A/N: The main idea for this story stems from a particular character who appeared in episode 4x03 of the show; I needed to include them in a story, but it didn't feel natural to do so mid-season. In the series' timeline, the oneshot takes place after the final scene of season four.
Thank you for stopping by; I hope you enjoy the read!
Parenthood: On care and other improvised affections
A one-shot inspired by Slow Horses 4x03 and 4x06
"It went well," Catherine thinks. River still has a long and tortuous path ahead of him; however, she knows he can count on them to accompany him on this painful journey; she will do everything possible to help the boy, and Jackson...
The thought is interrupted when her gaze falls on him: he's sitting in the middle of the sofa, both arms stretched out along the back of the sofa, the TV remote in his hand. His legs, casually extended, end in feet covered by hole-ridden socks that absently caress the living room carpet. He has taken over the place, and it's clear he has no intention of leaving anytime soon.
...Jackson will help him too, in his own way. Catherine can't help the small smile forming on her face.
River had said goodbye minutes earlier, after sharing a modest dinner with them. Catherine knew this would be a difficult day for him, that he shouldn't go through this situation entirely alone; there are decisions that, though necessary, weigh like lead in the heart.
"Thank you for everything," River says, moved, standing under the main doorframe. "For taking care of my grandfather, for dinner, and for convincing Lamb to join in."
"I didn't have to convince him," Catherine responds softly. "I just reminded him you'd be taking the day off because of your grandfather, told him you'd be coming for dinner, and he himself decided that taking you for a drink would be a good idea."
They share a knowing smile.
"He did well!"
"Did he now?" Catherine arches an eyebrow with an amused expression.
"Well... yes. He didn't even insult me or make me pay for his drinks! In fact, he just sat there, saying nothing," River shrugs, as if he still couldn't believe Lamb's civilized behavior.
From the kitchen, Catherine sees Jackson yawning, and she can't help but feel love for this foolish man. She takes the two cups of tea she had been preparing and approaches him; however, quick and agile as ever, Pinkel gets there first. Catherine instinctively stops in her tracks to avoid tripping over the little grey cat, who is now rubbing against Jackson's legs in sinuous and deliberate movements. She recognizes the ritual; "so, you've picked him too," she thinks with amusement, while watching Pinkel circle again and again around Jackson's legs, leaving his invisible signature of affection and belonging.
"Hey! Where did you come from?" Jackson asks while lifting the feline from the floor and settling him on his belly.
Catherine stops in front of the sofa to admire that peculiar scene: Jackson, the same man who shows affection by withholding his usual insults, is completely enchanted with that animal, cradling it against himself while caressing its head with unexpected tenderness.
"So, you've finally decided to steal someone else's cat?!" he comments with amusement.
"I haven't stolen it!" she responds with feigned indignation. "It's Pinkel, my neighbor's cat. I'm looking after him while she's away."
Seeing her standing there with the drinks, Jackson slides to one side of the sofa, making a small space next to him. Catherine sets the cups on the table and sits down, certain that Pinkel will run to her; but the cat, oblivious to her expectations, stretches lazily on his back over Jackson, settling right where chest meets belly. "Traitor," she thinks, containing a smile.
"Of course you had to bring it home!" Jackson stares at her. "You could have just gone to your neighbor's place to leave food and water."
"Not all of us solve everything from a distance, Jackson," she responds while absently stroking the sofa's armrest.
Pinkel purrs, and Catherine can't help but think about her almost obsessive need to keep close everything that matters to her. The anxiety of not knowing, of not seeing, is unbearable to her. She had felt it with David Cartwright when he escaped from the building; so, even if it seems excessive, she'd rather err on the side of overprotection than live with uncertainty.
Perhaps it's her way of keeping chaos at bay, her particular way of facing a world that tends to crumble. Like at Slough House, where she always keeps a close eye on that peculiar group whom, without intending to, she has come to love, making sure none of them gets permanently lost. Irony settles on her face as she looks at Jackson, who now occupies her sofa as if he owned it; she knows it's because of that absurd need she feels for him that she's let him stay.
"Tell me what this woman does to you, Pinkel," Jackson says to the cat, using that high-pitched tone apparently reserved for pets, while stroking its belly. "Doesn't she leave you alone, telling you to eat healthier and drink less? Does she go around buying you clothes and underwear without you asking? Does she torment you into watching over those useless kittens of ours?
Catherine crosses her arms and looks at him with mock seriousness.
"I'm just trying to keep the cat from dying in his office!" she replied with that maternal tone that, though Jackson would never admit it, he secretly loves. She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea. "And to prevent the kittens from perishing with him."
"We can't work miracles, Catherine," Jackson responded while scratching Pinkel's chin. "Those kittens are stupid enough on their own, especially River." He paused and glanced at her sideways. "I don't understand why, among all of them, he's the one you have the biggest soft spot for."
She remained silent for a moment, keeping her eyes on him; then she shook her head slightly while showing a small smile.
"Doesn't he remind you of someone?" she asked while partially hiding her face behind her teacup.
Jackson looked at her, frowning.
"Trust me, there's no comparison; he's undoubtedly the most idiotic one, he never tires of failing."
"Really?" Catherine raised both eyebrows and held his gaze, letting him reach the conclusion himself.
"Bloody hell, now that's a proper insult!" Jackson let out a hoarse laugh while carefully leaning forward to reach his cup, trying not to disturb Pinkel, who remained placidly settled on him.
"He defies rules if he knows they go against what's right, he's willing to risk everything for a mission, he has initiative," Catherine made a deliberate pause, "he's loyal; besides, he's unbearably stubborn when he believes he's right."
Catherine can't help but smile as the words leave her mouth. A thick silence settles between them. Their gazes meet and hold; Jackson is aware that it's useless to pretend, she has always been able to see through him, through his feigned indifference. He can fool the whole world, make everyone believe that nothing matters to him, but not Catherine. Never her.
For her part, Catherine, faced with this vulnerability so rare in him, feels that familiar love expanding in her chest; because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he strives to appear otherwise, deep down he's still that man with well-defined values she met so many years ago.
"He's an idealist, and that will be the end of him!" he finally responds, knowing that everything she said is true, River and he are more alike than he'd care to admit.
At that moment, with that feline arrogance, Pinkel decides he's had enough human contact for today. He stretches lazily on Jackson's lap, arching his back and extending himself with elegant disdain, before abandoning him to claim his personal space in a spot by the living room window.
"I think we need more idealists," she said, watching how the light coming through the window made Pinkel's fur shine. "Doing the right things when they're needed."
"Fuck, a dead idealist or one who's gotten us all into a colossal fuck-up by doing the right thing is no use to anyone, and River is a bloody magnet for both," Jackson's tone was sharp, but there was real concern beneath his sarcasm.
Catherine shook her head with a resigned smile on her lips, it was impossible to get Jackson to admit out loud what a good agent River was; instead, she snatched the remote from his hand and started flipping through channels. He adjusted his position, extending his arm behind her on the sofa's backrest, creating a space that Catherine naturally occupied; both of them sinking into the comfortable sofa.
"Shirley's going to need a lot of help," Catherine said after a while.
"Seriously, is it Shirley's turn now?" He responded, closing his eyes and letting out a tired sigh. "I need something stronger than tea to talk about her. Shirley isn't a kitten, she's a bloody leopard with rabies."
"Precisely!" she added immediately. "Her calmness frightens me. It's as if she's stalking, waiting for the moment to tear apart anything that moves, regardless of its size."
Jackson observed her in silence, letting that warmth she provoked spread through his body. God, how he had missed her.
"Christ, Cat, give me a break, will you?" he asked with a smile that contradicted his protest.
Pinkel is lying in the window frame; from his perspective, one can see two parents who had found their own way of caring, of being present. Two people who love each other and who decided to set aside that pending discussion from months ago, ignoring the elephant in the room, because their wayward improvised children needed them whole, complete. Now they are tired and only seek each other's closeness, postponing the day when they will have to face their own shared tragedy; for now, this moment of peace is enough.