Primeval: A Lesson in Faith
Title: A Lesson in Faith
Author: Desiree
Rating: PG
Spoilers: 1x06
Characters: Stephen Hart, Nick Cutter
Disclaimer: Not mine. Although a girl can dream =)
Summary: Stuck in a B&B over Christmas, Nick and Stephen finally talk.
A/N: My Secret Santa contribution =) Fornietie . Prompts Nick/Stephen - mistletoe medicine - angst - h/c.
...so this story didn't turn out like I thought it would. For one, there was supposed to be a lot more schmoop in there. And I don't know about the hurt/comfort, but I think I have the (emotional) angst down pat. Really, I'm afraid the story fits your prompt only in the vaguest sense. I know this probably isn't what you had in mind, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway at least a little. (It's embarrassing how long it takes me to write anything decent - or at all - these days )=
Season's greetings and a merry Christmas!
A Lesson in Faith
Or
The Conversation Nick Never Wanted to Have
It was Christmas Eve, and the snow came down so thick it looked like a white sheet had been hung in front of the headlights, the steady tick tock of the windscreen wipers the only sound disrupting the sullen quiet. Used to be, the silence between them felt comfortable, Nick contemplated while furtively glancing at his passenger, the by now familiar, nauseating swirl of contradictory emotions souring the memories.
“This is not what I had in mind for tonight!” he grumbled, giving disgruntled voice to his displeasure just to hear the silence break.
He regretted it a moment later when, from the corner of his eyes, he noticed Stephen's sceptically raised eyebrows. The man didn't say anything, but...
“What?”
The word came out sharper than intended. Then again, these days, it seemed no matter what Stephen did Nick felt his temper rising dangerously. He wanted to curse Lester for sending them out, today of all days, to check a dead-end lead regarding Helen all the way over the Welsh border.
“Nothing.”
The other man turned his head toward the passenger side window, looking out into the darkness and the driving snow. On the side of the road a town sign passed by unusually slow because Nick didn't dare drive more than 15 mph, the conditions were so bad.
“What, Stephen?” Unable to just let it go, Nick continued to needle. “Come on, let's hear it!”
“Your plans wouldn't have happened to involve a bottle or two of whiskey, would they?”
“And what's wrong with that?”
Nick's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he stared purposely straight ahead. The idea that Stephen knew him so well was - infuriating. The barely concealed disapproval didn't much help the anger already simmering in his veins. Stephen didn't have the right; not anymore.
His heart gave a painful lurch when Nick thought back to the same night one year ago, the easy camaraderie they had shared while decorating a rather dilapidated Christmas tree in Nick's living room, both a wee bit soused after the university's staff party earlier that same evening. That had been a lifetime ago.
In a way, Nick was almost glad he had never been bold enough to make that last move that would have tumbled them over the edge of platonic they had been skirting for so many years. It only would have made the betrayal that much harder to stomach.
Beside him, Stephen sighed, his voice tinged with weariness. “Can we not do this tonight, Cutter?”
“Do what?”
“This! Fighting.”
“We're not - ”
“Please, Cutter! Just - not tonight.”
Nick couldn't say what made him back down; except that, maybe, for all that Helen and Stephen's betrayal still hurt, he was tired of fighting too.
“All right,” he conceded. “All right, fine.” And a few minutes later, because it might not be the worst idea to put some space between them if they were to keep the fragile truce, “It's half eight already, and we're going to be at least another six hours to London, if this storm doesn't let up. Let's find something for the night.”
That was easier said than done, especially on Christmas Eve, and it was another hour of uncomfortable silence until they found a small Bed and Breakfast that still offered room.
“I'm sorry,” the landlady apologized as soon as the two of them came through the door, stomping their feet and shaking the snow off their clothes before coming into the hall proper. “We only have one vacancy. But if you wouldn't mind sharing...?”
The idea had been to get away from Stephen for a while. But driving in the relentlessly thick snowfall had taken its toll on Nick's ability to concentrate, and the streets had become treacherous, the sight was down to under five meters ahead...
Nick sighed in defeat. “It'll be fine.”
The woman, middle-aged, brunette, not exactly beautiful but not hideous either, smiled and offered, “We still have some leftovers, if you care for dinner once you've settled in.”
oOo
They hadn't really talked since that day. Professionally, yes; argued, of course. But they hadn't talked about the secret that had torn them apart: Stephen's affair with Helen.
Whatever else could be said, Stephen had never been one to avoid difficult conversations before, and to be fair (as much as Nick didn't want to be), he wasn't now. It was Nick who blocked him at every turn, cut him off as soon as the subject of Helen was even hinted at, avoided being alone with his former student because he simply didn't want to have that conversation; ever.
Not anticipating being forced to spend the night somewhere that wasn't home, neither of them had brought overnight bags. Mrs. Jones, the landlady, however, had generously provided soap, toothbrushes and -paste, and Nick had unscrupulously claimed the right to shower first.
Clean, warm, and just a little calmer after about thirty minutes on his own, Nick emerged from the bathroom to find Stephen reading some book he had unearthed from God knew where, his long limbs curled into the confines of the small bench seat in front of the window. Ice-flowers were blooming on the glass, and in the dark beyond the snow was still falling in many a fat flake. It was an idyllic picture, really.
A plate of sandwiches (roast turkey and cucumbers, leftovers, like Mrs. Jones had promised them) sat on one of the bedside tables. And, in complete accord with their luck this day, there was only one bed; big enough for two, yes, but still only one bed. Another reason to make this the worst Christmas in recent years.
As Nick moved around the small room to get dressed, he was half-aware of Stephen's eyes following him. Years of cohabiting had made him immune to any self-consciousness a long time ago. Still, those eyes were burning holes into his back. It was unnerving. Stephen clearly had something to say, and, as Nick pulled on his shirt, absently wishing for a fresh one, he wished the younger man would just get it over with.
Stephen had never been one to avoid difficult conversations. But, Nick realised as he turned around to snap a demand only to have Stephen's gaze break away from him and towards the falling snow outside, Nick had burned him once too often for Stephen to speak up now.
In the stillness that followed, Nick suddenly saw one thing crystal clear: he had two options. Go on like he had, pretending that nothing was wrong, that there wasn't an ever-growing chasm between him and the man he had considered his closest friend; or stop running away and listen to what Stephen had to say for himself - only this time, he would have to make the first move himself.
Slowly exhaling the breath he hadn't noticed holding, Nick sank onto the foot of the bed. The mattress was too soft beneath him, sinking under his weight, and yet, all he wanted to do was lie back and close his eyes. He was so tired of everything; the silences, angry and awkward and just not them, the fights, all that bad blood between them. His heart longed for easier times, back at the university when they had been so blessedly ignorant of what the future had had in store for them.
“You wanted to say something, Stephen,” spoke Nick, not aware he had come to a decision until the words left his mouth. “Just say it.”
Surprised and not a little wary, Stephen turned to face him. He watched Nick for long enough to make him uncomfortable, make him wonder if Stephen wouldn't just shrug him off after all.
Stephen didn't.
“Has it ever even occurred to you that Helen might have been lying?”
It - wasn't what Nick had been expecting.
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, Nick.”
Stephen rubbed his eyes, already looking as if he was regretting saying anything. Not even two hours ago had they agreed not to fight, if only for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, neither of them had ever been particularly adept at keeping their tempers in check, and while, out of the two of them, Stephen might have had the longer fuse, they seemed to push each others buttons lately without even trying.
“You've known me for over ten years now, Cutter, and you never asked me if it was true. You never questioned Helen - not once.”
Righteous anger had him shooting off the bed. “You kissed her!”
“She kissed me!”
“I didn't exactly hear you complaining, Stephen!”
But even as he said it, Stephen's voice echoed in Nick's ears 'I forgot that you can be a real bitch sometimes, Helen.' Stephen was right; it had never entered his mind to not take the words at face value.
“She surprised me, Cutter! What do you want me to say?”
“How about why you never tried to deny it, if it wasn't true?”
Stephen swung his legs to the ground, let his book fall to the floor, and, clenching his fingers around the edge of the bench in a white-knuckled grip, fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Who would have believed me? If even you thought me capable of betraying your trust like that, what are the others supposed to think? Besides, I've tried to talk to you, if you'll remember!”
Shaking his head in vehement denial, Nick started pacing the inadequate length of the bed.
“No. No! Why would she...? What reason would Helen have to lie like that?”
“To rile you up? To get back at you for rejecting her? To show you that you don't control her? Pick one!”
Not willing to even contemplate those possibilities, Nick glared at the younger man. Stephen had the blasted cheek to roll his eyes at him.
“Bloody hell, Cutter! You have the biggest blind spot when it comes to that woman! Helen's always had to be in control, or have you forgotten?”
...kind of. Eight years of hoping his wife was still alive, disappeared instead of dead, had glossed over some of her more unpleasant traits. Eight years exploring the distant past on her own might even have amplified those traits in Helen.
But still...
“You're honestly trying to tell me you didn't sleep with my wife? Who was it who reminded me oh so insistently that she was important to you, too?”
Before it occurred to Nick that that conversation might never have happened on this side of the Forest of Dean anomaly, Stephen snapped back, “She was! I wouldn't have survived my first semester if she hadn't taken me under her wing, you know that! And I might have had a crush on her in the beginning, but so did half of the student body, and contrary to popular belief, I don't sleep with anyone who'll have me! You think you're the only one she hurt, Cutter?”
“You want to know what I do remember, Stephen? I remember you following my wife around like the proverbial lost puppy. I remember you coming to our house more often than any other student either of us ever tutored. And why was that, huh? You spent more time with us than with your peers!”
The words were out of his mouth before he thought better of it.
“Sod off!” Throwing a poisonous glare his way, Stephen shot up from his perch. Three long strides took him across the small room and to the door. “That wasn't about Helen!”
Nick flinched as the door slammed shut behind the younger man. With a tired sigh, he collapsed onto the bed, letting himself fall backwards onto the too soft mattress. Already, he regretted his words.
Stephen had spent an inordinate amount of time at the Cutters' home, especially in his first semester, but there had been a reason for it, and no, it hadn't been Helen. The break with his parents had been painful, and the lad had been a complete mess during that time of his life. Still, Nick's wife had seen potential in him and had, as Stephen had put it, taken her student underneath her wing. They never had found out what exactly had happened between Stephen and his parents, but what Nick did know was that his home had turned into something of a safe haven for the young man. Heat of the moment or not, throwing that back into his face had been callous, even for Nick.
If he wanted any chance at salvaging what was left of their friendship, Nick realized, he would have to apologize.
Rubbing weary eyes, the professor heaved another heartfelt sigh.
oOo
To Nick's surprise, Mrs. Jones was waiting for him in the vestibule. Sitting in an antiquated easy chair, newspaper in her hand, she looked up when he stepped off the last step to gaze at him with honest sympathy and veiled amusement. Nick suppressed a groan.
“Did you hear any of that?”
She didn't even try to deny it. “Hard not too. The walls here are thin.”
“I apologize.”
Her doe-brown eyes lingered on him for a moment before fixing on something over his head.
“Peace on earth, and good will to all,” she intoned as Nick took a look over his shoulder. A mistletoe branch was hung in the staircase; white berries gleaming between lush green, it hovered over the first step by a carmine ribbon. “Isn't that what we pray for each year anew?”
“I just know there's a point in there somewhere.” It was rude, but Nick couldn't help it. Mrs. Jones, however, only threw him a quick grin; then, she turned serious again.
“No one should have to be alone and hurting on Christmas Eve, Mr. Cutter. It's not my place, I know,” she assuaged, “but perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt. You might be surprised what a little good will can do for your peace of mind.”
He wanted to tell her to sod off and mind her own business, but what came out of his mouth instead was, “And what if he's lying?”
She considered a moment before replying, “And what if he's not? Sometimes, all you can do is have faith in someone.” Glancing at the entrance door to her left, she surprised Nick once more by stating: “He seems to care about you a lot.”
He snorted. “What exactly gave you that idea?”
“No one fights like that and doesn't care.”
She gathered her paper and left with one last parting shot. “He's been out there for a while now. Best get him inside again before he's freezing to death.”
For a long moment all Nick could do was stare after the woman, astonished. Shaking his head at her, at himself and at the day in general, he finally made for the door, only to redirect his steps at the last second towards the coat rack at the opposite wall. It was cold outside, and if they were about to continue their heart-to-heart, he would need his jacket. Noting that Stephen hadn't put on his own, Nick caught himself silently cursing the younger man for his foolishness, before grabbing them both.
He had come down to apologize, after all; Stephen's jacket would have to do as olive branch.
His former student was leaning against the wall facing the street, arms crossed tightly over his chest and shivering, when Nick ventured outside. His face was red from the cold, Nick noted, glad he hadn't taken more than ten minutes to go looking for his wayward friend after he had stormed out of their room. Stephen could be a stubborn little bugger; who knew how long he would have stayed outside in this cold to cool down, pun very much intended.
At least he was standing in the lee of the house, relatively safe from the storm, even though the snow was still falling in sheets. For the first time Nick entertained the possibility that they would be stuck here for more than this night.
Holding Stephen's thick jacket like a shield in front of him, Nick crossed the distance to the other man.
“You're an idiot, Stephen!” It slipped out of his mouth as Stephen turned towards him, and Nick immediately berated himself. He had come here to work on an apology, dammit!
Stephen, however, only looked at him for a second, startled, before his lips twitched up into a thin smile. Lips that, Nick noticed with worry, already had a blue tinge to them.
As he grabbed his coat, Stephen granted a little sheepishly, “Point taken.”
He shimmied into the warm garment and struggled with the zip before he asked, “What do you want, Cutter?”
Anyone else probably would have just bitten the bullet and said the words; Nick...couldn't.
“You know, it's funny,” he began instead, moving next to Stephen to lean against the wall beside him. “I've met Helen first, but by now, I've known you the longest.”
“And still you take her word over mine.” There was no fight in those words, only resignation. It hurt to hear, and yet Nick couldn't help but defend himself.
“She's still my wife.”
“Is she?” Sharply looking over at him, Stephen elaborated, “Helen told you she slept with me, in front of all of our colleagues. Does it really matter whether it was a lie? You bloody well don't do that to someone you care about!”
There really wasn't anything to reply to that. Stephen was right, and Nick knew it, so he just stared stubbornly straight ahead into the falling snow.
The anger drained from the younger man's voice as suddenly as it had appeared. “You buried your wife years ago, Nick. Will you ever be able to let her go?”
Another bout of rare insight had Nick remembering Claudia Brown and the kiss goodbye she had laid upon him. At the time it had felt - well, brilliant, to be honest. Claudia had been an attractive woman, in looks and mind both, and her kiss was made all the more memorable because Helen had been standing right there to witness it.
In hindsight, maybe he had felt more vindicated than he had let himself believe. Suddenly Nick was glad that Stephen didn't remember all that.
Because for all that he missed Claudia, he missed Stephen more.
What was it Mrs. Jones had told him? Sometimes, all you can do is have faith in someone. The question was, did he want to put his faith in Helen or in Stephen? It wasn't as hard a choice as he had feared, really.
“I'm working on it.”
Stephen's surprise was unmistakable. None too carefully, Nick let his head drop back against the wall. The almost painful coldness against his skull was a welcome distraction against the sudden heat in his face. He didn't do this sort of talk well, which was the reason he avoided it like the plague whenever he could. After ten years, however, perhaps he owed Stephen that much.
“You know me, Stephen. I'm a cranky old bastard who can't admit when he's wrong. But I don't want things between us to go on like this. So, yes, I'm working on it.” Seeing Stephen's incredulous, hopeful stare, Nick quickly added, “Which doesn't mean you won't have to have patience with me!”
Chortling, his relief painfully obvious, his friend reminded him, “I've had years of practice, Cutter. I can live with that.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes, side by side, watching the snow cover the world under a thick blanket of pristine white. For the first time in months, the silence between them felt bearable again. Before it had a chance to change, Nick asked, apropos of nothing, “Do you ever wish we'd never found out?”
It had the added benefit of changing the topic. His tolerance for uncomfortable truths and emotional conversations had been well and truly crossed for today. Stephen's lips twitched again, more sad than amused.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But like it or not, we're the best people for the job, or else Lester would have got rid of us long ago.” He paused briefly, considering, before he divulged, “I wish it had never stopped being fun.”
Nick knew that feeling too. Sometimes, their work felt more like a chore than anything else. Too many people had died already for the scientific enthusiasm to last long.
Feeling Stephen shivering beside him, Nick became aware of his own discomfort. He suggested, “Let's go back inside before we freeze to icicles out here.”
Inside again, watching Stephen make his way up the stairs, Nick himself paused at the foot to look up at the mistletoe branch.
Peace on earth, and good will to all.
He didn't know about earth, but Mrs. Jones had been right: his mind felt more at peace now that he had decided to believe his friend. He had known Stephen for years, and he didn't know Helen at all anymore. Like a ghost that had been haunting him, it was time to lay his wife to rest.
And Stephen...
There had always been the potential for something more in their friendship. This new beginning they had forged tonight was too delicate still to do more than hope. Yet, hope Nick did as he looked up at the gently swaying good luck charm. Maybe by this time next year, he would be able to use the tradition to its full intent.
For this year, though, neither he nor Stephen would spent the holidays alone. As beginnings went, it was a good one.
Smiling to himself, Nick followed Stephen up the stairs and into their room.
The End