Jasper has only been outside about 15 minutes before he feels something soft take his hand.
"Good morning Frosty Caterpillar," a familiar voice chirrups up at him. Sara Alice is beaming, clearly pleased with herself. "I'm to take you to the playground."
"Don't you ever sleep?' Jasper asks her, "you were up until all hours last night." This is partially his fault. She'd found him, heartbroken and gutted, in the Control Room around 11, and in that funny way she had, not really understanding what was going on, refused to leave. He'd carried her, mostly asleep, up to James's rooms after 1:00 when he'd run out of Christmas/caterpillar stories. He realized now that he should have been suspicious when James didn't say anything about it.
"A little, but I got up early. And then Daddy said we should go for a Boxing Day walk, and then he sent me to fetch you to the playground."
"And what if I don't want to go the playground?" Jasper arched one eyebrow.
"I asked that. If you won't come I'm to shout like you're kidnapping me, in my biggest, loudest, outside voice. And then, after Daddy bails you out, we can go to the playground."
Jasper sighs, loudly. "Fine. Lead on."
Sara Alice turns him around and swings his arm companionably. He is aware of other early morning walkers smiling at them, they must make a cute picture to people who don't know. He is the good sport younger uncle, taking the early rising niece for coffee so her hungover parents can have a post-Christmas lie in, a happy sponge for her post-holiday noise. Solitary fathers, undoubtedly trying to build goodwill with exhausted spouses, are sharing conspiratorial smiles, while they tote dozing infants in uncomfortable looking front packs. Jasper is shocked that they aren't turning away, that they can't actually feel the heartbreak emanating off of him.
James Hill stands up from his staked out park bench when his daughter presents him with his distinctly discomforted employee. "Well done, moppet," he says to Sara Alice, acknowledging Jasper with a nod of his head, and handing him a cup of coffee.
"Can I do the monkey bars?" Sara Alice is ready for the off.
"Of course you can," James tells her, "don't break both arms at once." James sits back down and waits for his subordinate to join him.
"You're teaching her reconnaissance skills." Jasper takes a sip of his still hot coffee and it burns a path down his throat.
"Yes, well, she's crap at maths. Maybe MI-6 will be hiring by the time she's done with school."
Jasper snorts, "She can count down 2 decks of cards in under a minute. She's not that crap."
James closes his eyes. He supposes, that where Jasper Frost grew up, teaching children to count cards is looked at in the same light as reviewing catechism questions had been in his house as a kid. "Well then," he says, "she'll have options."
They lapse into silence, both watching Sara Alice navigate the climbing equipment. Jasper breaks the impasse first, "Eleanor told you."
James ignores him. Instead he says, "Christmas dinner was lovely. The Queen was gracious, as ever. We don't need to bother ourselves about her black eye, by the way, in case you were bothered. Assuredly not a security concern" James, being James, was not about to let anyone's black eye go un-investigated, and now finds himself both relieved and decidedly off figgy pudding. The Queen's Christmas day activities put vegetable emoji texts into high relief, but are not, specifically, related to the matter at hand.
James continues, "Like brothers across the country yesterday, Princes Robert and Liam got into a pissing match, fueled no doubt by a combination of childhood resentment and a healthy amount of bourbon." He pauses to take a sip of coffee, wishing it too was fortified with bourbon. "The pink Charlene was a hit. It's my sister-in-law's recipe. I make it for Sara Alice, so she can have something of her Mum's on the holiday table." James meet's Jasper's bloodshot eyes over his coffee cup and keeps going. "The Princess sat thru dinner looking like she'd been run over by a rental lorry. No doubt exhausted from searching the Palace for paper plates. She rallied, though, for the Midnight Speech. You know what she's like. God knows what that cost her." He waits a beat. "How was your Christmas? Had a nice drink with the journalist in the hotel, then?"
Jasper has to catch himself before spitting out a mouthful of coffee. Whatever he's expecting from this playground chat, it's not this.
"You're having me followed. At Christmas?" In the absence of any other response, Jasper is going for indignant.
"Maybe," James answers smoothly. "I am actually not terrible at this job. "
Jasper has no choice but to stick with indignation. "I don't remember signing on to 24 hour surveillance as part of my job description."
James laughs, a true and honest laugh, because this is genuinely funny, and when Jasper isn't a hot mess, he will think it's funny too. "Okay kid, we can do it your way. You want to review the myriad of things you've done, just this past week, mind, that aren't strictly within your job description? Or, would it just be more comfortable for both of us, if you just explain what it is that a skint journo from a newspaper in Las Vegas that almost no one has heard of, has on you. Something big enough that you decided it was worth breaking Eleanor's heart over. On Christmas."
Jasper sets his cup on the ground and threads both hands through his hair. "It's not that complicated," he lies. "We just broke up, that's all."
James quietly gives himself quality points for not calling 'bullocks' – because they are at a playground. "Keep trying," he says, instead, "because even Sara Alice isn't going to buy that."
It's at this point that Jasper realizes that 7-yo Sara Alice didn't buy it 7 hours ago either, and he gives up, because, honestly, he has nothing left. "Fine. Harper, the journalist from Nevada, knows all about my," He takes a deep breath, "all about my past, from before I came here, from before Eleanor… and she's going to write about all of it and Len, and Liam, and really everyone else is going to be crucified." Jasper's eyes get wider, as he realizes that James, being James, might be missing a really crucial point. "You too, probably. I mean, Ted knew mostly – but you know, Ted killed people, and Robert's found out, so it's not like it's that hush-hush, but it's out of order anyway, my being here and your okaying it…." Jasper trails off, recognizing that he's babbling, but not in a position to stop it. He's had the same thoughts, circling around his head for hours. It's something of a relief to say them out loud, although a solution is no closer at hand.
James claps a hand on Jasper's shoulder and wonders, not for the first time, how precisely he has arrived at this place in life. If he'd been told 10 years ago that in a decade he'd have left Scotland Yard and be a single dad to a seven-year-old, he'd have laughed out loud. If that same all knowing soul had also said he'd be the most available grown-up to a pack of under parented millennials, most of whom had some claim on the British crown, well, at a minimum, he'd have kept laughing.
The trick, James knows, from Yard interrogation courses and a child psychology article that Sara Alice's school sent home, was to not immediately start providing answers when one's subject/Year 1 student presents a problem.
"That's a lot to manage," James says neutrally, "You are carrying a lot, on your own." He knows, again from the school newsletter, that this is called 'reflective listening". He can hear the pulse pounding in his left temple and is slightly concerned that it's taking years, at least weeks, off his life.
Now that's he's started, Jasper finds that he cannot really stop. "The press will just destroy her, Eleanor, I mean. I've done what I've done, and that's okay, I have to own that, but it all gets thrown back on her, and that's not okay. I can't ask her to do that. I won't ask her."
"So you didn't," James noted, again, giving himself quality points for not adding "Numpty!". He can see where this is going, and while he appreciates the motivation, is trying not to roll his eyes at the half-arsed execution.
"So you ended things with her because you're trying to protect her? All on your own." More reflective listening, James assumes he's doing it correctly when Jasper nods mutely.
He moves on, "so how did this Harper person find out about you?"
Jasper's hands are back in his hair and his eyes are glued to his shoes. "My Dad told her."
"Your Dad… your father… told her?" James wants to be very clear on this point.
Another deep breath. "Yes. Samantha, you know, Mandy, was pissed off about… well, about a lot of things…". It's James' turn to put his hands in his hair, because he really doesn't want to know what 'a lot of things' might entail. Jasper sees this out of the corner of his eye, but carries on anyway. "Anyway… Samantha reached out to Harper with the story and Harper wanted confirmation, So… they negotiated a price with my father and he took it, and then … he told them."
James is done. He can play a part, but he is done. "Your father, " James is using his Scotland Yard Voice, the one that concisely detailed facts on the police recording, and made him a favorite with the Crown Prosecutor. "Knowing that you have a job at the Palace and, let's call them ties, to Princess Eleanor Henstridge, 3rd-, 2nd, -somewhere- in line to the Crown of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, your father sold details of your past life to a reporter, for money. Is that right?"
"Yes," Jasper answers, elbows on his knees, still talking to his shoes.
"And you," still in the Yard voice, "when confronted with this, let's call it a set of circumstances. On Christmas Day, you determine that your best course of action is to break off your relationship with Princess Eleanor, leaving her gutted, but free from press speculation. This set of circumstances, as noted, being precipitated, by your father."
"Yes." Jasper manages to sit upright, recognizing a voice of authority when he hears one, no matter his level of exhaustion.
"Right." James exhales heavily, and thinks that the pressure in is jaws might just crack the sub-par British dentistry work in his molars. His own father has been dead for 15 years. In James' personal experience, the acts of fatherhood run in many directions: Good fathers were meant to show up to your primary school concerts unless they were at work – the pub, unless one was behind the bar, was not considered work. Good fathers taught you the off sides rule and packed an extra mouth guard into your rugby bag. Good fathers drilled you on your multiplication tables and swore on the Bible that one day you would use them. Given the appropriate setting, best as James could tell, good fathers stirred two packets of mini-marshmallows and a tub of cottage cheese into strawberry jelly and served it to the bloody Queen of England on Christmas Day. And good fathers, in the unlikely event that they are presented with a reporter knocking on the mobile caravan door asking about a story about one's son, well, good fathers say they have no idea what she's talking about and slam the door, leaving said reporter standing alone in the desert.
Decision made, James stands up. "Right then." His hand is on Jasper's shoulder, there is no question of their not leaving together. " Let's go home, we'll get it sorted." He waves to Sara Alice.
"We'll get it sorted?" Jasper is wrong-footed.
"Yes." James is looking him dead on. "We are going home, and we will sort it. It's fine."
"It's fine? What about this fine?" Jasper is incredulous. "There is literally not one part of this that you, or anyone, can fix."
James looks him dead on, again. "Did you listen to the speech? We ask for help when we need it, and we keep fighting." James begins gathering up the coffee cups and continues, "Which means, that we are going to go home, and you are going to apologize to Eleanor and tell her every detail of the chat you had in the hotel yesterday, and say you're sorry for being a bit of an idiot, but that you had her best interests at heart."
Jasper rolls his eyes. "You're making that sound easy. Also, I'm not an idiot."
"You're a massive idiot. She loves you anyway. Fall on your sword and she will be fine… eventually." James leads the way towards the park entrance. "And then the PR people behind this monarchy can earn their pay, thwarting the aims of a no-name paper in Las Vegas, that no one reads anyway."
Jasper exhales. His shoulders relax for the first time in hours, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay. Eleanor is hurt, he's hurt her… again. He's got a long way to go to make up for his share of her trust issues. She'll forgive him eventually. He knows her.
Sara Alice reappears. She has conquered the monkey-bars and returned with two arms. She pulls a mitten out of her pocket, pulls it on, and then reclaims Jasper's hand. She looks at James, "Can you sort it then?"
James smiles at her. "We can try our best, moppet."
That is good enough for Sara Alice, "Okay then, " she says, squeezing Jasper's hand. "Can we tell Eleanor our 'Happily Ever After'secret now?"
"Maybe not just yet," Jasper tells her, "but soon hopefully."
