He spoke. “Someone has spent a lot of time scrubbing the web of any mention.” He shrugged again and took a long slurp of some energy drink. “And whoever did was a pro.”

James considered the possibilities. The chance David Cartwright was behind this was slim, but who else in the family had the means? When he first met River, he couldn’t find anything on him online but a congratulations post from an old uni mate. River had laughed it off and told him his grandfather was paranoid about all this new computer stuff. When James learned a couple of weeks later who exactly River’s grandfather was, he couldn’t blame him.

So yes, there was a possibility David Cartwright was the reason for the ‘scrubbing’ of the internet, But James had the nagging feeling he wasn’t.

When agents told they were following a feeling, James shrugged them off. He believed in following the proof and only the proof. But he couldn’t deny it now, he had been following his feelings more than anything on this case.

But his feelings also told him River wasn’t dead.

He called Baker. 

River didn’t wait a day, he waited six. His grandmother was with him every day at the hospital and his grandfather every evening. Even if he wouldn’t let a single detail slip about what was happening, River still learned more than his grandfather wished.

He was well enough to go back home, but that only drove him further away from London, further away from where his brothers were being kept.

The days dragged on, the weather getting worse and worse, and River feeling more impatient than he’d felt when he waited for his mother to come back, in one way or another.

It had been too long. From what River had learned about interrogation from his grandfather and various television programs, an interrogation of a minor shouldn’t be this long.

River therefor came to the conclusion Yves wasn’t being interrogated anymore, and River was being kept from seeing them purposely.

His grandmother tried to explain to him why it would be a bad idea for him to see Yves, but when River asked why he couldn’t see Bertrand, she sighed.

“Your grandfather and I want what is best for you, you understand that, right? If waiting a bit to see Bertrand and meet Yves is what’s best for you, that is what we’re choosing to do.”

It didn’t stop River from moping.

He was cleared to watch telly after a couple of days home, which helped a bit to keep his mind off some of it, but didn’t help with the rest.

River had met his father, had met the man Bertrand was terrified of, the man his mother loved. Or maybe she hadn’t. River still didn’t know where exactly his mother was right now, or if she was even alright. With his father on the loose and no one knowing where he was going, River worried. He worried for the safety of his mother, the safety of Bertrand and Natasha, and Yves.

But he had also stabbed him, hurt him, made him bleed. River did not think of himself as violent, but if he was the son of a man who could kill and hurt people without a flinch, then maybe River was born violent. Maybe it was in his blood to hurt people, maybe that was why his mother left him.

It was during one of his long days of sitting around and doing nothing, he was introduced to the man. Well, the spy.

He was in the kitchen when River had wandered down the stairs at teatime. River hadn’t heard him come in from the front door, so he must have come from the back. Neither of his grandparents were with him in the kitchen, something River thought was odd. His grandparents were proud people and rarely trusted anyone to snoop in their house by themselves.

But that wasn’t what set River on edge. Nor was it the clothes the man was wearing, almost as if he had stepped out in the wrong decade, like one of the characters from Doctor Who.

No, it was when he first saw the man, River knew the man had noticed him coming down the stairs.

It wasn’t obvious, far from it. River doubted that even the seasoned agents his grandfather sometimes had with him would’ve noticed it. But River noticed, a silent tell he couldn’t describe if you asked him to.

The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket and set it in his mouth.

River stood silent and still, waiting for the man to turn, or move, or just do anything that could give River the opportunity to run back up the stairs or out of the house.

But he didn’t, and River knew he wouldn’t.

It was minutes before the hunt was over.

“Hmm,” the man said and pulled a lighter to light the cigarette that had hung untouched from his lips. “You’re good.” He blew out a cloud of smoke directly into the painting hanging on the wall and turned to look at River. “But you should’ve run when you had the chance.”

“Jackson!”

River startled heavily at the sound of his grandfather. He didn’t turn his back to the strange man to search for his grandfather, and in the end, he didn’t have to. The window to the kitchen was open and on the other side of it sat his grandfather.

River let out a sigh of relief and stumbled towards him. He hadn’t noticed his heart pumping or his face going numb.

“Didn’t think you would stoop as low as training your kin,” the man commented, following River out into the garden.

“He came like this.” His grandfather replied with a heavy sigh, laying a heavy hand on River’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t say we have company.”

River shrugged. “Is he going to help?” He tried to sound unaffected, but by his grandfather’s look, he knew he had failed.

His grandfather didn’t answer him. “If Rose knew you were blowing smoke on her roses she would dissect you.”

The strange man snorted uglily in reply.

River had never heard his grandfather speak like that before. He didn’t like it.

“River, go up to your room. I’ll come get you when supper is ready.”

He didn’t want to argue, but-

“Who is he?”

“Someone I work with. Now River-”

“Let the boy stay, Cartwright.” The man spoke through the cig in his mouth. “I’m helping you, no?”

His grandfather smiled a toothless smile and nodded towards River. He stood his ground. His grandfather glanced at him once before talking again.

River’s head hurt. He hadn’t noticed until the two men started talking about things he didn’t understand.

He wanted to close his eyes, maybe get some sleep before supper. He should’ve gone up to his room, he thought, as his head slipped from his hand.

He had barely dialled Baker’s number before a car drove into the driveway.

James walked out of the house, briskly.

If they were back already it meant they had found nothing, back into the dead-end they had never really come out of.

But it wasn’t Baker and Guy who were coming out of the car, the car James could now see was not the same car at all. It was a brunette woman with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. She walked right up to James, giving him just a look, walked past him and into the house.

“What the fuck.” She stated, once she caught sight of Lamb and their setup.

“Erm, who’s that?” Ho asked, at the same time Lamb pulled his gun and lacily waved it at the woman.

“Hello Isobel,” Lamb greeted.

The woman hardly gave the gun aimed at her a single glance and instead let her eyes pointedly glare at the veteran spy.

“Where’s my father?” She asked him, ignoring the rest of the team.

“That’s what we would like to know too.” Lamb raised a single brow. “The park didn’t call you?” His tone was almost mocking.

James would really like to be looped into why she was in the house and how Lamb knew her. James didn’t think he would get an answer to any of those questions anytime soon, though.

“Sit down.” Lamb ordered. The woman ignored him and turned her back to him and the gun levelled at her.

“You work for him?” She asked James.

“No!” James couldn’t help the offended tinge seeping into his tone.

“Hmm.”

It was then Ho decided to open his big mouth. “Didn’t realise Cartwright senior knew how to pull.” He commented.

“Jesus Christ,” the woman murmured. “These are the detectives you hire?”

“So, you did hear from the park,” Lamb rolled his eyes. “Making everything more difficult.” Out from his pocket he pulled a flip phone that had seen better days. He held it out to her.

“Wait just a minute,” Ho interrupted them. “Who exactly is she?”

“River’s mother.” James replied, when it became obvious neither Lamb nor Isobel would answer.

“Oh shit!” Ho exclaimed. “Really?”

James gave him a glare. He had thought the woman looked familiar from afar, but after getting a closer look, it became clear every detail he recognized wasn’t the ones on her, but the ones he had seen on River. She might be a couple of decades older than the picture of her in River’s flat but standing beside a picture of a woman that could only be her mother, James would be stupid to not see the resemblance.

“Are you aware of the situation?” He asked her as calmly as he could.

“No,” she replied.

“Have the Regents Park been in contact with you about the situation?” He kept going.

“If they had I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

James gave a nod in response. Lamb was watching him with an unreadable look in his eye, or -if James was being honest- something that looked close to amusement.

“I think you should sit down, ma’am.”

“You might want to stop calling me ‘ma’am’ if you want answers.” She huffed but sat down. “Is this about my father or River?”

“Well…”

“We think it’s him.” Lamb said, shortly.

James didn’t know who this ‘him’ was, but by the looks of it, Isobel did.

“Did they go with him willingly?”

For the first time since James had gotten Slough House assigned to work with his team, Lamb looked serious.

“There’s blood in the garden.”

“Whose?” Isobel queried, without a single crack in her façade.

“We don’t know.” Lamb answered. “Do you know who else was in the house yesterday?”

Isobel shrugged. “My father. River too, but if he came yesterday or this morning, I don’t know.”

“Anyone else?” James interrogated.

“Bertrand.”

“River’s… brother?”

She nodded. “Patrice could’ve been here too, and Natasha. Maybe Yves.”

“So, the entire squad, by other words.” Lamb sighed. “Did he know you would all be here, on this day?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She shrugged again. “Look- I didn’t keep in contact.”

“With him or them?” Snorted Lamb.

She glared at him.

James felt his phone vibrate. It was Baker.

‘No news. Coming back now.’

James shut his phone off without replying.

It was days later River got to see Bertrand. His mother and him had moved into an apartment temporarily in south London.

Bertrand didn’t seem happy when he looked at River.

He waited until they were left alone in his small bedroom to speak.

“You met him?”

“What?” River asked. It was not what he had expected to be asked, not that there had been any words from Bertrand. River thought he would be the one with the questions.

“Our father,” he said. “You’ve met him now?”

River nodded.

“What did he say? Did he ask about me, does he know we have met?”

River let the silence stretch on. “You were right,” he said, finally. “He is not a good man.”

Bertrand kept staring. Waiting for an answer River didn’t know if he was allowed to give.

“Did you see Yves?” River spoke quietly, not wanting the adults to barge in. “I haven’t been allowed to see him yet, or even see you, so I don’t really know… well anything.” River blabbered under Bertrand’s still stare.

It was unnerving the way his eyes rarely even blinked, River his sole focus. It reminded him of the man he didn’t want to call his father. River wanted to scream at the comparison, no matter how true it was.

“I saw Yves. He is not well.”

“Is he sick? Grandfather told me he was at the same hospital as me.” River said, though it was not true. No matter how many times River begged, his grandfather would not say anything.

“He is a captive. Your grandfather’s prisoner.”

River frowned. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“What would you call it? Being taken from your parent, put in a room with no windows, no water, interrogated every hour of the day?” Bertrand pointed his finger right at River’s heart. “I know what I call it.”

“We’re helping him!” River insisted.

“Some help you are.” Bertrand scoffed.

“At least I’m trying! I didn’t know any of this until you came along, and even then, I get told nothing!” River felt his entire body flush. “My grandfather, I understand, he has trained his whole to keep secrets, but you-”

“So have I!” Bertrand screamed. “It may not be as long as him, but my entire life has been learning to beat men like him!”

“What?” River shook his head in confusion.

“It was not a nice place; I have already told. Your mother was lucky to get away.”

“But what do you mean, I don’t know what you mean!”

“Our father was like your grandfather, man in power, hungry for more.” Bertrand couldn’t hide the shiver that went through his body. “He wasn’t allowed it, so he took it for himself.” Bertrand looked River in the eyes as he spoke. “He needed us to be like him, but obedient. One step out of order and you would be- you would be hurt and… he isn’t nice.” He repeated.

“But I thought,” River stopped. He did not know what he had thought, only that it was not that. 

“You thought we were lying?” Bertrand seethed.

“No!” River denied. “But it’s just, when we met you were so sad, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe it hadn’t been absolutely awful there, maybe it was only our father who was a bad man, but then I met the man he had with him at the restaurant, and he was even worse.” River took a deep breath. “I had hoped it wasn’t too bad.”

“Not too bad?!”

“With the way you reacted being away from there,” River tried to reason. “And I still don’t even know what happened, so don’t blame me!”

“We were- we were taken away, from home, from each other, I was told they would be safe, would- would be with family. But the only family we have is the one from back home and they are not safe.” Bertrand yelled. “And then I was with Natasha, and she was nice, she wasn’t like Frank had told, she wasn’t deceiving me.” He shrugged and wiped a stray tear from his face harshly. “I had hoped it would be the same for the others, maybe it wouldn’t be bad.”

“But Yves’ mother wasn’t like yours.” River felt the fight fleeing his body.

“No,” Bertrand turned. “She was controlled by Frank, following his orders like he trained us to.”

“They took him back?” River asked.

Bertrand snorted. “They did not have to. We are trained to run.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Bertrand said. “I didn’t.”

“I’m glad.” The honesty in his voice echoed through the room. The only reply he got in return was a nod.

Sometimes, River thought, everything would be easier if his family was not who it was.

James hadn’t managed to get anything else out of the woman and let Lamb give it a try

The two knew each other, but how, James couldn’t figure.

It could be they met when Isobel was younger and his father hadn’t retired yet, when Lamb and him worked together, but James knew that couldn’t be all. But he was not the one with the theories, he was the one with the facts. If River had been here, he would have come up with an insane story that would be false but also would give them a place to start, no matter how little it would matter in the end.

James didn’t like feeling restless and useless, and certainly not in the house of someone who he knew could help.

He stepped outside when Baker and Guy returned.

They bickered, stepping out of the car, an argument James didn’t care to hear.

“Hey!” He called to shut them.

“Whose car is that?” Guy asked.

“Long story,” James waved off, not wanting to let the two in before hearing how it had gone at the hotel. “Did you find anything?”

“I texted you.”

“And I would like an oral briefing.” James didn’t leave room for an argument.

“There was nothing suspicious at the hotel. The receptionist had seen Natasha but hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.” Guy explained. “We tried asking if she had stayed there before but they could not answer precisely.”

“And her room was clean. No baggage, no anything. I doubt she even slept in the bed.”

“So, we don’t know if she made it to the hotel?” James spoke

“No,” Baker replied. “And the car wasn’t there either. We’re thinking someone intercepted her before she could arrive and came here pretending to be her.”

James nodded. It didn’t sound too unbelievable.

“River’s mother is here.” He said, deciding to rip the band aid off. “Lamb and I have tried to get information out of her, but she is not cooperating.”

“River’s mother?”

Both women looked startled at the revelation.

It could help them, James thought, to have those two speak to her instead of Lamb. Even though he wasn’t sure if they were ever going to get anything out of her, or at least not in time to help River and his grandfather.

The kitchen was silent when they walked in. Ho was typing on his computer, doing actual work to James’ astonishment, and Lamb was smoking, while Isobel was looking over Ho’s shoulder.

“Anything new?” James asked, hiding the surprise he was feeling.

Isobel looked past him towards Guy and Baker.

“Hello.” Isobel said.

“The park is even more useless than even I thought,” Lamb spoke simultaneously. “Baker, you’ve worked with the CIA before, correct?”

“I didn’t exactly work with them.” She said, slowly.

“Even better. Come here.” He ordered, pointed at the empty chair at the table Ho was sitting at. “You recognize any of them, you tell me.”

“Did you find anything new?” James asked again, this time louder.

“New? No.” Isobel muttered, focused on the screen. “Useful? Yes.”

James waited for her to go on. “And? What is it?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Spider.” Ho said mockingly.

James had almost forgotten Ho was in the room, with how quiet he was being.

“What about you two, anything at the hotel?”

“She never made it there,” Guy said. “If she did, she packed it up good.”

“Hmm,” was all Lamb offered.

But Isobel looked thoughtful. Or at least James assumed it was thoughtful, it was the same look River wore when he was thinking hard.

“What was it with her car?” She asked.

“Road cameras caught it driving towards here, but the driver wasn’t visible.”

“Maybe not to you. Show me.” She demanded Ho.

He drew up the photo without any fuss. How she did it, James wished to know.

She studied the picture carefully before shaking her head. “I can’t see either,” she admitted.

Of course she couldn’t, James shook his head. River had rarely spoken of his mother, and when he had, it was far from favourable words he used. James had been hit by an uncontrollable urge, back then, to find out why, find out what his mother could have done for otherwise mild-mannered River to speak about her like an extension of himself he didn’t like, like a fungus that he grew up with, without ever being able to ever grow without it.

The woman that stood in the kitchen was not what James had imagined, back when he spent too much time thinking about everything River Cartwright.

But that was not a bad thing.

Life went on.

River was still not allowed to meet Yves, but he met with Bertrand at least once a week, and River was sure that it wouldn’t be long before Yves was better, and his grandfather wasn’t scared of what he could do to River anymore.

After his argument with Bertrand, it was like a weight from their shoulders were lifted.

Nothing made sense yet, but he knew the more he spoke to Bertrand, the more he learned from him about the years they spent apart, the more he would understand. And even if he didn’t get answers for the questions he burned to ask the most, he was fine with it for now. It would come with time, or so he hoped. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

While the uncertainty about his father’s whereabouts disturbed the otherwise peaceful house, River didn’t mind.

Knowing his father was out there, it sent a thrill through his bones. He was out there, and he was hurting people and River could stop it. But not as he was now, he needed to be better, he needed more power, more than his grandfather could give.

He started at night. In his mind he mapped out the house, the property, then the road, the town, the way to Bertrand’s apartment, all the possible bus and train routes to London, away from London, every place he could hide if it ever came to it, every place he could hide his grandmother.

He used the words the strange man that had been in the house had said about him, as incentive.

River was good at sneaking, and he knew it. He could come down the stairs so quietly his grandparents didn’t notice.

His grandmother had rolled her eyes at his antics, but his grandfather had pursed his lips. He didn’t like it, River knew.

It was months after his birthday, months after the fateful meeting with his father, that River met Jackson Lamb, once again, this time in a more formal setting.

River had been allowed to come with his grandfather to work, though not in the office, no matter how much River’d begged.

He had told River to stay behind a tree by a bench, hiding from who he was meeting. River did as he was told, excited. This was like the books he had read, the movies he’d watched.

River had thought his grandfather was to meet a gentleman, maybe a politician, one he couldn’t be seen with in the office.

But it was not a gentleman that sat down beside his grandfather, far from it.

“I need your help,” his grandfather spoke, clearly.

“With what? I thought you’d have the entire park to do your deeds now.” The smelly man grumbled.

His grandfather was quiet. “It is a private matter, I’m afraid.”

“And you came to me?”

“You’ve helped me before.” Was all his grandfather said in response.

It was hard to see everything while hiding, but River still felt he saw what he needed to see, what his grandfather wanted him to see. But he did not understand it.

“And that worked out so well for you, didn’t it?” The man’s voice was sharp.

“I got what I wanted and so did you.”

“What I wanted,” the man scoffed. “You made me, you put the gun in my hand and told me to-”

“Not here.” His grandfather interrupted.

“Why? Who here do you not want to know your sins?” There was a pause. River had his back pushed up against the tree, making himself as invisible as he could, trying to hear what was being said on the side. “He’s who you need help with.” It wasn’t voiced as a question.

“River,” his name was called. “You can come here now.” His grandfather was staring at him when River looked at them. “This is Jackson Lamb, and he is going to help us.”

“Am I?” the man asked.

His grandfather ignored him. He looked into River eyes deeply for seconds, before nodding.

River nodded back. This felt important in a way he couldn’t describe.

Isobel conversed with Baker willingly, unlike the short answers she had given James, words flowed from her mouth when it was Baker asking the questions.

They had shown her where they had found blood, they had asked her about everything she might know about, Lamb had taken a long call outside and come back in with a frown, and yet, after hours upon hours they still had nothing. And James knew he couldn’t be the one to blame.

It felt like he was the only one who heard the ticking of the clock that drew closer and closer to a full day of the Cartwright’s being missing, like he was the only one who knew what that meant. Whoever’s blood they had found did not have long left, if they weren’t already dead. The only way they could possibly have survived would be if they went to a hospital.

James froze. They had checked the nearby hospitals, hadn’t they?

“Ho!” James yelled. He rushed towards him, the younger man not even moving his head.

“What’s with the yelling, man.”

James ignored his words. “You checked for hospitals in the area, correct?”

“’Course. Nothing came up.” Ho replied in a bored tone and kept typing on his keyboard.

“They wouldn’t go to a hospital.”

James turned to look at River’s mother. “I’m sorry?” He asked.

“They wouldn’t go to a hospital. If they’re with who I think they are, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to go to a hospital.” Isobel spoke impassively. “He most likely keeps a medical professional with him, or at least one he trusts with those kinds of matters.”

Lamb grumbled what might be considered a hum for anybody else. “He’s probably alone.”

“Why would he be that?” Isobel asked sharply.

Lamb gave a lazy shrug. “Your son has been searching for years; every man his father has worked with is behind bars or dead.” He said bluntly.

“Wait, his father?” It was Guy who cut in. “The man you think is behind this, is River’s father?”

“Well, you might as well tell the whole story now.” Lamb said with a flourish of his hand.

Isobel glared, but there was something more behind her eyes. “What did River find?”

“Hell, if I know. Why would I speak to that boy?”

“Should we go back to River’s father being behind this?” Spoke James.

“We don’t know if it’s him.” Isobel said.

“It is.”

“We don’t know that.” She glared at Lamb. “What did River search for? Whatever situation he got himself into could help us find him.”

“It would help if we knew about the situation with River’s father.” James stated.

Both Guy and Baker nodded in agreement, to James’ surprise.

“Uhm, people?” Ho implored. “There was a break-in at a veterinary clinic a couple of kilometres away. Only antibiotics and wound dressings were stolen, according to the report.”

James felt his heart jump in his chest.

“When?” he asked.

“The report came in just past eight, why?”

“No, the break-in.” James growled. “We might know when the injury happened,” he explained, futile. “When we lost contact.”

“I thought Cartwright senior had communicated with the park right before.”

“He had ineffectually tried to reach the park. We deduced no dogs were sent here, don’t you remember?” James rolled his eyes. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

“We’ll come with you.” Guy said, nodding towards Baker.

James didn’t have it in him to argue.

They left without much fuss. Lamb didn’t have anything to say to him and Isobel had gone upstairs.

“You get to come out and do some real detective work anyway, then.” Baker said as she took the passenger seat.

James just silently started the car in reply.

His mother called the house landline at four thirty, right as River was on the way down the stairs for the tea his grandmother had made.

“Phone!” He called out. When he got no reply, he shrugged and answered it himself. “Cartwright residence.” He answered cheerily.

“River?”

River felt his heart stop as the familiar voice he couldn’t place clicked in his head. “Mum?”

“Yes,” her voice sounded impatient. “Is your grandfather there? I need to speak to him.”

“Why?”

“I just do. Give him the phone.”

“No.” River argued. “Why can’t you speak to me?”

“This is a grownup conversation, River, don’t argue with me and do as I say.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realise you knew how a phone worked, considering you never call.” The heat in his voice surprised him, but he didn’t want to take it back. It was true.

“Do not take that tone with me, River Cartwright.” His mother seethed. There was something, something River had never heard before, in her voice. “Get him on the phone.”

“I’ve already told you he’s not here,”

“That’s bullshit, River, I didn’t raise you to be a liar.”

“Do you really think you raised me at all?” The words slipped out, taking him by surprise, even if it was a thought he’d had for years. It was his turn to hurt her and not the other way around. Even if he didn’t really want to.

“That’s enough!” Her voice broke as she screamed, and River- River froze.

His mother had been pissed at him before, screaming and crying and blaming him for everything under the sun. She had been mad every single time River had seen her since she left him, and yet it was still a shock that the first emotion she showed him after ignoring him, was anger, as it always was.

She had been mad and afraid, but never frightened, not like she sounded now. Could she be doing it just to get River to hand over the phone to his grandfather? Yes. But she could also be in danger and the only person in the world who knew how to get her out being her father?

River didn’t want to take the risk.

He placed the phone on the table and ran into the garden.

“Granddad!” He bellowed.

“What is this fuss?” His grandmother asked with a smile, that quickly faded once she saw River’s face. “What is it dear?”

“Mum’s on the phone, and she’s not- she’s not well, I think.”

“Not well how?” She had come down on her knees to look River in the eyes.

“She’s crying, but she sounds scared. She didn’t want to speak to me.”

“Okay,” she nodded and pulled him into a hug. “I’ll go talk to her now, okay? You can go find David; he went deeper into the forest.”

River nodded and took off.

He was not hard to find. It always came as a surprise to River how poor his grandfather was at hiding himself. He was a man that charged forward, took the attacker by surprise, took everyone by surprise. It was something Bertrand had told him. Their father had spoken about it before, how David Cartwright was something of an abnormality in the MI5, in the entire British government. He was not like the others, and it was not always a good thing.

“Mum’s on the phone, she needs help.” He rushed out the second he was within earshot.

“Did she tell you anything?” His grandfather asked, calmly, as they walked back towards the house.

“Only that she did not want to talk to me.”

The house looked just as lively as it always did, even as River laid on the couch feeling lifeless.

He could hear every word spoken on this side of the phone clearly, wishing with each vowel he could hear the other side too.

His grandfather's calming voice grounded him. It couldn’t be that bad if his grandfather sounded like nothing was amiss, River tried to reason. If his mother truly was in danger, his grandfather would be out of the house and with her by now. But he had stayed and talked to her, for whatever reason it was she called.

He could’ve been laying there for hours and wouldn’t have noticed, but he knew less than ten minutes had passed when his grandfather called for him.

“She wants to speak to me?” He asked.

“No.” His grandfather paused before going on. “Do you remember Jackson Lamb?”

It had been more than a month since the odd day in the park had taken place, but River doubted he would ever forget the weird man. He nodded.

“He has been helping me with something to do with your mother, and she just found out. She is not exactly happy.”

“Is it helping her? Keeping her safe?”

“Yes.” His grandfather replied.

“Then why is she mad?”

“She doesn't want my help, River. She never has. She wishes to do everything on her own.”

“That’s stupid.” River folded his arms over his chest and frowned. “Maybe I can explain it to her,”

“River…” His name was said with a sigh. “Sometimes you need to accept that you can’t help anyone, even if they need it. Not everyone wants to be saved.”

“But how can I be sure mum is one of those? She has always been waiting for a white knight to come for her,”

“And are you that white knight?” His grandfather smiled, though it was sharp at its edges. “Are you prepared to swoop in with a sword and slay the dragon?”

“Is my father the dragon?”

The conversation was confusing River. His head hurt and he wanted to speak to Bertrand. He still hadn’t come closer to convincing his grandfather that it would do him good to meet Yves. Yves, who Bertrand had only seen in person once, since his breakthrough argument with River. Yves, who might still be stuck in the same, not quite, prison cell, captured like a princess in a tower.

“Did he keep my mother, like you are keeping Yves?”

“River.”

“There’s a difference, is there? ‘Cause I don’t see one.”

His grandfather stared silently, his eyes flickering over River’s face, looking for something, but what, River didn’t know.

“Jackson Lamb won’t be helping us anymore.”

“What did he even do? You didn’t tell me, haven’t even mentioned it once since!”

“I don’t want to argue with you, River.” Was all he said, before leaving the room, abruptly.

River didn’t freeze before making it into his room with the door closed. This is it, he thought, this is their last straw, they wouldn’t let him stay here, not anymore. Maybe they would be kind, as his mother, and leave him with someone they know will take care of him. Or maybe-

River stopped. They wouldn’t need to do anything if River didn’t give them a chance to do anything.

It was a good thing he had learned how to move in the house unnoticed. Leave the house without anyone knowing.

There wasn’t anyone in the waiting room when they arrived, the room empty, quiet, and with flickering lights, giving James flashbacks to the horror film he was forced to watch when he was twelve.

Guy was the one to charge into the first room with someone in it.

“We are with the police, here to ask some questions about the break in.” She introduced, quickly and with no nonsense. “Do you know who we can talk to?”

The woman in scrubs shrugged. “I only heard about the break in, like, half an hour ago, erm… sorry.”

“Can you get your boss?” Guy didn’t wait past the nod she got in reply. “Thank you. It’s urgent.”

The woman rushed out, with a glance back at them.

“Nice place, huh.” Baker commented. “‘Thought there only lived pensioneers around here.”

“It’s mostly commuters, who have the time to drive to London every day.” James said, unsolicited. God, he thought, he was already acting -he hated to say it- friendly, towards them.

“Been here before?” Baker asked, wryly.

James rolled his eyes in reply. Of course, the answer would be yes, he had been here before. But then they would ask why, and he would have to lie, and they would know he was lying and come to their own, wrong conclusion.

James shook his head. He did not usually think like this, it needed to stop. This case needed to end, the quicker the better.

“Excuse me? I was told you had some questions?”

James and Baker left Guy to talk to the vet, going hunting for evidence.

“We won’t find anything,” Baker said, breaking the silence. “The police have already left. And whoever River’s father is, he sounds good.”

“Good? At committing crimes, you mean?”

Baker shrugged noncommittally. “Did you know about him?”

“Why would I know about him?”

“I don’t know,” Baker glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “River never said anything?”

“I get the feeling you think River and I speak a lot more than we do.”

“Maybe. But when the two of you first came to the park, oh, the gossip. It was wonderful. Best entertainment of my year, that’s for sure.” She spoke as she walked, her eyes searching every corner of every room they walked through. James tried to do the same, but he could admit one of the reasons he never became a field agent was this, he couldn’t just walk around and notice, like Baker was doing.

James kept walking in silence. He simply had nothing to say.

Guy rejoined them as Baker was taking a closer look at a window.

“Whoever broke in did it through the backdoor,” Guy informed them. “Bloody fingerprints, too bloody for them to actually take the print though.”

“Hmm,” Baker took a key from her pocket and yanked the window open. “Looks familiar?” She then asked, holding up a piece of frayed fabric that had gotten stuck on the outside of the window.

“No?”

“Oh, well. If anyone would know if it’s River’s, it’ll be you.” Baker snorted. She fished a plastic bag out of her pocket and closed it up.

Neither of them was taking River being abducted too hard, which James should have expected. They weren’t handling it like a case about their coworker; they were handling it as any other case. But James couldn’t.

“Did they tell you anything else?” James inquired.

Guy shook her head. “They only found one footprint inside, no evidence anybody else had been here before the vet came.”

It could’ve been any of them, River, his brother, his father, any of them could have been the one shot, the one to break in, the one who needed the medicine.

“But,” Guy interrupted James’ train of thought. “They are getting the security footage they gave the police earlier.”

“Ho didn’t find it earlier,” Baker reminded her.

“Old-school system,” Guy smirked. “They keep the copies on VHS.”

James took a breath, looked around at the pristine white walls and clean rooms, and shrugged. If it was of relief or something else, he didn’t care. Whoever it was that had been injured had gotten help and most likely survived. It was relief he felt.

It wasn’t too long to the nearest train station, if you walked over the bushes and into the forest. It was the straightest way to go, the quickest, but not the easiest. River had to dodge branch after branch, jumping from one slippery stone to another, and that was before he had to cross the small river that divided the hills from the actual forest.

River might’ve not thought this completely through.

But he got to the train, he got on the train, and he ended up where he wanted to go, all without someone checking if he got a ticket.

It rained when he got to London, as it always did. It made the already dull walk unbearable. But he paid it no mind.

He wanted to call Bertrand, he should call Bertrand, but then he should first find the money and then a phone, and he didn’t have time. He didn’t have time.

It was past nine by the time River made it to the street Bertrand lived on. Hours since River’s should’ve eaten dinner, his stomach growling painfully at the thought.

Just a couple of more steps, River thought, then you’re there.

The door opened before he made it.

“River!” The R in his name rolled as Natasha called for him. “Oh, we’ve been worried sick!” She yelled and pulled a warm blanket over his shoulders. “Where have you been? Your grandfather has been out of his mind, looking for you.”

“Huh?” Was all River could come up with.

“I’m gonna call him, you stay here. Bertrand!” She spoke rapidly. “Get the tea, will you?”

And then Bertrand stood there, his eyes red and face blotchy, staring at River like he had never seen him before.

River sat down on the couch and shivered. A steaming cup of tea was put in his hands, making River’s eyes jump up. Bertrand was shivering too, he noticed first.

“Are you cold?”

“No. I don’t get cold.”

“Oh. Okay.” River took a sip of the tea, still too hot to drink.

“You are fine.” It wasn’t a question.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?” River still answered.

Bertrand scoffed. “You have been gone for hours. No one knows where you’ve been.”

River rolled his eyes. “My grandfather shouldn’t have made you worry.”

“And how could he not? Frank is out there, looking for you, and if he finds you, he finds me.” Bertrand plopped down on the floor.

“My mother called,” River tried to explain. “I thought something was wrong.”

“So, you leave the place you are the safest? You are so stupid.” The accusing French that came out of his mouth was too quick for River to follow. 

River winced.

“Do you even know where your mother is?” At River’s head shake, Bertrand huffed. “Why did you come here? Did you think I would help?” He sounded taunting.

“Maybe you would know what to do, I don’t- I don’t know.”

“Exactly! You don’t know anything, yet you act like you know everything.” Bertrand threw his hands in the air. “It is aggravating, you are aggravating.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you would help, is that what you want to hear?” River apologised.

“I do not want to hear anything from you, ever again.” Bertrand said, finally. He stood up and left the room. Natasha entered in his place.

“Your grandparents are on their way.” She informed him. “Would you like something to eat?”

River nodded.

He should not have come here.

 Ho thought it was hilarious when they brought the tape to him. “And what am I supposed to do with that? I wasn’t born in the nineteenth century.” He laughed.

Isobel took the tape from him. “My father was,” she snorted. She placed the tape in the telly, turned it on so they could all watch it.

It was grainy, and in greyscale, the movement warrying from too slow to too fast. But it was obvious to see who was on the tape. Or more like who it wasn’t.

“It’s not River,” Baker confirmed.

“No.”

But whoever it was, was efficient. In and out in a blink, leaving no trace, apart from the bloody hand that went from holding their stomach, to splaying on the wall in an attempt to keep them on their feet. 

“It’s his father.” Isobel spoke, her voice still.

“So it seems.” Lamb commented. He gave an ugly snort. “If they’re not with him, where are they?” He asked into the room.

James wanted to know that too.

“How long can he survive like that? If they left him, he can’t have gotten far.”

“He would’ve called for someone to pick him up,” Isobel informed.  “He’s probably halfway to France by now.”

“And if he’s not? What if he’s alone, bleeding out or dead by now?”

“Serves that fucker.” Isobel hissed.

“What if he’s well, or at least well enough to come for them, or for us?” James felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. “You have not been a help, Miss Cartwright.”

“River is not the one who was hurt, we all know that now. So why are you acting like he is?” There was a calculated look in her eyes as she spoke, one that reminded James she was not only River’s mother, but also David Cartwright’s daughter.

“Why are you not?” James wanted to know. “When was the last time you saw your son?”

“Why does that matter?” A grimace passed over her face.

“Was it today?”

She didn’t answer.

“Webb.” It was Baker who spoke, a warning in her tone.

“Interesting.” Lamb said. “Was it today, Isobel? Or last night.”

She turned away from them all.

Since the beginning something about this case had rubbed James the wrong way, and it had started with Taverner, the second he stepped in her office this morning, though the hours that had passed felt like weeks.

“Are you working for second desk?”

“What?!” Isobel let out a sharp laugh. “Of course I’m fucking not.” She denied. “I’m not working for anyone.”

Both Baker and Guy had gotten closer, twin looks on their faces, one James knew.

“She doesn’t want us to find them, she sends us here and she doesn't want us to find them.”

“She didn’t send us here,” James turned to the senior agent. “You did.”

Lamb lifted his arms in the air. “I’m an innocent man, officer. Don’t shoot.” He smirked.

“This is bollocks.” Isobel stated. “I need to find my son, you need to stop accusing everybody around you, and you,” she pointed a long finger at Lamb. “Need to call that secretary of yours and make her go to River’s flat.”

“Hmpf.” Lamb responded.

“We already checked River’s place,” Guy told her.

“Did you check it, or did you look for him? Because he’s not there, but something else might be.”

“You’re awfully good at this spy stuff.” Baker commented, her eyes scouring the woman.

“My father didn’t give me a choice.”

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk about it in the car, or when they got home. They didn’t talk about it at breakfast the morning after, or dinner. They don’t talk about it a week later, driving River to meet Yves for the first time.

River hadn’t talked to his grandfather at all, actually.

He had made it clear that if his grandfather ever wanted to have a conversation with him ever again, he would have to allow River to meet his brother.

His grandfather folded before five days had passed.

The sun had just peeked through the skies, when the car parked in front of the institution.

There weren’t bars for the windows, but just barely. The building stood tall and grey, a bruise to the otherwise perfect horizon.

Yves stayed on the third floor, the nurse informed them, dragging them up the unending flights of stairs.

When the door to his room clicked open and River was let inside, it was nothing like when River met Bertrand.

For one, the boy in front of him looked nothing like River himself, nor like Bertrand, at least not in looks. But they held themselves similarly, like they had the world on their shoulders, but were trying to hide it.

He turned when River entered the room, stared when he sat down.

“Hello.” River said. When he didn’t get any form of response, he introduced himself. “I’m River. Your brother.” He stuttered. “I- I don’t know if Bertrand told you about me, but I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, so.”

Yves stared, unblinking.

“I brought biscuits?” He said hesitantly. “My grandmother’s specialty.” He offered one from the Tupperware, reaching his hand out slowly.

Yves stared, blinking once. He took the offering.

“Right,” River itched behind his ear. “Erm… I brought a book? Bertrand is obsessed with it, so.” He placed the book on the bed, the first of seven in a series River never paid much mind. “He thought you might enjoy it too.”

Yves took a bite of the biscuit. Chewed slowly.

“I thought I could maybe come here once a week, if I’m allowed? I’d really like to get to know you.” River told him truthfully. He checked the time. Less than ten minutes had passed, and Yves had not said a single word. River took the hint. “It was nice to meet you,” he said standing back up. “I’ll come by Tuesday, maybe.” He shrugged.

He brought his hand on the doorhandle, when Yves spoke.

“Bring more of the biscuits.”

River startled. “I will.” He smiled. “My grandmum is going to be glad you liked them.”

When another minute passed without a word from Yves, River left the room.

His grandfather was standing on the other side of the door, most likely listening in on their entire conversation, if you could even call it that.

“Good talk?” He asked as he left the place.

“I promised I’ll be back Tuesday.” River said, skipping towards the car.

His grandfather let out a sigh but didn’t argue.

River grinned. A success then,  he thought.

They left the house. Why they hadn’t done it hours ago, James didn’t know. There was nothing left there they hadn’t looked at from a thousand angles.

And Isobel was antsy, tried to leave without any of them noticing. James wasn’t happy. She was omitting something, and he could tell it was something big.

Or maybe she was just nervous. But James didn’t think it was that.

It was Ho they ended up waiting for. James couldn’t even blame him, with all the tech parts he made him take here.

Baker and Guy were throwing theories back and forth, one more outrageous than the other, but it calmed James to know they were nowhere near giving up.

“But I mean, did you see the way he walked with a wound? No way he’s not some disgruntled ex-agent, you know?” Baker was saying. “We used to joke it was in River’s blood to be, you know, but maybe he was destined.”

“I’m pretty sure he would’ve mentioned if his father was an agent too, Sid.”

“Unless-”

“Please,” James had to interrupt. “Stop with the guessing.”

“Like you aren’t also practically shaking-”

“You children ready?” Lamb’s voice cut to them like glass.

James straightened his back and nodded, walking towards Isobel, who was typing away on her phone. “I’m going with you.”

He can hear the frown in Guy’s voice. “Wait, what about-?”

He shuts the car door, shutting out what Guy was about to ask. He waits for Isobel to sit inside too, before speaking.

“You don’t know where River’s flat is.” He answers her silent question.

“And you do?”

“Yes.” He reaches for the seatbelt. “We are in a bit of a hurry if you’d mind.” He waves at the general vicinity of the house and the entire situation.

She started the car.

It was a silent journey onto the highway, neither of them willing to be the first to speak.

James sighed. He knew he had been unfair earlier, to assume and accuse when he wasn’t sure. Normally he wouldn’t think twice, but this wasn’t some random person, this was River’s mother and no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t have any difference, it did.

So, he got ready to ask, be the bigger person and speak. He didn’t get the chance.

“River has spoken of you.” Isobel said, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Oh?”

“Minor things,” she waved. “He’s usually not one to talk about his work life.”

Guess that goes both ways, James thought. River liked to keep his businesses apart, even if it would make things a thousand times easier if he didn’t. Like now. 

“But he talked about you.” She gave him a side eye.

James didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

It was minutes before Isobel spoke again. “He’s in France, I believe.”

“France?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But I don’t think my father is, so,” she shrugged. “He must be at River’s flat. Or another place he trusts to let him stay.”

“We can check his passport, see if he has left the country.”

“Oh please, they have ways around that.” She snorted. “But my father might know more, if we can find him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” James couldn’t fathom why, and though he wasn’t blunt by nature, he needed to know.

“River has spoken about you.” Isobel repeated, as if that was answer enough. Maybe it was.

“Why France?” James couldn’t help but ask. “What’s there that’s so important.”

“Nothing anymore. Not for me.”

“But for River?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “Maybe.” She repeated, with a sigh.

River got up early, helped his grandmother bake and waited for his grandfather to drive him. He sat on the stair in front of the door looking at the sky, counting clouds. It was something his mother taught him, years ago, when he was bored and annoying her.

The car drove up at exactly the same time as always. River opened the door before his grandfather came out and sat in the seat reaching for the seatbelt.

“You’re sure you don’t want to wait five minutes?” His grandfather asked.

“Then we wouldn’t be there in time,” River reminded him. “Visiting hours end soon.”

“Right.” His grandfather sighed.

The drive felt quicker than last time, less cars on the road and fewer thoughts fluttering around in River’s mind.

The room was the same as the week before cold, bare and grey. Yves was sitting still, looking out of the window. He turned when River opened the door, after his knock.

“Hello,” he said. “I brought more biscuits, if you want any.”

“Thank you.” Yves spoke, his voice clear.

“How have you been?”

Yves shrugged and took a biscuit from the bunch River had put on the bedside table.

River wanted to hit himself. How have you been? Of course he hadn’t been good, not stuck in this place.

“Did you like the book? I know Bertrand wants to know what you thought about it.” River chattered to fill the silence.

“It was good,” Yves said, inbetween bites. “You can have it back.” He reached under his pillow and pulled the book out.

“You finished it?” The surprise seeped from his voice.

Yves shrugged again. “There’s not much to do here.”

“Well, I can get you the second one next week, if you’ll like.” River wringed his hands. “Or if there’s anything else, I can probably get you some other books too…”

Yves nodded, crumbs at his lips. “Thank you.”

River came back the next Tuesday and then the one after that. Sometimes it was Wednesday, some days Saturday or Sunday, but River came, every single week.

It was during the second month of his weekly visits, his grandfather told him he was retiring. River sat back further in the seat, the seatbelt digging into his chin. He felt guilty, all of a sudden, that the first thought he had was if they were ever going to find Patrice now, and not how his grandfather was doing.

It was that same visit Yves mentioned Patrice for the first time.

River had talked most of the time, but slowly he got his brother to open up more. Mostly they talked about Bertrand and how he was doing, and the books he made River give to Yves. Then they talked about the books, how the first one he loaned Yves just got a movie, and then what movies they’d watched. Which was very few, for Yves, and too many to count, for River.

Rarely they talked about what happened before Yves came to the place. River wasn’t even sure he knew what had happened that day, that River had met their father and what he had said.

But sometimes -just like Bertrand did- Yves would let something slip, something that to him seemed normal, but to River sounded like insanity.

It was gasoline to the fire that burned inside River, the need to find Patrice, to reunite what he hoped could be his family, what was his family, but not yet.

So, he waited. Waited for his grandfather to retire, or at least retire as much as he could, the life he had lived could never escape him.

He waited until he had the day’s empty, where he could spend the energy he had used to hunt down criminals, to hunt down Patrice instead.

And it worked, it worked right up until the day his grandparents sat him down at the dinner table and told him-

He stayed with Bertrand and Natasha most days his grandmother had treatments. He didn’t like to think about where he would’ve gone if he had never met them.

She got better, good enough for River to think that maybe this was it, maybe this was the worst to come, and everything would go back to normal.

It didn’t. It rained the day they lowered her body in the cold dirt.

Neither River nor his grandfather cried.

Lamb's secretary was at River’s flat when they got there.

“There’s nothing here,” she told them, and she was right. It was obvious nobody had been there, not River nor his father.

James didn’t know if he felt calmed by it.

Guy and Baker had gone with Lamb back to Slough House, apparently after a longer discussion about where they would continue the investigation. Lamb had told them Slough House or nowhere.

But James would rather shoot himself than step a foot inside the exile of the park, God knows who would see him there and what they would think. He shivered.

He went back to the park. It was late, but the bustling of the MI5 headquarters was as it always was. Work never ending and hours even longer.

Taverner wasn’t in her office and James was glad. So, he went to his own and sat down at his desk, staring at the empty wall.

He wanted to look through River old cases, wanting to find something in there that could help, but he knew there wasn’t. Maybe if he had learned more about River’s father he could look in their database, search for something he knew wasn’t there, too.

He stood up and looked out the window.

He couldn’t stay here; he needed to get out and help.

He had Isobel’s phone number, given freely, but it didn’t feel right to call when he hadn’t gotten any closer to anything at all.

So he went home, in need of a long shower and maybe just five minutes where River Cartwright couldn’t infiltrate his mind.

He barely got five seconds.

When he opened his front door, he was met with every single corner of his flat turned over, pillows laying flayed open on the floor and the smell of something burned coming from the kitchen.

“He just needs another five minutes, then you can take him.” Came a mature voice.

James turned and, to his complete astonishment, was met with David Cartwright, holding his steaming kettle. “What?” He breathed.

“You’re the one River sent, no? The one collecting Yves.”

James nodded, feeling unsure of the motion. “And where is River?”

“He didn’t tell you?” David Cartwright was an imposing man, even in his pyjamas standing in James’ kitchen.

“France,” slipped out of James mouth. “He didn’t tell me more.”

“He wouldn’t.”

And neither would he, it seemed. James wasn’t surprised, had stopped feeling surprised about this ordeal and more so feeling resigned. Bloody Cartwrights, he thought.

The door to his bedroom stood wide open, so James could easily see the limp body, laying on top of his pure silk sheets he had imported from India. That must be Yves then.

He had, at least, been told who he was, by Isobel on the car ride to London. A quick history lesson in Cartwright family drama. A history lesson taught by a teacher who didn’t want you to learn anything and rushed over anything that might be useful, ignoring questions he asked. But it was better than nothing.

He was starting to think they were all like that, all the Cartwrights. 

He messaged Isobel. She wouldn’t be any help, he knew, but she would be able to take her father out of James’ home.

He messaged Guy too. She at least could be of some use.

“What did you give him?” James asked Cartwright senior, who was sipping on a cup of tea, James’ tea.

“Oh, this and that.” He took a sip. “He could awaken any time now.”

“Right,” James sighed. “And why did you… do that?” He waved.

The man looked at him, perceiving him in a way not dissimilar to the way he had some odd years ago. He hummed.

Well then. James had the urge to sigh again, deeply, but refrained.

“River hasn’t spoken to you?” He asked.

“Not about him.” James replied.

“He didn’t want me to hurt him, but he wasn’t complying with me. It was for the better.”

“Okay,” James said, not having a single one of the questions running through his mind answered. “Isobel is on the way, along with a couple agents who can take Yves. You can debrief in the meantime.”

The older man glared, with raised eyebrows, and though James knew the man could hardly hurt him, not in his own home, a shiver still went down his spine. “My daughter is coming. Why.”

“She was worried.”

“About me?” He snorted. “River will need my help once he comes back.”

“And when exactly will that be?” James felt like he was running in circles.

“Soon,” the man replied, a faraway look in his eyes.

James didn’t believe him.

The house was too quiet.

River felt it and he knew his grandfather did too. The garden seemed to wilt without her careful guidance, the food tasted bland, and the house creaked at odd hours where she used to walk, almost as if it too forgot she wasn’t here anymore.

His grandfather had taken to doing nothing all day long. River came home from school to find him in the same position as the one he had been in when River’d left earlier. He would only leave the house when he drove River to Yves once a week and then when he drove to London twice a week, sometimes with River, but rarely.

Bertrand called every day and sometimes Natasha would call too, talking to his grandfather for a bit before giving the phone back to Bertrand, so he and River could strategize the next part of their plan.

Yves had gotten better too, good enough to be let out of the home a couple times a week, sometimes coming to London with River and Bertrand. It was odd for River those days, feeling like an outsider to the two brothers who had grown up the same, yet so unalike. It wasn’t even like he felt left out, because he didn’t. But he did feel like their brains were wired in a way he knew his never could be. Their eyes followed the man across the street and River wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the flinch they both gave when he dropped his sandwich.

They were different from him and River didn’t like it. He didn’t like that the reason they act like they do is because their father was so much of a psychopath that his children now must bear his handprint like a mark of ownership. Even River couldn’t hide from that, the scar on his hand from when he stabbed him a constant reminder.

River’s mother had come back to England after her mother’s passing, getting married in a ceremony River wasn’t invited to. He could pretend it didn’t hurt, mostly because it didn’t. His mother had apologised, told him it all just happened so quickly, and when River hadn’t reacted, started screaming at him for not wanting the best for her.

It felt like River’s entire life was shifting, without him shifting with it.

Yves was moving to Manchester, getting fostered by a family who had worked with difficult children before, and Bertrand would be spending the summer in France, staying with some of Natasha’s family in Paris.

And River would be locked in a house with his grandfather.

The daily calls from Bertrand were the only thing he could look forward to in the record-breaking hot summer. And once they too started to fade out, the summer went from just bearable to the worst summer of River’s life.

But summer passed, along with autumn and winter, and River with it.

The house had a grey cloud hanging over its occupants, a storm waiting to pass.

River’s storm had passed, had done it years ago, so he didn’t understand why he was feeling like this now. He felt stuck.

It didn’t help that Bertrand was doing good, the best since River met him, or that Yves finally felt comfortable enough to spend more time with his foster family and barely had time to talk to River anymore.

The only way River could find to make it stop, to get them to be there again, was to find Patrice. And River would do anything to do it; he had nothing to lose.

His grandfather didn’t take much notice to the extra hours River spent at the library, or maybe he did and thought he was being a good student and studying. River wasn’t. He had hidden the report cards he had gotten from the last term, ashamed of the grades he had gotten and even more ashamed of the way his teachers told him they ‘understood’ and that he should ‘take all the time he needs’. He hated it.

He took the lists he and Bertrand had made and researched.

Patrice would most likely be in France. Or, he needed to be in France, or else everything River had been doing, was wrong. And it couldn’t be wrong.

So therefor, Patrice must be in France.

But France is a big country, and it feels even bigger, when River has next to no idea where he could be.

He started with Les Arbres, the place they lived with his father. Bertrand told him where it was, and Natasha spun tales of her years there, growing up. But it also meant it was easy to see that Patrice was not there, at all.

He dug deeper, as deep he could on a library computer.

Patrice’s father wasn’t Frank, but a man River did not know a single thing about, past the quick look he had gotten of him years ago. He tried asking Bertrand, but he only knew Patrice’s father from afar. A tall French man, who was away most of the time, which was why Patrice stayed with them instead of the other children, sheltered in their shelter.

Yves knew more, but he was reluctant to talk. River didn’t want to push him, so for now, he was happy to wait and try to figure it out himself.

It wasn’t easy. For weeks he ran in circles, thinking he had finally found a new hint, only to be met with another dead end. But it was fun, the most fun he’d had since his grandmother passed. His spark for working where his grandfather used to, reignited with a new glare.

But in the end it wasn’t River who found Patrice, but Patrice who found River.

It had all been a very odd day for River, one of the rare ones he spends in London, with his grandfather. His grandfather had a meeting with an old friend and left River in a shop he had begged to go to. If it was across the French embassy, then no one had to know.

But he never got to get in, ambushed by a tall teenager in a dark hoodie, the second he stepped out onto the road.

A hand over River’s mouth and another across his throat, River was pulled into an alley, dark and empty.

“Who are you?” A harsh French accented voice spoke. “You are not him, so who are you?”

It took a moment before River realised who else he could have been confused with. And not many knew him, not anymore.

Really, there was only one, who River hadn’t met, who would recognise him from afar.

“Patrice?” River whispered, his throat dry from the palm pushed into it.

The boy went rigid. “Who are you?!” he yelled, the sound echoing from the brick walls.

 “I’m- I’m River,” he managed to get out. “Frank’s my father.” He wheezed.

Patrice added even more weight to River. “Is he here?!” He hissed.

River frantically tried to shake his head. “Mate,” he tried to breathe. “I’m gonna pass out,”

The pressure on his throat loosened, but not enough for River to push him away.

“Look, I don’t,” River started, then stopped. “I- please, just calm down.”

If anything, the boy's face got redder, and his frown deepened.

“I can explain.” River said. “But you need to let go of me. There’s a café down the street, it’s quiet, so,” he shrugged. “Or we could go to the park, maybe? Just please, let go of me.”

After a second Patrice gave a nod and took a step back. River gasped in air and stumbled into the wall, his vision flickering.

River tried to turn and walk away but was stopped by a tight hand wrapping around his wrist.

“Slowly,” Patrice whispered.

River nodded and made his way through the people on the street and into the park. He found a bench in the shadow of a tree, with a clear view of the populated area on the other side of the lake. If he could see them, they could see him.

Patrice sat down beside him, looking straight up.

“Explain.” He ordered.

River took in a deep breath and did.

Bertrand would’ve killed him for the things he told, how he told them, but River couldn’t mind at that moment. River could only think about what he needed to say for Patrice to trust him and listen to what he had to say.

And Patrice did relax, momentarily. But River didn’t need more.

He could have tied him to the bench, yelled for help or some other stupid thing, but he didn’t. Instead, he calmly stood up and said they should talk more while walking a bit.

His grandfather’s car was parked in front of the shop he had left River at earlier.

He knew Patrice had seen him through the window the exact moment River had too. He grabbed his arm in a bruising grip and pulled him towards his grandfather, who had exited the car and was looking at River, his eyebrows raised.

“And who is this?” He asked mildly.

“Patrice.” River said. “You know, the one I have been looking for, for years.” He added.

“Ah…” River had never struck his grandfather speechless before. “Well,” He opened the car door. “You both come with me, then.”

Patrice sharply tried to tuck his arm out of River’s hand, making them both stumble down into the ground.

“Ouch,” River hissed, letting go to massage his side. It was less than a split second, but Patrice didn’t need more to be free. River had barely blinked, and his grandfather had Patrice in the car, closing the door and locking it.

“River,” his grandfather called. When he looked up at him, he shook his head. “We’ll talk later.”

River nodded. There was a lot to talk about, he knew.

Guy came to his flat before Isobel did. She looked around as if it was a museum, commenting on the different art pieces he had hanging on the walls, touching his windows, and all in all being a complete bother, ignoring the knocked out man in his bedroom.

“I shouldn’t have called you,” he said, as he pressed his palm against his temple.

She ignored him. “Have you spoken to Taverner? I’m sure she would love to know we have found O.B.”

James hadn’t called second desk, or anyone else for that matter. He had decided that this should be kept quiet for as long as he could. Guy and Baker might disagree with him but matters like these should be kept behind closed doors.

“She will be notified when the incident has passed,” he said.

“If that is what you deem fit.”

James didn’t reply.

Cartwright senior was drinking tea in his kitchen, reading an old newspaper James had lying around. Guy looked at him from around the corner.

“Interesting, don’t you think?” She asked.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, haven’t you ever wondered what he was like? Back then, but also when he was raising River.”

James had spent a very long time trying not to wonder, thank you very much.

“I’ve met him before, every urge I had to ask him, or River, went away.” James gave a delinquent shrug.

“Wait, when did you meet him?” She asked, confusion colouring her tone.

“Years ago,” James answered shortly. “It hardly matters.”

“If you say so,” she didn’t sound convinced. Fortunately, it was then Isobel rang his doorbell.

It was Cartwright senior who opened the door, quicker on his feet than James thought possible.

“Evening Isobel,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She pushed past him and inside the home. Unlike Guy, she didn’t look at anything in his house, just walked right past James and Guy and into his bedroom where River’s brother was lying. She let out a quiet huff, not one meant to be heard, and walked back to her father.

“They will come back for him soon, I suppose.” She sighed. She flicked her wrist up to look at her watch.

“River sent some from the park for him.”

Isobel snorted. “Come on, dad.”

“Do you know what he did? They will not ignore it anymore.”

“No, I don’t know what he did, father, please enlighten me.” Isobel tilted her head dangerously.

James’ head was following the conversation like a tennis match. It was even more odd to think about the fact Isobel was River’s mother when she was talking to her father. James felt glad he hadn’t been born into that family. Once, just after he found out River was related to one of the most infamous men in the MI5, he had been jealous, had stupidly wished he had a lifeline in his work too. It was a short lived wish, only a week later had he seen firsthand what it was like for River to have the O.B as his grandfather.

“I told him, from the day he insisted on meeting him, that he was unstable. And look where it got him.”

“Anyone would be ‘unstable’ if they’d gone through what he has. If anything, he’s stable compared to what he could’ve been.” Isobel spoke, words that made no sense to James, but he knew were true.

“Perhaps.” Cartwright senior coincided. “But is it enough?” He asked.

James didn’t need to hear anymore.

“Have you contacted Lamb?” He asked Guy.

She snorted. “No, last I saw of him, he was drinking himself to sleep.”

“It’s barely six,” James frowned.

“It’s Slough House.”

It was a good point.

“And,” Guy went on. “I doubt he’ll be of much help anymore.”

“Why not?”

Guy nodded her head towards the window she was leaning up against, the one with a view of the street below. “I’m like eighty percent sure, River just went through your front door.”

James straightened his back. “What?!” He startled.

As he spoke, a key turned. The Cartwright’s turned too, to see the man who walked through the door.

And there he was, River fucking Cartwright, looking exactly as he did the first time he entered the flat, minus the impressive bruise sporting his jaw.

He looked up and froze, his gaze flickering from James and Guy, to his mother and grandfather.

Before any of them could speak -or scream or laugh or whatever other feelings James felt- a thump echoed from his bedroom.

James let out an audible sigh.

Of course, Yves would wake up now, just as James was… whatever he was.

River was the first to move, practically running into the room. Only, when they got there, the man was not any less asleep as he’d been the first five times James had seen him. He was simply laying on the ground, fallen from where he had laid comfortably on James’ bed.

River carefully lifted him up and placed him back on the bed.

“Oh, please don’t,” James quipped. “I don’t need your grime in my bed too.” He gave River a blank stare, trying to communicate the spite he was feeling.

River showed a grimace. “I suppose I have some explaining to do, huh?”

James lifted a single eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

Watching Patrice and Bertrand talk was unlike anything River had ever seen before. Even with years of French classes under his belt, the words that flowed out of their mouths were too quick for River to catch.

And that was without taking the gestures into account too.

River had gotten used to feeling like an outsider in his family, at least this time he could feel proud that he was the one to bring them together.

He slipped out of the room after an hour, an hour filled with words, though none he understood.

His grandfather was drinking tea with Natasha in the kitchen. The two adults conversed quietly, too quiet for River to hear.

“All well, River?” His grandfather knocked him out of the daze he had entered, startling River.

“Hmm? Oh, sure.” He tilted his balance from one foot to the other. “I just… didn’t think it would be like this.” He admitted.

Natasha nodded. “It must be hard,” she said.

River shrugged. “Compared to what they went through, I mean, it makes sense they’re like that, I just,” embarrassingly River felt his eyes burn. “I dunno.”

He missed those months where it was only him and Bertrand, before Yves and before Patrice were found. The guilt burned in him every time he wished it was only Bertrand who found his way out. But if they hadn’t found them, if River hadn’t found them, his grandfather would still think of him as the small child he wasn’t anymore.

“We were thinking of inviting Yves down for a couple of days,” Natasha said. “It would be good for you, I think, for all of you.”

And so, a weekend later they were all together, for the first time ever. It was also River’s birthday, but really, who was thinking about that, when they were all together. River certainly didn’t, no.

At least, with Yves there too, the French stayed intelligible. River could hold a conversation with them, understand them, but he still felt like the outsider he was. And he was maybe alright with that, but also, maybe he wasn’t. He could get used to it, he reasoned, if it were to be like this forever.

But getting used to it would take time, time River didn’t want to pass feeling excluded.

The weeks after his birthday, River spent alone. Or well, alone excluding his grandfather, who had taken up gardening as his new, old hobby. It used to be his grandmother who spent most of her time taking care of the plants, and since her passing everything had died. And the week River would just spend wallowing in his room, was the week his grandfather had decided to turn the entire garden upside down.

“River!” His grandfather called. “Come help me with this.”

“Coming!”

River didn’t feel any particular way about helping his grandfather in the garden. It was that or homework and sitting in the burning sun while his grandfather worked, still beat sitting in the heat and having to do homework.

“You know,” his grandfather started. “Maybe it would be better if you don’t see your brothers for a bit.”

River frowned. “Why not?” His frown deepened. “You can’t keep me away from them, I haven’t done anything!”

“It’s not a punishment, River.” His grandfather began to soothe. “You shouldn’t be thinking about them as much as you do. You need other friends.”

“I have friends,” River tried to convince, stunned. “And I don’t think about them that much. I think about them a normal amount considering, don’t you think?”

“No River, I don’t think so.” He put down the shears he was holding, with a sigh. “They are not the type of people I want around you.”

“The type of people?! They are my family!”

“I am your family!” His grandfather bellowed.

River blinked.

“They might share half your DNA, but being around them makes you nothing but miserable!” He dragged a hand down his face. “You’re not happy, River.”

“And? I’ve never needed to be happy before.”

“River…”

“What? Mum never cared for how I was feeling as long as I wasn’t crying, and you never care unless I’m screaming in your face. Like now!”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” His grandfather said sternly. “You need to be your own person, away from Bertrand and Yves, away from who they were raised to be-”

River gave an indignant sound.

“River.” His grandfather wiped away a drop of sweat from his brow. “I don’t want you to be like them. They were raised to be soldiers, not children, and every time you come home after seeing them, you act like a shadow of yourself.”

“Or maybe, I’m acting like the real me and the one I am at home is the shadow.” River argued, folding his arms over his chest. “You don’t know that.”

He was met with a stare. “I know now that I should’ve told you more about your father and his ideals than I have, and I apologize for that. But you need to listen to me when I say this.” He took in a breath. “Your father is not a good man. You know that, and so does Bertrand, Yves and Patrice, but they were taught for years that it was how everyone was supposed to be, they were taught anyone not like that were weak.”

River frowned. “But they don’t act like that anymore.”

“Don’t they? You’re one of them, but you are not one of them, do you understand? You never will be, and for that I’m eternally grateful. And so should you be.”

River explained and explained, jumping from one thing to another, from a conversation with his mother to his grandfather and then back to James and Guy, who had gotten no further idea of what the fuck had happened.

But it also didn’t matter in the end. River was back, so was his grandfather, and from what River had explained, whatever had happened in his grandfather’s garden would stay there.

River would take care of his brother, make sure he wouldn’t be an issue for the MI5.

When Guy asked about his father, River just shrugged and said it had been taken care of. James didn’t feel the need to ask any more about that, not willing to open that can of worms.

Isobel and Cartwright senior had taken to the kitchen, talking too quiet for James to hear. Every other minute River would look back at them, frown and then act like he hadn’t done it.

“So, that’s it.” He ended his long story. “It’s getting late, and I really should get Grandad home, and Yves too…”

James stared at him. “That’s it? That’s it?!” he repeated. “I have spent the last day trying to find out if you were even alive, and now you’re just- just going?! Have you even told the park your grandfather is alive?”

“Well. No, because that’s your job, isn’t it? Talking to all the important people, reassuring them everything is fine, no?”

James’ jaw dropped as Guy let out a laugh. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Un- fucking- believable. Fucking Cartwrights.” He mumbled into his palm.

“Right…” It almost sounded like River agreed with him. “So, I’m just gonna,” he pointed towards James’ bedroom.

“I can help you. Just down in your car, or?” Guy offered, following him away from James.

He stood there, still and with his head in his hands for another minute, before moving again.

“Seems like everything worked out then.” David Cartwright spoke, taking a sip of tea from James’ cup.

Isobel let out a sigh and stood up. “I have an appointment. It was nice to meet you, James.” She said with a slight smile, though her face was shadowed by a frown, a frown her father also wore. “Father,” she nodded.

“Yes well, have a good year then, Isobel.” He hadn’t looked up from the wall he was staring at.

“Jesus.” James heard, before the loud echo of his front door being shut harshly.

James watched as the two agents carried out the grown man, groaning at the thought of what his neighbours must be thinking, what they thought when they saw River drag him into the flat earlier.

Guy returned a couple of minutes later, River on her heels. While she came to stand beside James, River walked past them both and into the kitchen where his grandfather was still sitting, staring.

“C’mon,” River gently pulled him up and out to the elevator. “I was thinking steak for dinner?”

“Hmm,” David Cartwright intoned.

“Or maybe pizza? You’ll want to sit outside, clean the roses?”

“No, the soil needs the nitrogen, they have been looking dull for months.”

“Right,” River looked at both of them with a look neither of them could return, because truly what the hell was going on in that family?

“Thank you, for letting them stay here.” River told him.

“I didn’t let them stay here; you broke into my house.”

“Right.” River clicked his tongue.

“If you’d told they were here, I wouldn’t have wasted an entire fucking day looking for you and your grandfather.” James’ burst. “Taverner has been on my ass, didn’t even want you to be found, you or your grandfather. I mean Christ, what have you done to piss her off, she put Slough House on your case, heaven’s sake.” He pulled on his hair.

Guy snorted, trying to hide it behind a cough. “He had so much fun, River, you should’ve seen. Really missed a career there, Webb.”

“Piss off and get out of my home.” He hissed in reply.

River held his hands up in the air as he walked backwards out of the door and after his grandfather.

Neither of them moved before River’s car had driven away. Guy had been standing, shaking with silent laughter and James had tried very hard to ignore her.

“Don’t you dare mention any of this to Baker.” He threatened.

“Well,” replied Guy. “It’s gonna be an interesting day tomorrow for sure. See ya.” She waved with a cackle before closing the door behind her.

James stumbled over to the table, took a bottle of scotch and downed it like water.

fin.