FIC: One of the Guys
Title: One of the Guys
Author(s): amphetamine_47
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Connor, Stephen, Abby, Ryan (briefly)
Spoilers: Mentally I've placed this between 1.05 & 1.06, but it could fit any time after Connor moves in with Abby
Summary: Male bonding
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them, all hail ITV, etc.
Notes: This came to me at a hockey game, because I wanted Stephen and Connor hanging out and bonding and being guys-despite Connor not generally being a "guy".
Also, I know nothing about rugby. If I've made any glaring errors, blame Wikipedia (and also please yell at me, because I'd like to fix it).
And a big thanks to my beta, kalliopeia, and to a1cmustangpilot for the offer. This is a wonderfully welcoming fandom!
Connor had been up most of the night, mainlining unhealthy amounts of caffeine and junk food and engaging in a 14-hour video game marathon; as far as he was concerned, he'd made prime use of the unexpected lapse in anomalies. He'd woken up at some point earlier as Abby left for Yoga (and ordered him to do things about the flat; he might have agreed to them, but can't remember a single one), and now continues to doze on the sofa, controller still loose in one hand and the screen paused.
Or he is until the knock on the door jolts him awake and sends him tumbling to the floor. He glances around in confusion for a long moment until the knock comes again and some part of his brain kicks in to inform him that he needs to answer the door.
"Coming," he calls, lurching to his feet, his socks slipping on the wooden floors.
Of all the people he's expecting to see when he opens the door, Stephen is certainly on the short list...but still not exactly anticipated. Connor blinks blearily at him and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: "Abby's not here."
"Good to know," Stephen says, slipping past him and in to the flat with an ease, a cool, that Connor envies. "But I'm actually not here to talk to Abby."
"Me?"
"Good guess."
Connor glances down at himself, realizing a little belatedly that he's wearing only boxers and a t-shirt...and his dressing gown. He yanks it closed and ties it around the waist, as though it makes him somehow more presentable.
"Uh...why?"
"Ryan, some of the boys, we play rugby a few weekends a month. When there are no anomalies, of course. Thought you might like to join in."
Connor looks down at himself again, looking for either the punch line to what is obviously going to be a very funny joke or whatever it is that's prompted Stephen to think he can play rugby. "I don't really-"
"Bit of a team building thing, yeah? C'mon, it'll do you good."
"You're not going to take me somewhere and leave me without any clothes, are you?"
Stephen looks confused, "What? Connor, why-"
"It's just...it's happened before."
He looks tempted to ask, but finally just shakes his head in amusement. "No, no one's going to steal your clothes. Now go get dressed. I'll be in the car."
Connor's halfway up the stairs before Stephen calls after him, "Sporty clothes! No waistcoats, no scarves, and no hats!"
"Really, really don't know how to play."
Stephen glances back at Connor as he unloads the car. Connor, in his t-shirt and shorts, looks even more nervous than usual, his startlingly pale legs shuffling anxiously.
"It's fine, you'll catch on quick. If you get the ball, run. If someone else has the ball, tackle them. If you get tackled with the ball, let it go. The rest we'll show you as we go along."
But Connor's still stuck on the word tackle, because he's not the sort who tackles people. Any people. For any reason. But Stephen's looking at him expectantly, so he nods. "Um, okay."
There are introductions, which Connor's sure will be his favorite part of the day; he knows Ryan, vaguely, and some of the other soldiers-again, vaguely-but feels absurdly slight next to them. He wonders if a human being can actually be broken in half. He wishes he'd left a note for Abby to give his signed Star Wars poster to Duncan after he's gone.
He contributes nothing to the conversation going on around him, because he's never done the trash-talking, pissing contest sort of macho competition. Instead he just watches it like a tennis match, smiling vacantly and laughing when the other blokes do. There's some sort of silent signal that he misses, and suddenly everyone's huddling up and Stephen's waving him over with a slightly exasperated smile.
And then all of a sudden the ball's shoved into his hands as men go roaring all around him, and he stands there, panicked, looking for Stephen for guidance.
"Run!" someone shouts. He's getting used to having that shouted at him, and getting far better at running, so he does.
Only to have a freight train in the shape of a man leap at him and knock him to the ground. He grunts painfully as he hits, again as the body lands on top of him, and he catches his lip on his teeth-or the edge of the ball, or the ground, he's really not sure-and feels it give. There's blood running down his chin and he's really not sure what to do now, because about this time someone would usually either be fussing over it already or telling him to run because there's a big, scary, time-displaced monster behind them.
"Ow," he manages, pressing a hand against his lip, "ow ow, oh there's blood..."
"First blood," the soldier laughs, and Connor's a little embarrassed that he doesn't remember the other man's name. He's given a hand up and a clap on the back as he gets to his feet, "First pint's on me."
Connor blinks, still holding his busted lip; no one seems terribly concerned and it makes him wonder worriedly what other kinds of injuries he can expect before this is all over. But they're all looking at him expectantly, so he just wipes at his mouth with a sleeve and gives a slightly painful smile.
"All right, Connor?" Stephen asks, and Connor nods a little giddily, and without complaint goes back to the game.
It takes a while, but Connor decides that, against all odds, he likes it. He likes the sportsmanship, and the camaraderie, and even the physicality. It seems like he's always just missed those little cues with people, and his only real friends had been people like Tom and Duncan, who shared this quirk. But here it's all very easy-a slap on the back and a hand up and a high five. He actually scores, for God's sake, because if nothing else he's got to be a pretty fast runner, and gets hugged and encouraged and Stephen laughs and says "Aren't you glad I asked him?" to which Ryan replies "Didn't know you were bringing a ringer!" and everyone laughs and Connor is in on the joke rather than being the butt of it.
He's just one of the guys.
Connor stumbles back in to the flat with skinned knees and grass in his hair. His lip is swollen and a little purple, he's got scrapes on his forehead and one elbow is a mess. He lurches in to a table, chuckles, and catches sight of Abby watching him from the couch. Her eyes go wide in surprise and maybe a little worry, and she's holding a steaming mug between her hands.
"Connor...did you get mugged?"
He smiles widely as he plops down next to her. "Nope. Played rugby."
Abby blinks, because this is decidedly not an answer she thought she'd receive from him. Ever.
"You what?"
"Played rugby. With Stephen and some of the...Ryan, and that lot."
She leans forward to set her tea on the table and wrinkles her nose as the smell hits her.
"Have you been drinking?"
A drunk Connor is only slightly more surprising than a rugby-playing Connor, and she wonders if she might go get herself checked for a head injury.
"Went to the pub, after," he agrees, pointing to his lip and looking proud. "First blood, got the first pint."
"And the rest...?" she indicates his multitude of other injuries, the mud staining his trainers and ankles, the grass in his hair.
"It's uh...doesn't hurt," he's blinking slowly now, voice low, exhaustion and alcohol obviously settling him to sleep.
"No," she shakes her head, "it won't. Not 'til you're sober."
She rolls her eyes affectionately and heads off to find some painkillers if only to save herself his complaints in the morning, but by the time she returns he's snoring lightly, head thrown back against the couch. She chuckles, leaves the painkillers on the table, tosses a blanket over him, and heads up to bed.
She makes a note to call Stephen in the morning; she has a feeling she's going to want to hear this story.
Author(s): amphetamine_47
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Connor, Stephen, Abby, Ryan (briefly)
Spoilers: Mentally I've placed this between 1.05 & 1.06, but it could fit any time after Connor moves in with Abby
Summary: Male bonding
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them, all hail ITV, etc.
Notes: This came to me at a hockey game, because I wanted Stephen and Connor hanging out and bonding and being guys-despite Connor not generally being a "guy".
Also, I know nothing about rugby. If I've made any glaring errors, blame Wikipedia (and also please yell at me, because I'd like to fix it).
And a big thanks to my beta, kalliopeia, and to a1cmustangpilot for the offer. This is a wonderfully welcoming fandom!
Connor had been up most of the night, mainlining unhealthy amounts of caffeine and junk food and engaging in a 14-hour video game marathon; as far as he was concerned, he'd made prime use of the unexpected lapse in anomalies. He'd woken up at some point earlier as Abby left for Yoga (and ordered him to do things about the flat; he might have agreed to them, but can't remember a single one), and now continues to doze on the sofa, controller still loose in one hand and the screen paused.
Or he is until the knock on the door jolts him awake and sends him tumbling to the floor. He glances around in confusion for a long moment until the knock comes again and some part of his brain kicks in to inform him that he needs to answer the door.
"Coming," he calls, lurching to his feet, his socks slipping on the wooden floors.
Of all the people he's expecting to see when he opens the door, Stephen is certainly on the short list...but still not exactly anticipated. Connor blinks blearily at him and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: "Abby's not here."
"Good to know," Stephen says, slipping past him and in to the flat with an ease, a cool, that Connor envies. "But I'm actually not here to talk to Abby."
"Me?"
"Good guess."
Connor glances down at himself, realizing a little belatedly that he's wearing only boxers and a t-shirt...and his dressing gown. He yanks it closed and ties it around the waist, as though it makes him somehow more presentable.
"Uh...why?"
"Ryan, some of the boys, we play rugby a few weekends a month. When there are no anomalies, of course. Thought you might like to join in."
Connor looks down at himself again, looking for either the punch line to what is obviously going to be a very funny joke or whatever it is that's prompted Stephen to think he can play rugby. "I don't really-"
"Bit of a team building thing, yeah? C'mon, it'll do you good."
"You're not going to take me somewhere and leave me without any clothes, are you?"
Stephen looks confused, "What? Connor, why-"
"It's just...it's happened before."
He looks tempted to ask, but finally just shakes his head in amusement. "No, no one's going to steal your clothes. Now go get dressed. I'll be in the car."
Connor's halfway up the stairs before Stephen calls after him, "Sporty clothes! No waistcoats, no scarves, and no hats!"
"Really, really don't know how to play."
Stephen glances back at Connor as he unloads the car. Connor, in his t-shirt and shorts, looks even more nervous than usual, his startlingly pale legs shuffling anxiously.
"It's fine, you'll catch on quick. If you get the ball, run. If someone else has the ball, tackle them. If you get tackled with the ball, let it go. The rest we'll show you as we go along."
But Connor's still stuck on the word tackle, because he's not the sort who tackles people. Any people. For any reason. But Stephen's looking at him expectantly, so he nods. "Um, okay."
There are introductions, which Connor's sure will be his favorite part of the day; he knows Ryan, vaguely, and some of the other soldiers-again, vaguely-but feels absurdly slight next to them. He wonders if a human being can actually be broken in half. He wishes he'd left a note for Abby to give his signed Star Wars poster to Duncan after he's gone.
He contributes nothing to the conversation going on around him, because he's never done the trash-talking, pissing contest sort of macho competition. Instead he just watches it like a tennis match, smiling vacantly and laughing when the other blokes do. There's some sort of silent signal that he misses, and suddenly everyone's huddling up and Stephen's waving him over with a slightly exasperated smile.
And then all of a sudden the ball's shoved into his hands as men go roaring all around him, and he stands there, panicked, looking for Stephen for guidance.
"Run!" someone shouts. He's getting used to having that shouted at him, and getting far better at running, so he does.
Only to have a freight train in the shape of a man leap at him and knock him to the ground. He grunts painfully as he hits, again as the body lands on top of him, and he catches his lip on his teeth-or the edge of the ball, or the ground, he's really not sure-and feels it give. There's blood running down his chin and he's really not sure what to do now, because about this time someone would usually either be fussing over it already or telling him to run because there's a big, scary, time-displaced monster behind them.
"Ow," he manages, pressing a hand against his lip, "ow ow, oh there's blood..."
"First blood," the soldier laughs, and Connor's a little embarrassed that he doesn't remember the other man's name. He's given a hand up and a clap on the back as he gets to his feet, "First pint's on me."
Connor blinks, still holding his busted lip; no one seems terribly concerned and it makes him wonder worriedly what other kinds of injuries he can expect before this is all over. But they're all looking at him expectantly, so he just wipes at his mouth with a sleeve and gives a slightly painful smile.
"All right, Connor?" Stephen asks, and Connor nods a little giddily, and without complaint goes back to the game.
It takes a while, but Connor decides that, against all odds, he likes it. He likes the sportsmanship, and the camaraderie, and even the physicality. It seems like he's always just missed those little cues with people, and his only real friends had been people like Tom and Duncan, who shared this quirk. But here it's all very easy-a slap on the back and a hand up and a high five. He actually scores, for God's sake, because if nothing else he's got to be a pretty fast runner, and gets hugged and encouraged and Stephen laughs and says "Aren't you glad I asked him?" to which Ryan replies "Didn't know you were bringing a ringer!" and everyone laughs and Connor is in on the joke rather than being the butt of it.
He's just one of the guys.
Connor stumbles back in to the flat with skinned knees and grass in his hair. His lip is swollen and a little purple, he's got scrapes on his forehead and one elbow is a mess. He lurches in to a table, chuckles, and catches sight of Abby watching him from the couch. Her eyes go wide in surprise and maybe a little worry, and she's holding a steaming mug between her hands.
"Connor...did you get mugged?"
He smiles widely as he plops down next to her. "Nope. Played rugby."
Abby blinks, because this is decidedly not an answer she thought she'd receive from him. Ever.
"You what?"
"Played rugby. With Stephen and some of the...Ryan, and that lot."
She leans forward to set her tea on the table and wrinkles her nose as the smell hits her.
"Have you been drinking?"
A drunk Connor is only slightly more surprising than a rugby-playing Connor, and she wonders if she might go get herself checked for a head injury.
"Went to the pub, after," he agrees, pointing to his lip and looking proud. "First blood, got the first pint."
"And the rest...?" she indicates his multitude of other injuries, the mud staining his trainers and ankles, the grass in his hair.
"It's uh...doesn't hurt," he's blinking slowly now, voice low, exhaustion and alcohol obviously settling him to sleep.
"No," she shakes her head, "it won't. Not 'til you're sober."
She rolls her eyes affectionately and heads off to find some painkillers if only to save herself his complaints in the morning, but by the time she returns he's snoring lightly, head thrown back against the couch. She chuckles, leaves the painkillers on the table, tosses a blanket over him, and heads up to bed.
She makes a note to call Stephen in the morning; she has a feeling she's going to want to hear this story.