Primeval fic: Memories Of A Different Life (2/2)
Title: Memories Of A Different Life (2/2)
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2750 (of ~6700)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan, (Christine Johnson, Team, OC)
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N: Um, I'm not entirely sure what this is. Possibly a bit of Lester introspection on life? Thanks go to Fifi for the beta, cheers m'dear. Any remaining mistakes are mine. Part 1 here.
Warnings: Character and OC deaths mentioned, along with angst and dark thoughts. A little sprinkling of slash and a dash of het too.
I knew it had been an impossible dream to avoid life and death decisions, but I had hoped to preserve the illusion for more than a day. I had known when I took the job that I risked sending my team to their deaths every time I sent them out to an anomaly, but to do nothing would have put civilians at risk and at least my people had some idea about and preparation for whatever they might encounter. But I still hated it and, even more, I hated being stuck back at the ARC, waiting for news of success or failure, for the number of dead and injured, and I couldn't help wonder if this was what my boss hoped. That I'd become so frustrated that I'd go into the field myself and then he'd have me back on active duty, it was that thought that kept me firmly behind my desk, filling out the never-ending paperwork and drinking more coffee than was good for me.
My situation was certainly not helped by the growing tension within the team, one that could snap at any moment and, knowing my luck, it would occur at the worst possible time. On one side was Cutter, who, thankfully in my opinion, had declared telling the public the truth about the anomalies was not a good idea, that it would cause more harm than good and risked changing the past, or possibly the present and future - I wasn't quite sure. On the other was Hart, who thought everyone should know, that people knowing the truth would save lives. I snorted at Hart's rosy view of the world and wondered if I had ever been that naïve. Oh, I agreed that knowing might save a few people here and there, but I knew people - they were curious or stupid or greedy and revealing the truth would lead to more people dying.
It hadn't been a great surprise to me when the tension finally snapped and set Cutter and Hart against each other. In all honesty, I couldn't even say that Helen being the cause was a surprise, revealing her affair with Stephen just went to prove what a manipulative bitch she was. Hart had been ignored by most of the team and sent into what was basically exile, not a good move in my opinion as it was likely to propel him further in Helen's clutches, but then, why would Cutter consult with me before he made changes to the team? I sighed, what remained of the team had been left near breaking point, pulled by friendships and loyalties, and it really hadn't helped to have a mammoth rampaging on the M25 and now housed at the ARC.
I should have expected worse to come, of course, and I had to watch as my orderly world once more caved around me, my mind once more filled with the cries of the injured and dying. The tensions in the team had distracted me and I had taken my eye off Leek, who had proven to be a traitor and working with Helen. Even worse, when I had been off trying to apprehend him, my team had vanished into thin air. They had taken off against my orders, leaving no word of where they were going or even taking any of the soldiers that had remained at the ARC with them. The bloody amateurs had left me trying to control the anomalies without a bloody field team.
I needed help and I needed it from someone who already knew about the ARC and the anomalies, which meant I needed Hart back on the team. Not that Cutter had actually officially fired him - he hadn't put through the necessary paperwork and so, as far as I was concerned, Hart was still officially employed by the ARC. It had thus been a surprise to be met by Hart's obvious suspicions and his near accusation that I was up to something. I was relieved when Hart had still agreed to deal with the scorpion on the beach, although the man's insistence that he did so alone and would leave if he saw any ARC personnel had all my instincts screaming that something was very wrong and I was sure that the cause was one Helen Cutter. I had to wonder if I had been correct and Hart's exile had driven him further into Helen's clutches. It took me only moments to weigh the risks before I called in Ryan and sent him off to observe Hart and to follow him after he had dealt with the scorpion, with strict orders not to reveal himself unless it was absolutely necessary.
When all the dust had settled, I knew I hadn't done enough - that once more I had failed in my mission. I had no excuse for not dealing with the situation between Cutter and Hart, and allowing the problem to grow until they couldn't function together and that had blown an almost fatal hole in the ability of the team to do their jobs. It led me to wonder if I was the right person to run the operation. Was I so scared to make the wrong decision, one that resulted in people being killed, that I instead made none? If so, I was a liability to the team and... I took a deep breath and winced as my stitches pulled, regret and what-might-have-beens didn't solve anything. My team deserved my full support and attention and from now on, that is what they'd get.
***
I sat in my office late into the night as I tried to make amends for my lack of leadership by trying to salvage the ARC project while dealing with the fall out from Leek's and Helen's actions. As with everything else over the past few years, it always went back to bloody Helen Cutter and the sooner I could get her on the terrorist list, the better. I didn't care if Cutter would agree or not, although after the bunker I was almost confident that he wouldn't complain too much about her inclusion.
The whole bloody thing had been a disaster - so many deaths and injuries at the ARC, including my own, the deaths on the beach, almost losing Hart when he had entered the cage room in his need to redeem himself in Cutter's eyes. Only the fact that I had sent Ryan to keep an eye on things had led to the safe retrieval of the entire field team and the capture of Leek; Helen, of course, had once more escaped our clutches.
Leek's information had been useful. Oh, he'd blustered and bluffed and boasted of his connections, but he had still quickly caved when I had got hold of him. I had hoped to conduct the interrogation in private, but Ryan had insisted on being present for my protection, no matter how many times I told him I would be fine. It had been a pity as I had hoped to keep my abilities - my past - secret, but I hadn't let Ryan's presence dissuade me from breaking Leek in my search for the toad's backers. It was just unfortunately that knowing who my enemies were was more important than keeping the good captain in ignorance of my abilities. In the end, Leek broke and the snivelling little man told me everything I wanted to know and, well, it wasn't a surprise that Helen bloody Cutter had approached Leek first - manipulative bitch that she was.
I had smiled coldly at Leek, seeing the fear in the man's eyes and feeling proud of myself for getting the information from him with minimum damage to him - being as skilled as I was in interrogation, I knew exactly how to cause the most pain without leaving any evidence. Oh, there were a few unavoidable marks on him, but little that he could use against me if he decided to complain about his treatment at my hands. At least, I had felt pride in my work before I turned and met the far-too-knowing eyes of Ryan as the man studied me. I knew I had let slip some of my previous life, enough from the considering look on Ryan's face when added to my familiarity with a machine gun for him to connect the dots and reach a conclusion I would have preferred him not to have made. Not that Ryan said anything to me but I knew I had lost any chance I might ever have had with the man.
In truth, the only good thing to come out of the entire débâcle was that Hart and Cutter had stopped dancing around one another and had finally, I smiled at the memory, literally kissed and made up. Life at the ARC had certainly became a little easier in the aftermath of their revelation and it was soon obvious that being regularly shagged did wonders for the stubborn professor's temperament.
Of course, all good things come to an end and that quiet period of peace at the ARC was merely the calm before the storm, shattered into a thousand pieces by the arrival of Christine back in my life. She had tried to put me on the back foot by summoning me to Whitehall and, well, I was ashamed to admit that it had worked. I hadn't realised I still held a soft spot for her in my heart and she had exploited that weakness ruthlessly. Not that it had helped her in the end when she had met Helen...
I swallowed as I remembered the agonising pain that had ripped through my chest when the future predator had sunk its claws into my chest. I, at least, had possessed a mammoth that had helped me survive the encounter. An advantage Christine hadn't had and the thought of her being torn limb from limb...although I had hoped she had been dead before it had begun to feed. That thought had me swallowing convulsively as bile rose in my throat.
“Come away, James.”
I only just suppressed my start when Ryan's voice sounded immediately behind me, I must have been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I had not heard his approach. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed that Ryan had managed to not only find me but to sneak so close to me, or pissed off that he felt the need to check up on me.
I should have known he would find me, would have followed me, after I had confessed what Christine had once meant to me. I smiled slightly as I recalled when his concern for my welfare had begun, not that I had known then that he had been behind it, and had, indeed, been highly suspicious of it. It had begun not long after the Bunker incident when I had buried myself in my work, staying long into the night as I fought to keep the ARC project going, preferably in my own hands. I had returned to my office to find a freshly brewed coffee, exactly the way I liked it, on my desk. I had stared at it for several moments in distrust before moving it to one side to grow cold. The next night I stayed late, I discovered another cup of coffee accompanied by my favourite type of sandwich on my desk, along with a note - Times New Roman font, size 12 - telling me they were perfectly safe to consume and wasn't it time I was at home, sleeping? I admit my eyebrow shot up when I read the note and I had to wonder why someone appeared to be so concerned about my welfare considering how I treated the majority of my staff.
I didn't like being in the dark about who was apparently being so solicitous of my health or their motives, and so set up surveillance of my own, but my mysterious benefactor proved themselves to be adept enough to avoid my cameras and other surveillance devices. It didn't do my nerves any good and I began to snap at people for no or little reason and that is when the thoughtful gestures stopped. I was relieved, although disappointed, and hoped that life would resume its normal banal existence, well, as mundane as life could be when your job consisted of corralling dinosaurs.
It had been late one night after a particularly harrowing day when Ryan knocked on my door and entered without waiting for my response. I had quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what the man could want at this time of night and what had gone wrong now. Ryan sighed and shook his head at me, before striding over to save the document I had been working on and switching my computer off. “It is 3am, sir, go home and get some sleep.”
It took me longer than I wanted to admit to realise that Ryan must have been my mysterious benefactor and even now, several months after that realisation, I was still not used to anyone being worried about me because they cared about me, rather than being concerned if I was capable of performing the task they had assigned to me.
In truth, Ryan was a godsend. He never asked me questions about my past, understanding as only another man who had killed for his country could, that some things were best left unspoken, unacknowledged. He knew that my past haunted me, how could he not when I woke up in his arms, screaming in foreign tongues, covered in sweat and shaking hard enough to rattle my bones. No, Ryan had never pressed for answers I was unwilling to give and I was grateful for that, he was my rock, my safety and the warm, strong arms that held me close after a sleep shattering nightmare, who murmured words of comfort until I fell back asleep once more, who loved me despite who I was. Who I loved more than my own life.
I was still lost in my musings at the graveside when I felt Ryan wrap his arms around me, pulling me back against his strong chest, and then I heard him swear. “Fuck! You're soaked through.” When I didn't react to him or his comment and just continued to stare down at Christine's empty grave, I felt Ryan's soft lips press against my neck as he nuzzled and kissed and licked in a most distracting way. “Please, James, come back to the car with me. You need to get warm and dry.”
I took a deep breath and silently wished Christine, alive or dead, well and allowed Ryan to pull me away. I dug my heels in after only a few steps and shook Ryan off as I turned back around to give a small bow of respect to Christine, her grave yet another marker of another person I had failed to save. I was only slightly surprised when Ryan snapped off his own salute before he quickly liberated my keys and bundled me into my own passenger seat.
I sighed as I relaxed against the leather seat and tried not to think how much it would cost me to have the car valeted as I allowed the heater, on full blast, to warm limbs I hadn't realised were cold. I turned my head to say something to Ryan, but I couldn't remember what it was as I watched drops of water run down his face. I licked my lips as I thought of chasing those drops of water and felt my cock twitch at those thoughts. “Warm me up?”
“Any time.” Ryan's reply was instantaneous and he pulled me into a kiss, his tongue seeking access and then duelling with my own until we were forced to part for need of oxygen. “But how about we go home first.” He waggled his eyebrow at me as he added, “A warm shower and then bed?”
“Damn right,” I muttered back as I settled further into the seat and wondered how hard it would be to entice Ryan to share the shower. Not to mention whether to shag Ryan in the shower or wait until we were snuggled together in bed. Whichever we decided - or even both - I knew it would be the perfect end to a not so perfect day.
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2750 (of ~6700)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan, (Christine Johnson, Team, OC)
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N: Um, I'm not entirely sure what this is. Possibly a bit of Lester introspection on life? Thanks go to Fifi for the beta, cheers m'dear. Any remaining mistakes are mine. Part 1 here.
Warnings: Character and OC deaths mentioned, along with angst and dark thoughts. A little sprinkling of slash and a dash of het too.
I knew it had been an impossible dream to avoid life and death decisions, but I had hoped to preserve the illusion for more than a day. I had known when I took the job that I risked sending my team to their deaths every time I sent them out to an anomaly, but to do nothing would have put civilians at risk and at least my people had some idea about and preparation for whatever they might encounter. But I still hated it and, even more, I hated being stuck back at the ARC, waiting for news of success or failure, for the number of dead and injured, and I couldn't help wonder if this was what my boss hoped. That I'd become so frustrated that I'd go into the field myself and then he'd have me back on active duty, it was that thought that kept me firmly behind my desk, filling out the never-ending paperwork and drinking more coffee than was good for me.
My situation was certainly not helped by the growing tension within the team, one that could snap at any moment and, knowing my luck, it would occur at the worst possible time. On one side was Cutter, who, thankfully in my opinion, had declared telling the public the truth about the anomalies was not a good idea, that it would cause more harm than good and risked changing the past, or possibly the present and future - I wasn't quite sure. On the other was Hart, who thought everyone should know, that people knowing the truth would save lives. I snorted at Hart's rosy view of the world and wondered if I had ever been that naïve. Oh, I agreed that knowing might save a few people here and there, but I knew people - they were curious or stupid or greedy and revealing the truth would lead to more people dying.
It hadn't been a great surprise to me when the tension finally snapped and set Cutter and Hart against each other. In all honesty, I couldn't even say that Helen being the cause was a surprise, revealing her affair with Stephen just went to prove what a manipulative bitch she was. Hart had been ignored by most of the team and sent into what was basically exile, not a good move in my opinion as it was likely to propel him further in Helen's clutches, but then, why would Cutter consult with me before he made changes to the team? I sighed, what remained of the team had been left near breaking point, pulled by friendships and loyalties, and it really hadn't helped to have a mammoth rampaging on the M25 and now housed at the ARC.
I should have expected worse to come, of course, and I had to watch as my orderly world once more caved around me, my mind once more filled with the cries of the injured and dying. The tensions in the team had distracted me and I had taken my eye off Leek, who had proven to be a traitor and working with Helen. Even worse, when I had been off trying to apprehend him, my team had vanished into thin air. They had taken off against my orders, leaving no word of where they were going or even taking any of the soldiers that had remained at the ARC with them. The bloody amateurs had left me trying to control the anomalies without a bloody field team.
I needed help and I needed it from someone who already knew about the ARC and the anomalies, which meant I needed Hart back on the team. Not that Cutter had actually officially fired him - he hadn't put through the necessary paperwork and so, as far as I was concerned, Hart was still officially employed by the ARC. It had thus been a surprise to be met by Hart's obvious suspicions and his near accusation that I was up to something. I was relieved when Hart had still agreed to deal with the scorpion on the beach, although the man's insistence that he did so alone and would leave if he saw any ARC personnel had all my instincts screaming that something was very wrong and I was sure that the cause was one Helen Cutter. I had to wonder if I had been correct and Hart's exile had driven him further into Helen's clutches. It took me only moments to weigh the risks before I called in Ryan and sent him off to observe Hart and to follow him after he had dealt with the scorpion, with strict orders not to reveal himself unless it was absolutely necessary.
When all the dust had settled, I knew I hadn't done enough - that once more I had failed in my mission. I had no excuse for not dealing with the situation between Cutter and Hart, and allowing the problem to grow until they couldn't function together and that had blown an almost fatal hole in the ability of the team to do their jobs. It led me to wonder if I was the right person to run the operation. Was I so scared to make the wrong decision, one that resulted in people being killed, that I instead made none? If so, I was a liability to the team and... I took a deep breath and winced as my stitches pulled, regret and what-might-have-beens didn't solve anything. My team deserved my full support and attention and from now on, that is what they'd get.
***
I sat in my office late into the night as I tried to make amends for my lack of leadership by trying to salvage the ARC project while dealing with the fall out from Leek's and Helen's actions. As with everything else over the past few years, it always went back to bloody Helen Cutter and the sooner I could get her on the terrorist list, the better. I didn't care if Cutter would agree or not, although after the bunker I was almost confident that he wouldn't complain too much about her inclusion.
The whole bloody thing had been a disaster - so many deaths and injuries at the ARC, including my own, the deaths on the beach, almost losing Hart when he had entered the cage room in his need to redeem himself in Cutter's eyes. Only the fact that I had sent Ryan to keep an eye on things had led to the safe retrieval of the entire field team and the capture of Leek; Helen, of course, had once more escaped our clutches.
Leek's information had been useful. Oh, he'd blustered and bluffed and boasted of his connections, but he had still quickly caved when I had got hold of him. I had hoped to conduct the interrogation in private, but Ryan had insisted on being present for my protection, no matter how many times I told him I would be fine. It had been a pity as I had hoped to keep my abilities - my past - secret, but I hadn't let Ryan's presence dissuade me from breaking Leek in my search for the toad's backers. It was just unfortunately that knowing who my enemies were was more important than keeping the good captain in ignorance of my abilities. In the end, Leek broke and the snivelling little man told me everything I wanted to know and, well, it wasn't a surprise that Helen bloody Cutter had approached Leek first - manipulative bitch that she was.
I had smiled coldly at Leek, seeing the fear in the man's eyes and feeling proud of myself for getting the information from him with minimum damage to him - being as skilled as I was in interrogation, I knew exactly how to cause the most pain without leaving any evidence. Oh, there were a few unavoidable marks on him, but little that he could use against me if he decided to complain about his treatment at my hands. At least, I had felt pride in my work before I turned and met the far-too-knowing eyes of Ryan as the man studied me. I knew I had let slip some of my previous life, enough from the considering look on Ryan's face when added to my familiarity with a machine gun for him to connect the dots and reach a conclusion I would have preferred him not to have made. Not that Ryan said anything to me but I knew I had lost any chance I might ever have had with the man.
In truth, the only good thing to come out of the entire débâcle was that Hart and Cutter had stopped dancing around one another and had finally, I smiled at the memory, literally kissed and made up. Life at the ARC had certainly became a little easier in the aftermath of their revelation and it was soon obvious that being regularly shagged did wonders for the stubborn professor's temperament.
Of course, all good things come to an end and that quiet period of peace at the ARC was merely the calm before the storm, shattered into a thousand pieces by the arrival of Christine back in my life. She had tried to put me on the back foot by summoning me to Whitehall and, well, I was ashamed to admit that it had worked. I hadn't realised I still held a soft spot for her in my heart and she had exploited that weakness ruthlessly. Not that it had helped her in the end when she had met Helen...
I swallowed as I remembered the agonising pain that had ripped through my chest when the future predator had sunk its claws into my chest. I, at least, had possessed a mammoth that had helped me survive the encounter. An advantage Christine hadn't had and the thought of her being torn limb from limb...although I had hoped she had been dead before it had begun to feed. That thought had me swallowing convulsively as bile rose in my throat.
“Come away, James.”
I only just suppressed my start when Ryan's voice sounded immediately behind me, I must have been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I had not heard his approach. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed that Ryan had managed to not only find me but to sneak so close to me, or pissed off that he felt the need to check up on me.
I should have known he would find me, would have followed me, after I had confessed what Christine had once meant to me. I smiled slightly as I recalled when his concern for my welfare had begun, not that I had known then that he had been behind it, and had, indeed, been highly suspicious of it. It had begun not long after the Bunker incident when I had buried myself in my work, staying long into the night as I fought to keep the ARC project going, preferably in my own hands. I had returned to my office to find a freshly brewed coffee, exactly the way I liked it, on my desk. I had stared at it for several moments in distrust before moving it to one side to grow cold. The next night I stayed late, I discovered another cup of coffee accompanied by my favourite type of sandwich on my desk, along with a note - Times New Roman font, size 12 - telling me they were perfectly safe to consume and wasn't it time I was at home, sleeping? I admit my eyebrow shot up when I read the note and I had to wonder why someone appeared to be so concerned about my welfare considering how I treated the majority of my staff.
I didn't like being in the dark about who was apparently being so solicitous of my health or their motives, and so set up surveillance of my own, but my mysterious benefactor proved themselves to be adept enough to avoid my cameras and other surveillance devices. It didn't do my nerves any good and I began to snap at people for no or little reason and that is when the thoughtful gestures stopped. I was relieved, although disappointed, and hoped that life would resume its normal banal existence, well, as mundane as life could be when your job consisted of corralling dinosaurs.
It had been late one night after a particularly harrowing day when Ryan knocked on my door and entered without waiting for my response. I had quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what the man could want at this time of night and what had gone wrong now. Ryan sighed and shook his head at me, before striding over to save the document I had been working on and switching my computer off. “It is 3am, sir, go home and get some sleep.”
It took me longer than I wanted to admit to realise that Ryan must have been my mysterious benefactor and even now, several months after that realisation, I was still not used to anyone being worried about me because they cared about me, rather than being concerned if I was capable of performing the task they had assigned to me.
In truth, Ryan was a godsend. He never asked me questions about my past, understanding as only another man who had killed for his country could, that some things were best left unspoken, unacknowledged. He knew that my past haunted me, how could he not when I woke up in his arms, screaming in foreign tongues, covered in sweat and shaking hard enough to rattle my bones. No, Ryan had never pressed for answers I was unwilling to give and I was grateful for that, he was my rock, my safety and the warm, strong arms that held me close after a sleep shattering nightmare, who murmured words of comfort until I fell back asleep once more, who loved me despite who I was. Who I loved more than my own life.
I was still lost in my musings at the graveside when I felt Ryan wrap his arms around me, pulling me back against his strong chest, and then I heard him swear. “Fuck! You're soaked through.” When I didn't react to him or his comment and just continued to stare down at Christine's empty grave, I felt Ryan's soft lips press against my neck as he nuzzled and kissed and licked in a most distracting way. “Please, James, come back to the car with me. You need to get warm and dry.”
I took a deep breath and silently wished Christine, alive or dead, well and allowed Ryan to pull me away. I dug my heels in after only a few steps and shook Ryan off as I turned back around to give a small bow of respect to Christine, her grave yet another marker of another person I had failed to save. I was only slightly surprised when Ryan snapped off his own salute before he quickly liberated my keys and bundled me into my own passenger seat.
I sighed as I relaxed against the leather seat and tried not to think how much it would cost me to have the car valeted as I allowed the heater, on full blast, to warm limbs I hadn't realised were cold. I turned my head to say something to Ryan, but I couldn't remember what it was as I watched drops of water run down his face. I licked my lips as I thought of chasing those drops of water and felt my cock twitch at those thoughts. “Warm me up?”
“Any time.” Ryan's reply was instantaneous and he pulled me into a kiss, his tongue seeking access and then duelling with my own until we were forced to part for need of oxygen. “But how about we go home first.” He waggled his eyebrow at me as he added, “A warm shower and then bed?”
“Damn right,” I muttered back as I settled further into the seat and wondered how hard it would be to entice Ryan to share the shower. Not to mention whether to shag Ryan in the shower or wait until we were snuggled together in bed. Whichever we decided - or even both - I knew it would be the perfect end to a not so perfect day.