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This was so fucking cliche.
And yet here he was, pacing the halls of a Harley Street A&E, without even the usual comforts of an overlit hallway stinking of hospital antiseptic and disgusting filter coffee in his hand.
The receptionist, a polished young woman with a plummy accent, had provided him, taking only one askance look at his stained and rumpled coat, with what she called a “flat white” in a little china cup.
Then she’d guided him to a plush waiting room, leaving him to lounge next to a frantic head Dog and a rattled PA in some very cushy seats.
He’d lasted about 10 minutes with that, and the pathetically tiny coffee, before he’d dragged his bulk up and out of the room, wandering semi-aimlessly.
Of course, he could pretend that he was above the rest of them, that he wasn’t on tenterhooks for the news, and he certainly wasn’t for humanitarian reasons.
Not even a little.
But the devil you know was better than the one you didn’t and he wasn’t ready to start breaking in a new First Desk.
He hadn’t even gotten there with this one.
Which was how they’d ended up in this situation to start with.
◑ ◐
Of all people, it was Molly who alerted him to Diana’s intentions.
The two of them had a relationship he could only imagine belonged to female tarantulas, or some species that communicated by ripping its fellows limbs off, but that made the rare occasion when they had a shared goal all the more terrifying.
Though First Desk, of course, hadn’t seen fit to actually notify the archivist of her plans.
No-one had been let in on that, just dragged in blindly.
No mystery, then, that a green PS, hesitating in the heat of an unexpected moment, had given Karl Schenker exactly the end he deserved, dead in a pool of his own piss.
And Diana, across the room on the floor herself.
◑ ◐
The sun had risen and begun to set by the time he found himself in First Desk’s private suite, machines beeping, blankets carefully positioned, and expensive drapery drawn.
Under calming lavender and oud, the scent of antiseptic lingered.
The head bitch herself looked as peaceful as he’d ever seen her, short cropped hair still perfectly styled on her pillow, arms at her side, and face slack with sleep.
Leaning back in the rather comfortable chair at her side, he pressed the toe of his soiled oxfords into her side.
“Wha?”
It came out an incoherent groan, and he waved as a set of pale eyes gazed up at him, hazy with confusion and opioids.
Were he a less kind man, he’d have seen about sticking that IV drip into his own arm.
“Jackson?”
That could always change.
“Hmmm.”
His answering grunt invited raised eyebrows in return.
“What are you doing here? What even is here?”
“Oh c’mon, are you slipping this much? I know you’re getting old, but-”
“Arse.”
It didn’t quite have its typical sharpness.
“Told ‘ya before, you’re not getting a piece of that. I’m a man with standards.”
“You’re repulsive. And, in case you’d forgotten, you work for me. So I’d invite you to explain yourself, please and thanks.”
Less a request and more an order.
“Have ‘ya at least figured out where you are?”
“Jackson!”
“I could be forgiven for thinking you’d lost your mind, considering you decided to put yourself in the field.”
“I’ll have you know-”
What he could only assume was her heart monitor had picked up speed, bleeps coming at the sound of light.
“You know fuck all about being in the field.”
“I’ve been there before.”
“Playing pretend doesn’t make you a joe.”
She rolled her eyes at that.
“What are you doing here anyway? Haven’t you got slow horses to babysit?”
“Your dogs already got you shot, thought I’d do a courtesy and make sure they didn’t let anyone finish the job.”
“Wanted to do it yourself?”
“Of course.”
The smile she gave in return was blood curdling.
Comforting, really, that she could muster that less than 24 hours after taking a bullet to the chest.
“You should be pleased with me, you know.”
“I’d sooner pull my own triggers.”
“Oh, come off it with the petty male egoism. The best end result was a dead Schenker, and now you’ve got it.”
“You can’t really expect me to think this was an act of selfless charity, righteous revenge for a dead joe and a mangled desk jockey.”
Indignation pushed her to sit up, though it was a momentary show of rage.
A second later she had fallen back into her former position, gasping in agony.
With her eyes clenched shut, he took the liberty to press a few times on her pain pump.
“In part.”
“In very small part, compared to your precious Service.”
“Does it matter? You get what you want, I do what’s necessary to keep the lights on and the baddies out for another day. Go squabble with someone who cares.”
“Aw, don’t act like you don’t love it. I know you’re playing the long game to get into these pants.”
“As if.”
She mimicked vomiting, just the bring the message home.
◑ ◐
It was the dead of night, based on the pitch blackness peeking through the curtains.
“Do fuck off, Jackson, I’m tired.”
“Your wish is my command, m’lady.”
He lingered until she fell back asleep, and a few hours after, for good measure.