Primeval fic: Fitting
Title: Fitting
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin', don't make no money from it neither.
Rating: R? Ish?
Summary: Stephen Hart needs a different kind of strong woman.
AN: So, imagine my surprise to discover there's actually a tag for this pairing. Also, assume the Anomaly of Convenient Stephen Rescue appeared in Leek's Menagerie of Doom.
***************
He was just tired sometimes. Tired of the role of hero, tired of the constant jokes over his looks, tired of being not scientist enough for the real scientist wanks and not man enough for the SFs. Nick was dead and gone, his best friend gone because of the woman they'd both loved, and it was harder than he'd ever thought it could be, getting used to being in his own proper time again.
Connor and Abby helped, the pair who could remember all the way back to the start, who could remember Cutter's enthusiasm and how it had all been filled with so much wonder to begin with. But they'd formed their own tight-knit unit of two, and it sometimes hurt, because it reminded him of how he and Nick had gravitated to each other in the wake of Helen's disappearance. With a bond that close, sometimes there was no room for anyone else.
That was why Allison had been perfect, then. She was gone most of the time, and when he really wanted a shag, she'd be back. They scratched each other's itches, both of them too hurt by previous relationships to even think of anything else.
When he'd first met Abby, he'd sort of almost thought he'd found another Helen. Another strong, sharp, dominant woman who'd keep him on his toes and give back as good as she got. But he'd messed that up with his little bout of post-venom amnesia.
Now he didn't want someone edgy, he didn't want dominating and strong. It wasn't that he wanted someone weak, but he was just so tired of fighting and clawing for some equity in his relationships. Second to Helen, second to Cutter, second to every bloody damn member of the ARC, because they'd all moved on without him, but he had nowhere else to go.
She found him drinking, dragged him back to her flat and let him sleep it off on her sofa. When he woke, it was to a cheerful, sunlit room, a pair of paracetamol on the table next to a glass of water and her lovely, sympathetic (too young, damnit!) face on the armchair opposite. "Did the drinking help?" she asked, softly.
"No," he replied, honestly. "Not this morning. But last night . . . sometimes I just want to forget a bit. Forget that it's all fallen apart on me."
"Connor was like that sometimes when he and Abby got back," Jess said frankly. "For all that none of us really liked Burton that much, I have to admit, I sometimes wonder if his New Dawn stupidity didn't give Connor a reason to keep going again."
Stephen raised an eyebrow at her, trying to picture Connor in the sort of borderline alcoholic state he was in now. "Connor?"
"Connor," Jess nodded solemnly. "He's so optimistic about things that when it falls apart on him, it hits him harder, I think."
That was food for thought, and maybe he hadn't given Connor enough credit. "Thanks for last night. God only knows what would have happened if you'd left me."
"It wasn't any trouble," she said, flushing a little around her friendly smile.
"I'm sure it must have been a little," he contradicted. "I've been told I'm a terrible drunk."
She was more than a little sardonic as she said, "You don't say."
He couldn't stop the words that spilled out suddenly. "I just don't fit anywhere anymore."
The sympathy in her eyes was warm and comforting, like the hand she laid over his own, reaching over the small table between them. "You'll figure out a new place. Emily's Victorian and Matt's from the future. Connor and Abby were lost in time and Becker wanted to quit when they restarted after Sarah died and the government cancelled the programme." Abruptly she stood, circled around and joined him on the sofa, pressed against his side.
And Stephen couldn't help but bask, because he was just so tired of edge and harshness, he was tired of being strong and he wanted so very much for something soft and comforting and warm in his life. He wasn't thinking as he leaned forward, kissing her.
She jerked away. "Oh!"
"I'm sorry," he apologised at once. She was probably dating someone, maybe that bloody Captain Becker. Even if she wasn't, he was too old for her, by far, and he pulled himself to his feet at once. "I shouldn't have . . . I'll see you at the ARC," he told her hastily as he started to the door.
"Stephen, wait."
He turned, slowly. "I wasn't thinking," he told her tiredly. "I just . . . you're beautiful, you know that? And strong without needing to be all hard and sharp edges like Abby or Helen."
"I would hope I'm nothing like Helen," Jess said, undertones of something hard and sharp in her voice. But it was an underlying threat, one that wasn't natural to her, and it pulled Stephen in all the more. Because she was sharp, but it wasn't combative, it was clever. She could be hard, but only when she needed to be. She was like Connor had been before death and dinosaurs and everything in between had hardened him, and Stephen was jaded and needed someone to remind him what it was like to feel wonder and joy in the world. And something in her stiffened in resolve, and she muttered something that sounded like, "Should've made a move, Hilary," and then she was in his arms.
Kissing Jess was like sinking into a hot bath. Comforting and soothing and sensual all at once. Jess didn't demand, she asked, and she was willing and . . . not submissive, but accepting, and Stephen was suddenly in a frenzy of need to touch her. He wanted to tease her into her own frenzy, wanted to play, laughing as she insisted on talking the whole time about silly nicknames people gave to bits of their anatomy and how funny it was that sex was so much fun, but really quite icky if you thought too much about it in the right way.
She never demanded he get on with the Big Event, letting him take his time with her breasts and bellybutton, nibbling over those feet she normally crammed into silly shoes. Letting him bemoan aloud his regret that having sex with someone wearing sexy shoes sounded good, but in practice never quite worked right and laughing with him over it.
And when he finally slid into her, it was like coming home, and it didn't matter that in his thirties he was starting to feel past his prime, a relic of days as an athlete, where thirty really was middle-aged. It didn't matter that she was only barely twenty and people would accuse him of taking advantage of her relative innocence. All that mattered was that in that moment, she was what he needed so badly.
He never quite left her flat after that.
Lester played defensive father admirably, and Stephen couldn't find it in his heart to resent that shift in the man, it made him finally seem human to the tracker. Becker was bitter, but after a knock-down, drag-out fight with Jess, he admitted that, yes, she couldn't hang around waiting for him to get on with it. Abby was quite snide on the matter, which Stephen had expected, and Connor was supportive, which he had not.
In fact, Connor showed up after he'd been stopping off for a week at the flat he'd been sharing with Abby and Connor, and dropped off the bag of all his clothing and items he'd got since making his way back, and said, "I'm glad you're finding your feet. I think she's good for you. Sort of like me and Abby. You fit."
And they did. Because he liked giving her flowers and holding open doors. He liked doing all those things that Helen had said were lowering to women and Abby would have been offended, thinking he was treating her that way out of condescension. More, though, she made him be his own person. Because Jess wasn't one to dominate and lead a relationship the way Helen had and Abby did with Connor, she forced Stephen into having opinions about decorating and dinner, holidays and clothing, and for the first time since he'd come into the orbit of the Cutters, Stephen felt like he was his own person.
For that, more than anything else, Stephen loved Jess.
Go to the Primeval Archive Page
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin', don't make no money from it neither.
Rating: R? Ish?
Summary: Stephen Hart needs a different kind of strong woman.
AN: So, imagine my surprise to discover there's actually a tag for this pairing. Also, assume the Anomaly of Convenient Stephen Rescue appeared in Leek's Menagerie of Doom.
***************
He was just tired sometimes. Tired of the role of hero, tired of the constant jokes over his looks, tired of being not scientist enough for the real scientist wanks and not man enough for the SFs. Nick was dead and gone, his best friend gone because of the woman they'd both loved, and it was harder than he'd ever thought it could be, getting used to being in his own proper time again.
Connor and Abby helped, the pair who could remember all the way back to the start, who could remember Cutter's enthusiasm and how it had all been filled with so much wonder to begin with. But they'd formed their own tight-knit unit of two, and it sometimes hurt, because it reminded him of how he and Nick had gravitated to each other in the wake of Helen's disappearance. With a bond that close, sometimes there was no room for anyone else.
That was why Allison had been perfect, then. She was gone most of the time, and when he really wanted a shag, she'd be back. They scratched each other's itches, both of them too hurt by previous relationships to even think of anything else.
When he'd first met Abby, he'd sort of almost thought he'd found another Helen. Another strong, sharp, dominant woman who'd keep him on his toes and give back as good as she got. But he'd messed that up with his little bout of post-venom amnesia.
Now he didn't want someone edgy, he didn't want dominating and strong. It wasn't that he wanted someone weak, but he was just so tired of fighting and clawing for some equity in his relationships. Second to Helen, second to Cutter, second to every bloody damn member of the ARC, because they'd all moved on without him, but he had nowhere else to go.
She found him drinking, dragged him back to her flat and let him sleep it off on her sofa. When he woke, it was to a cheerful, sunlit room, a pair of paracetamol on the table next to a glass of water and her lovely, sympathetic (too young, damnit!) face on the armchair opposite. "Did the drinking help?" she asked, softly.
"No," he replied, honestly. "Not this morning. But last night . . . sometimes I just want to forget a bit. Forget that it's all fallen apart on me."
"Connor was like that sometimes when he and Abby got back," Jess said frankly. "For all that none of us really liked Burton that much, I have to admit, I sometimes wonder if his New Dawn stupidity didn't give Connor a reason to keep going again."
Stephen raised an eyebrow at her, trying to picture Connor in the sort of borderline alcoholic state he was in now. "Connor?"
"Connor," Jess nodded solemnly. "He's so optimistic about things that when it falls apart on him, it hits him harder, I think."
That was food for thought, and maybe he hadn't given Connor enough credit. "Thanks for last night. God only knows what would have happened if you'd left me."
"It wasn't any trouble," she said, flushing a little around her friendly smile.
"I'm sure it must have been a little," he contradicted. "I've been told I'm a terrible drunk."
She was more than a little sardonic as she said, "You don't say."
He couldn't stop the words that spilled out suddenly. "I just don't fit anywhere anymore."
The sympathy in her eyes was warm and comforting, like the hand she laid over his own, reaching over the small table between them. "You'll figure out a new place. Emily's Victorian and Matt's from the future. Connor and Abby were lost in time and Becker wanted to quit when they restarted after Sarah died and the government cancelled the programme." Abruptly she stood, circled around and joined him on the sofa, pressed against his side.
And Stephen couldn't help but bask, because he was just so tired of edge and harshness, he was tired of being strong and he wanted so very much for something soft and comforting and warm in his life. He wasn't thinking as he leaned forward, kissing her.
She jerked away. "Oh!"
"I'm sorry," he apologised at once. She was probably dating someone, maybe that bloody Captain Becker. Even if she wasn't, he was too old for her, by far, and he pulled himself to his feet at once. "I shouldn't have . . . I'll see you at the ARC," he told her hastily as he started to the door.
"Stephen, wait."
He turned, slowly. "I wasn't thinking," he told her tiredly. "I just . . . you're beautiful, you know that? And strong without needing to be all hard and sharp edges like Abby or Helen."
"I would hope I'm nothing like Helen," Jess said, undertones of something hard and sharp in her voice. But it was an underlying threat, one that wasn't natural to her, and it pulled Stephen in all the more. Because she was sharp, but it wasn't combative, it was clever. She could be hard, but only when she needed to be. She was like Connor had been before death and dinosaurs and everything in between had hardened him, and Stephen was jaded and needed someone to remind him what it was like to feel wonder and joy in the world. And something in her stiffened in resolve, and she muttered something that sounded like, "Should've made a move, Hilary," and then she was in his arms.
Kissing Jess was like sinking into a hot bath. Comforting and soothing and sensual all at once. Jess didn't demand, she asked, and she was willing and . . . not submissive, but accepting, and Stephen was suddenly in a frenzy of need to touch her. He wanted to tease her into her own frenzy, wanted to play, laughing as she insisted on talking the whole time about silly nicknames people gave to bits of their anatomy and how funny it was that sex was so much fun, but really quite icky if you thought too much about it in the right way.
She never demanded he get on with the Big Event, letting him take his time with her breasts and bellybutton, nibbling over those feet she normally crammed into silly shoes. Letting him bemoan aloud his regret that having sex with someone wearing sexy shoes sounded good, but in practice never quite worked right and laughing with him over it.
And when he finally slid into her, it was like coming home, and it didn't matter that in his thirties he was starting to feel past his prime, a relic of days as an athlete, where thirty really was middle-aged. It didn't matter that she was only barely twenty and people would accuse him of taking advantage of her relative innocence. All that mattered was that in that moment, she was what he needed so badly.
He never quite left her flat after that.
Lester played defensive father admirably, and Stephen couldn't find it in his heart to resent that shift in the man, it made him finally seem human to the tracker. Becker was bitter, but after a knock-down, drag-out fight with Jess, he admitted that, yes, she couldn't hang around waiting for him to get on with it. Abby was quite snide on the matter, which Stephen had expected, and Connor was supportive, which he had not.
In fact, Connor showed up after he'd been stopping off for a week at the flat he'd been sharing with Abby and Connor, and dropped off the bag of all his clothing and items he'd got since making his way back, and said, "I'm glad you're finding your feet. I think she's good for you. Sort of like me and Abby. You fit."
And they did. Because he liked giving her flowers and holding open doors. He liked doing all those things that Helen had said were lowering to women and Abby would have been offended, thinking he was treating her that way out of condescension. More, though, she made him be his own person. Because Jess wasn't one to dominate and lead a relationship the way Helen had and Abby did with Connor, she forced Stephen into having opinions about decorating and dinner, holidays and clothing, and for the first time since he'd come into the orbit of the Cutters, Stephen felt like he was his own person.
For that, more than anything else, Stephen loved Jess.
Go to the Primeval Archive Page