Primeval fic: The Great Outdoors

[stealingpennies]

Characters: Becker/Connor
Rating: PG-15

Word count: 3,675

Summary: Becker and Connor go camping.
A/N: Huge thanks to Fififolle for beta. All remaining errors belong to me. I wrote this as crack but Fifi tells me it’s actually hurt/comfort with added biscuits.


*

THE GREAT OUTDOORS

There was nothing ‘Great’ about the outdoors. In fact, it was horribly misnamed and should be known as the ‘Not Very Nice Outdoors’ or the ‘Cold, Miserable and Wet Outdoors’ or...

A large droplet of rain rolled down Connor’s nose causing him to lose his train of thought. At least they would not die of thirst. Not that there was any danger of that. You could survive three days without water, three weeks without food, and three minutes without air. That was a trio of threes making it easy to remember. Not that it was the kind of detail Connor was likely to forget. Connor was very good at remembering odd bits of information - especially of the life or death variety.

Tom Ryan had told him about the water, food, air thing. Connor had liked Tom. More than liked him, really. Not that anything had ever come of it beyond a single drunken snog. But Tom was dead and Connor could not think about him now. Or about Nick. Or Stephen. There was a whole spiral of unhappy just waiting there and once you started spinning down it was difficult to halt the slide. Sometimes, of course, Connor couldn’t help a sudden flash of memory, like now with Tom, and he would find himself blinking back tears, wrapping his arms around himself and pretending they belonged to someone else. But Tom would have been pleased that Connor was with Becker. Sort of with, anyway. He was always telling Connor he had to man up and make a move if he wanted something. So Connor was manning up and making a move - even if the move was in the cold and wet and miserable outdoors.

Connor would think about Becker.

Becker was a very nice subject to think about. He had nice eyes. And nice arms. And a great arse. And he could shoot really big guns without falling over. A bit like Action Man. If Action Man had a willy. Which Becker totally did. And a very nice one come to that. Connor had seen it once in the showers and had to look away quickly. And like Action Man, Becker’s hair stayed in place no matter what you did to it. Not like Connor’s hair which was currently forming rats’ tails over his eyes.

It was not that Connor was a stranger to cold and wet. Au contraire, but at least in work time he was paid for the trouble. This was his weekend off. And it was no consolation at all to know that he was responsible for being in this situation because he was the one who had suggested a camping trip to Becker. Alone, in a tent, under the stars, Becker might finally make the move and express the interest that Connor had been hoping he had not misread. Connor could just accidentally brush against him in their sleeping bags and then Becker would…

Abby, when Connor had outlined this cunning plan, had expressed doubts.

“You’re allergic to everything and you hate exercise,” she said bluntly.

This was true but she didn’t have to be so nasty about it. He must have looked disheartened because she had added, not unkindly, “It can’t make things worse.”

Becker, when Connor had issued his invitation, had first looked faintly surprised and then considering and then cautiously pleased. There was actually only a subtle difference between the three expressions, which to the outside observer might have all appeared as grumpy, but Connor had spent a long time Becker-watching, both in person and via the security cameras, and had learned to read the variations in the captain’s face. Becker made a sarcastic remark but agreed to come. Connor managed to restrain himself from doing a little dance of triumph until after he had left the room.

So here they were having fun on Dartmoor. At least Connor presumed Becker was having fun. He certainly looked as if he was, as far as Connor could tell from the outline of the small figure in the distance.

Connor, as Abby had so ungallantly pointed out, had lasted precisely two hours on his Bronze Duke of Edinburgh expedition. Becker, of course, had skipped mountain goat-like through Bronze, Silver and Gold awards by the time he had finished his AS levels and had completed the Three Peaks Challenge in the Upper Sixth. Connor had limped home, made himself a cup of tea and hidden his rucksack as far back in the cupboard as it could go.

Sometimes, in spite of the all madly-attracted-to business, Connor felt he might be temperamentally unsuited to life with Becker. This would be one of those times.

Becker, looking irritatingly like a model in a yogurt advertisement, had stopped and retraced his steps. He looked at Connor like he was a not-very-satisfactory recruit to Becker’s platoon. That might be a nice game to play if they were in a cosy bedroom with a king size bed and a walk-in shower. And, you know, they were actually a couple. Connor allowed his mind to dwell on this happy fantasy for a moment or two.

He was rudely interrupted by his companion’s hand shaking his shoulder. Becker’s expression did not indicate in any way that this gesture was some sort of presage to great platoon recruit sex. Rather, it was the look of a man who has been promised a twenty-mile hike and is annoyed that his companion is not hiking fast enough.

“You suggested this weekend,” said Becker, shrugging his rucksack off his shoulders with ease. Connor watched the movement with pathetic gratefulness indicating as it did that they were stopping for a rest.

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” replied Connor, sliding out of his own rucksack and falling gracelessly to the wet ground. “All that fresh country air and nature and stuff.”

“I am. And I’d enjoy it even more if we could move a bit faster and get to the campsite before dark. Do you want me to take some of your pack?”

Connor wanted nothing more than to drop his rucksack over the nearest hedge and leave it there but pride made him shake his head. Becker was already carrying twice the weight he was having shifted half the contents of Connor’s rucksack into his own before they started off under the guise of checking their supplies while Connor pretended not to notice. Becker’s barely hidden grin made Connor convinced that Becker was reading his thoughts and made Connor dislike his companion just that little bit more.

And they’d only been walking three hours. There was a whole weekend of hiking to endure. He took the water Becker held out and tried not to imagine that the bottle was Becker’s cock. The moan he gave when Becker’s fingers touched his lips to retrieve the container was possibly a bit too heartfelt. At any rate Becker was looking at him strangely. But then Becker did that anyway so that was probably alright.

There was also the prospect of stone circles. Connor was looking forward to that. There were at least 15 stone circles on Dartmoor and Connor wanted to see them all, obviously not all at once, but eventually. He hoped Becker was nice about them. He’d taken Abby to Avebury and she had hardly looked at the landscape after the first four hours and then been very scathing about the lunches on offer at the local pub. It was all very disappointing.

At least lunch wouldn’t be a problem here. They had brought their own food although Becker had muttered things about perhaps shooting a rabbit for dinner. Becker was inclined to be a bit trigger happy about these things and while Connor was all for living off the land when there was no choice he’d really rather have pasta. He made a note to himself to make a lot of noise and scare away any local wildlife that might be lurking once they made camp.

They set off again. Becker walked more slowly now and kept pace with Connor. That was nice. Becker didn’t speak much, but Connor never had any trouble keeping a conversation going, even though strictly speaking a conversation involved two people talking and not just one. Still, he knew Becker was paying attention as he put out a hand once or twice when it looked like Connor was about to fall over a stone or step into a puddle.

“Do you miss them?”

The words were spoken so quietly that Connor almost didn’t hear. He’d been reminiscing about university and how Nick never turned up to his own seminars. Connor paused and started to speak, then paused again as his voice waivered. He pushed on.

“Yeah, yeah, all the time really. I miss all of them. We all do.” He looked up at Becker, willing him to see the truth because this was important. “But if you’d told them at that very first anomaly what the risks were and what might happen to them they would still have gone ahead and joined the team. Just like you. You know the risks and you’re still here.”

Connor would have liked to say more but Becker had turned his face away to remember whoever he was remembering in private. In truth, Connor found it almost impossible to talk about his friends’ deaths. It was all too close and raw and sometimes, just sometimes, he imagined being able to go through time and save them. But that was probably impossible and one day he might be able to confide this dream to Becker but today was not that day.

They stopped to pitch camp just after six. It had stopped raining and the sky was that lovely swirly pink colour that betokens a good day to come. Connor had fallen several times, despite Becker’s interventions, but was unhurt beyond mud and few bruises. Becker still looked perfect. It was as if he carried around his own personal force field that protected him from the elements. Well that and a comb and mirror. Coming back from a quick slash behind a tree Connor had caught Becker touching his hair up. He quickly ran back out of sight again and came back talking loudly to himself. The comb had disappeared by the time he reached his companion and Becker was standing with his arms crossed and looking impatient at the delay.

Making camp was the point where things started to go wrong. Ravenous from all the exercise Connor just wanted to sit and eat biscuits for a bit before pitching their tent. Becker naturally insisted on getting everything organised before they had a rest. Becker had a way making fun into hard work. And, OK, maybe it hadn’t been tactful of Connor to say so. But neither was it tactful of Becker to have accused Connor of being lazy. Bone idle, if you wanted the precise wording, which wasn’t true, Connor was pretty much always thinking about work. Just because he was working on a laptop rather than running around shooting things did not make him lazy. So then there had been a bit of an argument while Becker put the tent up and Becker had stomped off to cool down which hadn’t worked because he fell over the biscuit packet and flask that Connor had left on the ground and twisted his ankle. It wasn’t a bad twist as these things went. Connor had seen enough serious injuries by now to be able to tell the difference. But Becker had got very stroppy, even by Becker standards, and gone and to sit in the tent and sulk and probably redo his hair.

Connor had retrieved the thermos - it was a bit bent but intact - and the biscuits which were now mere crumbs. He nibbled a crumb or two but his appetite was gone. So that was that. Abby had been wrong. Connor had managed to make things worse. Becker had started off indifferent but had now moved to actual dislike. Connor would have to spend the night in the tent lying rigid so as not to touch Becker in case unexpected and unwanted physical contact made the soldier even more disgruntled.

They had camped about a mile away from the White Moor circle. He and Becker had debated pushing on for a look but in the end had decided that it was better to wait until morning and get everything set up while it was still light. Still, with Becker in his massive sulk, Connor had nothing better to do and he didn’t want to hang around irritating his companion further. He decided to go and look at the stones by himself. Of course, these things were nicer shared with someone but Becker in his current mood might completely ruin the specialness of the monument rather than enhancing it.

The monument was every bit as good as pictures had promised, with a mixture of upright and fallen granite stones, and went some way to making up for the general disappointment of the day. Connor wandered around and wished he’d thought to bring his notebook and camera for his observations. Still, they could come back in the morning. Becker would probably have forgiven Connor by then. Perhaps if Connor found something useful Lester would let them claim the trip on expenses. He would suggest that to Becker. That should cheer him up. Becker was always complaining about the price of petrol.

Connor admired the different formations for maybe half an hour until dusk was starting to fall and he thought he had better start back while the path was still visible. He turned for one final look at the site.

What followed was something of a muddle. There was a dip and hiss and bit of a yelp and then Connor was on the ground clutching his arm having been bitten by an adder. He could tell it was an adder rather than a grass snake by the patterns on its back. Abby would be pleased. She liked reptiles and often remarked how it was a shame that so many of the creatures’ natural habitats were destroyed by man. It wasn’t light enough to examine his arm properly but he could see the twin punctures where the snake had struck. There wasn’t a lot of blood but the area around the bite was surprisingly painful and already becoming slightly puffy.

Connor felt a bit sick. And then a lot sick and possibly a little alarmed. His phone was in his rucksack which was with Becker and the tent. He remembered vaguely - Tom Ryan’s life-saving instructions not having covered this subject - that snakebite victims should not move until someone came and sucked the poison out for them. Or was that bee stings? Whatever, this was clearly the nearest Connor would ever get to any Becker sucking action. He wished he felt less nauseous and then maybe he’d appreciate the concept more.

After an undisclosed period of sitting Connor decided that Becker was not going to bother looking for him. He had a brief moment of panic that Becker had gone home but Becker would never leave a colleague, even one he was angry with, alone in the middle of the moors. Connor staggered upright and set off in the direction of the campsite.

Or what he thought was the campsite. His wrist compass didn’t seem to be working. Compasses often went funny around Neolithic sites. Something to do with the ley lines converging. He tried to not worry. Adder bites were not fatal in 99.999 something cases. Connor really, really did not want to be the point something per cent that made the news. Not even if it made him famous and got him mentioned in Wikipedia. Jenny would probably stop any bad ARC publicity but that wouldn’t help him being dead and all.

His whole arm now felt swollen, hot and throbbing. That wasn’t good. It probably needed to be treated quickly. Becker could do that if Becker was there, which, of course, Becker was not because Connor had made him twist his ankle and crushed all the biscuits. He’d bought Digestives too as they were Becker’s favourites and always made him smile when they appeared in the staff kitchenette. He sat down again. That was better, less wobbly and sick-inducing anyway. After a while he lay back and closed his eyes.

~

Someone was slapping his face.

“Stoppit,” he said, weakly.

“Wake up, Conn,” said Becker. That was good. Becker only called him Conn when he liked him.

“You’re not angry any more,” said Connor, attempting to sit up and deciding not to bother.

“I am still very angry,” countered Becker, but his voice said he was lying. “What happened?”

“Snake,” explained Connor, succinctly. “It’s ok. It’s easy to treat. Just pee on me and loosen my clothes.”

“Fuck,” murmured Becker, carrying out a cursory examination of Connor’s body. He stopped at the arm.

“That would be good, too” said Connor. “I’d like that immensely. Maybe after you’ve sucked out the poison.”

Becker didn’t respond. He seemed to be getting with the programme and had cut the sleeve of Connor’s shirt with a large serrated knife drawn from a leather strap around his thigh. Becker had lovely thighs. Had Connor said that aloud? He hoped not but Becker’s look of exasperation said he probably had. The relief from constriction was considerable and Connor couldn’t help giving a small whimper of gratitude.

“Are you going to piss on me now?” asked Connor.

Becker grinned. “That’s jellyfish, Connor. So, no, I am not to going to piss on you and you might as well stop asking. Nor am I going to suck the poison out or whatever else you might have decided would be a good idea. I’m going to take you back to camp and shoot you full of anti-venom. Can you walk?”

“Better than you. My ankle isn’t twisted. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Apology accepted.” Becker pulled Connor up, and gently arranged him so that most of his weight was borne by Becker and they set off like a badly tied three-legged race. Connor remarked on this but Becker just snorted softly and held him a bit tighter.

When they got back to the tent Connor threw up. Becker was quite kind about this considering that it was mainly him Connor threw up over. He was also surprisingly kind when it appeared that the first aid kit was missing, having somehow got lost in the morning shuffle between their two rucksacks. Connor was lying down again at this point but he could hear Becker being not kind at all but very shouty and bossy to someone on his phone. He shut his eyes. The helicopter arrived soon after and everything else was a merciful blur.

~

“And then you threw up over Becker again,” laughed Danny.

Connor laughed too, because he didn’t want Danny to see how upset he was. Puking on someone once might be forgivable. Doing it twice was probably a deal breaker as far any possible romance went. Abby was upset too. She was worried about Connor but he could see she was also brooding a bit about the fate of the adder. Lester raised his eyebrows and told Connor not to bother showing up to work for the next two days and to ensure he signed up for some first aid training. Becker was consigned to light duties for the next week while his ankle recovered. He seemed to be avoiding Connor. That was fine. Connor would get over his crush and they would pretend this whole sorry affair had not happened.

It was a month before Connor had a clear weekend again. It was Friday night and he was looking forward to pizza and dvds and lying on the sofa dressed only in his underwear.

Becker was giving him a lift home because Abby was doing something or other involving Lester and the mammoth. There was still some residual awkwardness but Connor filled in the silence by chatting as Becker apparently concentrated 100 per cent on driving. The journey home seemed to be taking much longer than usual even allowing for Friday traffic. And, now he came to think about it, they were going a different way.

“Is this a diversion?” asked Connor.

“No.”

Becker’s monosyllabic answer was not exactly enlightening. Connor tried again. “So you’re trying a different route to get to Abby’s. I have to tell you that it’s not much of a short-cut.”

“We’re not going to Abby’s.”

“Oh.” Connor thought back and wondered if he’d chatted his way right through an anomaly alert. That would be awful. He’d never ever done that before no matter how distracted he was by other things. “Has there been a call out? Where are we going?”

The car drew smoothly to a halt at a traffic light and Becker turned to face him. “We’re going to Dartmoor. There’s a stone circle you promised to show me.”

For a moment Connor thought he had misheard.

“Dartmoor? Are we camping again?” Connor was a bit off camping. Also, was this work, a date or a kidnapping? Would it be too much to ask outright? But stone circles. He couldn’t help bouncing around his seat a bit in excitement.

“No camping. Abby’s packed you a bag. There will be a hotel and a king size bed and a large en-suite shower,” said Becker.

Connor felt a blush not so much crawl as sprint up his face and tried frantically to remember what else he might have said while not fully in control. Becker was smiling, the proper smile, wide-mouthed and open that he so rarely showed with no trace of sarcasm. “There can be role play and clothes loosening and if you’re really, really good and ask nicely, then maybe I’ll piss on you. Is that OK?”

There was probably an acceptable response for such a question but for once Connor was lost for words.

*