Fic: Surprises - Connor, Lester, G
Title: Surprises
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Spoilers: Hmm... yes, technically, for up to S3.E6 (but still Denial-friendly!)
Author's Notes: This is a pre-quel to Questions, and also connected with (in the same 'verse as) Bad Luck... but no need to read either of those to get this one. ^^
This has actually been kicking around on my harddrive for a while, but I thought I'd finally post it. Still a little unsure about how Lester comes off in this one... un-beta'd, Brit-picking and critique appreciated!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine, no profit.
Summary: James Lester had thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong if Connor came to stay at his place... but forgotten this one.
James had thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong if Connor came to stay at his place. He had thought about them most of that day, right up until he tossed the key to the boy. Even after that, he'd kept thinking about all the reasons why this surely wouldn't work. But somehow he'd failed to foresee the result of Connor's appetite and night-owl tendencies combined.
And some un-Godly hour not long after midnight, that first night, James woke with a start to the sound of door thudding shut. He'd always been a light sleeper, had managed to forget just how light, and was rolled mostly out of bed, grabbing for the gun in his bedside table before he managed to blink the sleep from his eyes. Pausing, disconcerted, James listened cautiously. It certainly didn't sound like an intruder - most didn't whistle cheerily off-key. Deciding to err on the side of caution, however, James grabbed up his pistol anyway and slid it into the waistband of his pyjamas.
Trotting to his bedroom door, he leaned out into the hall and called softly, 'Temple?'
'Yeah? Oh, sorry! Abby sleeps like a log.' A sheepish, tousle-haired Connor appeared around the edge of the hallway, a jar of jam in his hand. James sighed and headed towards the boy.
'Stop looking so guilty.' With the brief rush of adrenaline fading from his system, James was just left feeling rather irritated. The way Connor hovered, like an over-concerned housewife, made him doubly-so.
'Sorry,' Connor said again, trailing after James into the kitchen.
Shielding his eyes against the bright lights, James squinted at the clock and managed to make a good guess of the time.
'What are you doing up? Its two o'clock in the bloody morning!'
'I was hungry,' Connor said, shrugging. James scowled.
'At two in the morning?'
'Yeah. I woke up and needed to take a piss, right? So I was hungry.'
'Too much information, Connor,' James said. He yawned widely and leaned back against the counter, watching Connor raid his fridge. He found nothing of interest there, of course, beyond the jam jar, so turned his attention to the cupboards. It was as he was inspecting the spice cupboard - with a growing scowl on his face - that Connor glanced over at James and caught sight of the gun.
His eyes go surprisingly wide, mused James, watching the shocked look Connor directed at his waistband and the imprint of the gun against it.
'Is that a gun?'
For a possible genius, Connor could ask the most ridiculous questions.
'Mm. A water-pistol, for the gnomes that raid the spice cupboard,' James said, 'And if you're looking for snacks, look lower.'
He sneaked a sideways peak at Connor. The startled, uncertain look on his face was immensely satisfying - the boy clearly didn't know whether or not to take the comment seriously. The moment didn't last long however. Connor merely shrugged it off and turned his attention to the lower cupboards. The happily whistled tune - was it Connor-speech for 'successful food hunting trip'? James wondered - was as cheerily off-key as the earlier whistling. James winced again and was about to complain when an impertinent squeak drew his attention to the floor.
One of the diictodons stood there, tail wagging happily, a balled up sock on the floor by James' feet. He jumped and cursed, his hand flying to the gun, before the harmlessness sunk in. But the diictodon startled at his sudden movement and spun and raced off across the kitchen floor.
'Connor! I told you to keep it in your room!'
'They're burrowers!' the student cried defensively, abandoning his snack to dive after the little creature. 'You saw what they did to the hospital!'
James shuddered. He remembered that particular fiasco quite well. It had been accompanied by personal phone-calls from several important people.
'If they so much as rip the wallpaper,' he said, 'They're going to the ARC. Permanently.'
Connor squeaked much like the diictodon and threw himself face-first across the floor after the escaping creature. James watched in amusement as he scrambled on his hands and knees into the living room. Thuds and squeaks echoed back at him, and then turned into a blissful silence. After a few too many moments of the quiet, however, James frowned and headed for the living room himself.
He found Connor crouched in a corner, rear end awkwardly in the air, head twisted up in what looked to be a rather painful position. James arched an eyebrow at Connor's back.
'Something of interest?' He asked. Even as he did so, though, James knew what had Connor's attention. That particular corner held the only truly personal objects in the flat, outside of his bedroom.
'Is that... that's a saxophone,' Connor said.
James rolled his eyes. 'Yes, Mr Temple. An Alto Sax, to be specific. Quite common, you know.'
'But... don't you... I mean, what would you play? Besides an orchestra?'
'A symphony. A symphony is played by an orchestra,' James stifled another yawn, thinking longingly of bed.
'Yeah. That. What can you play with a saxophone besides that?'
'Jazz, Temple, jazz,' James said wearily. There was a stack of old jazz records and cassette tapes piled high beside the saxophone. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps Cutter's trademark obliviousness was catching.
'Oh. Uhm... you play jazz?'
James scowled and was about to reply with a suitably snippy response before marching off to bed, but Connor chose that moment to turn around and look at him with a completely bewildered look on his face. The part of Lester that wasn't insulted at Connor's seeming inability to perceive him as human found the look oddly... endearing.
'Used too. Haven't played in years.' He tried to make it sound dismissive, but even as he spoke, Lester's eyes lingered longingly on the brassy keys and curves of the old instrument.
'Oh,' was all Connor said.
Deciding the conversation was done, and hoping to leave before Connor pulled any more endearing stunts, Lester turned on his heel and strode out. He headed down the hall to his bedroom, suddenly even more tired than before. He wished Connor hadn't asked about the sax. He wished he hadn't even seen it. What had he been thinking, to bring someone into this place? Someone he worked with, someone who worked for him?
Rubbing his eyes, Lester collapsed back into bed, barely remembering to remove the pistol from his waistband. This was something else he hadn't thought of, and it worried him. What other problems might he have missed? As he fell asleep, Lester found himself plotting on how he could best kick Connor out without making it seem like he was doing just that.
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Spoilers: Hmm... yes, technically, for up to S3.E6 (but still Denial-friendly!)
Author's Notes: This is a pre-quel to Questions, and also connected with (in the same 'verse as) Bad Luck... but no need to read either of those to get this one. ^^
This has actually been kicking around on my harddrive for a while, but I thought I'd finally post it. Still a little unsure about how Lester comes off in this one... un-beta'd, Brit-picking and critique appreciated!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine, no profit.
Summary: James Lester had thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong if Connor came to stay at his place... but forgotten this one.
James had thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong if Connor came to stay at his place. He had thought about them most of that day, right up until he tossed the key to the boy. Even after that, he'd kept thinking about all the reasons why this surely wouldn't work. But somehow he'd failed to foresee the result of Connor's appetite and night-owl tendencies combined.
And some un-Godly hour not long after midnight, that first night, James woke with a start to the sound of door thudding shut. He'd always been a light sleeper, had managed to forget just how light, and was rolled mostly out of bed, grabbing for the gun in his bedside table before he managed to blink the sleep from his eyes. Pausing, disconcerted, James listened cautiously. It certainly didn't sound like an intruder - most didn't whistle cheerily off-key. Deciding to err on the side of caution, however, James grabbed up his pistol anyway and slid it into the waistband of his pyjamas.
Trotting to his bedroom door, he leaned out into the hall and called softly, 'Temple?'
'Yeah? Oh, sorry! Abby sleeps like a log.' A sheepish, tousle-haired Connor appeared around the edge of the hallway, a jar of jam in his hand. James sighed and headed towards the boy.
'Stop looking so guilty.' With the brief rush of adrenaline fading from his system, James was just left feeling rather irritated. The way Connor hovered, like an over-concerned housewife, made him doubly-so.
'Sorry,' Connor said again, trailing after James into the kitchen.
Shielding his eyes against the bright lights, James squinted at the clock and managed to make a good guess of the time.
'What are you doing up? Its two o'clock in the bloody morning!'
'I was hungry,' Connor said, shrugging. James scowled.
'At two in the morning?'
'Yeah. I woke up and needed to take a piss, right? So I was hungry.'
'Too much information, Connor,' James said. He yawned widely and leaned back against the counter, watching Connor raid his fridge. He found nothing of interest there, of course, beyond the jam jar, so turned his attention to the cupboards. It was as he was inspecting the spice cupboard - with a growing scowl on his face - that Connor glanced over at James and caught sight of the gun.
His eyes go surprisingly wide, mused James, watching the shocked look Connor directed at his waistband and the imprint of the gun against it.
'Is that a gun?'
For a possible genius, Connor could ask the most ridiculous questions.
'Mm. A water-pistol, for the gnomes that raid the spice cupboard,' James said, 'And if you're looking for snacks, look lower.'
He sneaked a sideways peak at Connor. The startled, uncertain look on his face was immensely satisfying - the boy clearly didn't know whether or not to take the comment seriously. The moment didn't last long however. Connor merely shrugged it off and turned his attention to the lower cupboards. The happily whistled tune - was it Connor-speech for 'successful food hunting trip'? James wondered - was as cheerily off-key as the earlier whistling. James winced again and was about to complain when an impertinent squeak drew his attention to the floor.
One of the diictodons stood there, tail wagging happily, a balled up sock on the floor by James' feet. He jumped and cursed, his hand flying to the gun, before the harmlessness sunk in. But the diictodon startled at his sudden movement and spun and raced off across the kitchen floor.
'Connor! I told you to keep it in your room!'
'They're burrowers!' the student cried defensively, abandoning his snack to dive after the little creature. 'You saw what they did to the hospital!'
James shuddered. He remembered that particular fiasco quite well. It had been accompanied by personal phone-calls from several important people.
'If they so much as rip the wallpaper,' he said, 'They're going to the ARC. Permanently.'
Connor squeaked much like the diictodon and threw himself face-first across the floor after the escaping creature. James watched in amusement as he scrambled on his hands and knees into the living room. Thuds and squeaks echoed back at him, and then turned into a blissful silence. After a few too many moments of the quiet, however, James frowned and headed for the living room himself.
He found Connor crouched in a corner, rear end awkwardly in the air, head twisted up in what looked to be a rather painful position. James arched an eyebrow at Connor's back.
'Something of interest?' He asked. Even as he did so, though, James knew what had Connor's attention. That particular corner held the only truly personal objects in the flat, outside of his bedroom.
'Is that... that's a saxophone,' Connor said.
James rolled his eyes. 'Yes, Mr Temple. An Alto Sax, to be specific. Quite common, you know.'
'But... don't you... I mean, what would you play? Besides an orchestra?'
'A symphony. A symphony is played by an orchestra,' James stifled another yawn, thinking longingly of bed.
'Yeah. That. What can you play with a saxophone besides that?'
'Jazz, Temple, jazz,' James said wearily. There was a stack of old jazz records and cassette tapes piled high beside the saxophone. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps Cutter's trademark obliviousness was catching.
'Oh. Uhm... you play jazz?'
James scowled and was about to reply with a suitably snippy response before marching off to bed, but Connor chose that moment to turn around and look at him with a completely bewildered look on his face. The part of Lester that wasn't insulted at Connor's seeming inability to perceive him as human found the look oddly... endearing.
'Used too. Haven't played in years.' He tried to make it sound dismissive, but even as he spoke, Lester's eyes lingered longingly on the brassy keys and curves of the old instrument.
'Oh,' was all Connor said.
Deciding the conversation was done, and hoping to leave before Connor pulled any more endearing stunts, Lester turned on his heel and strode out. He headed down the hall to his bedroom, suddenly even more tired than before. He wished Connor hadn't asked about the sax. He wished he hadn't even seen it. What had he been thinking, to bring someone into this place? Someone he worked with, someone who worked for him?
Rubbing his eyes, Lester collapsed back into bed, barely remembering to remove the pistol from his waistband. This was something else he hadn't thought of, and it worried him. What other problems might he have missed? As he fell asleep, Lester found himself plotting on how he could best kick Connor out without making it seem like he was doing just that.