fic: "Whatever's Gonna Happen Tonight" [2/3]
Title: Whatever's Gonna Happen Tonight, Pt. 2
Author: renisanz
Rating: PG
Words: 2,017
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Hilary Becker/Jessica Parker
Spoilers: Up to Series 4 finale.
Notes: pink_flame_87 's piece for write for relief. I suppose this loosely fits the third prompt.
. . . . . . . . . .
Part 1
They stood on the first floor landing. Becker stopped in front of the only door in the hall and looked expectantly at Jess.
She simply stared back at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. He raised his eyebrows. “My keys, Jessica.”
“Oh, right.” She produced them, and he gently took them from her hand, their fingers brushing as she did so. Becker quickly undid the lock and then a deadbolt with practiced efficiency, and then door opened and he was inside. “You didn't come all this way to spend the night in the hall did you?” He teased.
At that, Jess took the few short step to cross the threshold and into the flat. It was dark inside, the only illumination provided by light spilling in from the landing. She felt something tug at the strap of her bag, preventing her from venturing any further than the foyer. A hand ghosted along the small of her back, but Jess barely had time to register the sensation, when her attention was drawn by a low beeping sound behind her. Looking back over her right shoulder, she saw Becker's fingers dance across a keypad, as she realized he was disarming the alarm system.
Jess watched as he reached to a spot on the wall-he knew precisely where the switch was-and lights flickered on. She was finally able to get a proper first look around the flat. It wasn't quite how she had imagined.
Well, she had expected to place to be as neat. In the lounge area, there was a gray sofa accented with brown and yellow pillows. Two smaller chairs were on either side of the coffee table. She walked over and peered at the books on the wooden surface-a magazine about guns among them. No surprise there.
“Find something interesting?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing Becker's voice in her ear. She clutched her chest as she turned her head to face him.
“Sorry,” he apologized, though he looked more amused than regretful at startling her, if the ghost of a smirk was any indication.
“No,” she shook her head. “Really nice place. Honestly, I didn't think you were quite the type for interior decorating.”
“I'm not actually. Most of the furniture was here when I moved in. What?” Becker saw that Jess was working something out in her mind, that maybe she wanted to say more.
“Nothing,” Jess replied.
Becker rolled his eyes and persisted. “Come on, what is it?”
“It's just,” she walked away from him, her heels sinking into the plush rug beneath their feet. “It's a lot homier than I imagined. For you, I mean.” She turned around taking in the place. On the wall facing the sofa, where one would expect an entertainment system or fireplace to be located, was a glass case containing a variety of firearms, antiques mostly.
“That's definitely a personal touch.” Jess walked over to get a better look at the contents of the case.
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, the coffin's in the basement. I just keep the bed around for special guests.”
“Which one do you fancy?” Becker was standing close behind her again, but Jess resisted the urge to turn and look at him to confirm just how close he was standing.
She took in the inventory of the display, her eye finally stopping on a very old shotgun.
The extent of Jess' experience experience with firearms-outside of basic safety courses required of all the ARC personnel-amounted to several hours over an infinite number of weekends spent besting her older cousin Ron at Halo. Still, she could appreciate the aesthetics and craftsmanship that went into creating such a fine weapon.
A brief twinkle in his brown eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, and Becker was speaking as he looked away and lifted his chin, indicated the area behind her. “Bedroom is back right over there, if you'd like to get changed. I'll put on some tea, if you like.”
“Alright, thank you,” Jess said after a moment. Becker was already walking away, making his way toward the rear of the flat, toward the kitchen, she guessed.
. . . . .
Jess was just slipping on a pair of pink tracky bottoms when she heard a crash followed by a muffled string of uncharacteristically colourful language. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
She rushed to see what was the matter nearly tripping over furniture as she made her way, not familiar with the layout of the apartment. She stopped short, her feet sliding across the cool tile of the kitchen floor. At her arrival, Becker looked up and immediately motioned for her not to come any farther.
“Careful,” he held up his hands and looked down at her bare feet. “There's broken glass.”
“What happened?” She asked, not trying to hid the concern she was feeling.
“After effects of the EMD. I can't even pour a bloody cup of tea.” She noticed he was favouring his left hand.
“You burned yourself.” It wasn't really a question. She started to walk over to him, to have a better look.
“Jess, the glass,” he insisted.
“Yeah. I see it,” She cut off his protests. “Just come over here so I can have a look.” She nodded at the mess on the floor. “We'll worry about cleaning that up later. You should be resting anyhow,” She continued, as walked over to her. “Not trying to perform delicate tasks.”
“I think I can manage making a cup of tea. It's not exactly anomaly research, now is it.”
“Says the man nursing second degree burns on his hands.”
“It's not that bad.” Becker sounded indignant. Still, he let Jess take his arm and guide him over to the couch.
“Sit,” she ordered, pushing him down towards the cushions. That was a mistake. Instead of falling gracefully down onto the cushions, Becker stumbled, somehow tripping on Jess' feet in the process. She squeaked as they both tumbled onto the couch in a mass of tangled limbs.
“Oww,” Becker grunted from beneath her.
Trying hard and failing miserably at ignoring the intimate nature of their relative positions, Jess quickly glanced down at him through the fringe of hair that has some how come loose and fallen across her eyes. “Sorry,” Jess bit her lip as she flushed. “So sorry.” As the weight of his large, warm hands rested on the side of her waist, her back, she was unable to form any more coherent words of apology.
. . . . .
The night was definitely not going as she'd planned. Not that she had actually planned for anything to happen. When Dr. Bhakta had approached her and suggested that Jess see Becker home, Jess, was barely able to contain her excitement. She and Becker had gotten on great during their work hours, but the only time she had been able to spend with him for the past few months had been during work. She could kid herself into think that the stakeout somehow qualified as a date, but the whole having to save him by diffusing a bomb set by a psycho thing had killed any romantic prospects for that evening.
And today, she had been presented with the opportunity of spending some real time with Becker. She had to keep him up all night, and what better way to do that than to talk. She could finally get answers to all those pressing questions that had nagged her. It turned out that Connor and Abby could not tell her much more about Becker than the files, and Jess was not about to go searching out the personal details in Becker's file. Not that there were many. Unable to resist the temptation, she had started to read at one point but was soon was overcome with guilt over what she was doing. Jess was also enough of a blabber mouth that she figured there was no way anything she gleaned from the files would come out in a dignified fashion, and at worst she would end up looking like a pathetic stalker. Or a lovesick young girl, which was the absolute last thing she wanted Becker to see her as.
She had a tendency to come on too strong, to be too pushy, inquisitive, and that had a habit of backfiring. She would say the wrong thing before she realized, unable to grab the words back, and then she would often ended up saying worse in a effort to mend the error.
Jess deposited the glass shards into the dustbin. She put the broom and dust pan back in their places and walked over to join Becker in the lounge room.
“You didn't have to clean that up.”
Jess walked around the table, not trusting herself to walk over his outstretched legs without causing him another injury. “It was no problem, really.” Jess assure him as she on the opposite end of the sofa. “How's your hand?”
Becker glanced at his hand. Jess had applied an antiseptic cream to the burned area before going to clean up the tea and broken cup. “I barely feel it. But that could be a combination of the EMD and the Nurofen.”
He looked up at Jess and smirked. She felt her heart flutter and looked away before smiling in return. “Right. Well, what can we do to pass the time? We could watch something.”
She looked around the room. It was absent of a television. “You don't have a TV,” she stated. She shouldn’t be surprised, really, considering the type of man Becker was. He probably would rather spend his evenings cleaning guns or...whatever. Still until now, Jess had entertained the vague hope that she might be able to watch the Top Model marathon to pass the time.
Becker merely raised a eyebrow at her. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Jess stared at him quizzically before lifted her head as well. Her eyes locked on the a familiar box shape affixed to a rafter overhead. “A projector. Brilliant.”
“Yeah, though, I don’t get much use out of it. Anyway, I usually clean my guns in my free time.”
Wow. That is a shocker, Jess thought.
Becker looked at Jess.Her sarcasm must have been apparent in her face, because he narrowed his eyes at her before continuing. “Or go to the shooting range. But...” he looked over at Jess, as if to get confirmation, “I suppose either of those out of the question in my...impaired condition.” He said the last words through gritted teeth and Jess frowned.
“Well,” Jess huffed and crossed her arms for effect, “If I had know you were going to be such a big baby about this...” She purposely let the sentence go unfinished.
“I am not being a baby,” Becker protested. “I just don't like having to sit around and rest or whatever I'm supposed to be doing-or not doing-this whole time.”
Jessica glared at him, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “So, what? You'd rather be running around the streets of London with a mild traumatic head injury. I had to drive you home, remember?”
“Yes, and the memory of that will haunt me for quite sometime.”
“Hey!”
“Honestly, Jess, your driving skills are quite frightening.” Becker shrugged. “But as you've pointed out, I am currently brain damaged, so who can tell for sure.”
She stood up from the couch and walked determinately toward the kitchen. Becker reached out, catching hold of her elbow before she could get by him. “Hey, I was only kidding. Where are you going?”
She sighed. “To make some tea, you brain damaged soldier boy.”
“Oh,” Becker nodded and then released her arm. She immediately missed his touch on her skin, but she put the thought out of her mind as she walked.
“Wait, what did you call me?” Becker called after her.
Jess smiled. She didn't turn around to see the indignant look on his face
. . . . . . . . . .
Part 3
Author: renisanz
Rating: PG
Words: 2,017
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Hilary Becker/Jessica Parker
Spoilers: Up to Series 4 finale.
Notes: pink_flame_87 's piece for write for relief. I suppose this loosely fits the third prompt.
. . . . . . . . . .
Part 1
They stood on the first floor landing. Becker stopped in front of the only door in the hall and looked expectantly at Jess.
She simply stared back at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. He raised his eyebrows. “My keys, Jessica.”
“Oh, right.” She produced them, and he gently took them from her hand, their fingers brushing as she did so. Becker quickly undid the lock and then a deadbolt with practiced efficiency, and then door opened and he was inside. “You didn't come all this way to spend the night in the hall did you?” He teased.
At that, Jess took the few short step to cross the threshold and into the flat. It was dark inside, the only illumination provided by light spilling in from the landing. She felt something tug at the strap of her bag, preventing her from venturing any further than the foyer. A hand ghosted along the small of her back, but Jess barely had time to register the sensation, when her attention was drawn by a low beeping sound behind her. Looking back over her right shoulder, she saw Becker's fingers dance across a keypad, as she realized he was disarming the alarm system.
Jess watched as he reached to a spot on the wall-he knew precisely where the switch was-and lights flickered on. She was finally able to get a proper first look around the flat. It wasn't quite how she had imagined.
Well, she had expected to place to be as neat. In the lounge area, there was a gray sofa accented with brown and yellow pillows. Two smaller chairs were on either side of the coffee table. She walked over and peered at the books on the wooden surface-a magazine about guns among them. No surprise there.
“Find something interesting?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing Becker's voice in her ear. She clutched her chest as she turned her head to face him.
“Sorry,” he apologized, though he looked more amused than regretful at startling her, if the ghost of a smirk was any indication.
“No,” she shook her head. “Really nice place. Honestly, I didn't think you were quite the type for interior decorating.”
“I'm not actually. Most of the furniture was here when I moved in. What?” Becker saw that Jess was working something out in her mind, that maybe she wanted to say more.
“Nothing,” Jess replied.
Becker rolled his eyes and persisted. “Come on, what is it?”
“It's just,” she walked away from him, her heels sinking into the plush rug beneath their feet. “It's a lot homier than I imagined. For you, I mean.” She turned around taking in the place. On the wall facing the sofa, where one would expect an entertainment system or fireplace to be located, was a glass case containing a variety of firearms, antiques mostly.
“That's definitely a personal touch.” Jess walked over to get a better look at the contents of the case.
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, the coffin's in the basement. I just keep the bed around for special guests.”
“Which one do you fancy?” Becker was standing close behind her again, but Jess resisted the urge to turn and look at him to confirm just how close he was standing.
She took in the inventory of the display, her eye finally stopping on a very old shotgun.
The extent of Jess' experience experience with firearms-outside of basic safety courses required of all the ARC personnel-amounted to several hours over an infinite number of weekends spent besting her older cousin Ron at Halo. Still, she could appreciate the aesthetics and craftsmanship that went into creating such a fine weapon.
A brief twinkle in his brown eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, and Becker was speaking as he looked away and lifted his chin, indicated the area behind her. “Bedroom is back right over there, if you'd like to get changed. I'll put on some tea, if you like.”
“Alright, thank you,” Jess said after a moment. Becker was already walking away, making his way toward the rear of the flat, toward the kitchen, she guessed.
. . . . .
Jess was just slipping on a pair of pink tracky bottoms when she heard a crash followed by a muffled string of uncharacteristically colourful language. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
She rushed to see what was the matter nearly tripping over furniture as she made her way, not familiar with the layout of the apartment. She stopped short, her feet sliding across the cool tile of the kitchen floor. At her arrival, Becker looked up and immediately motioned for her not to come any farther.
“Careful,” he held up his hands and looked down at her bare feet. “There's broken glass.”
“What happened?” She asked, not trying to hid the concern she was feeling.
“After effects of the EMD. I can't even pour a bloody cup of tea.” She noticed he was favouring his left hand.
“You burned yourself.” It wasn't really a question. She started to walk over to him, to have a better look.
“Jess, the glass,” he insisted.
“Yeah. I see it,” She cut off his protests. “Just come over here so I can have a look.” She nodded at the mess on the floor. “We'll worry about cleaning that up later. You should be resting anyhow,” She continued, as walked over to her. “Not trying to perform delicate tasks.”
“I think I can manage making a cup of tea. It's not exactly anomaly research, now is it.”
“Says the man nursing second degree burns on his hands.”
“It's not that bad.” Becker sounded indignant. Still, he let Jess take his arm and guide him over to the couch.
“Sit,” she ordered, pushing him down towards the cushions. That was a mistake. Instead of falling gracefully down onto the cushions, Becker stumbled, somehow tripping on Jess' feet in the process. She squeaked as they both tumbled onto the couch in a mass of tangled limbs.
“Oww,” Becker grunted from beneath her.
Trying hard and failing miserably at ignoring the intimate nature of their relative positions, Jess quickly glanced down at him through the fringe of hair that has some how come loose and fallen across her eyes. “Sorry,” Jess bit her lip as she flushed. “So sorry.” As the weight of his large, warm hands rested on the side of her waist, her back, she was unable to form any more coherent words of apology.
. . . . .
The night was definitely not going as she'd planned. Not that she had actually planned for anything to happen. When Dr. Bhakta had approached her and suggested that Jess see Becker home, Jess, was barely able to contain her excitement. She and Becker had gotten on great during their work hours, but the only time she had been able to spend with him for the past few months had been during work. She could kid herself into think that the stakeout somehow qualified as a date, but the whole having to save him by diffusing a bomb set by a psycho thing had killed any romantic prospects for that evening.
And today, she had been presented with the opportunity of spending some real time with Becker. She had to keep him up all night, and what better way to do that than to talk. She could finally get answers to all those pressing questions that had nagged her. It turned out that Connor and Abby could not tell her much more about Becker than the files, and Jess was not about to go searching out the personal details in Becker's file. Not that there were many. Unable to resist the temptation, she had started to read at one point but was soon was overcome with guilt over what she was doing. Jess was also enough of a blabber mouth that she figured there was no way anything she gleaned from the files would come out in a dignified fashion, and at worst she would end up looking like a pathetic stalker. Or a lovesick young girl, which was the absolute last thing she wanted Becker to see her as.
She had a tendency to come on too strong, to be too pushy, inquisitive, and that had a habit of backfiring. She would say the wrong thing before she realized, unable to grab the words back, and then she would often ended up saying worse in a effort to mend the error.
Jess deposited the glass shards into the dustbin. She put the broom and dust pan back in their places and walked over to join Becker in the lounge room.
“You didn't have to clean that up.”
Jess walked around the table, not trusting herself to walk over his outstretched legs without causing him another injury. “It was no problem, really.” Jess assure him as she on the opposite end of the sofa. “How's your hand?”
Becker glanced at his hand. Jess had applied an antiseptic cream to the burned area before going to clean up the tea and broken cup. “I barely feel it. But that could be a combination of the EMD and the Nurofen.”
He looked up at Jess and smirked. She felt her heart flutter and looked away before smiling in return. “Right. Well, what can we do to pass the time? We could watch something.”
She looked around the room. It was absent of a television. “You don't have a TV,” she stated. She shouldn’t be surprised, really, considering the type of man Becker was. He probably would rather spend his evenings cleaning guns or...whatever. Still until now, Jess had entertained the vague hope that she might be able to watch the Top Model marathon to pass the time.
Becker merely raised a eyebrow at her. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Jess stared at him quizzically before lifted her head as well. Her eyes locked on the a familiar box shape affixed to a rafter overhead. “A projector. Brilliant.”
“Yeah, though, I don’t get much use out of it. Anyway, I usually clean my guns in my free time.”
Wow. That is a shocker, Jess thought.
Becker looked at Jess.Her sarcasm must have been apparent in her face, because he narrowed his eyes at her before continuing. “Or go to the shooting range. But...” he looked over at Jess, as if to get confirmation, “I suppose either of those out of the question in my...impaired condition.” He said the last words through gritted teeth and Jess frowned.
“Well,” Jess huffed and crossed her arms for effect, “If I had know you were going to be such a big baby about this...” She purposely let the sentence go unfinished.
“I am not being a baby,” Becker protested. “I just don't like having to sit around and rest or whatever I'm supposed to be doing-or not doing-this whole time.”
Jessica glared at him, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “So, what? You'd rather be running around the streets of London with a mild traumatic head injury. I had to drive you home, remember?”
“Yes, and the memory of that will haunt me for quite sometime.”
“Hey!”
“Honestly, Jess, your driving skills are quite frightening.” Becker shrugged. “But as you've pointed out, I am currently brain damaged, so who can tell for sure.”
She stood up from the couch and walked determinately toward the kitchen. Becker reached out, catching hold of her elbow before she could get by him. “Hey, I was only kidding. Where are you going?”
She sighed. “To make some tea, you brain damaged soldier boy.”
“Oh,” Becker nodded and then released her arm. She immediately missed his touch on her skin, but she put the thought out of her mind as she walked.
“Wait, what did you call me?” Becker called after her.
Jess smiled. She didn't turn around to see the indignant look on his face
. . . . . . . . . .
Part 3