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Chapter Text

When Sid Baker thought of France, she thought of Paris, or Lyon or St. Tropez. She thought of the Eiffel tower, the Triumph arch, of bakeries and couture. She thought of lavishness, elegance and love. 

She didn’t think of a smelly, old flat in the city of Lavande, a small town with nothing but a few houses, a church, a cafe and a pub. 

The building had only five floors, yet her flat was on the top one and she had to walk up the stairs with luggage; by the time all her bags were by the door, her arms hurt and she had to gasp for breath. She opened the door and a smell of staleness and dust invaded her lungs, denouncing the flat hadn’t been opened and aired in a while. She coughed while walking inside of it, the smell stronger by each step she took. 

The entire place was a small kitchen, a dining table, a couch and a tube TV, a bathroom with an infiltration on the roof and a bedroom, to which there wasn’t even a door but a beaded curtain. For a second, Sid wanted to run away back home.

Because her life in London was fun. Her flat was organized, clean and decorated in the way she liked it, in a building with neighbors she got along with. Her friends were amazing — she had the two best friends in the world, Louisa and Shirley, and the best mentors, Lamb and Standish — and her job at MI5 was her dream. 

Her job was what got her there, though. In the middle of nowhere, with a rented shitty flat, bangs she didn’t think through before cutting and a fake ID under the name of Bridget Thorne. But she was there for a good reason, and the thought of well-done work made everything more bearable. 

Well, maybe the place just needed a little cleaning up.  

That would happen after work, though. She had a new job as the barista in the only cafe in the town, Le blanc russe. And no, she had no experience in working as a barista, but it was a good way of getting to know the people in the city, and perhaps meeting him . Meeting the man she was there for. 

She walked to her new bedroom and looked at a stained body mirror, attempting to fix her hair. Her curls were flat and frizzy from sleeping on the train with her hair wet, and the sheer regret of cutting bangs with her kitchen scissors the day before was starting to come up. There was nothing she could do to make it look good, so she simply tied it in a ponytail and left the house. 

Now, if there was one good thing about that place, it was that her flat was just across from the cafe. It was a simple place, with small wooden tables with chipped white paint and matching chair — the fact it didn’t reek like her flat was good enough. The only other person there was her new boss, Alain, who cleaned the windows as she walked through the door. 

“Good morning”, she said in french, her hand extended. “I’m Bridget. Your new employee.” 

“Good morning, Bridget.” He answered, turning to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Equally. I’m very excited to start working here.” She stuttered, trying to find the words. Thinking in her second language was rougher than she remembered. “I just moved across the street.” 

He furrowed his brows, and for a second Sid thought she said something wrong, but then he chuckled. “I just have no idea why someone would move here of all places.” 

You definitely have no idea why I am here, Sid thought as she put on the apron and helped him with the cleaning and tidying before the place opened. People started to arrive a little after, mostly older people who ordered coffee and pastries and sat on the tables with their newspapers, because apparently physical newspapers were still a thing in Lavande, in the slow pace of a small town in which nothing ever happens. 

Except that something did happen: Sidonie arrived there, or better yet, Bridget arrived. A girl never seen before in the city who materialized by the counter of their favorite — mostly due to the lack of options — cafe, disturbing the ecosystem. And, while no one there would consider that she was an undercover MI5 agent, they all had questions. 

“Why did you move here, young lady?” An man who appeared to be in his 60’s, sitting on a stool while drinking an espresso and reading his paper, asked her. “You sound English. Why would an English girl move into the middle of nowhere in France?”

“I inherited an apartment here after my grandmother died.” She answered, since that was her background story. 

The problem was that this man seemed like he knew everyone from the city, including a hypothetical dead grandmother who lived across the street. 

“What was her name?” He took another sip of his espresso, eyes fixated on her.

“Sylvie. She married my grandad at eighteen years old and moved to England, but never sold the apartment she owned here. I lost my job a few months ago and decided to change my life.” Sid chuckled, appearing natural. Or at least she hoped. 

“Never heard of a Sylvie. Which is strange, since I know everyone in this town.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

She shrugged. “Well, she died in her nineties. I didn’t think you would know her, since she left the town so long ago. She had fond memories of this place, though. I heard so many sweet stories.”

“That would explain it, then. I’m not that old.” The man laughed, and Sid laughed alongside him, happy her cover wasn’t that bad. 

Not all the customers were as sweet as that man, whom she later found was named Pierre, and some gave her cold looks when she handed them their orders or when she spoke to them. Despite some rude people, though, it was a peaceful morning.

Until, while Sid cleaned the vacant tables and some of the early birds started to leave, a man showed up. She felt a cold chill upon seeing him, and wasn’t the only one: the customers, who were once relaxed, all sat straight and with wide eyes, as if someone had just pointed a gun at them. 

The man sat by the counter, impatiently waiting for one of the employees to show, and a woman whispered into Sid’s ear while getting up from her table. “His whole family is bad news. You can’t even wonder what his father did to one of the local girls. Serve him, but don’t talk too much, or get too close. It’s for your own good.” 

Sid nodded to the woman, who left alongside her husband, and walked to the counter. That nice, calm environment was now eerie and awfully quiet, and she wondered how that man felt making every single room he walked into miserable. Well, maybe those were the perils of being a serial killer. 

And there he was, before her eyes. River Harkness.

ꨄ

a month earlier

MI5’s First Desk, Jackson Lamb, was known for being unorthodox, foul-mouthed and, frankly, unpleasant to be around. But there was no denying that both him and his team got the job done. 

Therefore, when his agent Sidonie Baker was assigned the case of an Iranian minister being mysteriously murdered in Lisbon, with a deep cut to his femoral artery, everyone knew she would solve it. No one knew just how far she would go, though. 

“Christ, who did this?” Shirley exclaimed, one of the file’s images in one hand a large cup of coffee in the other. “Was the killer a fucking surgeon? The cut was bloody perfect.”

Sid shared an office with two other agents, Shirley Dander and Louisa Guy: and, they were not only colleagues, but best friends. It was hard finding other women in the service, let alone women who supported and cared for one another. So, they stuck together. 

“That’s not even the strange part.” Louisa added, moving her chair towards Sid’s desk. “It’s that no one claimed the death yet. He was too important to simply be swept under the rug.” 

That murder stayed on her head, not just because of its brutality and how simply it came to fruition — the murderer sat down while the man had dinner and killed him, leaving as the blood started to pour down his leg and run through the ground, the life gone from his eyes when the waiter noticed his body. But also because it wasn’t terribly common for the murder of a politician to happen in a public, closed space, with no commotion and such technique.

And, after digging just a bit deeper, Sid discovered another three deaths, all of which in the same fashion as the one she investigated, in the last two years: a billionaire killed in Paris, a mafia boss in Warsaw and an environmental attorney in Prague. They all died in a public location with one deep and quick cut on the thigh, mysteriously and with no particular suspect. Yet, four different locations and absolutely no correlation between the personalities attacked. 

It was a pro. Someone who was hired by the highest bidder. 

To figure a common thread between the deaths, Sidonie went to Roddy Ho, the team’s hacker/IT specialist/chronically online arsehole, the only person who could help her, even if not because of the goodness in his heart.

“What am I gonna get for that?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow and with his usual smug face.

“The knowledge you did something for the good of Britain.” She answered, sighing once his face didn’t move an inch, and grabbed her wallet, handing him two tenners.

“Just that? Honestly, this is not the easiest job. I want fifty.”

“I give you thirty, and you can hang out one day with me and Guy.” Louisa would kill her for that.

“Fine.” He grabbed the money and placed it behind his keyboard. 

With a little help from Ho, she found a name who had bought train tickets, within two years, to all the mentioned cities, just one or two days before the murders, and leaving the following day or the one after. Andrew Peters. 

After contacting Interpol, she figured a list of short trips Peter had taken across the continent between 2009 and the year they were in, 2017, all from and back to France. And all the dates coincided with an important death. 

The only problem now was, except for the fact Baker was running on three hours of sleep and coffee mixed with Red Bull, that Andrew Peters didn’t sound like a real name. And that Peters’ document, once she searched it on the Park’s website, was apparently issued there. In Regent’s Park. Or, better yet, their old building. 

That was the first time she knocked on Lamb’s door to bring the subject up. 

“You just found a cold body, Baker.” He said, glancing at the computer’s screen. “Ready made identities from the Cold War days.”

“But how this Andrew Peters fellow, or whatever his name is, got his hands on a Park identity?” The redhead wondered, her fingers thumping on the desk. 

“Someone must’ve given it to him. Someone in here.” Lamb shrugged, as if he wasn’t describing a major security breach. “I can help you figure it out. Where did you say these travels were from and back to? And when was this fucker born?” 

“France. And he was born in 1990.”

“Not that many agents were going to France in the 90’s. Search travels in the agency from this time around, I’ll talk to the gaffers.” 

Some people had travelled to France in the early 90s, most of them in small, mostly diplomatic missions regarding the end of the Cold War. One of the travels caught Sid’s eye, though: David Cartwright’s former bagman, Sam Chapman. Top secret mission. When she showed her research to Lamb, he promised he would schedule them a meeting. 

Sid just didn’t expect to be taken to a laundry near Aldersgate, arriving there not in the usual Park’s Range Rovers, but in the old yellow Honda he owned since the 90s — which was definitely not the most discreet car. 

And she also did not expect to be meeting directly with Bad Sam Chapman, the former Head Dog that caused the security service nearly half a billion and was kicked out with absolutely no mercy. Was he the man who gave the cold body to whomever is in charge of the Andrew Peters’ op? Did that have anything to do with his expulsion? 

A million thoughts racing through her head, she opened the laundry’s door and was invaded by the smell of soapy water and the noise of the washing machines. Sitting on a bench was Sam Chapman, a man with grey hair and a face that, just like the clothes in there, had been washed away by time. 

“Good morning”, Sid said, breaking the silence and extending her hand “I’m agent Sidonie Baker. Delighted to meet you.”

The man grabbed her hand and quickly shook it. “I’m Sam Chapman, and I know you’re not.” 

Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment, and she sat on the bench between the two other men. Lamb, who sat by her right, took a cigarette from his suit pocket and lit it, taking a puff before starting to talk in his usual raspy voice. “I believe you don’t know why we’re here, right?”

“Fuck no. You never call me without a reason, and you never bring fucking company. Who’s that? Does Catherine know about her?”

“She’s my fucking joe, you weirdo!” He exclaimed. “And I took her here because of her operation, which you somehow ended up a fucking part of.”

“Go on.” Chapman crossed his arms, glancing at Sid. 

She took a deep breath, taking everything other than the mission out of her brain. “I want to know what happened in France. Why did David Cartwright send you there?” 

His eyes widened and a vein popped out of his neck, as he wondered how anyone, let alone an agent who wasn’t even born when he was sent on that mission, had managed to dig one of his biggest secrets up after so many years and after being fucked over and over by MI5. 

“No, not that.” He said, his eyes focusing on Lamb, his lip twitching. “How did you guys find out about that? That’s not… no.”

Lamb took another puff from his cigarette. “Don’t worry, mate. This isn’t gonna bite you. We just need to know what happened.” 

Chapman grimaced. “Can’t believe it. If I’m gonna tell it, it’s not gonna be here.”

They winded up at a pub on the same street, with three glasses of whisky over a sticky table alongside Sid’s journal, where she kept all her notes regarding the investigation. It was when she found out about Les Arbres and the city of Lavande, and how David Cartwright sent his bagman there to exchange guns, cash and identities — the cold bodies — for something he never found what was, since he was taken and tortured for two days, before seemingly miraculously being released. 

David Cartwright was the former Second Desk of MI5. Albeit a genius and a legend of the service, everyone who worked with him in his last years in the service said he was getting mad, and that some personal tragedy destroyed him and made him lose his love for the job forever.

“Can I still talk to him?” Sid wondered, back at Lamb’s office, her eyes wandering through the pages of her journal. 

“No way. He suffers from dementia.” Lamb said, shaking his head. “You could try his daughter, though. She lives with him. Honestly, I just think you should drop this case. Some things just aren’t worth it.” 

But Jackson knew she wouldn’t drop the case. Even he, hardened by all his experiences as a field agent in the years of the Cold War, wondered what once pristine perfect David Cartwright wanted with those psychos in France. But no curiosity was more important than his agents’ lifes. 

If only Sid had the same self-preservation instinct.  

Chapter Text

Sid drove to Tunbridge Wells on a Monday afternoon, a David Bowie song on the radio and the files from the Les Arbres case on the passenger seat. 

She had called Isobel Cartwright a few days earlier and sent her material on the investigation — the part she was allowed to know, at least —, and, to her surprise, the woman had been incredibly transparent and helpful, and said they could meet in her house, where she was now headed. 

Even though she seemed open, the idea of scavenging through her family’s trauma for the sake of the case made Sid uneasy. As she reached the address marked on the GPS, doubts began to wane over her, wondering if she should give everything and go back to her usual work instead of obsessing over a random French killer. 

Nevertheless, she parked on the entrance and, even though her legs felt stiff and heavy, walked towards the doorway and knocked. 

“Good afternoon, dear. You're agent Baker, right?” A woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes opened the door. Sid nodded, before taking a small step into the house. “Come on in. You can leave your coat and your bag here.”

Sid reached for the journal in her bag and a pen, and followed the woman into a large corridor, her feet dragging through the pristine red carpet. She walked past a bookshelf in the living room, and noticed a thin layer of dust amidst the books, one which wasn't present in the rest of the room, as if they hadn't been touched in a long time. 

“Would you want some tea, dear?” Isobel turned to her as they entered the kitchen.

“I'll take it, thanks.” As Sid sat by the wooden kitchen table, her eyes drifted towards the window and the garden behind it, blooming with the season’s flowers. Everything was organized and beautiful, yet lacked liveliness.

Still, it had clearly once been a family home.

“My father is upstairs, resting, in case you’re wondering. His mind hasn’t been the same in a while.” Isobel said, grabbing two tea cups and placing them by the counter. “Okay, let's just get straight to the point. You sent me the Andrew Peters file, and after reading it and giving some thought – and fuck, that picture in there – I realized that man is my son.” 

Sid’s eyes widened, as she tried to contain the wave of shock through her body while the other woman continued to talk. “I don’t know if I can actually call him that, though. I bet he wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me, just as I barely recognized him. He was so tiny when I left him, and now he’s an adult. And a murderer, for God's sake.”

Isobel’s voice was breathy and her hands shook, tears starting to form in her eyes. “We can stop our conversation if you don’t feel comfortable, ms. Cartwright.” 

She negatively shook her head, placing the teas on the table and sitting down. “I’m fine. It’s just so hard remembering what happened there. What that man put me through.” 

“What man?” Sid furrowed her eyebrows. “What happened where ?” 

“Frank Harkness. My son’s father. And his name isn’t Andrew, it’s River.” She wiped the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand, a sad smile in her lips. “Yes, I know it’s a silly name. But I loved it when I was young, and I feel like it’s the only part of me he still has with him.” 

Sid noticed the lines on Isobel’s face, around her blue eyes and her lips, the marks of time and of unspeakable things she had to suffer. Of abuse and abandonment, of years silent about all of that. 

She swallowed, her hands tightly holding the pen in her hands. “Do you know why your son does what he does?” 

“Yeah, It’s because that was what he was born to do.” The woman sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “Frank Harkness was ex-CIA and a professional assassin. He occasionally did jobs for MI5, but my father hated him. I didn’t have a good relationship with him, and I thought leaving to France with Frank would be an ultimate rebellion. He lived with other women there, all really young girls, such as myself, and he wanted children from them. It was almost a cult, to be honest, but he was charming and made us feel special. That’s what cult leaders do, isn’t it?”

Her face mixed sadness and disgust, alongside an unlikely nostalgia. “I actually refused my father’s help when he sent his bagman to pick me up. I didn’t know they would torture him, though, and I begged Frank to stop when I found out. When River was born, he picked him up in his arms and said he would make him the best of all, and by that, he meant the best killer, the most ruthless of them all, and for a moment I thought about taking River in my arms and running away. I should’ve done that. When he was six, which is so awfully young, he sent me away. He said I made him weak.”

That was when she absolutely broke, her chest moving up and down as tears furiously ran through her face, too many to be stopped. “I came back here, completely shattered, and never left. I lost all sense of purpose without my little boy.” 

She laid her head in her hands, her dark hair mostly covering her face, but Sid could still picture her expression as she loudly wept. It was so hard to keep a distance and be completely professional, when she saw that traumatized mother who lost her son, and not even to death but to a darker, more evil force, who abused her until she was a shell of herself and then threw her away.

That made Sid do something that wasn’t exactly proper for an agent to do. She hugged Isobel. 

It was a strange hug at first, with Sid running one of her arms around her back and bringing her closer, making the other woman’s head lay near her chest as she still hunched over to hide her face, and gently stroking the sleeve of her shirt with her fingers. 

“I’m sorry, this is weird.” She mumbled, trying to bring her arm back to the side, wondering if Isobel thought she was crazy.

But instead, she threw herself at Sid’s arms and held her by the waist, crying on her shoulder and nearly squeezing her. Slightly shocked at first, she ran her fingers through the woman’s brown hair until she calmed down, at least partly, and her body slightly loosened.  

“I must seem pathetic now, don’t I?” Isobel asked once she broke the hug, her eyes red and swollen. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Sid answered with a sincere smile. “You went through so much, and you never spoke about it.”

“It feels good to finally open up.” She smiled, combing her hair with her fingers. “Not even my mother knew what happened. She knew I had had a baby, but my father and I told her he had died, just to preserve her from the truth. She died without knowing her grandson was out there. And now my father being like this… Oh my God, I shouldn't be venting to you.”

It was like her story got worse every time she spoke. A cult? Child assassins? What the actual fuck. Still, the awful story didn't push Sid away, it actually only made her more interested in the case; turns out her arch nemesis wasn't Andrew Peters, much less River Harkness. He was only a pawn in a much bigger game. 

She sighed. “It's fine, really. Just… What should I do? About all of this?” 

She grabbed her hands, her eyes still gleaming. “Please, promise me you’ll do something. I don’t think you can get River back, he must have been brainwashed to the point of no return, but promise me you’ll get Harkness in jail. Or at least give him a good kick.”

“I promise.” Agents are never supposed to promise. She couldn’t be sure if Harkness would be put in jail, or punished at all, or if she would even get to know him if she went to Lavande. 

Now, she would have to make sure she kept her word. 

ꨄ

All eyes in the room were on River: the customers in the cafe looked over their newspapers and pretended to sip on their coffees, the whole room falling silent besides the ambient whir of the espresso machine, while curious and alert gazes traced his moves, wondering what his next move would be. If he would order a drink or blow up the place. 

The Harknesses were, undoubtedly, the most infamous family in Lavande. And River, between all of his siblings, was the most mysterious: unlike his brother Bertrand, who amused himself by cruelty, River was quiet and didn’t pay any mind to the citizens of the town. No one had an outwardly bad thing to say about him, from the pharmacists to the sex workers of the town. That didn’t make him less frightening and, on the contrary, made his actions all the more unpredictable, since everyone in the city knew of his doings and, therefore, none of his civility seemed genuine. 

Sid’s focus was also on him, just not for the reasons he believed it was. “Good morning! What can I get you?” she asked in french, forcing a smile and attempting to ignore his deadpan expression. 

“A coffee. Black.” He answered, his blue eyes analyzing her face and narrowing for one second, as if looking at her made him remember something. 

She nodded and turned around to get it, wondering if his cold gaze was still on her. Had River recognized her from somewhere? No, no way, they had never seen each other before. He was probably curious about the stranger working in the cafe, or maybe he just stared weirdly at everyone he met. Maybe that murderer wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. 

Sid handed him the warm ceramic mug and went back to clean the tables, her eyes drifting back at the blond man on the counter. He was exactly the way she pictured physically, tall and well-built, but she had no idea that he slouched his shoulder while sitting down, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen, or that he anxiously tapped his fingers on his thigh; his blue eyes were much darker and more melancholic than she ventured by seeing his passport photo, so similar to his mother’s. 

Sitting there by himself, he was a picture of sadness. Sid nearly felt some empathy, until she remembered what he had done to so many people and what he could do to her if he found her true identity. 

When she came back, holding a pile of dirty plates left by the tables and putting them on the sink to be washed later, she heard him mumble to himself in English. “This coffee is shit.”

In a decision half conscious, half motivated by the rage from the insult, she turned to him and exclaimed, also in English, with one hand on her hip and her brows furrowed. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

His face didn’t flinch, and his gaze became fixed in her. “I said your coffee is shit. And so is your French, by the way.” 

“Has no one ever taught you manners?” She asked, aware the answer was no, that his psychopathic father hadn’t taught him politeness. 

“Has no one taught you how to make coffee? What are you even doing here?” He made a disgusted expression, and Sid couldn’t tell if, by now, he was joking, or being plainly rude. Her bet was on the latter. 

“Well, it’s none of your business.” She smirked, even though that was definitely not the best way to talk to a person who knew how to kill her simply by slashing her thigh open. 

But all River did was get up from his seat, leaving the half-drank coffee by the counter, and get his wallet. He grabbed two bills and placed them near the mug, then walked out with his hands in his pockets and a displeased expression. 

Sid sighed, thinking about how she might’ve botched her operation on the first day by talking back. The whole point of being there was to get closer to the Harkness family, especially to River — he was the one she knew most about —, and she had already managed to spook him away with her terrible coffee and her worse mood. Why couldn’t have Lamb gotten her a job as a bartender, or something that didn’t require barista skills? 

The rest of the day at work was slow and unremarkable. She left the cafe around five in the afternoon, and headed to the market; it was a small shop, crammed with shelves that made all the halls narrow and claustrophobic. She bought essentials, and was slightly sad to realize some brands and products she always bought back in London simply didn’t exist in Lavande.

The cashier, a girl with long, blond hair and green eyes glanced over her face. She didn’t look older than twenty, her hair was tied on a braid with a pink ribbon at the end and her nails were painted with light pink polish, matching her lipstick shade, and she wore a light pink dress with a beige cardigan over it. 

She excitedly said in English with a heavy accent. “Hello! You are the new girl in town, aren’t you?” 

Sid agreed with her head, her lips forming a thin line. So, people were already talking about her? Fucking great. “Yes, I am.”

“My father told me about you!” The girl explained. “That you’re British, you just moved into that old apartment complex and that you’re working at the cafe. Your name is Brittany, right?”

“Bridget, actually. What about yours?” She politely asked, just wishing to pay for the food she was purchasing and heading back to the shitty flat. 

“I’m Zoe. Nice to meet you. And I’m sorry if I sound like a complete creep, it’s just that I rarely ever get to meet new people in this town.” She analyzed Sid’s expression, and once she noticed the girl didn’t look completely weirded out, opened up a smile. "If you want someone to show you the city, you can always talk to me. I would love to have a friend to practice my English with.” 

Well, maybe it wasn’t a completely bad idea to know someone young and could show her around the town. Zoe could know things or people who might help with her investigation.

“Oh my God, I would love to be friends. And your English is already great!” Sid smiled, fastly stashing her purchases on her reusable bag. “How much was that?” 

She paid and quickly left the shop, walking back to her flat on the completely empty street. Six o’ clock and there was already no one outside their houses. She couldn’t even imagine how the traffic must’ve been back home.

 When she opened the door, the stale smell invaded her nose once again. After a few minutes, though, she was already used to it — perhaps her nostrils had stopped working completely after having so much dust inhaled into them. Okay, that flat was simply unlivable in the state it was in. 

That was why Sid had bought so many cleaning supplies. Starting in the kitchen, she scrubbed the tiles, the counter and the stove, all which had a deep layer of grease in them, unblocked the drain and washed the old pans until they were at least usable. After that, she moved to the bathroom, which was possibly the filthiest part of the house, and could only be properly cleaned by mixing enough chemical cleaning products to make a homemade bomb — and, when she found a dead cockroach laying near the toilet, she wondered if the entire mission was even necessary. 

The only good part was that she had found an old vacuum cleaner which, to her surprise, worked. So, the last steps of the deep cleaning were vacuuming the entire flat, changing the sheets and storing everything where it was supposed to be because, if she wanted to be believable as someone who just moved in, she had to set into the place. 

After taking a shower and getting into her pajamas, she took her phone and called Louisa and Shirley while she made herself a sandwich. 

“Hello, girls.” Sid said, putting her phone on the counter as she cut the bread in half. 

“Hi, Sid.” They both answered, and Shirley was the first to ask. “How was your first day with the weird French killers? Is everyone in the town fucking insane?”

“And how is your new house?” Louisa completed.

The redhead sighed. “My flat is awful. It was completely disgusting when I first arrived, I had to clean everything up or otherwise I would just ugh. ” She imitated the sound of retching. 

“I can’t even begin to imagine your face.” Louisa laughed. “You’re the cleanest, most organized person in the office, maybe just second to Catherine. And Lamb placed you in the filthiest place possible, then?”

“Exactly! I don’t even know how someone has the audacity of renting a flat without caring about the state of the place.” She exclaimed, and then switched the tone to answer the other question. “The people are mostly fine. I’m working at a cafe, so I mostly talked to older people. And a very keen teenage cashier at the shop, who might be useful. But I saw him.” 

“Which one? The one with the breeding cult or his son?” Shirley asked. 

“The son. River.” Sid put her sandwich on a plate and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, placing the plate on her lap once she sat on the couch and her cell phone next to her. “He said my coffee is shit. And so is my French.”

The two women burst out laughing. “Just out of the blue? He just insulted you?”

“He said it to himself, in English, the first time, and I overheard. I don’t think he realized I spoke English. But then I confronted him and he said the same thing to my face. He’ll think twice when he tastes prison coffee.” 

She said the last part as a joke, but then thought of Isobel. Even she didn’t believe River couldn’t be saved, that he could never become a good person after so many years being taught the opposite; all Sid could do would be not to let him take all the blame, since most of it was actually his father’s, but she couldn’t keep that murderer out of jail, and neither did she want to. River Harkness would end up behind bars, and Sidonie would guarantee that.

Chapter Text

In the dream, the green field extended far beyond where her eyes could reach. Trees and flowers surrounded the landscape, and the sky was filled with light grey clouds, and there was no sight of other people. Sid sat alone on the ground, where dandelions grew around her with their petals being taken by the light breeze, and just behind her was a house; it was the Cartwright’s house.

The sight shocked her slightly. What shocked her most was River, seemingly out of nowhere, walking towards her and sitting next to her with a smile on his face. Without saying anything and with apparent intimacy, he came towards her, placed one hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. She timidly reciprocated at first, eyes still open and her body stiff. 

It took a bit for her to ease to his touch, which happened as the kiss started to become more intense and passionate and she got used to their proximity, feeling her body soften up. She then laid on the ground, letting him top her as she felt his lips on her mouth and his fingers gently graze her neck. 

He moved his head towards her, and whispered in her ear. “I love you, Sid. You fucking traitor.” 

She looked to the side and saw a knife in his hand, but she couldn’t scream or fight. She simply stood still while feeling the cold steel reach her neck and slash it open, blood pouring onto River’s face, coloring his manic eyes and smile. 

Sid woke up with one hand on her throat, out of breath and thinking she was going mad. 

She stumbled out of her bed and headed to the bathroom to take a cold shower — partly to wake her up and drive her out of her craziness, partly because the water simply didn’t get warmer. While she felt the water pour down her body, she tried to understand what that dream meant: the killing part was pretty obvious, but why would they passionately kiss before that? Was it a kiss of death type of thing? Why was she, at least in the dream, enjoying it? 

Because River wasn’t even remotely attractive. He was maybe decent looking, but after seeing the pictures of the people he killed, she felt nothing but deep loathing. There was nothing there to be attracted to. And she wasn’t attracted to him, she just had a really awkward dream from thinking about the mission so much. 

Lamb kept telling her that she was thinking about the mission and about River Harkness too much, that it would be too dangerous for her to travel to Lavande by herself, that she shouldn’t be obsessed with a case. But she knew that she would be able to find a way to connect the assassinations with Frank Harkness, and the way to do that was through River. That was the only reason those things stayed on her mind.

Sid left the shower and got ready, putting on her favorite navy sweater, mom jeans and combat boots. She had breakfast quickly, just cereal from a brand she had never heard of and which didn’t really taste like anything and coffee — and, come on, her coffee wasn’t that bad. Maybe it was a bit too weak, but it wasn’t undrinkable. 

Alain was already at the cafe when she arrived, and she quickly greeted him before putting on her apron and helping him clean the tables. Sid had noticed that he wasn’t exactly a talkative person, but she still hoped she could get something from him. 

“Alain, can I ask you something?” She tilted her head in his direction and asked in French.

“Yes, sure.” He answered with his eyes still on the table he cleaned. 

“I had a client yesterday who was a bit rude. Actually, very rude. And I’m just getting to know the people in town, so do you happen to know his name?” She tried not to sound too interested. “Tall, blond, blue eyes, has a stubble beard.”

The man sighed. “Oh, that’s River. He lives a few kilometers from here. He and his brothers come here often, and they’re all very rude. Don’t mind them.”

Him and his brothers . Sid suspected that River wasn’t the only one of Frank’s sons, that the other girls who lived with Isobel back in the day also had children with him, but it was now confirmed. Good job, Alain . 

“Brothers? Are they around his age?” She furrowed her brows. 

“They are all pretty much the same age. From different mothers. Their father was a polygamist, I think. Truly, he’s just a monster.” Alain couldn’t conceal the disgust on his face. “You know what, Bridget? I don’t even want to talk about that.” 

But I do, Sid thought. She knew a bit about Frank already; he used to be CIA and was kicked for a series of criminal behaviors, and then became a professional assassin who worked alongside his son — or, better yet, his sons —, who were born after he groomed young women. Yet, she hoped the people of the town knew more, and they possibly did. They maybe just didn’t want to talk. 

It was best not to push too much, though. She didn’t want to appear suspicious. 

She finished the cleaning quietly and went over to the counter as the customers began to arrive. The fragrance of coffee invaded the room while people sat in the chairs with their cups and newspapers, flipping pages in a slow pace as if time didn’t matter. It was much the same as yesterday, just less people weirded out by the sight of her and less questions to be answered.

But more questions to be asked. Through the glass door, she saw River walking up to the cafe, and tried her best not to stare as he made his way into the establishment and sat on one the stools, just like yesterday, away from all the other customers — like he already knew he scared them off. And he probably did.

Sid reacted to his ominous presence with a forced smile on her face.

 “Good morning. Here for some more terrible coffee?”, she asked in English. 

River squinted his eyes. “I don’t really have much of a choice in this town, do I?”

“Why don’t you just have coffee at home, then?” She shrugged, picking up a mug. “Same as yesterday?”

“Well, that’s none of your business, right?” He tapped his fingers on the counter, speaking with a half smile. He had the ability to smile, then. “And yes.”

“Alright.” Sid nodded, filling the cup with coffee and handing in to him. He picked up the warm mug and, for a second, their hands overlapped; his hand was cold, yet surprisingly soft. “I’m Bridget, by the way. In case you want to file a complaint.” 

He sipped on his drink. “I definitely will. I’m River.”

I know it’s a silly name. But I loved it when I was young, and I feel like it’s the only part of me he still has with him . Remembering Isobel’s words formed a lump on her throat. 

She ignored it and smiled once again. “Your english is pretty good. How did you learn it?”

“My father’s from the United States, so we mostly speak English at home.” His expression hardened once he mentioned his father. “How did you learn French? Because yours is pretty bad.”

Sid took French classes when she was a teenager, and for someone who hadn’t practiced in a long time, she thought she was doing pretty well and just wanted him to shut the fuck up with his arrogance. 

But that was Sid’s story, not Bridget’s. And she just couldn’t tell him to shut the fuck up, as much as she wanted to. 

“My grandmother was French, and she taught me how to speak it so we could talk. She passed away earlier this year.” She said with a fake nostalgic smile. Her grandmother was actually from Manchester, and was alive and thriving. 

“My condolences.” He muttered. 

A serial killer giving condolences for her fake dead grandmother, it was nearly laughable. He was probably not doing the same for all the people he killed and families he destroyed, was he? 

After that, River just didn’t seem much open to conversation. The fact he talked to her, and not to insult her this time around, was already a major breakthrough. Sid watched him from her peripheral view as she served other clients, all whom stood at a distance from him, and she saw him finish his drink and place money on the counter.

He stood up for just a second before leaving, and she wondered if maybe he wanted to say bye to her. No, he didn’t. You two talked for a few seconds, he didn’t consider you his pal already, Sid. If she could become his friend, though, that would be great for the investigation. If he was able to make friends at all.

The heavy footsteps of Alain took her back to reality, and she realized she was giving a customer the wrong change. She apologized to the woman and turned around to talk to him. 

“Was everything okay there, Bridget?” He asked in a mumble, and Sid almost didn’t understand what he was saying. “If he causes any trouble around here, come straight to me. You don’t have to be afraid.” 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and crossed her arms. “It’s okay. But, y’know, it was fine. He wasn’t as bad this time around.”

His expression softened. “That’s good. Just tell me if anything out of the ordinary happens.” 

“Thank you.” Sid half smiled. Alain was just being gentle, but little did he know that she was actually not scared of River at all. 

—

Sid counted the days in Lavande as if she was in prison. She numbered the days with little sticks on the last of her journal; it was her fifth day there. 

Because all the investigation she put so much effort into now depended on River showing up at the cafe, something she couldn’t control. He didn’t show up at the cafe on Wednesday, on a rainy afternoon in which she waited for him to be by the door, but he never did. He was also not there on Thursday. 

She thought she was making progress with their latter conversation — which was their first real conversation too —, and she truly believed he could open up to her if she made herself appear trustworthy. But how could he trust her if he didn’t even get to talk to her?

But the only person who searched for her in the past two days was Zoe, who was really trying to establish a friendship. She appeared in the cafe on Wednesday and ordered hot chocolate while she told Sid almost all details of her life. And, while none of that interested her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the girl could be useful in her investigation. Also, besides being a bit pushy, she seemed like a genuinely nice person. 

She was also the first person who walked through the cafe’s door on Friday, wearing a white blouse with jean trousers and having her hair down, and racing towards Sid’s direction. 

“Bridget, I’ve got to ask you something!” She exclaimed, sitting down on the stool. “And, um, hello.”

“Hello, Zoe.” Sid answered, her brows furrowed with confusion. “What is it?”

“Pat invited me to go to the bar with him tonight, and when I mentioned you to him, he said you should come too. Do you want to come?” The girl had a smile on her face. “Please, it’s going to be so much fun. The bar is the only place where young people hang out in this shitty town. And y’know, he has a really cute brother. Maybe he could introduce the two of you.”

Sid wasn’t interested in hanging out with a nineteen year old, her boyfriend and his brother. But, that was her only option besides rotting in her flat, and it could be good for the investigation; it was a bar, and people often talked more when they were drunk. If she asked the right questions, she could get more promising leads. 

She took a deep breath and smiled again. “Of course.”

“Perfect! I’ll be by your house at nine!” She jumped out of her seat. “Now I have to get to work, or my mother is going to kill me. Bye, Bridget! See you later.”

“Bye, Zoe. See ya.” She waved at the girl as she went out the door. 

Sid sighed deeply, wishing she could be back home and spend Fridays with her friends as she always did. It had only been five days. Not even five full days, since it was still seven in the morning. 

She kept her eyes on the watch for most of the day, drifting occasionally to the door as she waited for River to walk through it and sit near her. Maybe he had resorted to drinking coffee at home, or maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he’d traveled, and someone would be already dead; and there was nothing she could do to save them, if there even was a them. 

It meant the day dragged on and on, that monotonous routine that made her remember why she even became an agent; because she liked adrenaline, and there was none on her undercover job. So, when the clock finally hit five and she was able to head home, she nearly celebrated. At least until she remembered she’d have to leave her house again. 

Sid looked through her closet, trying to remember what she packed that wasn’t t-shirts, sweaters and denim pants. She found a maroon turtleneck and a pair of black trousers, which were still casual but somewhat more put together; she paired them with a leather jacket and ankle boots, put on makeup and let her hair down, trying to let her bangs in place as well as possible.

Just as she finished getting ready, she heard a knock on the door. It was Zoe, dressed in a figure hugging, short black dress and black heels. 

“Hello, Bridget!” The girl exclaimed with a sweet smile. “You look so good!” 

“Thanks, Zoe. You do too.” The redhead answered. “Can we go now?” 

The two of them left, and Sid followed Zoe’s lead in the pub’s direction. The blonde girl stumbled through the cobblestone streets, like she wasn’t very used to wearing shoes so high, and she kept pulling the hem of her dress down. 

“I really like your outfit. But it’s very different from what you normally wear, isn’t it?” She wondered. 

“Oh, the dress was a gift from Pat. I really want to look good for him.” Zoe answered, and Sid nearly rolled her eyes. Call her the annoying feminist all you want, the idea of a girl dressing in a way she didn’t feel comfortable in for a man was just absurd to her. “My father was just really mad that I was wearing it when I left the house, though.”

“Because it’s short? Come on, you’re an adult.”

“Not really. It’s because he doesn’t like Pat, and he doesn’t think I should date him.”

Getting into family business was never a good idea, so she just decided to be silent. 

They arrived at this small place, lit only by red LED lights; tables with leather chairs were crammed against the wooden walls, which were sparsely decorated by a mirror and a few framed pictures, and so was the small bar on the corner. Some synth-pop music played on the back and the place was filled mostly by young men. 

Back home, Sid would’ve left like lightning. But there, she had no choice but to get in with a fake smile, deflecting from the tables and people until she reached the back.

Sitting on a corner table was a man, apparently in his late 20s and with sharp features; she couldn’t quite distinguish the color of his hair or eyes, but she did notice how his gaze was cold and how his lips were twitched in a smirk. In that red lighting, which made everything slightly resemble hell, he could easily pass as a demon. 

That didn’t stop Zoe from sitting next to him and giving him a passionate kiss, which he corresponded while placing his arm around her waist. 

After they broke the kiss, she turned to Sid with a smile and began to speak in French. “Bridget, this is Patrice. Pat, this is Bridget. My new friend.”

She sat opposite to them on the table, awkwardly placing her arms above the sticky table and forcing a smile. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. Zoe told me a lot about you.”

“Don’t worry, Bridget, we can speak in English.” Patrice answered, his eyes fixed on her.

“Um, thanks.” Her voice cracked a little. “Your English is pretty good.”

“Thank you. My family is American. Zoe told me a bit about you too, including that you were from England. And I was really curious. I wanted to know what got you to move out to come here, of all places.”

She swallowed dry, slightly bothered by his expression. “I inherited my grandmother’s flat here. I was thinking about selling, but then I got fired from my old job and got out of a very long term relationship and, to be honest, I was just dreading living in England. So, I just moved here.”

“Really? What did you work with?” He asked with his brows furrowed. 

“IT consultant.” Please God, don’t let him have a computer that needs fixing. “It paid well, but I just wasn’t happy with it. I was glad I was fired, really.”

“And you’re happy here ?” He wondered with a sarcastic expression. Fuck, was he doubting her story?

“Yes. It’s a good change of pace.” Sid forced a smile, her gaze drifting from his face to the wall behind him. 

Zoe interrupted the two of them with her bubbly, overexcited voice. “It’s a new beginning for her! You know, a chance to meet new people. Speaking of which, where are your brothers?”

Brothers? And he just said that his family was American? Fuck. It could just be a coincidence, right? A big one, but River was probably not the only person in that town with brothers. Or with yankees in their family. She was just overthinking, and not everyone in Lavande was related to the Harkness family. 

“Oh, they’re upstairs.” He chuckled, and Zoe embarrassingly agreed with her head. 

Sid’s brows furrowed. “What is upstairs?” 

Zoe scratched her head. “Oh, it’s a…”

“A whore house.” Patrice explained, smirking. 

His face was just so awfully smug that it was starting to bother Sid. Harkness or not, she just didn’t have a good impression of that guy, and she probably wasn’t getting any meaningful information from him. Therefore, she excused herself and went to the bar, sat on one of the stools and asked for a glass of neat whisky — based on the bottles on display there, it wasn’t like she was getting anything fancy. 

While she swallowed down her drink, a man drew closer and sat right next to her. God, she would never know some peace and solitude in that town, would she?

“Hello, love.” He said in french. “Are you here by yourself?”

“No, and I’m not very interested. Thanks.” Sid answered, not turning her attention to him. 

The man didn’t leave. “Come on, at least look me in the eye before giving a proper answer.”

She tilted her head in his direction, and, for a second, she thought it was River sitting next to her after shaving his face. It took a little while for her to see that, despite all the likeness, something just wasn’t quite the same. It was the eyes , which didn’t have the same melancholy as River’s, and were much more cruel and hard. 

Eyes which she stared after taking one last gulp of her drink and getting up from her seat. “I’m not interested.” 

But before she could take a proper step back to the table, the man grabbed her violently by the wrist. When Sid turned around, trying to free herself from her grip, she noticed his chest go up and down and his face in furious rage. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He inquired. 

“Back to my table.” She answered. “Now, can you please fuck off?” 

He pushed her against the wall, smacking her head on the mirror, which nearly broke behind her. He then pressed his body against Sid’s, one of his hard, calloused hands still on her wrist and the other on her neck, leaving her short of breath and with an accelerated heart. 

She tried to get her pocket knife, moving her body as much as possible so she could reach the inner part of her jacket. She shifted and shifted, but he didn’t loose his hand on her neck or his body on hers — quite the contrary, since he made himself closer and moved his hand from her wrist to her waistline. Come on, Sid, you’re a professional. Don’t stand there frozen. 

But that was exactly what she did, at least until she heard a voice coming in their direction. Someone said something in French, but, since her ears were ringing, all she could understand was “move” and some cursing.

“Bridget?” The voice said, and Sid didn’t hear, putting her hand on her chest and trying to recompose herself. “Bridget! Are you okay?” 

She looked up and saw blue eyes concernedly looking at her. “River?” 

He agreed with his head and said in English. “Are you okay? Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” 

“Why would you be sorry? You didn’t do anything, you saved me.” She mumbled. 

Still slightly hazy, Sid looked around and saw River alongside three other men, one of them being Patrice and the other the man who attacked her. Zoe was right behind them, looking at her with wide eyes. The rest of the people in the bar seemed to be trying their best to ignore the situation, besides some occasional curious glances. 

And then it hit her. Those were his brothers. 

River stared at his shoes. “Doesn’t matter. Do you want to leave? I can take you home, if you want to.” 

As much as Sid didn’t trust River, she did want to leave, and maybe that other man wouldn’t follow her if she was with him. So, she agreed with her head and walked to the table to get her bag. 

“Are you going to be okay, Zoe?” She asked, her voice cracking. “I can wait for you.”

“I’ll be fine, Bridget.” The girl answered, faking normalcy. “Take care, dear.”

She nodded and paced out the door, with River following behind after screaming to that man to stay the fuck away from her. The night was cold and starless, and the streets were completely empty except for the two of them. 

“I’m so sorry, Bridget.” He pleaded, running his hand through his hair as they walked. “Bertrand is my brother, and he’s a deeply problematic person. I won’t vouch for him.”

Well, I noticed , Sid thought. “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize for him.” 

“But I do. He just can’t get away with things.” He crossed his arms. “My father, Patrice and even Yves keep patting him on the back like he’s just a bit too emotional. It makes me sick.”

So he was fine with murder, but drew the line at violence against women? Interesting. But she couldn’t really complain about him at that moment. 

“Families can be tricky.” Was all she said. 

“I know that. I just think my case is a bit harsher than usual.” He kept looking at his shoes. “I love them, I really do, but I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.”

“Has it always been like this? I mean, this fucked up family dynamic?” Sid asked, her lips forming a thin line as she looked at him. 

He nodded. “We were never a very ordinary family. Might be my father’s fault. He always encouraged our more evil traits.” 

Well, that checked out. “I’m sorry about that.” 

They stayed in silence for a bit, a comfortable and understanding silence. The names of River’s brothers stayed in her mind: Bertrand, Patrice, Yves. Could that be of any use, or were all of them registered under cold bodies, such as himself? 

“I’m just curious about one thing.” Sid broke the silence between them, trying to fish for information while sounding casual. “You guys all look the same age, what’s the deal? Which one is the oldest?” 

“I mean, we are all pretty much the same age. I think Bertrand is the eldest one. I remember his mum…” He quickly interrupted himself. “I mean, people often think I look the oldest. But it’s just the stress from being part of this family.” 

“You don’t look older. You look pretty good.” The words just rolled out of her tongue, and she wondered if saying them was really the best idea. 

But all he did was give her a sad smile. “Thanks. It’s just… you’re new in town, and I hoped you’d just judge me for myself, and not for my brothers like everyone does.” 

That wasn’t the biggest thing for him to worry about, though, since there was plenty for Sid to judge him for, excluding his brothers’ actions. 

“It’s okay. But it’s not like you left the best first impression either, right?” She said in a much lighter tone. 

He chuckled. “Okay, I’m sorry I said your coffee was shit. Or that your French was shit. I was not in a good mood that day.”

“I noticed that.” She crossed her arms and smiled. “Speaking of which, why weren’t you there these past three days?”

River’s expression changed and he swallowed. “Um… I wasn’t in town. Work trip.”

Okay, so he had traveled, most likely to kill someone. Fuck . “What do you do for work?” 

“Commerce. And I mostly work from home, but sometimes I have to travel.” He bit his inner cheek, trying to appear natural and failing terribly at it. 

Sid pretended to believe him, as they finally reached her flat and she stopped by the entrance of the edifice. “Will I be seeing you Monday, though?”

“Yes, you will.” He lifted his eyebrows and chuckled. “You’re not free from me yet.”

She smiled and waved at him before getting through the door. “Have a good night, River.” 

“You too, Bridget.” Was all Sid heard before he walked out. 

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight already crept through the small kitchen window by the time Sid closed her laptop off. For the entire night, she searched for cold bodies on the Service’s files; just as she hoped, she eventually found all of River’s siblings, all under fake names and occupations, credit scores and health insurance records. 

Adam Lockhead, Robert Winters, Andrew Peters, Paul Wayne. All professional assassins born and raised in Lavande, and with large enough criminal records for them to serve a billion lifetimes in prison, but whose documents showed nothing more than true, law abiding British citizens.

And, as unlikely as that seemed, when she decided that it was both too early and too late to get any sleep and it was best to just go on with her day, she felt sad for them. They all had committed heinous crimes, and would surely pay for those, but when your father raises you to be a killer from the moment you’re born, what are your options in life? How can you break from a prison you were molded into? 

The thoughts that came upon Sid’s mind as her kettle boiled left her once she heard a knock on the door. It was barely six in the morning, who on Earth would be wanting to visit? 

The answer had blond hair and a naive smile. “Hello, Bridget! Are you okay?”

“Zoe? Um… come in.” The girl stepped into the flat and Sid shut the door. “I’m fine. Just making coffee.” 

Zoe had a wide eyed expression, like an injured deer. “I couldn’t sleep all night. I was worried about you. I totally blacked out when I saw Bertrand with hands around you. I was a terrible friend.” 

She had been pretty careless, but Sid couldn’t ask for a nineteen year old to save her skin. Besides, Patrice was right next to her when it all happened, maybe he wouldn’t even let her try to do something. 

“Bertrand is such a brute”, she continued “, he’s nothing like Pat or River. I have no idea where he got that from.” 

Wait, was Zoe the only person in that city who didn’t know the entire Harkness family were awful people? “Well, some people are just born that way.” 

“I suppose so.” The blonde shrugged. “But still, can you forgive me?”

“Of course.” Zoe reacted to her words with a smile and a tight hug. 

When they broke the hug, the girl had a much lighter expression, as if a weight had been lifted from her. “Speaking of something lighter, Pat said he really liked you. That the three of us should go out together again any time soon.” 

Fuck, he wanted to continue the interrogation. But what upset Sid the most was the thought that River’s brother, in his late twenties, was dating a teeanager. Not unlike the story she heard from Isobel. 

“Oh, that’s nice.” She tried not to sound fake. “When did he tell you that? Were you together tonight?”

The blonde chuckled. “Yes. He rents a flat near the main road, we spent the night there.” 

That was useful information, maybe. She’d write that down in her journal, at least. Most of all, she was deeply mad, even though she couldn’t let it show. 

“He’s a bit old for you, though, isn’t he?” Sid let it slip.

She shrugged once again. “Age is just a number.” 

And prison is just a fucking place. “I’m just saying that for you to take care. We might be friends, but I’m older than you, and I feel the need to take a bit of responsibility.” 

“Oh my God, Bridget, you sound like my mom!” She exclaimed, with a light laugh. “I mean it, you have nothing to worry about.” 

Zoe then left, and Sid, who had felt bad for those men just a while ago, was now filled with rage once more, maybe even more than when she heard Isobel’s story. None of that could happen once again. The manipulation, grooming and abuse which left permanent physical and mental scars on the victims. And it wouldn’t happen again.

Not while she was around. 

—

Monotony had been installed in her routine in Lavande; everything, everyday was awfully similar, and the pace of that small town was nearly non-existent. The River she saw coming to the cafe was also nearly the same as the one she saw last Monday. He strutted into the place and sat by himself, isolated from others since he knew his presence was dreaded, with his shoulders hunched as if he tried to make himself smaller. 

Still, once she took a good glance at his face, she could notice a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and a slight smile on his face that she had never properly seen. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, like a waterfall flowing into a river, and that made his name seem quite appropriate. 

Well, Sid, you’re an agent. Not a poet. Stop trying to find metaphors for the blue in his eyes and just get on with your fucking mission, which is to pretend to care about him. 

“Same as always?” She asked with one hand on her hip. 

“Um, yes.” He agreed, his gaze sizing her up. “Are you okay? I mean, after what happened on Friday…”

She hadn’t properly thought about what happened: Bertrand, River’s brother, pushed her against the wall and tried to force himself onto her — and she blacked out, completely, un-fucking-forgivably. She imagined how Lamb would’ve reacted if he found out what happened, all the things she would’ve heard about her years of training and how, in the field, she didn’t have the luxury to fail. 

Nevertheless, she failed. And the feeling of powerlessness, of weakness and fear was worse than anything she had ever felt. Bertrand’s hand left a bruise on her neck and on her wrist, which she hid with a long sleeve turtleneck; she also hid the pain she felt inside, bottled up in a small corner of her brain. 

Looking at River angered her, because she shouldn’t have to need him, the fucking serial killer, to help her. 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Was all she answered, handing him the coffee mug. “I can’t even taste coffee without sugar. I have no idea how you can enjoy it.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really eat refined sugar.” 

“Why? Are you on a diet or something?” 

“Well, my father was always controlling of our eating habits and stuff. I guess you can call it that.” 

It made sense. If you want to form your own private army, you have to treat your kids like proper soldiers from a young age, no eating biscuits or putting sugar in their coffee. No wonder he and his brothers were all so bitter.  

“No sugar at all sounds crazy to me. But I guess you don’t really miss something if it was never a habit before, right?” 

“You’re right.” He agreed with his head, but uncomfortably moved in his seat. “I guess that’s true for a lot of things. I didn’t exactly have an ordinary childhood, or what I think is an ordinary childhood, at least.”

Wait, was he opening up? “In what way?”

“It was always just me, my brothers and my father at home. And he raised us to be the best versions of ourselves, which sounds good in theory, but actually just sparked competition and some pretty bad behavior.” He bit his inner cheek while talking, gaze drifting between Sid and the counter. “I don’t think it did wonders for us.”

“I’m sorry.” She answered, putting her hand above his and gently grazing the back with her thumb, without properly holding it. It was instinctive, she didn’t think much before doing so, but was surprised he didn’t pull away. 

Until he did, a few seconds later, to use both of his hands to hide his face, sighing loudly. “I shouldn’t be venting to you. None of my shit is your problem.”

“You can always vent to me.” She smiled as he looked up. It did feel a bit cynical to be saying that, of course you can tell your secrets to me, I’m definitely not going to tell anyone, but that was her job. Get secrets from people and use them in favor of the Service. 

Completely oblivious to the truth, River’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you. I’m glad you don’t hate me after what my brother did.” 

Well, I hated you long before that, was her first thought. But she didn’t actually hate River. Hate was too big a feeling, and as an agent, she should be keeping some healthy distance from her cases and not actually form any meaningful opinions or feelings regarding everything. It was very hard to keep a distance when he was a meter away from her, though. 

“You’re not your brother. And, besides, you saved me from him. But we already had this conversation, and you should stop blaming yourself for things you didn’t do.” And maybe start blaming yourself for the things you actually did. 

“I like talking to you. And I’m not really much of a talker, most times.” He smiled sadly, and his eyes drifted away. “Do you maybe want to do something after work? It’s okay if you don’t.” 

Wait, was River asking her out on a date? It all escalated pretty quickly within a week. 

“Of course I would. I get off around five.” Sid exclaimed, trying to sound excited. In reality, her stomach turned to a knot — yes, he seemed all sweet and nice, but she knew what he was capable of. 

“Wonderful!” He thumped on the counter, and some people turned to look at the two. “What do you want to do?” 

Public location, that was sure. “I don’t know a lot about the city yet. The pub, maybe?” 

“You know the pub, the cafe and the supermarket. You know the entire city.” He gesticulated with his index finger. “There’s nothing really interesting here. I wonder what dragged you into this place.”

You , she thought. “Family history. My grandmother, the french one, was from here. She left me the flat.”

“Your grandmother left this hellhole for a reason.” He played with the empty coffee cup in his hand, then checked his watch. “Well, I have to go. Will I see you tonight?” 

She nodded and he left, a small smile on the corner of his lips. Perhaps River was into her, maybe he was just as pleased by cruelty as his brother and wanted to harm her — which would be the worst decision he would ever make in his life — or maybe he just wanted to talk; albeit a very dangerous individual, he actually sounded like a very needy, desperate to be heard, person. 

A while later, once there were fewer people on the cafe, Sid left through the backdoor and called Lamb. Leaning on the white wall, which mostly faced a couple of houses she knew to be empty, the phone rang three times before it was picked up.

“Lamb?” She said, looking over her shoulders to see of there was anyone around. 

The voice who answered was a lot softer. “Hello, Sid. Jackson’s at a meeting now.” 

Catherine Standish, a woman who seemed to have walked out straight from a child’s book, was Lamb’s PA since the nineties. She was also his partner, even though no one but his team knew about that; they were in no way a traditional couple, but their relationship showed Sid that being on the Service didn’t necessarily mean she had to be alone. 

“Hi, Catherine. Good to hear from you.” Sid smiled slightly. “Can you tell Lamb that I’m meeting with the target later today? I think I’m making some progress here. Also, I found the names of the other cold bodies. I already forwarded them to Ho.” 

The line was silent for a moment. “You’re meeting with him alone, then? Where?”

“It’s in a public location. Don’t worry, I’m gonna be fine.” She fiddled with her hoop earring, becoming rather anxious. 

“I’ve seen the photos, Sid. I don’t think being a public location has ever stopped him.” Her tone was cautionary. “I know you think playing honey trap is fun, but it’s actually quite dangerous. If you sense the situation is unsafe, don’t push it, and don’t be afraid to say no. And keep hold of that knife.” 

The knife she spoke about was Sid’s pocket knife, which had been a gift from Catherine herself on an office’s Secret Santa a couple years back. It was small enough to keep in the back of one’s hand, with a hilt of dark wood and an edge always kept sharp. The same knife she wasn’t able to reach while Bertrand pushed her against the pub’s mirror.

“I will, Catherine. Thank you so much.” 

“Take care, Sid.” Were the last words she said before the redhead hung up and went back to the cafe. 

A honey trap, was what Standish had said. Oficially, the mission was to infiltrate the town, find out about the Harkness’ family modus operandi and trace a plan to pick them apart. Just that. Lamb would’ve never sent her to shag someone in exchange for information, and that was possibly not even allowed nowadays, if it ever was. 

But she was still going on a date with him, despite giving him no previous romantic insinuation. Maybe it was just best to go along with it at this point — even though it was the exact opposite of what she had been told to do. Also, seduction sounded a lot more effective than whatever she was doing on the back of that counter. 

When River came to pick her up from work, he didn’t actually stand near the door, but on the end of the street, so she wasn’t able to see him until he walked up to her sight. Hidden on Sid’s sleeve was the pocket knife, and her hand was on a fist to stop it from sliding. Or to punch him. Whichever came first. 

“What were you doing over there?” She asked instead. 

“I didn’t want to stand by the door. I would look creepy.” He shrugged. “I know I’m not exactly the most popular person in this town. So, the pub?” 

Well, he was right about that. Only it sounded like his infamousness came out of nowhere, and not from the fact he was a murderer and his dad a groomer. 

“Don’t worry.” She lied with a soft smile. “And, yes, the pub would be nice.”

River walked by her side with his hands in his pockets, almost as if Sid wasn’t there, looking slightly stiff and uncomfortable — which either meant he was embarrassed or that he also had a knife within reach. So, she grabbed one of his hands and intertwined their fingers, to which he didn’t flinch. 

Christ, do I really have to do everything around here?

At that time of day, and on a Monday, the pub was a lot less crowded, and only an old couple sat by one of the tables; instead of red LED lights, open doors allowed the glow of twilight onto the place in shades of yellow, lighting the light wooden walls. Against those, stood a mirror with tiny cracks in it, and, on the other end, was a half open door which led to a set of stairs. 

They sat down and were approached by a waiter, whom Sid recognized from the past Friday; very skinny, early 20s, buzzcut. Just like most people in town, his eyes widened in fear once he laid eyes on River, and his glance kept drifting to the redhead as if saying “oh, the poor woman” . 

They made their orders and the boy asked. “Anything else I can get you right now?”

“Some water, please.” River said, and the waiter left with quick steps. 

Wa- tuh. She laughed to herself as the boy came back to the table with a glass. “Has anyone ever said you sound vaguely British?” 

His brows furrowed and he moved his head negatively. “No, because I don’t. Maybe it’s just from speaking too much with you. Because has anyone ever said you sound painfully British?”

“Quite a lot, actually.” She laughed. “Every day since I moved in.”

River still refused to acknowledge his mother, then. Not a great thing, but he was probably brainwashed to think her and all women were burdens on men’s life and good for nothing, so not at all surprising. Pretty classic manipulation strategy, actually: making everyone else the enemy, but the proper enemy. 

“Do you like it? Being here?” He asked after a moment’s silence, and his expression hardened. “Because, I mean, you’re free to go anywhere you want, and you chose to be here.” 

“I’m liking this city a lot, actually.” She answered, her gaze fixed in his. “If you hate it here so much, why don’t you leave? Is it a money situation?”

“Kind of.” He shrugged. “Not just that, but yes, in a way. Amongst other things.”

Being on the Service gave Sid unusual insight into some subjects, which meant she knew that assassins were mostly paid extremely well, especially the highly specialized ones who went after important figures, such as River himself. Perhaps he just had abysmal financial planning, or his father kept hold of his money so he wouldn’t run away or something similar.  

“I’m sorry about that.” The mood had suddenly become heavy. “But, if you could anywhere you want, where would you go?”

“Anywhere I had peace, really.” He replied. 

Sid tried really hard not to roll her eyes and keep her smile. “So, definitely not London.”

“It could be London.” He shrugged. “I don’t mean peace and quiet with birds and trees, because if I meant that, then I’d stay here. I mean peace of mind, a peaceful consciousness. Somewhere I can just be.” 

River’s lip twitched slightly as he spoke, with an almost unconscious frown forming. “What about you?” He put one elbow on the table and his chin over his hand. “Where would you go?” 

Back home, to her family and her friends and her house. Because she understood how River felt, what it was like to be isolated and lonely in a place she couldn’t properly connect; but she was only there temporarily. “I don’t know, I guess I’m right where I want to be.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? You could be anywhere in the world and you’re the happiest here? How can that be?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I just never really felt home anywhere.”

It was true, in a way, or it had been. Before joining the Service, Sid was always the odd one out: in school, university, her internship at the bank. Nothing truly fulfilled her, nothing gave her a sense of purpose, until she became MI5. Now she was sitting on a table, denying all that, and pretending to be a person she wasn’t. 

“I suppose I can relate to that.” River smiled sadly, and used his free hand to hold Sid’s. 

Their orders arrived, and Sid used her burger as an excuse to be silent and think about everything she’d just heard. It was confusing, really: she expected River to be traumatized from the environment he was brought up in, but didn’t expect him to be so conscious of it, of how much that environment weighed on him and how toxic his and his family’s behavior was. 

Still, if he wanted to leave his father’s command, he could’ve done it. If he was so conscious about the evil his family caused, he could’ve at least tried to stop it. Causing such damage to people’s lives was his fault, and he wasn’t just a poor bastard with absolutely no choice, but someone who ultimately didn’t care about other people’s lives.

This thought left her uneasy for the rest of the evening, as if the pub’s walls were shrinking and bound to smash her. Not even the fresh air of the night as they left the pub seemed to ease the feeling of being suffocated.

“Are you okay?” River asked, suddenly stopping to walk and caressing her arm. “You look like you have something in your mind.”

Sid did have a lot in her mind, just nothing he could hear. “It’s no big deal.” She said, picking up the pace. A part of her just wanted to run. 

“Come on, you can talk to me.” He half-smiled and crossed his arms. 

She swallowed, thinking of a good enough bluff. “I’m just… glad we got to meet. It’s been hard to make friends in this town, and you’ve been kind.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He looked at his shoes, and stopped once again. “And also, uh…” 

“Also, what?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and noticed as River straightened himself up and took a deep breath. It somewhat scared Sid, who became extremely aware of the difference between their height — if she went up one on one against him, she didn’t stand a chance. 

When he stepped closer, her bones chilled. “I never met someone like you in my life. You’re just… special. And I know I sound like a kid saying this, but, I think I’m truly into you.” 

Sid tried to keep a mental distance, even though she was close enough to smell the lingering scent of his perfume. It didn’t come as a surprise to her; she was the cute little waitress ready to serve him and talk to him in a town in which everyone behaved like he had leprosy, and men often have a hard time differentiating politeness and romantic interest. That had come to her advantage this time around, though. 

I’m so sorry, Catherine, she thought while stepping closer and letting her lips touch Cartwright’s. 

His brows furrowed for a second, and his body felt stiff, like he didn’t expect to be corresponded. Then the redhead wrapped her arms around his neck and basically threw herself at him, to which he responded by grabbing her by the waist with one hand and running his fingers through her curls with the other. 

Sid wasn’t sure if she felt more or less suffocated. 

Chapter Text

Locked in the bathroom, Sid fiddled with her pocket knife, waiting for clarity that didn’t arrive. 

She looked at herself in the small mirror, and removed the smudged lipstick from her lips with makeup remover. She took her jacket, shirt and pants, but left her bra and underwear — she picked a nice bra that day, a lacy pink one with matching knickers —, and covered herself with a light blue robe. 

The thought of hopping into the shower crossed her mind, since she was definitely nervous sweating, but decided against it. The truth was, she was trying to stall the best she could, because she didn’t know if she was ready to shag River Harkness. 

Sid was far from being a prude, but she also never fucked someone she was investigating. That was a line she, being the professional she was, never thought of crossing. Because that wasn’t Intelligence, was it? That was an unethical form of espionage. 

Nevertheless, in her years of training, there was no denying that the Service indirectly prepared you for that: it teaches you how to be convincing, conniving, how to control a situation and assert dominance, how to use your body to your advantage. It was all inherently sexual, whether she liked that or not. 

A voice of reason, which sounded like Louisa, remembered that she could always say she wasn’t comfortable and, if River tried to force himself, Sid had a knife in her hand. Another voice, this one sounding like herself, thought that if she didn’t sleep with him, she possibly wouldn’t find another opportunity of becoming close to the family and, therefore, completing the mission. 

And her situation wasn’t safe at all: he was at her house and she would be extremely vulnerable, in every possible way. But so would he, if she thought about it. Oh, fucking hell. I’m doing it. 

Sid walked out of the bathroom and passed by the beaded curtains which separated her room from the rest of the flat, with light steps and shoulders back. She leaned on the frame and smiled at River, who sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed.

His gaze moved past her entire body, still more focused on her face. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, and just watched as she slowly walked towards his direction. 

“So, do you want to do this?” She asked, her voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. 

“Yes.” He agreed with his head and swallowed, eyes fixed on hers. “I do.” 

Her gaze hardened as she untied the knot of her robe and let it slip out, slightly nervous of how she would be perceived. Still, she wouldn’t let him see that on her face, so she lifted her chin as she saw him take his shirt off and throw it on the ground. 

Considering he was a professional assassin who went through incessant training, it wasn’t a surprise that his body was lean and muscular. Still, the sight of his figure somewhat surprised her — maybe just because she never thought about his body. Obviously. It was also obvious she didn’t feel anything as she saw him undress. 

The fact she was starting to feel herself become wet was just a coincidence. A purely biological reaction, that in no way meant conscious desire for him. 

Sitting on his lap, her fingers traced the buckle of his belt and promptly unbuckled it, a small smile on her lips even though her eyes couldn’t bear to look at him. It was going to be quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid, she thought as her hands grazed the inside of his thigh and fidgeted for the zipper of his pants. 

“Calm down, love.” River whispered in her ear, which chilled her body, as he used his hand to move hers away from his crotch. He then wrapped his arms around her waist and, with a quick move, threw her onto the bed. 

She stiffened be as low him and shut her eyes tightly, feeling the roughness of his denim trousers against her naked legs and his hands pinning her. As his warm body began to top hers, something cold touched her chest. A knife? Some other weapon? 

The images of the people he killed raced through her mind. The sight of blood running through the floor of a fancy restaurant, the tablecloth embedded with it as they emptied the place; how he left before anyone noticed the killing, and probably went to the pub to celebrate another accomplishment. 

She opened her eyes to realize it was the silver chain around his neck, which had a small key pendant in it. 

“Are you okay, Bridget?” He asked, a furrow on his brows, and distanced himself from her. “We don’t have to keep doing it.” 

Way to blow it, Sid. She forced a chuckle and sat on the bed. “It’s nothing. I want to keep going.” 

“Are you sure? You look tense.” His eyes gazed upon her entire body, from her stiff posture to her hands curled up in fists. 

Come up with something quickly, she thought, put that spy brain of yours to use. Why would you not want to shag him for any reason other than knowing he was a criminal, even after looking at his abs? 

“I’m just not super used to doing it…” She stuttered. “I mean, I am used to having sex, just not on a first date.” And with a man I’m supposed to be investigating. 

He lifted his eyebrows. “I’m not in a hurry, Bridget. I can wait until you feel comfortable. I don’t want to force you into anything.” 

News flash: the small town serial killer understood consent better than some of your previous boyfriends! Her gaze drifted away as he grabbed his shirt, and her heart still raced. 

“Um… thank you.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and hid her face with her palms. “I didn’t mean to panic. It’s not about you…”

It was definitely about him, though. About him, the feeling she was about to be murdered and the thought of sleeping with the enemy. The fact he was actually being kind made it all worse, or at least more confusing. 

“I just want you to feel comfortable around me.” He sighed. “Because I’m not exactly what you’d want, I’m sure.”

She furrowed her brows, pretending not to understand. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a good person. I’m trying to be slightly better, but it’s like there’s something wrong with me. In my blood.” He swallowed, and his eyes gleamed. “Still, I look at you and I remember to be kind.” 

Sid’s eyes widened as she thought of River’s words. It would’ve been sweet, if everything wasn’t a complete and utter lie; she would never make him a better person, all she was doing was pushing him closer to the edge. It was her job, after all. 

But when she leaned in and touched their lips, it didn’t bother her anymore. At least for a second. For that split moment, she truly was Bridget, and he wasn’t a murderer, just River, the sweet man she had just met. When they parted, the spell wore off and she became conscious of their situation yet again. 

“Y’know, you’re the best thing that happened in this town in quite a bit.” He whispered to her ear and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

I might be, to the rest of the town. But to you, I’ll be the worst. 

Her cheeks still flushed, and she chuckled. “Do you want to stay here a little longer? Have a drink?” 

“I think I’m gonna go.” He half-smiled. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He kissed her once again and got up from the bed. She followed him, picking up the blue robe and wrapping it around her body before she could open the door. 

“Have a good night, River.” She said. 

“You too, Bridget.” He answered, and she watched him walk away towards the set of stairs. 

Sid locked the door, and the flat was silent once again. She sighed deeply, touching her neck on the bits that still ached from being attacked by Bertrand, and wondering if what River was doing was all performative, or if he was really trying to become a better person. 

If he was a better person, though, she wouldn’t have been so scared of him, was what she thought when her hands started shaking. He wasn’t a good person, he simply wasn’t a rapist. That was a bare minimum. 

With one shaky hand on her chest, she paced to the kitchen and lit the kettle. The noises were strangely soothing and, once she had a warm cup of chamomile tea on her hand, she searched for her phone and sat on the bed. 

The phone rang twice before Louisa picked up. “Hey, Sid. How are you?”

“I have no idea, to be honest.” She blurted out. 

“What do you mean?” Louisa’s voice sounded scared. “Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?”

She shook her head, even though they couldn’t see her. “No one hurt me.” It was a lie, considering they didn’t know what had happened on Friday, but it didn’t really matter at that moment. “But something did happen, or almost did. I nearly had sex with River.”

The line was silent for a few seconds. “Wait, are you trying to honeytrap him? Because that’s fucking stupid. And dangerous.” 

“Well, can you think of a better strategy? And, as I said, I didn’t have sex with him yet. And he was okay with that, he said he was willing to wait for me.” 

“Oh, he’s such a gentleman. Just don’t forget the people he killed.” She scoffed. 

“I’m not saying he’s a gentleman. I’m saying I could get him to fall for me.” Again, knowing they wouldn’t see, she shrugged. “Just don’t tell anything to Lamb, because he wouldn’t allow it. Once I finish the mission though, it won’t matter how I got the information.”

“You’re batshit, Baker, y’know that?” Louisa said, but there was a playfulness in her tone. “Well, just don’t fall in love, I guess.” 

—

Being in Les Arbres for a month, Sid came to realise there were lots of regulars at the café: the first person to come in was always a gentleman in his thirties named Gabriel, who always ordered a strong black coffee and a croissant, and sat for about twenty minutes on a corner table before leaving for his job at a construction site. 

He wasn’t much of a talker, but his colleague, Gaspar, was. He ordered coffee with a lot of milk and sugar, to the point there probably wasn’t any coffee flavor anymore, and a sandwich; she found out the construction they were working on would be a new primary school for the city. 

There was also Pierre, whom she later found was Zoe’s father and also a retired policeman, and his wife, Marie, who owned the market. They were both very well humored people and talkative people, but Marie claimed to be worried about her daughter and the somewhat problematic man she was seeing. Well, your parents are right sometimes. 

River was also a regular now, not just in the cafe. He was a regular in her life and in her mind; had been since she started the operation, but even more now, since he was so close. So close to her, physically close, and close to being another job completed.

Emphasis on physically, as River had her pinned against the cafe wall. One of his hands laid inside her sweater, his cold fingers tracing the outline of her waist and giving her goosebumps all around her body, while the other held one of her thighs, as her legs laced his back and her arms pulled him in nearer. 

The kiss tasted like coffee, bitter and flavorful. The flavor of adolescence also lingered in her lips, of sneaking out and snogging behind an establishment, of being backed against the wall by a boy; it was an innocent, sweet feeling. Deceitful or not. 

“Oh my God, what time is it?” Sid asked, her voice hoarse, breaking the kiss. He let go of her and she grabbed the cellphone in her pocket.

“Stay, just a minute.” He frowned, blue eyes sparkling. 

“I’ve got five.” She chuckled, but, before the sentence was even finished, their lips were pressed against each other. 

River placed one of his hands on the back of her neck, as his tongue slipped into her mouth, and the other on her waist. She closed her eyes to focus on the warmth of his body and the constant beating of his chest, softening up to his touch and letting herself be completely absorbed.

When they broke the kiss, she rested her chin on his shoulder and gasped for breath, the spell wearing off once again and putting her back on spy mode. It was just second nature at this point. 

“This was nice.” She ran a hand through her hair and smiled. 

“Yes, definitely.” His lips were curved in a slight smile. “Do you have to come in now?” 

“Yes, I do. But you can come in too.” She tilted her head towards the cafe’s back door, which she was now headed. “But you’ll have to buy something.” 

River chuckled and went alongside her as she got her apron from the hanger and tied behind her back. At that time of day, the place was a lot less busy; just a couple sitting together, a couple she knew to be Mia and Jean, recently married. She often talked to them, being of similar ages, but never while River was around. 

Still, aware of the fact he was pretty much people-repellent, he sat and ordered a pastry, his eyes drifting as Sid walked. “So, how have things been?”

“Oh, they’ve been well.” She answered. “My mum called in this morning.” 

That really had happened; talking to her mother over the phone was always a hard time, since there was only so much she was allowed to know, and Sid could tell she felt scared for her. All she could tell was that she was abroad, and safe, and there were definitely no assassins around her — even though the last part was a lie. 

“That’s nice to hear. That you’re still talking to your mum.” He took a bite of his piece of cake, and his face glistened with melancholy. No wonder, given that he and his mother hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years. 

They fell silent, for a second. A strange, uncomfortable silence that she had no longer been accustomed to since he said her coffee was shit.  

“And, I’ve been thinking if you want to come by my house.” Sid stopped for a second, with one hand on her hip. 

He smirked. “I’d love to. If that’s what you want.” 

River and her still hadn’t had sex, even though it had been a month. It surprised her how fine he was with that, but what sounded like a kind, respectful gesture probably meant he was going to the brothel every other night. He was still a man and a Harkness, after all, and she knew they weren’t the most respectful to women. 

That thought nearly took the smile out of her face, but she noticed it soon enough to turn around, breath deeply and turn back, with a much more forced one. 

“I’m gonna cook.” She completed, not meeting his gaze. 

“Oh, are you sure?” He chuckled, with his brows furrowed. “Okay, I’m gonna give you a vote of confidence. I hope you cook better than you make coffee.” 

“Oh my God, you’re still going on about the coffee? It was my first day, I’ve gotten better.”

“If that’s what you say.” He shrugged with a laugh.

She crossed her arms and looked at him. “Shut up!”

He smirked. “Make me.” 

Pathetic . Utterly pathetic. Sid rolled her eyes and turned to talk to another client, a teenager redhead whose eyes kept drifting to River, in a curious look as if he were an exotic animal. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” The girl asked her, in a murmur. 

“Well, no.” Sid answered, shaking her head. It was true, she wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t anything. 

The girl looked disappointed. “Well, that’s a shame. I would like to know what it's like to date a gangster.” 

Her face went completely blank, and her voice failed for a second, leaving just a stutter on her lips. “Have a good day, young lady.” 

—

For an agent, Sid felt too uncomfortable seeing blood; its rich, dark shade of red and the way it endlessly poured, how it dirtied things and was terribly hard to take it off them, its heavy scent. She’d seen lots of it, at this point in her career, but it never got better. 

It was what came to her mind, as she saw a thin red line coming down her index finger and dirtying the knife she was using to cut tomatoes. The open cut almost immediately started to sting and, even though it wasn’t the most hygienic choice, she placed the finger on her mouth to stop the bleeding. The taste was awfully metallic. 

With blood still in her lips and in her mind, she searched for the first-aid kit in the bathroom, which had antiseptics and Band-Aids in it. The cut was seen to, but instead of heading back to the kitchen, she washed her hands and made her way into the bedroom. 

There was a dress on the bed, a red satin slip dress, which she had truly no idea why she packed for the mission other than the fact it looked wonderful on her. It was also the sort of dress that didn’t pair with a bra. She put it on, alongside some light makeup, and let her hair fall down her back. 

The door knocked as she passed through the beaded curtain of her room.

“Good evening, Bridget.” He said as she opened the door, holding a bottle of red wine in his hand. “I took a guess, since you didn’t tell me what you’d cook.”

“Good evening, River.” She answered before pressing their lips together. “Come on in.”

He walked into the place, putting the wine bottle on the table and standing near the kitchen, his gaze fixed on the redhead. “You look wonderful.” 

“Thanks!” She spinned on her heels and chuckled, stepping closer to where he was. 

Then, his attention turned to the kitchen. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“If you know how to cook, I’ll accept your help.” Sid stood near him with a smile, that was as much true as it was fake. “But you don’t look like you do.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m actually a great cook. And I’m not even joking.” 

And with that, River, the serial killer, was cooking pasta alongside her. Actually, he mostly cooked as she attentively watched, partly amused with his skill — one she never expected him to have — and partly wondering if he was trying to poison her. 

She leaned onto the counter, with her arms crossed. “How did you learn how to cook? Did your father teach you?”

“Yeah, a bit.” His eyes drifted as he talked, and she could tell he was lying. “Um, and I… God, I shouldn’t be telling you, but I trust you.” 

Oh, fucking trust. He dry-swallowed and sighed deeply before continuing, and Sid wondered what that secret could be. “It was Patrice’s mum, really. I've been close to her since I was a teen. And I’m not supposed to be.”

“Why can’t you be close to her?” She knew exactly why, but still asked. 

“She worked at the brothel.” He answered drily. “Patrice doesn’t know that, doesn’t know who his mum is. It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Poor things. The two of them.” Sid couldn’t speak for his mum, but she knew Patrice wasn’t a poor thing , not at all. He was a terrifying person. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” 

After a moment’s silence, Sid continued. “But how did you get to know her? Was it in the brothel?” 

Maybe not the best idea to ask that, since River’s face darkened and he ran his thumb through the hilt of the knife, which terrified her for a moment. Nonetheless, he just dropped it. 

“Well, that’s another shitty story.” He said, at last. “My father took me to the brothel for the first time when I was fifteen. And yes, that sounds like a wet dream, but it was actually awful. He said I needed to man up, that I needed to stop being such a ‘fucking pussy’, as he said himself.”

Sid’s eyes widened, and she felt a lump in her throat as he continued. “He talked to a woman there, an old, very skinny woman who smelled like cigarettes and stale pint, and the woman brought me a girl. She was a bit older than me, not much, and took me to one of the rooms. My father paid her really well, but I could see on her face she was also unhappy. I still had zits all over my face and couldn’t grow a beard.” 

That wasn’t surprising, really. A man such as Frank would definitely see sex as a performance of masculinity, a display of power rather than a demonstration of love. No wonder his sons still went to the brothel. Still, Sid’s heart heavened while thinking about a young River, not old enough to be the killer he would become, being roughened and traumatized by an experience that should’ve been special. 

“You were a kid.” She murmured. “And you were abused.” 

“I don’t know if I can call it abuse. I think this word gets thrown around these days.” He wrinkled his nose. “But, after that, this other woman took me to her room, and I thought I would have to shag her as well, which I wouldn’t have the strength to. But she hugged me, and let me cry. I had never cried before, not for more than a few seconds before getting slapped. She told me her name was Natasha, and she was Patrice’s mum, and she would be my friend from then on.” 

With his eyes glistening, he picked the knife back up and smirked. “I know that sounds like an excuse to be in the brothel, but I promise it’s true. She doesn’t live there anymore. I should introduce the two of you one day.” 

“I would love to.” She bit her lower lip, eyes also glistening with tears. “And I’m sorry about what happened to you.” 

Sid stepped closer to him and pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. She didn’t think much before doing so, just felt as if he could use some proximity; then her heart ached again, guilt seeping through. She would be yet another person to use him. 

Christ, why couldn’t he just be cartoonishly evil and make things easier? 

Another moment’s silence, before he tilted his head in her direction and she asked. “Was that why you understood I wasn’t okay? That day, when we were here? Because you had experienced that?”

“I don’t think so. It’s because… I was paying attention.” He dry-swallowed again. “Your hands were curled in fists and your eyes were shut, like you wanted everything to be over. You were scared.”

His voice became lower, deeper as he spoke, and he dropped the knife back onto the counter alongside all the other ingredients and the boiling pan, which seemed to have left his mind. Their gazes met, and the air started to feel heavier. 

“I’m not scared anymore, River.” She whispered, and closed her eyes again. It was true, in a way, but also incredibly far from reality. 

But she still took a step back and opened her eyes, and he did the same, clearing his throat and staring at his shoes. “I should get back to cooking. Can you put the table?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled and reached for the cupboard. 

It was odd to have such domesticity with someone considered a foe. The last time she had invited a man over to her house had been her ex boyfriend, a little over a year ago; and now River, who meant nothing to her, in a house that was not properly hers, had become the most intimate romantic connection she had in a while. 

The same feelings rushed through her mind a few hours later, once she was naked in her bed, the red dress crumpled in a corner of the room alongside River’s clothes. He laid peacefully by her side, blissfully unaware of the fact this had been part of a mission. Because it had all been true; their kisses, the touching, the way they both tasted and what he felt while inside her, but the reasons were deceitful. 

Sid’s heart ached just thinking about him, and her mouth tasted metallic once again. 

Chapter Text

“Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like a rock?” River’s lips softly brushed against Sid’s ear.

Sunlight filled the room as she slowly opened her eyes, feeling the warm glow of the day on her skin. She turned around, holding onto the blanket, and yawned before finally facing the man next to her in bed. 

“You haven’t moved an inch the whole night.” He completed, smiling at her sleepy face. 

“How could you possibly know that? Were you watching me sleep?” She answered as she sat down in bed, her voice still hoarse. And while her question sounded like a joke, it most definitely wasn’t.

They had spent the previous night together. It had been a calm evening in her flat, with dinner and a movie — the movie in question being Home Alone, since River was probably the only person on Earth who hadn’t seen it — and wine he “bought on a work trip”. That last part brought her back to the reality of what he did, remembering the things he had actually done, and how that bottle had been wrapped by his bloody hand. 

“No, I just got up during the night and saw you laying exactly like this. Also, I made some noise and it didn’t wake you.” He explained, and Sid noticed he was already dressed, wearing a dark blue sweater under a t-shirt and jeans, and his hair was wet. 

“When did you wake up?” She answered, while getting up herself. “I mean, it’s Saturday.”

“Around six. I never wake up later than this.” River explained, picking up the blanket from bed and quickly folding it.

As he did that, Sid tidied up the sheets. He had an organization that somewhat impressed her, even though it wasn’t the most surprising thing about him; the way he’d been raised was militaristic, to say the least. 

“Hey, um, I wanted to ask you something.” River then said, sitting on the made bed. 

“Yeah, shoot.” She answered, leaning against the wall of the room. Maybe that wasn't the best wording to use with him. 

“Remember the other day, when I told you about Natasha? Um, she asked me to visit her today at lunch, and I wanted to introduce the two of you.” His lips curved in an earnest smile. 

Sid’s heart felt heavy, and she dry-swallowed before answering. In a way, she had infiltrated herself into his life and routine, and was planning to ruin all that. And she was now going to meet one of the people dearest to him and lie even more.

“Of course I do. She seems like an awesome person.” Was all she said, forcing a happy reaction. 

“She is. I know the two of you will adore each other.” He got to his feet and paced at Sid’s direction, placing a kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best. I’m going to make breakfast.”

“Thanks for that. I’ll go take a shower then.” She answered, smiling at him. 

As River walked to the kitchen, Sid opened the doors of her closet: apart from her own clothes, he had left some of his own there, which were neatly folded and kept on the bottom drawer. That wasn’t what she looked for though; on the top drawer, wrapped in a black t-shirt, was her journal. The journal in which she kept most of the information regarding the op. 

It seemed terribly stupid to leave it there, in his reach, when she knew that she would be dead if he found out the truth. Still, she would need to dispose of it after copying its contents, and on a day he wasn’t there, which was becoming harder and harder to happen. He was there nearly everyday. 

With the thoughts of River and the journal still in her mind, she showered, brushed her teeth and got dressed with a grey blouse, a denim skirt, tights and ankle boots. Then, she walked to the kitchen to find him with two cups in his hands and something cooking on the stove. 

“I made coffee. Proper one.” 

“Yeah, very funny.” She pretended to roll her eyes, but took the cup from his hand. “Need help?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You must be tired from being in that café all week.” 

She was, especially because she hated cooking and now found herself on a fake job that demanded that from her all day long. “Speaking of cafés, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Bridget.” He turned his head to her direction and looked attentively. 

“What do you think of Zoe?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee. 

Zoe had been a concern of Sid since she met her: she was young and impressionable and completely oblivious to the harm that the Harkness family caused. She was a teenager, who paid no attention to her parent’s concerns, and who might ultimately pay a heavy price for that. 

River shrugged. “She’s nice, I guess. Never had much of a chance to talk to her. You’re friends, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She answered. “But I kinda have mixed feelings about something. Y’know, like, her and your brother.” 

“I know. Honestly, I think it’s awful. Patrice’s been preying upon that poor girl since she’s what? Sixteen? She’s a fucking kid, I don’t understand why he can’t get someone his own age.” He said, his voice becoming more bitter as he spoke. “Why none of the men in my family can, apparently.” 

“What do you mean?” Sid asked, knowing exactly what he meant. 

He grimaced and sighed loudly before answering. “Natasha was, like, seventeen when she had Patrice. So was Bertrand’s mum. My mum was a bit older, but like twenty. I guess my father had a type.”

“Young and gullible?" 

“Exactly.” His tongue clicked. “Breakfast is ready, by the way.” 

They sat down to eat together, and Sid got to think about how River was a lot more self aware than she believed he would be, in regards to his situation and the things that happened around him. Maybe, if it weren’t so risky, she could’ve tried to convince him to stay on her side and help take down his father. 

Except that would not happen. He might not agree with everything his family does, but he would never betray them. He killed for them. That was a bond she would never break.

The thought stayed with her throughout the morning, though. If River blew the whistle, he could be forgiven. He was a British citizen on his mum’s side, maybe he could live a normal life in England, away from cruelty and violence. They could be friends, they could be something . 

“Hey, um, Bridget.” She heard River’s voice, as he sat down to tie his trainers, and was brought back to reality. “I’m not sleeping here tonight, by the way. I have practice with my brothers.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” Sid answered, trying to force a smile, but running her tongue through her teeth once he couldn’t see. She was a fool if she thought he had any chance of redemption. “I’ll just miss you.”

She completed without much enthusiasm, while getting up from the couch and grabbing her keys, and received a kiss from River, who walked up to her direction as she opened the door and ran an arm through her waist. The taste of his lips on hers was slightly bitter. 

Natasha’s house was farther away from the center of the village, but still a walkable distance. There stood a few houses, all of which had the same stone walls and the same red door in their fronts; they were near the woods and the railway, so the sound of trains passing was constant while the people who lived there were few. 

River knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by a woman with a kind, earnest smile. 

“Hello, dear.” Natasha said in French, taking River into her embrace. “How are you?”

Natasha was not exactly how Sid had imagined her. She looked mid-fourties, with light brown hair that went down to her shoulders and green eyes; she was beautiful, but something in her looked worn out, exhausted, lost in time. It was a similar look to Isobel. Maybe it was just the Frank Harkness effect. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” He answered, once breaking up the hug. “What about you? Doing well?”

“Yes, I am.” She turned to Sid with a smile. “And you must be Bridget! River’s told me lovely things about you.”

“I can say the same.” The younger woman answered, with a light expression that was mostly genuine. Natasha seemed like a nice woman. 

“Come on in, then.” She pointed at the entrance with her hand, and once the three walked inside the house, closed the door behind them. 

They walked through a narrow hallway and placed their coats on the hanger. Then, River promptly moved alongside Natasha to the kitchen and helped her set the table; Sid walked alongside them, noticing how he knew where everything was and looked truly comfortable and at home there, like she’d never seen him before. 

They sat down by the table, and Natasha turned to Sid. “Okay, I should introduce myself. I’m Natasha, I’m River’s what? Godmother/stepmom?” She turned to him and chuckled. “And I have a cleaning company with some other women of the village.” 

“That’s really nice! I’m pretty sure River mentioned that.” He actually hadn’t, but she wouldn’t say the things he had actually mentioned. 

“I’m curious to hear some things about you. I mean, River’s told me a lot, that your grandmother used to live here and stuff, but I wanna know from you. What are you thinking about the town, about River, everything.”

“It’s nice here.” She answered, taking a bite of chicken. “I wanted a slower pace of life when I moved, and I got it. It’s calm, and easy. Being with River’s like that too. It’s been a nice couple of months.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” The older woman smiled. “But do you happen to know River’s father already? Because that might change your opinion about things being calm.” 

“No, I don’t.” Sid shook her head negatively. “River kinda keeps this part of his life somewhat hidden away.” 

“I do because my father’s bloody insane.” River interrupted, with a dry laughter. “You know that’s true, Natasha.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with him.” She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t be keen to meet him if I were you. But that’s gonna be inevitable if you guys want a long relationship, right?” 

Because Natasha was obviously thinking she and River would have a long-term relationship. After all, he looked in love and had even brought this girl to meet her, the woman who was the closest thing he had to a mother. She obviously cannot except that said girl is an agent who plans on taking her sweet boy to prison. 

The thought upset her, but she pretended to be fine as she heard River answer, “I know. But the longest I can keep Bridget away from him, the better. She’s one of the purest things in my life, I don’t want him to ruin that.”

He smiled at Sid, who smiled back with a heavy heart before looking away and turning back to her plate. She was doing right on her mission, but it was impossible not to feel somewhat guilty of deceiving someone. 

“Okay, that sounds like love.” Natasha batted her eyelashes and smiled at the two. “I’ve never seen River like this, and I’ve known him since forever.”

“That’s nice to know.” She faked a smile and took another bite of her food. 

Love . Gross. Even if Sid wasn’t an agent, they’d known each other for about two months. There would be no way they could love each other already — or ever, in the scenario they were in. 

They remained silent for a moment, except for the occasional noise of cutlery clinking against the plates. Natasha’s house was small and simple, but was neatly clean and organized, with a comfortable atmosphere; it was a home. It was clearly a home to River, whom Sid had never seen in such ease anywhere before.

Natasha herself was the one to break the silence, addressing Sid with a melancholic smile. “You must know I didn’t get much of a chance to raise my son, Bridget. And my life was very hard. The closest thing I got to being a mother was River, who also didn’t have it easy. Doesn’t, actually.” 

Her eyes became glossy with tears, and her voice cracked. “But now I see he has become a good man. I’m happy about that.”

That depends a lot on your definition of a good man, Sid thought, despite genuinely being moved by what Natasha had said; with everything she went through, she still managed to find a way out and a moderately normal life.  

So, the smile she opened to her was truthful as she said, “I feel like a lot of his best qualities have to do with you.” 

“I tried my best, but I feel like a lot is just himself.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. 

“Please, I’m starting to get embarrassed here.” River interrupted, with his cheeks flushed. 

Natasha looked around, noticing that everyone had already finished eating, and then studied River’s expression. Then, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and grimaced. “Dear, is it okay if I have a little private word with Bridget?”

“Of course.” He agreed with his head and got to his feet. “I’ll go do the dishes then.”

“Don’t worry about that, River.” She replied, gesturing with her hand. 

“It’s no problem, Nat.” He grabbed the plates on the table and walked in the kitchen’s direction. 

Sid felt Natasha’s gaze on her; it made her nervous at first, wondering if she knew more than she appeared to, but she then noticed that her eyes weren’t inquisitive. In fact, they were full of concern. 

She got up from her seat and sat down by Sid’s side. “I’m sorry about it, I don’t mean to scare you off.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” She forced a chuckle. 

The woman leaned closer, which allowed her to adopt a lower voicetone. “I just don’t want River to hear this. I don’t want him to think that any of what I’m going to say is his fault.” 

Sid furrowed her eyebrows. “And what are you going to say?”

“I want to ask you if you’re sure about this .” She gestured to her surroundings. “And if you know enough to make a decision.”

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” The younger woman asked, her bottom lip quivering. 

“Bridget, you are clearly not stupid. You could tell something is not quite right in River’s life. I wanna know if you know everything about him, and his life, and if you think it’s worth it.” Her tone was low, but sure, and her eyes were wide. “Because, once you’re in this life, there’s no way out. Or a really painful one.” 

She didn’t have a way of answering that. She didn’t have plans to stay in that town with River Harkness for any longer than necessary. So, she simply listened as Natasha continued. “River’s a good man, but he wasn’t born in a kind environment. And the place he was born in contaminates everything. I was forced to give away my baby to leave that prison.” 

“And, what, do you think the same could happen to me?” Sid tucked her hair behind her ears, watching as tears began to form on the other woman’s eyes. 

“I don’t know.” A single tear fell, and her voice cracked. “That’s why I’m telling you. So you don’t end up lost and alone. I love River, but his family is abysmal, and you could be in danger.” 

It would be impossible to explain to Natasha how she was not in danger at all, at least not of falling in love so madly she would let herself be manipulated, so she simply took her in a hug as tears started to fall down her face. 

“It’s okay, Nat. You’re okay.” She whispered in her ear, running a hand against her back. “And I’ll be alright too. I’ll be careful.”

“That’s good.” She wiped the tears off with the back of her hand. 

River came back to the room a few moments later and, if he noticed that Natasha had been crying, hadn’t brought the subject up. They spent part of the afternoon there, attempting to avoid the most complicated subjects — most of which related to Frank Harkness. 

When Sid left the place, it was with a heavy heart, but more sure than ever about her mission being the right thing. To nearly everyone she had met in that town. 

✦

No matter what the question was, hot chocolate was always a good answer. 

Sid was wearing her most comfortable pair of pajamas, her hair was on a high bun and, most importantly, she had a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. She was sitting on the kitchen table, with her journal cracked open and her laptop by its side, as she copied some of the most important things she had written down. 

At the beginning, having a journal seemed more safe than having things backed up online — you can’t hack into paper — but there was no way she was keeping that there, when River was on her flat so often. 

Her peace was disturbed by a knock on the door. Actually, not a knock. A thump on the door. She closed the journal and closed her laptop before opening it and finding someone who vaguely resembled River. 

When he told Sid he and his brothers had a “training exercise” that morning, she didn’t expect him to be by her door, hours later, with his face completely battered. It was a miracle he managed to walk from his house to her flat with one eye nearly shut and being barely able to stand on his own. 

“I just need a little refuge”, he said, as she took him by the hand inside.

But maybe he needed more than that, she thought, as she took off his bloody shirt. Maybe the first-aid classes she took while on the Park wouldn’t be enough — except they had to, because there was no way she would call an ambulance and drag any attention. As much as he looked like he needed one

“God, who did this to you?” Sid murmured, raising his chin with her hand. 

River flinched to her touch and gave a small, painful hiss. But after that, he answered, with a low and weak voice. “Bertrand.”

Her heart dropped for a second. Maybe it was egocentric to think she had anything to do with their fighting, since the only sibling relationship she knew that compared to theirs was Cain and Abel’s, but a small part of her wondered if that could be her fault. If she was already causing him pain. 

“Now, why would he do that?” She asked, unable to look at his face.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, the words coming out with difficulty. “Probably because he hates me.” 

Sid placed a hand on her chest, ignoring the blood on her fingers. “And why would your father let him do it?”

“Because he hates me even more.” Was what he managed to say, before blood poured from his nose and he leaned his head back. 

With his head angled, she could see a dark, swollen hematome under his eye and small bruises all over his face and neck. His lip was cut, and so was his nose, from which a line of blood poured. 

Sid picked up some tissues and sat by his side, placing them over his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Warmth and color had left his skin, apart from one dark purple bruise on the side of his stomach which she was too scared to touch. 

“Do you think you’ve broken something?” She asked, with one hand on his shoulder and the other still holding the tissues.

He gently touched her arm, motioning for her to take the tissues away from his face. She did so and chucked them in the bin as he said, “I don’t think so. I’ve broken bones before, and it doesn’t feel like this . It feels worse.”

Normally, she would’ve wondered when and how he broke multiple bones, but at that moment she only felt bad for him. River was a bad person, definitely, but he was bleeding out on her bed and moaning in pain, for something that he’d probably, for a change, not deserved, while claiming he’d been worse. 

“Hey, River, can you stand up?” Sid asked, dry-swallowing. “Because it might be good to get cleaned up, you’ll feel better.” She didn’t actually know if that was true, in his case. 

River agreed with his head, but, as he tried to get up from the bed, he groaned in pain once again and had to lean against the wall, a shabby attempt to avoid falling down on the floor. He shut his eyes tightly and took a loud gasp for air. 

“Okay, um, maybe not.” She murmured, but he probably didn’t hear. “Come on, then.” 

She took his arm and ran it through her shoulders, trying to support his weight and carry him to the bathroom, a path which seemed a thousand times longer as she held him. One step after the other. That’s it. 

Once they arrived, Sid nearly dropped him on the bathtub — mostly by accident —, to which he answered with another painful hiss; if not for that reaction and for his sharp breathing, she would’ve thought he was dead. Then, she took off his trainers, socks, shorts and underwear. 

“Calm down, Bridget.” He joked, in a faint voice. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She answered, turning on the faucet and letting the tub be filled with warm water. 

Sid then sat on the edge of the tub, so she could gently massage his hair with shampoo, and let red droplets drip and fall amidst the water. Once it was finally clean from the dried blood, she started rubbing his neck and back with soap, to which he replied with small hisses and groans, and an occasional flinch to her touch. 

“You can tell me if I’m hurting you.” She said, in a low voice. 

“You’re not.” He mumbled. “You’re definitely not.” 

As she helped River get cleaned, Sid could feel his body slowly become less tense and ease itself to her touch. Without thinking much, she pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck before helping him get up and get dry, showing him that he didn’t need to feel scared. 

Except he had , a sudden thought filled her brain, because you’re going to screw him over. Just like everyone else in his life. 

She chose to ignore that thought while helping him out of the bath and back to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking slightly less messy but still terribly. 

“Okay, this might hurt a little bit.” Sid said, with gauze and antiseptic in her hands. “We got rid of the blood now, but I still have to clean up your wounds.”

River nodded, and she came closer to him. The gauze embedded with antiseptics touched his face, to which he left a painful hiss, but allowed her to continue, so she kept doing so until she had disinfected his entire face. 

“Now the worst is over.” She mumbled. “I’ll just patch you up and give you something for the pain.”

A few minutes and a lot of gauze and micropore tape later, River’s wounds had been attended to. His eye still looked swollen, so Sid grabbed some ice and wrapped it around a dishcloth to place it above the sore area. 

“Thank you for that.” River said, applying the dishcloth over his eye.

“You’re welcome.” She answered, filling a cup with water and picking up some ibuprofen. “Here, take this.” 

He took the pills and drank the water in practically one gulp. Then, she helped him stand up and get dressed, despite his hands and legs being shaky and weak; once he was dressed, she tucked him under the sheets and left out a deep breath of relief. 

The worst was over. 

Whoever River was didn’t matter. All it mattered was that he was fine. 

“You’re a saint.” He murmured, as she grabbed a pillow and placed it behind his back. 

“I’m obviously not.” She answered, with her brows lifted. “By the way, are you hungry?”

He shook his hand negatively, and she continued. “But you look like you could use something to warm up. I made hot chocolate.” 

He didn’t say anything, but didn’t look like he wanted to decline her offer. So, Sid washed her hands and walked towards the kitchen to reheat the hot chocolate she had made earlier and hand it to River, who waited silently in bed. 

“Here you go.” She said, with a smile. “It’s really hot, though, so you should blow on it or wait a little bit.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He sighed, picking up the mug. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, dry-swallowing. 

“Because I am a murderer.”  

River said that with no reaction whatsoever, and his eyes fixed on the mug Sid had given him. The words reached her muddy and unsure; she knew that, it was the sole reason she was there in the first place. But she didn’t expect him to be admitting that. 

“You’re delirious, River. You should lay down.” Was what she answered. Because maybe he was trying to find if she knew more than she appeared, and believing too quickly would be suspicious. 

“I’m not. Come on, Bridget, you knew there was something wrong with me. Deep down.” 

“You’re making no sense, my dear.” Sid told him, avoiding his gaze. 

“Then look me in the eye, and say you don’t believe me.”

She couldn’t do so, because she knew what he was telling her was true. The only problem was knowing why he decided to confess to her at that moment. 

“So what? You’re going to murder me?” She took a step away from the bed, and her bottom lip quivered. “That’s why you’re telling me this?”

“It’s not right for me to bring you into my world without you knowing the truth.” He lifted his eyebrows and shifted his position. “I’m a professional assassin, and so are my brothers. That’s why we were training, and are completely and utterly mentally fucked. Bertrand was pissed about something and decided to take it out on me. Our father brought us up like this, for us to be that way. To be killing machines, rather than individuals.” 

He took a gasp for air and continued, “I specialize in high-profile assassinations. Politicians, billionaires, anyone with money and an enemy can hire me. That’s why I travel so often. My passport, my ID, my driver’s license, they’re all under a fake name of Andrew Peters, so I virtually don’t exist, at least not as River Harkness. I’m only telling you this because I want to protect you, and I want you to protect yourself. Because I love you, and I want you to be happy. Even if it's away from me.”

Sid knew everything he had told her, except for those last words. Her eyes widened and became glossy with tears, and she felt her stomach in a painful knot. 

River had dropped his facade and confessed to his crimes out of love, his love for her. But she knew that love was nonsensical, and that the person he was so passionate about didn’t exist. 

“Hey, I don’t think it’s time for us to be talking about that.” She said, letting a solitary tear fall down her cheek and sitting by his side in bed. “I just love you too, even if whatever it is you’re telling me is true.” 

He rested his head on her shoulder and held onto her arm with his free hand, trying to grasp onto her and not let her go, as if she would disappear out of thin air. Hours later, when River was asleep and Sid was photographing the documents she found on his wallet to have them as evidence, she went through the conversation they had over and over, wondering if she had let anything important slip. 

She probably hadn’t, but it was impossible to feel confident about anything. Not even that he was truly asleep. Being an agent was this never ending sensation that there’s someone out for you, of looking over your shoulder.

Chapter Text

Some things were famously known to be milestones in relationships: saying “I love you”, getting engaged, buying a house, having children, growing old together. Nothing prepares you for the day your partner finally trusts you enough to tell you they are a professional assassin. 

Rain poured in thick raindrops outside the window, and River had been quiet for most of the morning. He woke up as early as he always did, walked slowly to the bathroom, and had breakfast without saying anything other than the absolute necessary.

His wounds looked more faint than they did when fresh, but, if Sid knew anything about injuries, was that the pain was twice as bad the following day, itching your muscles and making every movement unbearable. She imagined how much he must’ve been hurting, without saying anything.  

Guilt and embarrassment also lingered in his expression. He wasn’t supposed to tell her the truth about his wrongdoings, and only did so because he was at the most vulnerable she had ever seen of him — for a second, she wondered if she could’ve squeezed a little more information out of him, but that felt cruel of her. 

“Are you okay?” Sid asked at last, feeling the silence in the small living room nearly drown her. 

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. “I just don’t know what to say after yesterday. I wish I could tell you it was all a big, unfunny joke, but it isn’t. It’s who I really am.”

Sid’s eyes widened for a second, as she didn’t know how to answer that. 

“What you told me was fucked up, but it won't stop me from loving you.” She said, sitting next to him on the couch and resting her chin on his shoulder. “We all have a few skeletons in the closet, we're not our worst acts.” 

He turned his gaze at her. “I can't imagine how the worst thing you've done in your life can remotely compare with what I do daily.” 

Sid wasn't exactly sure what was the worst thing she'd ever done, but a few came to mind. She'd killed people more than once, though not as many as River or for the same reasons; still, she wanted to explain to him how maybe they weren't that different. If not cut from the same cloth, maybe bound together by it. 

“It's not like you have a choice to do those things, right?” Was what she actually said, wrinkling her nose and placing a hand on his thigh. “I knew your relationship with your father was bad, but I didn't know why. Now I get it, and I don't blame you.” 

He laughed bitterly. “My relationship with my father might not be my fault, but I’m pretty sure everything else is.” 

“Such as?” She asked, hoping he couldn’t feel the gleam in her eye.

He wouldn’t give in that easily, though. Instead, he sighed and ran his hand through his face. “I don’t know, I don’t fucking know. This is a nightmare.”

“A nightmare?”

“I don’t wanna lose you. You’re the only good thing in my life, and even that is ruined now. I always manage to ruin everything, from other people’s lives to my own. So, yeah, a fucking nightmare.” 

Sid dry-swallowed, her gaze focused on his reddening face and the tears that shimmered in his eyes, but did not come down his face. He was making an insane effort not to cry, not to show any more vulnerability. 

“You’re not gonna lose me.” She said, softly smiling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that now, but you won’t want a murderer in the long run.” 

A murderer was how he saw himself as, how he ultimately viewed the life he built, his wicked business card. It gave very little leeway for a discussion, since it was obviously true, but it sparked two thoughts on Sid’s mind: he had just confessed everything again, and once again she had no proof, no recording; and that she was a murderer as well. Perhaps a more ethical one, if that was even a thing, but still a murderer.

Send a thief to catch a thief, or whatever. Her hand stung for a second, and she was reminded of the weight of a gun and the coldness of a blade. A feeling that she, even if against her better judgment, sometimes yearned for. 

Sid took a second to answer, “I want you, more than anything. And I won’t give up on us.” 

When the words came, they came with such conviction she could almost convince herself they were true. That a part of her held genuine love for that man who, despite all his numerous flaws and sins, genuinely had a chance of being good. It would be beautiful, wouldn’t it? A love story. 

But that wasn’t the case. Joe country wasn’t really the place to fall in love. 

“You promise?”

“I do.” She agreed with her head, with the heartache of telling a lie. 

Without saying anything, River painfully moved his shoulder, distancing himself from Sid on the couch, and touched the back of his neck. Then, he reached the silver chain around it and unhooked it, letting the key pendant fall on his injured and bruised hand. 

“I want you to have this.” He said, in a low voice.

He held both ends of the necklace and placed it on Sid’s neck as she held her hair up. Then, she gently touched the key with her fingers, remembering how it often brushed against her chest while he was on top of her; how, on the first time it did so, she thought it was a weapon. It reminded her of his touch and his surprising, disarming kindness towards her, and drew a soft smile on her lips. 

“It's beautiful.” She said, even though it was extremely ordinary. It wasn’t just an accessory, but an actual key. 

“It was my mother's.” River explained, holding her hand. “Before she left, she put this around my neck and said that I would eventually find my way back home. It's the only thing I have from her.” 

Sid covered her mouth with her hand and felt her eyes become glossy with tears. For a moment, she remembered Isobel, the melancholic and hopeless woman who was once a more hopeful girl, but who had her dreams of getting her son back crushed by time. She remembered having tea in her house and listening to her deeply traumatic stories, and deciding that diving into the case would be worth it, if it meant women like her had any closure. 

Still, it wasn't hers. It wasn't her story, her family. It felt wrong. 

“Are you sure you want me to have it? It's so personal.” 

He nodded. “I do. Because I see you as my home. And I’m sure my mother, whomever she is, would be happy to see that I have you.”

Home. Home was something Sid didn’t think about often, but that simultaneously meant many different things: it meant her childhood house, her parents, the way her father lifted her up when she was little and her mother’s embrace; it also meant her flat in London, her friends, her work. All the things she looked kindly upon when she thought of her life. 

River never had a home. He had a house, a father, brothers, but they weren’t his home. His life had been marked by abuse and hatred and a myriad of violent acts that shaped his being. He’d been so desperate for belonging that she, even if in a make-believe relationship, had become the closest thing he had to genuine love and proximity. 

“Do you think a lot about her?” 

“All the time.” He shook his head and half-smiled. “What being raised by her would’ve looked like, how my life would’ve been like with her own my side, how she’s doing now. God, I hope she’s okay.”

A part of Sid wanted to tell him she was fine or, even if not actually fine, unharmed and safe. That she had been living a life, even though a part of her had been separated so painfully. But she couldn’t. 

“I hope so too.” 

“But a part of me is glad she’s not around. I’m glad she doesn’t know what I did, what I’m still doing. The person she gave birth to is not this one.”

She dry-swallowed, thinking about the time they met. How finding out River was the assassin she’d been looking for was not surprising, even if disappointing. 

“Do you have any memories of her?” 

“I do. Quite a few, actually.” He smiled, a proper and loving smile. “She was so beautiful, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. She was very loving and protective of me too, even when she looked scared.”

“That’s what mothers are often like. They’ll put on a brave face to protect their children.” Sid agreed with her head and smiled at him, not noticing that her eyes had become glossy with tears.

It was hard thinking about Isobel and everything she had gone through, about how she broke down crying in her arms. It was even harder trying to pretend she didn’t know all of that to River. 

“My father kicked her out of the house when I was little. He wanted to start training me, and thought she’d make me weak. I remember everything about that day, the sound of her cries still echoes in my head once in a while.” 

She looked up and tried to keep her composure, remembering she was still an agent on a mission and not some friend or therapist. “Was it the same with your brothers?”

“Yeah, kind of. It was around different times.” He said, running a hand through his face. “I was smaller and a little more sickly, I think, maybe that’s why he kept her for longer. Bertrand’s mum left right after he stopped being breastfed, from what Natasha told me.” 

The thought of being forced to leave a son, a child so small it still fitted on your breast, made Sid’s stomach turn. It was no wonder he turned out the way he did. 

“Thank you for this.” Was all she said, holding onto the key pendant of the chain. “And I’m honored that you think all that about me. I’m glad I can be your family.” 

“Thank you, in fact. For being the only real good thing I have.” 

Without knowing what to say, Sid pulled him in for a kiss, trying not to hit the cuts on his face. She gently touched the back of his head, running her fingers through his blond hair while their lips pressed together and their tongues found space in the other’s mouths. 

The touch of his lips made hers sting, with the weight and the pain of all the lies she’d been telling him. Even if they were for a greater good.

She found her way into his lap, trying her best not to hurt him, as he touched her lower back and fiddled with the elastic band of her pajama pants. They came off, and so did his sweatpants and, with a thrust and a small hiss of pain, he was inside of her.

That was the closest thing Sid could get to something real. All she could give him, before taking everything away again. The rain continued to fall, and the weather matched the way she felt within. 

✦

It had been a week since River had gotten beat up by Bertrand. A week since he had found his way into Sid’s home for a lot longer than she expected him to be; for a week, she had gone to work and come back to him cooking dinner, or sitting down and reading a book with her blanket over his feet — a level of domesticity that still felt somewhat strange.

It had been a week since she destroyed all evidence of her journal existing. The remnants of it had become ashes in the woods that surrounded the back of the cafe she worked.

Even if working was, at that point, an overstatement. The point of getting a job at that establishment had been to settle in the village, while getting closer to its people and finding out more about the Harknesses. The latter had happened a lot faster than she hoped, on account of her entanglement with River, even if that had caused her relationship with the villagers to dwindle; not only was she a foreigner, she was a foreigner who slept with the enemy. 

Therefore, Sid had become somewhat prone to being on her phone or letting the pastries burn down. She wasn’t proud of it but, at the same time, there were better things for her to worry about. 

“Miss, miss?” 

“Sorry, what?” Sid asked, noticing how she had drifted off completely.

A short blonde woman, who Sid knew to be named Giselle, gave her a freezing stare. “My coffee’s cold. And I asked for no milk.” 

“I’ll make you a new one.” She answered, without much enthusiasm, and picked up the cup. 

But, as she turned around to hand the new coffee cup over, Giselle had already left. The reason was quite clear as she saw that, in her place, sat a blond man with blue eyes and a repellent aura to anyone who wasn’t her. 

“Hello, love.” River said, with a half-smile. “Sorry to bother you here.”

“It’s no problem. Do you want anything?” Sid answered, smiling softly. In reality, she worried about what he was doing there when he hadn’t left the house in a whole week. 

He looked nicer, that was for sure: the week before, she had to practically resuscitate him after he had been beaten black and blue by his own brother. Now, the bruises were finally gone and his face was clean shaven, which made his appearance smoother; it wasn’t just that though, but something about him that looked lighter.

Sid supposed it was finally letting go of a secret. She couldn’t understand that feeling. 

“I want to ask you something.” He furrowed his brows.

“God, here it comes.” She grimaced. 

“Do you want to come to my house?” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I understand how nothing I’ve said so far makes it seem inviting, but it would mean a lot to me.”

Sid looked away, trying to conceal the excitement that bloomed on her face. Because, for the first time in a terribly long time, she made some sort of progress with the investigation — after all, getting River to confess to something she knew all along, with no records or witnesses that could attest to what he had said, wasn’t much to be proud of.

“Of course I will, darling.” Was all she answered, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers. 

He smiled. “I’m glad I don’t have anything to hide anymore. Makes things easier.”

Sid dry-swallowed and forced a smile, her hands reaching for the knot of the apron on her back. “So, do you wanna go now?”

“Now? Shouldn’t you be working?” 

She gestured at her surroundings, which consisted of a completely empty establishment, chairs with broken backs and dirty dishes on top of wooden tables with peeled paint. Alain was upstairs, where he lived with his wife and, even though he would probably notice if she left, it wouldn’t make any difference. No one would actually scold her the moment she mentioned River was with her. 

It was almost like being a mob wife, a strange sensation that mixed influence and powerlessness. 

“Not really.” Sid laughed and placed her apron on the hanger, before following him outside.

The first traces of spring were shy, and the small and colorless village did not bloom; instead, warmth slowly crept in, as a way to make the new season not go unnoticed. Sid wore white trainers, denim trousers and blush pink short sleeve top with a square neckline, which left the key necklace fully visible as it hung on her chest. 

River held her hand as they walked up the cafe’s street, as she was still partly unaware of the way. She only ever saw him come down that same path, where houses and commerces, all with very similar white facades, became a nearly homogeneous being as they formed the main road. 

After that, the path became more open as those same houses began to disappear and, instead, Sid could see the distant railway — if she turned the left lane and walked that way, before leaving the village, she’d soon find Natasha’s house, undoubtedly more homely than the place she was about to visit. Instead, they kept going ahead. 

“Y’know, before we actually get there” River broke the silence. “, I should just tell you not to roam around the house too much. They won’t be there right now, but it’s still safer if you stick with me. And definitely don’t go to my father’s office.”

Maybe River, having lived a life of manipulation and suppression of his desires, did not know this; but telling someone not to do something was precisely the way to get them to do so.

“Of course I won’t.” She answered, running a hand through her grown-out bangs and trying to conceal a smile. 

Still, Sid glanced at him with something in her heart that resembled anguish. Whatever her plans were, she needed to keep River in mind; yes, he was a bad person, but she did not want him tortured or killed by his own father and brothers in case she fucked up the investigation. 

She was a joe, fully conscious of possible outcomes in the field, while he did not ask for anything that came his way. Sometimes, she wished she could keep him safe, take him away from that place and under her wing. That would never happen, but it was a sweet thought.

With that sugary feeling still in her tongue, she saw the outline of a house on the top of the hill they climbed. It was a manor, large walls painted red and white columns that formed what could’ve been classical and luxurious, but that mostly timeworn and antiquated. 

“It’ll probably be just us.” River said, opening up the gate with a key he took from his jacket pocket. “My brothers are with my father at a work thing. You’ll find out pretty quickly that Harkness keeps favorites.”

Sid agreed with her head, walking into the place still slightly dumbfounded by the facade; the house, despite having had better days, was huge. Maybe, a couple of centuries ago, it could've been a noble’s house. Now, it was somewhere assassins lived.

He opened the door and she was faced with this sumptuous, yet empty, entrance that, in another life, could’ve been a ballroom. The marble walls and columns had a classical style, accompanied by a white and frilled fireplace and a bust statue, of someone neither Sid and probably nor River knew who, over it. 

There wasn’t much to look at, given there was nothing in the room, so she followed River towards the kitchen. As she did so, a closed door across it caught her eye — it could be Harkness’ office. She would have to either ask about it or wait for a moment alone. 

The kitchen wasn’t as impressive: white tiles, mahogany cupboards and a matching table on the side. If this had had been a noble’s home, this would’ve probably been where the staff stayed. 

“I thought maybe I could cook us something.” River broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the counter. “And then I could give you the rest of the tour.”

If she wanted to eat, she would’ve stayed at work. She wanted evidence. 

“Sounds great, love.” Sid forced a smile. “I kind of want want to go to the loo first, though. Where is it?”

“Up the stairs, first door to the right. Do you need me to show you?”

“There’s no need to, love. It’s just us here, right? There’s nothing for me to be afraid of.” 

He agreed with his head and smiled at her as she walked out of the kitchen. As soon as she left River’s sight, she went up the stairs two steps at a time. 

Most doors were opened, yet they only held empty rooms. Maybe, if she took a better and more thorough look, she could find something important, but not at that moment. 

One room still caught her attention; its door was half-opened, and Sid could see a piss-stained mattress through it. Odd thing to keep. She walked through it only to find it had been a nursery, the place where River and his brothers spent the first years of their lives. 

The place was filled with old things: mattresses, tween beds, cribs and toys. The toys were the most disturbing part, consisting mostly of guns and plastic knives. Even playing as a child had to be associated with violence in that family; the drawings on the walls were testaments of the same things, crayons and colored pencils used to show violent acts the kids already thought of committing. 

One thing took all the eyes of the room. A mural of a landscape with different drawings on the edges, land animals and tiny fishes alongside some more abstract elements, all in very soft strokes that resembled watercolor. Something suited to a nursery, just not that one. 

Something moved Sid to touch her necklace as she looked at it. It was sweet, too sweet for that place. She also took a picture of it, as well as the children’s drawings and the old furniture — proof that people had lived in that house.

She walked out of it and moved through the hall. There were a few other half-opened doors, which, from what she could see, were the boys' rooms. 

Sid peeked through one of them, but regretted the decision instantly; because, as she did so, she saw a pair of blue eyes staring blankly at her. 

She closed the door again, feeling her blood run cold, but reopened it. She could see it was a large bedroom, with a closet, a desk and a bedframe that matched the classical style. But there was a computer and contemporary bedsheets that clashed with the style the room was supposed to have. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was looking for the loo.” She forcedly chuckled. 

There was no answer, so she continued to talk. “You’re Yves, right?”

“Yes.” He murmured, looking towards her direction. “You’re River’s girl. Bridget, huh?”

“Precisely. Nice to meet you.” She smiled at him, trying to seem sincere, as she stepped into the room. 

He didn’t object, but also didn’t make any motion to appear inviting. Instead, he laughed drily. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Um, River’s downstairs. He invited me.” Sid explained, running a hand through her hair and feeling her heart beat faster.  

Yves narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “You’re either very stupid or plainly suicidal.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s no way you don’t know what goes on around here. No one gets into this house without knowing who we are.” For the first time, he spoke in a louder voice. “So, River told you, and you’re either ignoring it, which makes you stupid, or trying to get yourself killed.”

Sid took a step back without even noticing. Something dark gleamed in Yves eyes and, for a second, she regretted roaming around the house without thinking someone could be there. They were professionals, trained to be stealthy. She’d never catch one of them. 

“I’m not going to kill you. I don’t have to.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ll find out too much, he’ll be tired of you, you’ll clash with my father’s plans, or you’ll get pregnant and be forced to give up your baby. Then you’ll kill yourself.” 

He said the last words with disgust pouring from his throat, mixed with anger and despair. His eyes shone with tears that refused to come out, tears that were as much of sadness as they were of hatred.

And it hit her. He was talking about his own mother. 

She had talked to River about his brothers before as much as she had analyzed their profiles on MI5’s systems, and he was ruthless and terrifying and obsessive. A degree above Patrice, who was cold and calculating, or Betrand, who thought violence a delicacy; definitely a couple of degrees above River himself. 

And it was because of her. Because of the woman who gave him life, one without many reasons for bliss or celebration, and who simultaneously took her own. 

“I’m so sorry.” Was all she said, looking down at the floor. 

His eyes widened and his bottom lip quivered, but he tried to keep a still, serious look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You did not deserve anything that happened to you.” She took a step closer. “You, River, your brothers, you were kids. You never got the chance to leave.”

Yves gave her a hard gaze. “Can you please shut the fuck up?”

“You asked me if I was stupid or suicidal, but I am neither. I just wanna help.” That wasn’t entirely a lie, she could get them help if they collaborated. 

“No, you fucking don’t!” He exclaimed. “You know nothing of our lives, and you have no reason to be here. Just leave my fucking room, and preferably the house.”

Sid left the room and went back to the first floor, glancing at the nursery once again as she moved towards the stairs; her heart ached with the things she found, but she knew she was pressing the right buttons.

There was no way back now, if there ever was. 

Chapter Text

Sid had never believed in ghosts. Because, apart from the occasional childhood fright of a shadow monster, that always ended up being clothes on a chair, there had never been a reason for her to. Things were the way they simply were, the dead remained dead and nothing could lead her to believe in anything metaphysical. 

Now, very far from the place once called home, she couldn’t help but feel something wandering through the rooms of Les Arbres, on the creaks of the floor and the roaring of the wind. Maybe not ghosts, nor spirits nor whatever entity that could’ve found its way from the underworld to the confines of that house; maybe just heavy consciousness from the living. Reminders of the same deaths, just from the other side of the grave.

“Are you okay?” River asked, as they went up the stairs towards his bedroom. 

Sid then realized her face was scrunched up and that her heart was racing. She did not like being there, much less as the night began to swoon over the place and take hold of the little light that made it seem more bearable. Not that she would ever admit she was scared, to River or to anyone. 

“Of course, dear.” She lied with a soft smile. 

He did not seem to believe her. “Are you scared? It’s okay if you are, because this place does feel like a mausoleum. But there’s no reason for you to be.”

“I’m not scared, I promise you that.”

He smiled and they walked towards his room. It was much like Yves’, the same mix of classical furniture and contemporary elements that made it look like they didn’t belong there. In River’s case, he definitely didn’t. 

“I have something for you, actually.” River smiled fondly. “I bought it during one of my trips. I was supposed to give it to you before, but I ended up forgetting.”

He opened his closet up and picked up a box, hot pink, with the name of an italian designer engraved in gold and a neat black ribbon tied around it, and handed it to Sid. 

She opened it up to find a light green silky short nightgown with lace and a matching robe. Definitely the thought of a gift you’d buy your girlfriend. Not as much as the gift as you’d receive from the man you were investigating, not without feeling embarrassed.

Sid tried to hide it by smiling and batting her eyelashes. “I love it, River. It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” He answered, sitting in bed. “I saw it on the shop window in Milan and thought of you. Even if it’s not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Lovely to see how, between one murder and the other, he thought about her. All of his trips were being tracked by MI5 as well as they could be, but he hardly left any traces of himself when he did his job. And it wasn’t like they could arrest him while Sid was undercover.

“You don’t need to explain yourself, dear. It’s perfect.” She picked up the box. “I’ll go take a shower, and then try it on.”

Sid slowly walked into the bathroom and turned on the lights before shutting the door. She slowly undressed and turned on the shower, feeling the cold water run through her body and, for the first time in that whole day, being genuinely at peace at that house. 

When she stepped out of the shower, her image in the mirror was foggy and unclear, yet she could still glance at her naked body: she was skinnier and paler, the latter something she did not believe possible, given she came from London. She wanted to go back home as quickly as possible, but the days seemed to stretch to their fullest in that town. 

In the meantime, she tried to occupy her mind with her work and occasional nice things. Like the soft silk of her nightgown, that gently hugged her body as she put it on. Even if that piece of clothing actually belonged to someone else, someone she would never be. 

Sid then walked out of the bathroom, already impersonating the girl River was in love with. It was easy, at times, being with him; he was genuinely nice and kind to her, and not everything was a lie. But some other moments were rough, when she felt the whole cover collapsing in front of her, her lies hanging by a thread. 

“My goodness, you’re gorgeous.” River said, as he already laid in bed. 

She laid by her side and placed her leg over his, rubbing her foot against it. “You think?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He answered, seizing her up and down and placing his hand on her back. 

She positioned herself over him and arched her back, annulling the distance between their bodies as his hands found their way onto her lower back and his lips found their way onto hers. The kiss was hazy and slow, their tongues softly moving between each other’s mouths. 

It was something she didn’t love thinking about, but sex was the one moment in which she did not feel like she was deceiving him. Because, in the moment she felt their bodies bound together, the taste of him and the warmth of his skin, it was all real; none of those reactions were calculated, not the way her body coiled in pleasure or how she screamed.

But the aftermath was bittersweet. It was a strange sensation, the one she felt; it was a mixture of pleasure and insurmountable embarrassment. The embarrassment of River seeing her body in its most vulnerable, touching it and kissing it, becoming irrevocably close to her, knowing she was using it for her advantage. Not entirely different from a prostitute, the women he once met on the pub’s second floor. 

Sid rolled in bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the weight at the side of the bed. Maybe that house wasn’t haunted, she thought, but sleeping there was definitely a tricky thing. River’s bedroom was cold and inhospitable, every small noise from the outside deafening to her ears as she laid under sheets that couldn’t protect her from the cold on her spine. 

Two in the morning, she glanced at her phone’s lockscreen. It would take a few hours until the day finally dawned, and resting seemed impossible, even if she could feel her body completely worn out. 

She wanted to leave every day. But she couldn’t. Not when she had made it so far. 

Or when she could go much farther, she thought. It was the middle of the night and, as far as she knew it, only Yves and River would be at the house, which meant the chance of someone spotting her would be smaller than other days. 

Sid slowly got up from bed and motioned to walk away, but then glanced at River: the way his shirtless chest slowly moved up and down and that, with his eyes closed, he looked peaceful. But he also looked cold, so before walking away, she covered his body with the fuzzy blanket that had slipped away. 

She then moved the hair out of his face, pulling the blond fringe away from his eyes, without thinking it could wake him up. Thankfully for her, it didn’t, and he instead turned around in bed while holding onto the newfound cover over him. If she could have it her way, she would get him out of there, unscathed.  

Never get attached, Jackson Lamb’s voice echoed through her mind as she picked up her robe and walked away. He told her that years ago, on her first undercover mission: a terrorist cell, in which she worked alongside a whistleblower, a young woman whose husband was one of the leaders. 

The cell was dismounted, but the woman ended up being murdered anyway. That broke Sid’s heart; the woman was a good person who had suffered her whole life, they were the same age, and she had a baby, who Sid never got to know what happened to after both his parents’ deaths. 

It was when she realized that Lamb was right. If she didn’t keep her distance, that job would break her heart. 

These thoughts followed her through the halls of the house, as if they were ghosts themselves. The house gained a completely different aspect at night than what she’d seen earlier that day; the darkness made everything smaller and more oppressive, as if the walls shrunk in an attempt to drown her out.

Her path remained the same, even if her only direction was the vague memory of the way she had gone through in the morning. She found herself in a room she could make out to be somewhat of a gym, then took her phone and turned on the flashlight: weights, punching bag, shooting gear. 

It was the place they trained, probably from a ridiculously young age. The place where River was nearly murdered just a week before. 

With her heart heavy, she kept walking around until she saw a small shelf filled with books, all of the self-help and development sort. She opened one up and flipped through the pages, cracking it open with one hand as the other one held her phone’s flashlight, until she found a photograph: Harkness standing up as his four sons kneeled in front of him, all holding guns and proudly looking at a deer they had just killed. 

She took the photo and hid it in the pocket of her robe, picking up the following book almost instantly. If there was a photo there, which was proof of these people’s connections — considering they legally didn’t share the last name or had any common parentage — there could be more to be found around the rest of the gym.

But that was before Sid felt fingers tracing her lower back, like a wicked warning that she was in the wrong place. Her heart raced and her stomach seemed to drop, before she turned around with a scared gasp.

“It’s just me, Bridget. Or what? Did you see a ghost?” River said in a low voice.  

“Fuck’s sake!” She answered between teeth, before taking a deep breath and holding his hand. 

She had no idea how she missed River waking up and following her into the gym, especially in the deep silence of the entire house. But, based on the smile she could make of his face in the pitch black face, he hadn’t seen anything that could raise his suspicions.

“I’d advise you against taking these kinds of walks around the house at night, love.” He ran both his hands around her waist and brought her closer to him. “You should count yourself lucky that it was me who found you.”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep.” She answered, cupping his cheek with her hand. “And I didn’t wanna wake you, even though I apparently did.”

“It’s fine. Also, I understand this place isn’t very homely, and this could be a little hard for you.” He wrinkled his nose. “I just want to make things as nice as possible.”

She motioned her head closer to his and gave him a short kiss. “I love you, do you know that?”

“I do, actually.” He smirked and lifted his brows. “Now, do you wanna get out of here? I could make you some tea.”

“I’d love that.” 

River apparently hadn’t noticed the photograph she took, which was already good enough considering how careless she had been. To make things worse, she was completely unarmed and in an unknown place.  

With that slight humiliation in her mind, he took her hand, gripping tightly as if he were scared she would disappear from his sight again, and they walked out of the gym. He guided her through the darkened halls with the dexterity only someone who grew up somewhere could have, and for a second she wondered how his childhood might’ve been like, even if the mere thought of that terrified her.

They reached the kitchen and he picked up the kettle, filling it with water and turning it on before sitting down by the table.

“What were you doing at the gym?” He asked, his tone more well humored than inquisitive. 

“I don’t know. I was a little surprised by it.” She shrugged, trying to sound convincing. “Though you had mentioned it before.”

“Surprised by the gym?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure you can understand it, but most people don’t really have whole gyms at home. And this place is huge, it left me a little dumbfounded.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think a lot can surprise me.” River smiled and looked down. “But you did.”

Sid chuckled at his response, and her heart felt a little heavy. She couldn’t explain what it was, but the dark made his face lose most of its contours, and everything about him began to look softer. 

He got up as the kettle boiled and picked up the tea mugs and the bags. As he did that, Sid caught herself gently smiling and fidgeting with the key necklace on her neck, almost unaware of where she was; they were just two people having a cup of tea, a regular couple walking around the house in the middle of the night.

Until she heard steps on the floor, and felt a chill down her spine.

River also heard those, she could tell by the way he was spooked to his feet. He slowly walked in Sid’s direction, as she remained seated, until the steps became louder and its owner reached the kitchen.

“Why is it so dark in here?” She heard a deep, raspy voice, and the switch was turned on.

In this newfound light, she could see him clearly. It was Frank Harkness, the man she’d been investigating for months, but still hadn’t seen face to face. 

“Father?” River asked, trying to conceal the discontent on his face. “I thought you’d only come home tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, son. It’s three in the morning.” His eyes danced between his son and Sid. “And that must be Bridget, right? Your girlfriend?”

“Yes, father.”

He ignored his son and stretched out his hand in her direction. “Frank Harkness. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Bridget Thorne.” 

Even without knowing him, it was easy to notice how he sucked the air out of a room, how his mere presence was enough to make a situation tense and uncertain. He had thinning grey hair and a beard the same tone, and overall nothing about his appearance stood out; it was simply his way of speaking and standing that made sure he was noticed, that he owned the situation. Most times, he probably did, the one they were in being an exception.

Still, he sat down on the chair River was previously in, and kept his eyes on Sid. She could tell he seized her up, meticulously analyzing her face, but that his eyes also glanced at her body and the way the silk around it hugged her chest and thighs. It wasn’t nice to be looked at that way, especially knowing what kind of man he was.

Sidonie Baker would’ve kicked his balls. Bridget Thorne simply looked away and crossed her legs.

“I’m sorry. I believe you caught me in a bad moment.” She finally said, breaking the stiff silence with an equally stiff chuckle. 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He answered with a smirk. “I”m just a little surprised. My boys don’t really bring women around here very often. At their age, I already had them all.”

Frank laughed and River, who was still standing by the side of the counter, furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose, the annoyed look one only Sid could see, given Harkness had his back turned on his son and continued telling the girl, “Though, we are very discreet in this household. I believe that might have something to do with it.”

Discreet wasn’t the term she would choose to describe their family, but she simply agreed with her head and took a sip of the tea River placed on the table. It didn’t taste much like anything other than apprehension. 

“River?” Frank then called his son, who promptly looked in his direction with obedience. 

“What, father?”

“Do you mind leaving me and Bridget alone for a second? I would like to have a private conversation with her.” 

Sid tried to remain still after hearing his words, but she couldn’t help jumping to the worst case scenario, and feeling a chill through her whole body, which felt frozen to that chair. Even if, she believed, that any doubt he had about her would be enough for her not to be alive at that moment, whether River was present or not. 

His blue eyes widened and he dry-swallowed. “I would prefer not to.” 

“Why? I don’t bite.”

He gave Harkness a look that clearly said you do, actually, and proceeded to say, “She’s my girlfriend, father. Anything you say to her, you can say to me as well. We don’t have anything to hide from each other.” 

Sid’s cheeks turned red, knowing how far his last sentence was from the truth, but also from him standing up to his father. Even though she did not deserve that sort of loyalty.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, son, but I still want to talk to her. Alone.” Frank exclaimed, his words powerful enough to make River walk away.

Standing in front of a man so wicked and calculated as Frank Harkness, it was hard to balance out what sort of person she had to be: being too confrontational could award her with a painful death, yet playing dumb would not fool him. No woman would be dumb enough to sit in that house and drink tea, completely unaware of who these men were. 

So, she waited for him to talk first, but she sat straight and looked into his eyes, letting a bit of fear show. Fear was good, it made it look more genuine. 

“Do you know why I wanted to talk to you privately?” Was all he said, once he broke the silence. 

“I don’t, actually.” She answered, shaking her head. “But I assume it has to do with River, that’s why you don’t want him to hear.” 

“You’re not entirely wrong, but it’s a lot more than just that.” Frank shrugged, his gaze still piercing her. “Do you know what we are doing here? And I’m not talking about having tea.” 

“I do.” Was all she answered. 

“How did you find out about that? When did you find out about that?”

“River told me, last week. He was quite beaten up and not in his right mind, and he went to my house for me to patch him up. It was when he told me about your… endeavours.” Sid closed her eyes, remembering the sight of River bleeding out on her bed. 

Then, she remembered the cafe, and how every single person froze when they saw River, that very first day they met. “But, truly, I’ve always known there was something. The whole town is scared of your sons.” 

He furrowed his brows, for once intrigued by something she had said. “And how come you weren’t?”

“I was, at first. On my first week here, I went to this pub and Bertrand attacked me, and that was terrifying. But River helped me then, he was very kind. He was at the cafe all the time, and I got to know him, and I thought that, whatever the town thought he was, they were wrong.” 

“You still think the town is wrong about him?”

“They are not wrong for being scared, in theory. But River is not a bad person, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” 

“Unless he was paid to, you mean.” Frank completed, his eyes narrowed in her direction. “So, this love you feel for him is enough for you to gloss over the fact he is an assassin?” 

“I can’t gloss over that. It’s something very big for me to just look the other way and pretend like it doesn’t happen.” She said that in a low voice, anxiously tapping on the tea cup. “But that’s not all he is. I just try to focus on the rest of him, the good and loveable part.” 

And, as weird as it sounded, she believed almost everything that she was saying, until that point. River could be good, and loveable, and he would never want to hurt anyone in that town. There was a part of him that Harkness hadn’t been able to ruin, that was entirely his, and that could’ve flourished in a different soil.

But that wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t why she was there. The reason she was at that house was, mostly, her ambition. That was her profession. And she believed he could see that in her, even if he didn’t know she was a spy. And that, maybe, he could respect that.

“But I’ll be honest, I also feel like being around him is good for me.” She continued, trying to calculate her words as well as she could. “It’s always good to feel… important.”

He placed his elbows over the table and moved closer to her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I was a nobody in England. I had a shit job that I was sacked from and absolutely no money to live in London, because that place is fucking expensive. The one thing I had to my name was the flat I live in, that’s worth almost nothing if I would sell it, so that’s why I moved. I wasn’t a girl looking for a fresh start like I told everyone, that part was absolutely a lie. I had just hit rock bottom.” 

His brows were still furrowed and he ran a hand through his beard, assimilating her story. “That’s why you want to be with my son, then? Money?”

“Respect, mostly. Ever since we got together, people started treating me better, like they never had. But also love. Because I truly love him, and I feel like I could be with him in the long run. We can help each other out, be a family.” She said that and smiled. “I don’t know what you expect from your sons, in that field.” 

He tilted his head, his expression somewhat lighter. “I don’t expect them to do exactly what I did, but I do expect them to at least give me some grandchildren, y’know, continue the family.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem for me.” Sid forced a smile, trying to ignore the absolute dread she was filled with. No children should be anywhere near, let alone be raised by Frank Harkness ever again. 

She then looked down at the tea cup, which was already cold, and back at Harkness. “I told you all that because I want to be honest. I’m not a fool, and I’m not a perfectly innocent girl. I do hope you can understand me, and that we can be on the same page.”

He didn’t say anything at first, and instead got up from the chair with his gaze fixed on hers. That left her uneasy, even if she couldn’t demonstrate it, and thinking that he had not believed a single word from that. That she was as good as dead. Instead, he opened a smile, that was more tender than creepy, and that made Sid understand how he could be so manipulative.

“Y’know what? You remind me of River’s mother, in a way. Quick witted, sharp tongued, looking for a whole new world outside the old London. I liked you.” 

Those were words that she never expected to hear, but they also meant she was closer than ever to reaching her goal. She looked around, and the house didn’t feel so scary anymore.