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River Cartwright is not a morning person.
Well, he could be. Sometimes he was, and he was always punctual, or at least insisted that he always was. But when it came to getting out of bed on a weekend, or during a holiday, his behaviour was more reminiscent of a fallen tree than a human being. He refused to budge.
Right now, he can be found still in bed, quarter past nine in the morning (at least last he checked). Hair a mess, flattened by rolling over and frizzy from static. One arm tucked under his pillow, lying with half his face squished, the cost of sleeping on his stomach.
It's his favourite way to sleep, though, on mornings like this one. With pale sunlight coming in through the window, breaking through the grey clouds of last night's rain. Beams of light scattering over the cream comforter, the golden-beige sheets, and most importantly, the woman asleep at his side.
Auburn curly hair—shorter than she used to keep it, with a new white streak on her left temple, which they both think is kind of cute—pale, freckled skin, a soft smile while she slept, making River wonder what she could be dreaming about. He smiles, too, wondering something else as well.
How in the world did he get lucky enough to wake up next to Sid Baker every morning?
A few years ago this wouldn't have seemed like a possibility to him. A few years ago this wouldn't have been a possibility. A few years ago Sid was dead, though he had always held out hope that it wasn't true. He had been right, of course. But those years they could have shared were lost, as Sid very nearly had been.
Now, though.
She was here. He was, too. They were both worse for wear, the years between their time together at Slough House—the night on Hobden's front steps that he still couldn’t bear to think about for too long—and their eventual reunion taking a toll on both of them. But they were here.
He could reach out and touch her. She would be warm. He still had trouble believing it, most of the time, grasping both her hands tightly in his own while she teased him about something or other, or told him about her day, or any number of things he could listen to forever in her voice. A voice she still had, though she trailed off sometimes, spacier than before. Not that he minded.
She would always be enough for him, he had decided long before they had even found their way back to each other. It would be enough to hear her voice, to sit with her, to hold her hand.
He wanted to reach out, now, to share the warmth of the early morning with her. The chance of waking her up prevented him from doing so. No rush for the day to start. He was content to just lie in bed, leaving Sid to dream about whatever she was dreaming about.
It's as if she could hear his lovesick musings, though, because she opens her eyes, looking into his. Still smiling. God, her smile. Something about it had always made him feel warm inside, and it stayed now.
"Morning, Sid," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. His accent has always been closer to Scottish when he first wakes up, for reasons he could never figure out.
"Morning, River." Sid closes her eyes again, nestling back into her pillow. If River isn't a morning person, then Sid is mornings' mortal enemy. Unless she has coffee, but even then, she would prefer to stay in bed. At least if there's nothing to do.
Speaking of coffee, River was starting to wake up fully, which meant the need for one was growing stronger by the second.
As much as he likes to stay in bed—he could probably stay here forever, if there was nothing to drag him out—he has to get up eventually. Might as well do it now, he decides, looking at Sid for another moment first. She's fallen back asleep, or at least appears to be sleeping. Could be pretending, in the hopes that she could trick even herself.
With a low, tired hum, River rolls over. Facing the alarm clock that he hadn't bothered to set, he sees that he was wrong about the time. 8:23 blinks at him. He blinks back. His internal clock didn't get the message that he has the week off, apparently.
As good a time to get up as ever, though. He sits up, then stands, stretching. His pajama pants cover his feet; he keeps meaning to hem them, never getting around to it, but kind of liking the extra length on chilly spring mornings like this one. Technically winter, the worst of it being over, a light snow coating the ground. If he went out on the balcony, he might be able to gather enough snow for a snowball.
Sid had done that last week, and attempted to drop it down his shirt, which backfired for her, ending with both of them (and the floor) dusted with snow. He smiles at the memory, turning to smile at Sid. She's reached over to his side of the bed now, hand resting where he had been a minute ago. He kisses his hand and leans over, pressing it to her forehead. She murmurs something too quiet to hear.
"Coffee?" River asks.
"Yes, please," Sid mumbles, "be up in a minute."
River quietly walks to the kitchen, grabbing two Keurig pods from their rotating holder. Considering he and Sid usually got up at different times—him earlier, getting ready for work, and her a little later—it was easier to have a machine that could just make individual servings for each of them. They still went to cafés more often than they made their own coffee, even with London prices, but it was handy to have around for mornings where they didn't have time to (or didn't want to) stop anywhere.
Plus, River was generally awful at making coffee. At least this was just pressing a button. How could he screw that up?
River grabs the cream from the fridge—regular for Sid, some fancy french vanilla kind that was on sale at the shop for him—and sets it on the counter, pressing the button to brew his coffee and leaning near the sink while he waits. He looks around the kitchen, eyelids still heavy with sleep.
He and Sid live together now. Have for… a year? Nearly a year. 10 months. They bought the place together, a two-bedroom flat far enough from Slough House that it was a pleasant area, but not so far that the commute would have made it easier for River to quit. Regent's Park was closer than Slough House—slightly, just slightly—in case he ever gets to go back. His years at Slough House are building up, though, and he knows his chances of leaving are slim.
He holds out hope, though. Hope has always worked for him before. It brought him and Sid back together, after years. Brought them closer together, too, making up for the lost time. Sometimes he actually forgot how long they'd been together, even with his strong memory for numbers. Four years since they met again. Three years since they'd officially started dating, though River had been in love for… well, as long as he's known her. And nearly a year since they bought their new home.
The Keurig clicks, signalling that his coffee is done, and he starts Sid's immediately after. Pours the creamer into his cup, adding a spoonful of sugar and stirring it. He takes a sip and then sets it down, adding another pinch of sugar. His mug—a larger mug than most, with the phrase 'In my defense, I was left unsupervised' on it, a Christmas gift from Catherine last year—steams with mesmerizing swirls of vanilla-scented air.
Sid emerges from the bedroom just as her coffee finishes brewing, her oversized sweater covering all but the tips of her fingers, pajama pants switched for sweatpants. Staying in pajamas for too long makes her feel lazy, but she still prefers to be comfortable, too. She sits on a stool on the other side of the counter, resting her chin on one hand, watching River. His sweater is similar to hers, though a lighter shade of grey, and hers is a v-neck. They almost match, though.
He pours the creamer into her coffee, adding half a spoonful of sugar and stirring it gently. Her coffee mug is also a gift from Catherine, a white cup with "#1 Coworker" printed on it. Sometimes Sid teases River about it, amused that she was still Catherine's favourite despite having not worked at Slough House in years. River always laughs about it. Sid had always been Catherine's favourite coworker, and even now, they kept in touch. Chatted weekly, or every two weeks, about whatever was going on in their lives, or in the world. Catherine mostly updates her about Slough House; Lamb is still Lamb, Roddy is still Roddy, and so on. Sid talks about a lot of things, mostly whatever new hobbies she's trying out.
"Here you go," River interrupts her train of thought as he slides her coffee in front of her, standing on the other side of the counter holding his own.
"Thanks, love." She picks it up and slowly takes a sip, burning her tongue slightly. Her nose wrinkles, and she squints at the liquid in the cup, then sets it back down.
"What, not enough cream? Sugar?" River asks.
Sid hums discontentedly. "It's– what did you put in here?"
"Cream and sugar?"
"You sound unsure."
"Maybe the cream's gone off," he suggests.
"I don't think that's it. I think you've managed to screw up brewing a pre-made coffee." She laughs. They've had this debate before; River always thinks he's fine at it. Maybe not barista quality, but it's drinkable. Sid always disagrees.
"This again? I'm sure it's the cream. Here, taste mine." He sets his cup down and pushes it towards her. She takes a sip and visibly winces.
"This is syrup. That's syrup, River. That's not coffee. No wonder you can't tell!"
He takes his cup back, feigning offense.
"Fine. Me and my coffee will go elsewhere." His voice sounds convincingly hurt, but he's grinning, and doesn't move other than protectively holding his mug close to his chest. Sid laughs and takes another sip of her own drink.
Still terrible.
She offers it to him and he takes it, taking a sip. He smacks his lips dramatically, making a face imitating a skeptical food critic.
"I'm getting notes of… perfectly fine coffee," he says at last, handing the mug back, "brewed by someone who's been drinking the stuff for twenty years, so probably knows what he's doing."
"You started drinking coffee when you were thirteen? No wonder you can't function without it." Sid sets the cup down, no intention of picking it back up right away. She enjoys the coffee less than she enjoys the morning ritual, even on days when she brews it herself. Though the coffee is definitely more enjoyable on those days.
Just the two of them in the kitchen, drinking coffee, sometimes tea. Usually talking, often some back-and-forth debate about something that doesn't really matter, like right now. Occasional silence that was rarely awkward, and usually ended quickly if it was. Early mornings, occasionally late mornings (or early afternoons), and sometimes the middle of the night, when one or both of them had trouble sleeping.
"Wait, when did you start drinking coffee?" He asks, picking his mug back up. Sid pauses to think.
"I don't…" She stops again, concentrating on something that feels like ancient history, "Must have been in university, I think. My mum didn't want me to drink it while I lived at home. And certainly not as a teenager, River, jesus."
"Well, my grandmother always liked to drink it with me. Tea, actually, but I never liked tea. And I don't need coffee. I just… prefer it." River tries his best to seem offended, but when Sid laughs at him again, a grin breaks his fake stoic expression.
"Yeah, right. You fell asleep at your desk once because the coffee maker was broken and Lamb wouldn't let you go get one!"
"Okay, that was–" Failing to think of a suitable excuse, River falls silent, tipping his mug back to drink the last drops of his coffee.
The comfortable silence returns for a few minutes as River walks to the sink and rinses his mug, Sid still nursing her own cup. She probably won't finish it, he knows, but she usually pretends that she wants to. River appreciates that, though he's not particularly insecure about his coffee-making abilities. He sticks his mug upside-down in the dishwasher and returns to the counter, leaning on his elbows and looking across it at Sid.
"Hey," she says softly, smiling at him.
"Hi," he says back, "got anything on the agenda for today?"
Sid hums in contemplation, leaning back a bit, pretending to be lost in thought. "Maybe… I dunno. But I bet I could fit you into my schedule."
"Oh, you could fit me in?"
"Yeah, probably between my 9 o'clock meeting and my 10 o'clock meeting."
"Wow, lot of meetings. Who are you meeting with?"
Sid's attempt at a serious persona cracks, and she laughs as she says, "you."
"Ah, of course. Important meetings?"
"Sometimes. Mostly just a lot of sitting around, though."
River pretends to check a watch he isn't wearing. "Aren't you gonna be late? For your 9 o'clock?"
Sid copies his fake watch-checking, and then quickly gets to her feet. "Oh my god, you're completely right! I better go. You don't wanna be late either. I heard there's going to be boring daytime television involved this time."
"I'm gonna finish up these dishes, then I'll meet you on the couch. Do you want popcorn?"
"No, we have trail mix. And chips. And it's too early for popcorn."
"Yeah, fair enough," River says as he grabs Sid's half-full cup, pouring it out into the sink and rinsing it before sticking it next to his in the dishwasher. For a moment he watches Sid from the kitchen, once again wondering how this is really his life.
A warm, relatively simple life—excluding work, and the danger that still tended to follow both current and former slow horses—in a nice flat, with a woman he's been in love with for years, and never expected to actually get to share a life with. Drinking coffee together, watching TV, going for walks, sleeping in late.
He smiles, and heads out to the living room to join Sid in making fun of reality television shows.