Sleeping Patterns (2/6)
Title: Sleeping Patterns (Part 2 of 6)
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Connor/Lester (angsty pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Words: 2,653
Spoilers: Season 3, starting at 3.05
A/N & Thanks: Thank you to fredbassett, who very generously beta'd and cleaned this up for me!
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Previous parts:
( Part 1 )
---
Part 2:
The day has been quiet, and not just because of the absence of their resident talkative scientist. The anomaly detector had remained steadfastly silent all day. Even a call about an unusually large cat in a area ten minutes drive away turned out to be an unusually large domestic cat, who managed to look almost as put out by the team's presence in his territory as Lester felt about having sent them there.
It had certainly been a very quiet day, and despite his usual protestations that all days should be like so quiet, Lester felt the hours drag. He preferred it when other people were rushing around looking panicked; it made him look more in-control by comparison. The day would, he considered ironically, have been a perfect day to corner Connor in his office and insist on sorting out his personal issues immediately. Of course, Connor was at home, hopefully (but doubtfully) sorting out his personal issues, so Lester instead browsed through government personnel files looking for a psychologist with civilian experience and a sufficiently high clearance level.
It was always preferable to have a fall-back plan.
---
Connor carefully closed the lid on the third of the shoe boxes containing the video games he'd brought with him from Abby's, and stowed it away under his bed. The living room was spotless now, as tidy as it had been before he’d moved in. His bedroom was looking much improved on its normal state too, albeit still cluttered. There wasn't much he could do about that, it was a fairly small space in which to keep all his entire collection of worldly goods.
He padded barefoot out to the kitchen. He had already washed all the dishes from his late breakfast, but he had left them to drip dry, so they were still in the rack. It was six o'clock now, only an hour before Lester would start packing up his paperwork to head home, and Connor wanted to have everything put away and tidy before he arrived. It would be a sign of appreciation, and proof positive that he could be a good house guest.
The noise of the front door opening was so loud in the quiet apartment that Connor jumped. He turned to look towards the source of the noise while simultaneously raising his left wrist to check the time on his watch. In the process, his hands forgot that they were holding two drinking glasses ready to be returned to the shelf.
They hit the tiled floor hard. The shattering sound, amplified by the small space, seemed louder by far than the noise the door had made mere seconds before. Connor froze, a dozen thoughts vying for his attention.
"Connor?" Lester's voice rang out from the hall, "Was that you? Or have your pets grown weary of destroying my formal wear and turned to destroying my glassware?"
Connor tried to suck in a breath. It was harder to do than it should have been, and it caught in his throat. He knew there was a dustpan in the utility room, just off the kitchen. If he got it quickly enough, he might be able to sweep up the mess while Lester was still divesting himself of his coat. Split-second decision made, he made a dash for the door.
He made it exactly two steps before he was sharply reminded of two facts, both of which should have been immediately self-evident. The first was that there was broken glass on the floor. The second was that he had bare feet. He hissed in surprise and hastily lifted the damaged foot from the floor, very nearly overbalancing himself in the process. It was only a combination of reflexes and luck that had him catch hold of the edge of the sink in time to prevent himself from toppling.
"Connor?" Lester appeared at the door, now sans coat, and looked at him over the top of the kitchen island in the center of the room.
"I was putting away the glasses," Connor offered by way of explanation.
Lester tilted his head a few degrees to the side to see around the corner of the island, where the furthest flung shards of glass lay scattered.
"Traditionally the clean glasses go on the shelf, Connor, not the floor."
Connor nodded. "I dropped it. You startled me." He was silent for a moment, then added in a voice that was bordering on petulant, "You're early."
Lester nodded. "There was very little of any urgency going on. I thought I'd better make sure you hadn't completely destroyed my apartment while I was away." He paused, then added, "Perhaps I should have left a few minutes earlier?"
"I'm sorry, I'll replace the glasses. And I'll clean up the broken bits just as soon as I..." He gestured vaguely at his damaged foot, which was on the opposite side of the kitchen island to Lester and therefore completely obscured.
Lester furrowed his brow. "As soon as you what?"
"Stop bleeding, mostly."
Lester did not look happy. He took the three brisk steps required to see clearly around the counter's edge.
"Oh, for heaven's..." he started, then muttered something inaudible under his breath.
Connor instinctively looked around for an escape route but found himself both cornered and surrounded - by Lester and the broken glass respectively.
Lester exhaled, something between a huff and a sigh, and made his way over to Connor, kicking pieces of glass out of the way with his very shiny and probably very expensive shoes. He wrapped one arm around Connor's side, and Connor instinctively put his arm across Lester's shoulders so as to use him as a crutch. Neither one said a word as they slowly maneuvered out of the kitchen.
---
Connor wasn't really surprised that Lester knew first aid. Lester seemed to know a lot of stuff about a lot of things. It was probably part of the mandatory training when you were a big government executive: pushing paper, scaring your staff, and first aid.
What did came as a surprise though was how gentle he was at it. Lester arranged Connor on the sofa so that the small of his back was against the arm rest and his damaged foot was elevated, resting in Lester's lap, where he took to it with a pair of tweezers.
The shard of glass was large enough that it slipped out of his foot quite quickly. When it did, Connor unintentionally made a small squeaking noise and curled his foot in. It was pure reflex, moving the sore thing away from what was making it sore in the first place. Lester tutted.
"Don't curl your foot in like that. You'll make it worse."
It was just a reminder, neither snappish nor long-suffering, and it sounded odd coming from Lester. Connor was still considering this incongruous bedside manner when Lester went to swab the area with an antiseptic wipe.
Connor shrieked and pulled back further at the cold and stinging surprise.
"Connor!" That one did have the usual level of aggravation, and sounded for more like his usual boss. Connor immediately felt his cheeks bloom an embarrassed red.
"Sorry," he replied. "You startled me. Again." Then, in a poor bid to reclaim some dignity, "And, that stuff stings."
"It's supposed to sting, it's antiseptic."
Connor ducked his head to try to hide his flushed cheeks. "Doesn't need antiseptic," he replied, all too aware of how petulant and juvenile he sounded, but nevertheless unable to stop himself. "The glasses were clean. I cleaned them myself just a little while ago."
"And the floor? And your feet? I suppose you had just washed them as well?"
Connor pouted, sullen. "No," he acquiesced, funneling all his concentration into sitting absolutely still and not making a noise. He watched while Lester finished using whatever foul-smelling substances he deemed necessary, but when Lester retrieved a large gauze pad and what looked like enough bandage to wrap an underage mummy, Connor once again couldn't stop himself.
"That's a bit much, isn't it? It's only a little scratch, already stopped bleeding. A plaster will cover it just fine. No need to go overboard."
Lester considered this for a moment, before shaking his head. "There's not much for a plaster to grip to on the sole of your foot, and while the cut is shallow it's also over an inch long."
Connor, in a wise display of self-control, didn't argue back, even as the bandage ended up winding right up and around his ankle.
"In any case, all the plasters I have are 'Thomas' themed," mused Lester, in a way that was almost but not quite absent minded, "I suspect that's not really to your taste."
Connor found himself parsing and re-parsing that comment several times over, trying to find a way to twist the words into something consistent with his mental image of Lester. The words stubbornly refused to co-operate.
"Thomas?" Connor asked, expecting to receive an eye-roll and a correction. "As in...?"
"The Tank Engine," clarified Lester. Then, sensing Connor's confusion, he added, "They're for Michael. My son."
While this made perfect logical sense, Connor was completely flabbergasted. He knew Lester was a father. At least, he knew in the intellectual sense. Lester had made no secret of it, had even mentioned his kids at work once or twice, but that knowledge had been entirely academic. Now one of those children had a name and a personality trait, and suddenly Lester looked like an actual human being.
"Your son? Your son likes Thomas?"
Lester blinked slowly at him before answering, "Yes." A pause, then, "He's only four. Most four-year old boys like Thomas. Trains in general, really."
"Well yes, of course, it's just..." Connor stumbled over his words, tightly wrapped ankle all but forgotten. "I knew you had kids, obviously. It's just... You never really talk about them. I don't think I've even heard their names before."
"I prefer to keep my work separate from my home life," Lester said by way of explanation. He lifted Connor's foot off his lap back down onto the ground, and started packing up the first-aid kit again. "But to assuage your curiosity, their names are Josephine, Charlotte and Michael, from oldest to youngest. Josephine is twelve, Michael is four."
"And Charlotte?"
"Just recently turned ten, and more than usually proud of reaching double figures." Lester tried to close the clasp on the first aid kit. It refused to snap into place, despite the absence of the bandage now gracing Connor's foot and ankle. Lester opened it again and started to rearrange its contents.
"That's a big age gap," Connor observed. As an afterthought he hastened to clarify, "Between Charlotte and Michael, I mean."
Lester nodded, the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips. "Yes, we had intended to only have two. Michael was an... unexpected pleasure."
Connor watched the expressions playing across Lester's face. This strange new person who had replaced his boss wore a natural smile which proclaimed his affection and pride for his young progeny. He looked in every part the proud dad. It wasn't a smirk or a sneer, it was just a smile, and it looked so incredibly out of place.
This time the clasp on the first aid kit closed with a satisfying click and Lester stood to put it away. As he went to leave the room, he picked up the remote control and dropped it casually next to Connor.
"Best not to walk about too much tonight, if you can help it."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, no doubt to stack away the first aid kit and clean up Connor's mess. Connor couldn't help staring after him, his mind buzzing with confusion.
---
Connor managed to sleep the whole night through, which was particularly odd given that his foot was itchy and over-warm in its bandage. He couldn't yet say he felt properly rested and refreshed, but he didn't feel like he was about to fall asleep in his cereal either. In all, a significant improvement on the usual state of affairs.
Lester had offered him coffee and a walking stick, both of which Connor accepted gratefully, but the drive to work had been awkward. The silence this time had less to do with Connor trying to be a low maintenance house guest, and more to do with his inability to reconcile the concept of ‘Lester the Boss’ with ‘Lester the human being’. He couldn't really think of anything to talk about that would suit both kinds of Lester, and so he settled on saying nothing.
Lester, for some reason, kept glancing at him for the whole trip. When they had arrived at work and Lester was getting out of the car, Connor had even patted down his hair, just in case it had been standing up at some strange angle, but there was nothing odd that he could find.
It only took a few minutes for word to spread through the ARC gossip tree that Connor had come into work injured, and only a few minutes more before Abby came to ask him about it.
"I broke a glass," Connor offered as an explanation. Noting quickly that Abby wasn't following, he added, "Then I stepped on it."
Abby rolled her eyes in mock despair. "Tell me you didn't have to get Lester to drive you to A&E?"
Connor shook his head. "No. Lester had a first aid kit. No hospitals required."
"In that case, maybe I should have a look at it," Abby replied. "You're rubbish enough at first aid when you're doing it on someone else. I hate to think what you've done to yourself."
Connor pouted. "I have perfectly good first aid skills!" he retorted, then looked away again. "Anyway, Lester did the first aiding bit, not me. It's fine. Actually, it's more than fine, it's overkill... Did you know that Lester..." Connor stopped mid-sentence. He wanted to make some comment about Lester owning Thomas the Tank Engine plasters, but something made him stop. He couldn't say why, but he didn't want to share this little insight with Abby just yet. It felt like he would be betraying something intimate. Something shared in confidence. A breach of trust.
"That Lester what?" Abby prompted, waiting for Connor to finish his sentence.
Connor was alarmed to realize that he was blushing.
"... knows first aid," he finished lamely.
Abby shrugged. "Lots of people know first aid," she dismissed, her attention caught on his unexpected flush of colour. "Are you sure you're okay though? You're looking a bit warm."
"I was sick yesterday," Connor ducked his head to avoid her gaze. "With a cold. Probably just the tail end of that."
Abby seemed to accept his explanation, much to Connor's relief, although she kept looking at him strangely.
Connor grabbed some pieces of paper from a randomly selected nearby pile at looked intently at them.
"Got a lot of stuff from yesterday to catch up on, actually," he said, avoiding eye-contact. "I really should get started on it."
"Yeah," Abby replied. "I guess Lester's pretty unforgiving about that sort of stuff." She stood stiff and awkward for a moment, like she wanted to pat his shoulder or give him a hug or something, but wasn't certain enough about the state of their relationship to try it, then turned and left.
Connor was incredibly relieved that she hadn't noticed how much brighter his blush had turned when she had mentioned Lester's name again.
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Connor/Lester (angsty pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Words: 2,653
Spoilers: Season 3, starting at 3.05
A/N & Thanks: Thank you to fredbassett, who very generously beta'd and cleaned this up for me!
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Previous parts:
( Part 1 )
---
Part 2:
The day has been quiet, and not just because of the absence of their resident talkative scientist. The anomaly detector had remained steadfastly silent all day. Even a call about an unusually large cat in a area ten minutes drive away turned out to be an unusually large domestic cat, who managed to look almost as put out by the team's presence in his territory as Lester felt about having sent them there.
It had certainly been a very quiet day, and despite his usual protestations that all days should be like so quiet, Lester felt the hours drag. He preferred it when other people were rushing around looking panicked; it made him look more in-control by comparison. The day would, he considered ironically, have been a perfect day to corner Connor in his office and insist on sorting out his personal issues immediately. Of course, Connor was at home, hopefully (but doubtfully) sorting out his personal issues, so Lester instead browsed through government personnel files looking for a psychologist with civilian experience and a sufficiently high clearance level.
It was always preferable to have a fall-back plan.
---
Connor carefully closed the lid on the third of the shoe boxes containing the video games he'd brought with him from Abby's, and stowed it away under his bed. The living room was spotless now, as tidy as it had been before he’d moved in. His bedroom was looking much improved on its normal state too, albeit still cluttered. There wasn't much he could do about that, it was a fairly small space in which to keep all his entire collection of worldly goods.
He padded barefoot out to the kitchen. He had already washed all the dishes from his late breakfast, but he had left them to drip dry, so they were still in the rack. It was six o'clock now, only an hour before Lester would start packing up his paperwork to head home, and Connor wanted to have everything put away and tidy before he arrived. It would be a sign of appreciation, and proof positive that he could be a good house guest.
The noise of the front door opening was so loud in the quiet apartment that Connor jumped. He turned to look towards the source of the noise while simultaneously raising his left wrist to check the time on his watch. In the process, his hands forgot that they were holding two drinking glasses ready to be returned to the shelf.
They hit the tiled floor hard. The shattering sound, amplified by the small space, seemed louder by far than the noise the door had made mere seconds before. Connor froze, a dozen thoughts vying for his attention.
"Connor?" Lester's voice rang out from the hall, "Was that you? Or have your pets grown weary of destroying my formal wear and turned to destroying my glassware?"
Connor tried to suck in a breath. It was harder to do than it should have been, and it caught in his throat. He knew there was a dustpan in the utility room, just off the kitchen. If he got it quickly enough, he might be able to sweep up the mess while Lester was still divesting himself of his coat. Split-second decision made, he made a dash for the door.
He made it exactly two steps before he was sharply reminded of two facts, both of which should have been immediately self-evident. The first was that there was broken glass on the floor. The second was that he had bare feet. He hissed in surprise and hastily lifted the damaged foot from the floor, very nearly overbalancing himself in the process. It was only a combination of reflexes and luck that had him catch hold of the edge of the sink in time to prevent himself from toppling.
"Connor?" Lester appeared at the door, now sans coat, and looked at him over the top of the kitchen island in the center of the room.
"I was putting away the glasses," Connor offered by way of explanation.
Lester tilted his head a few degrees to the side to see around the corner of the island, where the furthest flung shards of glass lay scattered.
"Traditionally the clean glasses go on the shelf, Connor, not the floor."
Connor nodded. "I dropped it. You startled me." He was silent for a moment, then added in a voice that was bordering on petulant, "You're early."
Lester nodded. "There was very little of any urgency going on. I thought I'd better make sure you hadn't completely destroyed my apartment while I was away." He paused, then added, "Perhaps I should have left a few minutes earlier?"
"I'm sorry, I'll replace the glasses. And I'll clean up the broken bits just as soon as I..." He gestured vaguely at his damaged foot, which was on the opposite side of the kitchen island to Lester and therefore completely obscured.
Lester furrowed his brow. "As soon as you what?"
"Stop bleeding, mostly."
Lester did not look happy. He took the three brisk steps required to see clearly around the counter's edge.
"Oh, for heaven's..." he started, then muttered something inaudible under his breath.
Connor instinctively looked around for an escape route but found himself both cornered and surrounded - by Lester and the broken glass respectively.
Lester exhaled, something between a huff and a sigh, and made his way over to Connor, kicking pieces of glass out of the way with his very shiny and probably very expensive shoes. He wrapped one arm around Connor's side, and Connor instinctively put his arm across Lester's shoulders so as to use him as a crutch. Neither one said a word as they slowly maneuvered out of the kitchen.
---
Connor wasn't really surprised that Lester knew first aid. Lester seemed to know a lot of stuff about a lot of things. It was probably part of the mandatory training when you were a big government executive: pushing paper, scaring your staff, and first aid.
What did came as a surprise though was how gentle he was at it. Lester arranged Connor on the sofa so that the small of his back was against the arm rest and his damaged foot was elevated, resting in Lester's lap, where he took to it with a pair of tweezers.
The shard of glass was large enough that it slipped out of his foot quite quickly. When it did, Connor unintentionally made a small squeaking noise and curled his foot in. It was pure reflex, moving the sore thing away from what was making it sore in the first place. Lester tutted.
"Don't curl your foot in like that. You'll make it worse."
It was just a reminder, neither snappish nor long-suffering, and it sounded odd coming from Lester. Connor was still considering this incongruous bedside manner when Lester went to swab the area with an antiseptic wipe.
Connor shrieked and pulled back further at the cold and stinging surprise.
"Connor!" That one did have the usual level of aggravation, and sounded for more like his usual boss. Connor immediately felt his cheeks bloom an embarrassed red.
"Sorry," he replied. "You startled me. Again." Then, in a poor bid to reclaim some dignity, "And, that stuff stings."
"It's supposed to sting, it's antiseptic."
Connor ducked his head to try to hide his flushed cheeks. "Doesn't need antiseptic," he replied, all too aware of how petulant and juvenile he sounded, but nevertheless unable to stop himself. "The glasses were clean. I cleaned them myself just a little while ago."
"And the floor? And your feet? I suppose you had just washed them as well?"
Connor pouted, sullen. "No," he acquiesced, funneling all his concentration into sitting absolutely still and not making a noise. He watched while Lester finished using whatever foul-smelling substances he deemed necessary, but when Lester retrieved a large gauze pad and what looked like enough bandage to wrap an underage mummy, Connor once again couldn't stop himself.
"That's a bit much, isn't it? It's only a little scratch, already stopped bleeding. A plaster will cover it just fine. No need to go overboard."
Lester considered this for a moment, before shaking his head. "There's not much for a plaster to grip to on the sole of your foot, and while the cut is shallow it's also over an inch long."
Connor, in a wise display of self-control, didn't argue back, even as the bandage ended up winding right up and around his ankle.
"In any case, all the plasters I have are 'Thomas' themed," mused Lester, in a way that was almost but not quite absent minded, "I suspect that's not really to your taste."
Connor found himself parsing and re-parsing that comment several times over, trying to find a way to twist the words into something consistent with his mental image of Lester. The words stubbornly refused to co-operate.
"Thomas?" Connor asked, expecting to receive an eye-roll and a correction. "As in...?"
"The Tank Engine," clarified Lester. Then, sensing Connor's confusion, he added, "They're for Michael. My son."
While this made perfect logical sense, Connor was completely flabbergasted. He knew Lester was a father. At least, he knew in the intellectual sense. Lester had made no secret of it, had even mentioned his kids at work once or twice, but that knowledge had been entirely academic. Now one of those children had a name and a personality trait, and suddenly Lester looked like an actual human being.
"Your son? Your son likes Thomas?"
Lester blinked slowly at him before answering, "Yes." A pause, then, "He's only four. Most four-year old boys like Thomas. Trains in general, really."
"Well yes, of course, it's just..." Connor stumbled over his words, tightly wrapped ankle all but forgotten. "I knew you had kids, obviously. It's just... You never really talk about them. I don't think I've even heard their names before."
"I prefer to keep my work separate from my home life," Lester said by way of explanation. He lifted Connor's foot off his lap back down onto the ground, and started packing up the first-aid kit again. "But to assuage your curiosity, their names are Josephine, Charlotte and Michael, from oldest to youngest. Josephine is twelve, Michael is four."
"And Charlotte?"
"Just recently turned ten, and more than usually proud of reaching double figures." Lester tried to close the clasp on the first aid kit. It refused to snap into place, despite the absence of the bandage now gracing Connor's foot and ankle. Lester opened it again and started to rearrange its contents.
"That's a big age gap," Connor observed. As an afterthought he hastened to clarify, "Between Charlotte and Michael, I mean."
Lester nodded, the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips. "Yes, we had intended to only have two. Michael was an... unexpected pleasure."
Connor watched the expressions playing across Lester's face. This strange new person who had replaced his boss wore a natural smile which proclaimed his affection and pride for his young progeny. He looked in every part the proud dad. It wasn't a smirk or a sneer, it was just a smile, and it looked so incredibly out of place.
This time the clasp on the first aid kit closed with a satisfying click and Lester stood to put it away. As he went to leave the room, he picked up the remote control and dropped it casually next to Connor.
"Best not to walk about too much tonight, if you can help it."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, no doubt to stack away the first aid kit and clean up Connor's mess. Connor couldn't help staring after him, his mind buzzing with confusion.
---
Connor managed to sleep the whole night through, which was particularly odd given that his foot was itchy and over-warm in its bandage. He couldn't yet say he felt properly rested and refreshed, but he didn't feel like he was about to fall asleep in his cereal either. In all, a significant improvement on the usual state of affairs.
Lester had offered him coffee and a walking stick, both of which Connor accepted gratefully, but the drive to work had been awkward. The silence this time had less to do with Connor trying to be a low maintenance house guest, and more to do with his inability to reconcile the concept of ‘Lester the Boss’ with ‘Lester the human being’. He couldn't really think of anything to talk about that would suit both kinds of Lester, and so he settled on saying nothing.
Lester, for some reason, kept glancing at him for the whole trip. When they had arrived at work and Lester was getting out of the car, Connor had even patted down his hair, just in case it had been standing up at some strange angle, but there was nothing odd that he could find.
It only took a few minutes for word to spread through the ARC gossip tree that Connor had come into work injured, and only a few minutes more before Abby came to ask him about it.
"I broke a glass," Connor offered as an explanation. Noting quickly that Abby wasn't following, he added, "Then I stepped on it."
Abby rolled her eyes in mock despair. "Tell me you didn't have to get Lester to drive you to A&E?"
Connor shook his head. "No. Lester had a first aid kit. No hospitals required."
"In that case, maybe I should have a look at it," Abby replied. "You're rubbish enough at first aid when you're doing it on someone else. I hate to think what you've done to yourself."
Connor pouted. "I have perfectly good first aid skills!" he retorted, then looked away again. "Anyway, Lester did the first aiding bit, not me. It's fine. Actually, it's more than fine, it's overkill... Did you know that Lester..." Connor stopped mid-sentence. He wanted to make some comment about Lester owning Thomas the Tank Engine plasters, but something made him stop. He couldn't say why, but he didn't want to share this little insight with Abby just yet. It felt like he would be betraying something intimate. Something shared in confidence. A breach of trust.
"That Lester what?" Abby prompted, waiting for Connor to finish his sentence.
Connor was alarmed to realize that he was blushing.
"... knows first aid," he finished lamely.
Abby shrugged. "Lots of people know first aid," she dismissed, her attention caught on his unexpected flush of colour. "Are you sure you're okay though? You're looking a bit warm."
"I was sick yesterday," Connor ducked his head to avoid her gaze. "With a cold. Probably just the tail end of that."
Abby seemed to accept his explanation, much to Connor's relief, although she kept looking at him strangely.
Connor grabbed some pieces of paper from a randomly selected nearby pile at looked intently at them.
"Got a lot of stuff from yesterday to catch up on, actually," he said, avoiding eye-contact. "I really should get started on it."
"Yeah," Abby replied. "I guess Lester's pretty unforgiving about that sort of stuff." She stood stiff and awkward for a moment, like she wanted to pat his shoulder or give him a hug or something, but wasn't certain enough about the state of their relationship to try it, then turned and left.
Connor was incredibly relieved that she hadn't noticed how much brighter his blush had turned when she had mentioned Lester's name again.