#tavernish

-

“I’ll go,” Catherine says. “They’ll let me in.”

They’re sitting outside the Park in Lamb’s car - the two of them in front, Roddy and River in the back. 

“Why would they let you in, of all people?" Roddy asks, incredulous. 

“Well,” Catherine says, glancing around at the present company. “I’ve never told anyone I put a bomb in the car park, or let a computer virus loose in the system.” She glances at River. “Or broken in, even if it was for a noble cause.”

“Yeah,” Lamb grouses, “pinnacle of virtue, you. What are you going to do? Stumble in there and vomit over the security guard? That'd be just like old times, wouldn't it?”

“Actually,” Catherine says, “I can just ask to see First Desk.”

Lamb barks a laugh. “Oh yeah, that’ll work. Lady Di will drop everything to see you.”

Catherine smooths her skirt, gathers her courage. “Well. She has been, lately.”

“What?” Lamb scoffs. 

“Seeing me,” Catherine says, glancing up at him. “Regularly. For about six months now.”

“God, you are pissed,” Lamb says, and that makes Roddy pipe up as well. 

“Is it an online thing?” he asks. “Because you know that’s how they get you, right? I’ve been burned, and it’s even worse for old folks. I have an uncle who thought he was dating Michelle Yeoh. Sad, really.”

Catherine bristles, takes out her phone. She sends a quick text message as River says, “God, just let her go, will you? The sooner I can get out of this back seat, the better. It smells like something died back here.”

“It probably did,” Catherine says, and slips out of the car. She crosses the street and feels her phone vibrate. Checking it, she smiles. 

“Impeccable timing,” she says a minute later, as Diana steps out of the armoured SUV in a stylish swish of coat and meets her at the main entrance. Her security detail are watching, but she’s bullied them back for at least a few moments. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What?” Diana asks, all business. 

Catherine turns to face her fully. “Kiss me,” she says. “I just told them we’ve been seeing each other, and Lamb and Ho are over there thinking I’m drunk or delusional.”

“Well,” Diana says. “We can’t have that, now, can we?” Stepping close, she reaches up to curl her fingers around the back of Catherine’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss that’s all First Desk - bold, possessive, in charge. It's decidedly hot for all its brevity, leaves Catherine a little bit weak in the knees. Swaying and speechless. 

That turns out not to matter. Diana has the words for both of them. “There," she says. "That ought to shut them up. Now, I’m presuming you have something for me? We’re not just here to put on a show?”

“No,” Catherine breathes. “I mean, yes. No show, yes intel.” 

-

One of the horses is sleeping with an American. Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem - they can sleep with whoever they like. But this one is sleeping with someone who works in the embassy, and whoever it is is being indiscreet with MI5 secrets. Granted, they shouldn’t be able to do too much damage from Slough House, but Diana has learned never to underestimate how badly a slow horse can fuck things up for the rest of them. 

She meets Lamb on their bench and demands to know who his leak is. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells her. “I’ll skin ‘em myself.”

“That’s not good enough, Jackson. I need a name.”

But he’s already leaving. 

Well, Diana thinks. If he won’t tell her, she’ll find someone who will. 

Catherine Standish's meeting place of choice is a cafe, because of course it is. They meet mid-morning, so it's not out of place, but Diana knows that Catherine wouldn’t meet her in a bar even if it was an acceptable time for a drink. 

Catherine orders a pot of Lady Grey and a slice of Victoria sponge. It’s an order as prim as her appearance, confirms Diana’s expectations of her as unimaginative, an intellectual lightweight who pickled her brain years ago and now exists in a land of paperwork and twee. 

“I’m concerned that Jackson won’t deal with the situation delicately,” Diana says, giving her espresso a stir. 

“He probably won't,” Catherine replies, “but I can’t undermine his leadership. None of us at Slough House know anything too sensitive, surely.”

Except the location of a file, or how to call in a Code September, or how to hack the Park’s fucking mainframe, apparently. 

“I understand that,” Diana says, “but still. Upholding security is my job, not his.” 

“They’re my colleagues,” Catherine replies. “None of them are malicious, and Jackson will put a stop to the information sharing. Let them keep the relationship. God knows we all get lonely in the service.”

“Do you get lonely?” Diana asks. She runs a finger over the back of Catherine’s hand, leaves the I can help you out with that if you’ll tell me what I want to know unsaid. Naive and twee she might be, but Catherine must be able to read that subtext. And she does have a lovely body beneath those frills. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon. 

They check into a hotel. A little exploration confirms what Diana suspected: Catherine Standish is touch-starved. Diana has her before they even make it to the bed, watching her bend over the room’s armchair to neatly drape her clothes. It’s an easy thing to slide up behind her and smooth a hand over her arse, to fuck her right there, holding her up with two fingers and watching her back blush pink. 

"First touch you've had in years, is it?" Diana asks after Catherine has come, all trembling thighs and silence, just a little hitch of breath like it's something to be ashamed of. "Don't worry, I won't expect too much in return if you're out of practice." Just the information I asked for.

Diana is still in her underwear when Catherine turns around. The set is lacy, matching; she seems to like it. Diana doubts she's got anything similar in her overly fastidious wardrobe. 

“I can repay the favour," Catherine says. "Will you leave that on?” She draws Diana close, tugs the cups of her bra down to expose her nipples, sucks on one. “I like to look.” She reaches into the handbag she’d set on the armchair and pulls from it a hairbrush - full-sized, wooden, decorated on the back with roses. A similar shade blooms in her cheeks when she asks: “May I spank you?” 

It’s not really Diana’s thing, but the promise of information hangs in the air, and it is enjoyable to learn that the prim librarian is a secret freak. Indulging her might be mildly amusing. Diana consents and finds herself sans knickers over Catherine’s knee. 

“Madame First Desk,” she says, and brings the hairbrush down on Diana’s behind. 

It’s surprisingly painful and unexpectedly sexy. Catherine’s brush paints Diana’s backside. Even though she can’t see it, Diana can feel the flush in her skin, her arse burning with it. She hears herself cry out. Catherine calls her Madame again, then, but this time there's a note of ironic disdain that makes it sound like ‘slut’ - Do you like that, Madame? - and Diana feels her face heating, too, because yes, actually, there’s a fire in her cunt as well as her cheeks, both sets. It’s a physical reminder of just what she’ll do to win, to maintain control, and when Catherine turns the brush around and pushes its handle between her cunt lips she asks do you want this too, Madame, and Diana can do nothing but answer yes in a voice growing ragged with want. 

Afterwards, as Catherine redresses herself, she fixes her hair with that same brush and looks at Diana in the mirror. “I have no idea who my colleagues are sleeping with,” she says, smiling sweetly, only now it makes her look more like an evil doll - all that twee hiding eyes as knowing as a fox. “I’m sure I can find out by next week, though, if you care to do this again.”