Fic, A Fresh Start, Nick/Stephen, 15
May. 9th, 2011 11:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : A Fresh Start
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Nick/Stephen
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Stephen decides the time has come to tell the truth.
A/N : Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
adafrog ’s birthday. Have a lovely day and thanks for all your comments on fic over the years. You always bring a smile to my face! And thanks as well to lukadreaming for the beta.
The sound of a book being slammed down on the desk broke the heavy silence that had settled like a shroud on Nick Cutter’s office.
Stephen glanced at the clock. They were overdue for another coffee and, as the sun was finally over the yardarm – somewhere in the world, at least – it was time to slip a whisky into this one. Nick needed it and so did he. It had been a nightmare of a day: a departmental meeting that morning with the Dean at his pompous best, followed by a tutorial with probably the dullest bunch of students ever born, then a grant proposal to write.
When he came back from the tiny kitchen that adjoined Nick’s office, his friend and mentor was staring at the desk calendar, holding Helen’s photograph in his hands. Stephen deposited the mugs of coffee on the desk and rested one hand lightly on Nick’s shoulder. Eight years had passed since Helen Cutter’s disappearance and he wondered if anyone other than he and Nick even remembered the date now.
“She’s dead, isn’t she, Stephen?” Nick commented tonelessly, setting the photograph back in its accustomed place on the desk.
Stephen swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer the question. Maybe if he didn’t say the words they wouldn’t be true.
Nick put the framed photo back down on the desk and stared out of the window instead. Stephen hesitated then laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. Unless Nick was drunk, he wasn’t particularly tactile, although neither of them had any particular issues with guarding their personal space. Gradually, he felt the tension start to leave Nick’s body.
“Drink your coffee before it goes cold,” he advised, giving Nick’s shoulder a slight squeeze before retreating to his own desk.
Nick picked up the mug and gave an appreciative sniff. “Thanks.”
The words hung in the air, meaning nothing and yet everything. Stephen felt his stomach clench inside him and he knew he couldn’t simply carry on pretending. Staring out of the window, he prepared to take the biggest step of his life.
“Cutter, there’s something I need to tell you.” Before Nick had a chance to interrupt, Stephen ploughed on, his words tripping over each other in their haste to be said. “Helen and I, we were close… Closer than we should have been. I… we… I didn’t know you then, but it’s no fucking excuse and I know it… I… I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”
“Stephen…”
Nick’s voice sounded more resigned than angry but Stephen couldn’t meet his eyes. Couldn’t bring himself to see the hurt he’d caused. He had been enough of a man to fuck someone else’s wife, but not man enough to face up to the consequences of his actions.
“I’ll clear my desk by the end of the day,” Stephen said. He’d managed to stop his voice shaking, but he couldn’t stop the shake in his hands as he placed them on the desk and pushed his chair back.
“Stephen…”
He stood up, knocking over the chair in his haste and spilling a pile of papers onto the floor.
“Stephen, will you bloody well look at me, lad!”
If anything, Nick’s voice held more exasperation than anger. Stephen prepared to do as he’d been instructed, thinking that if the devil himself had chosen that moment to appear, he would have quite happily traded his soul – if he had one – to have put the clock back by eight years.
He heard the sound of Nick’s chair scraping on the floor and then two strong hands settled onto his shoulders and turned him around. He’d expected anger, loathing, even hatred, anything except the calm acceptance that stole his breath and rocked what was left of his world on its foundations.
“I know, Stephen. I’ve known for eight years. She never could keep her hands off her students. What do you think we used to fight about so much?” Nick sighed and tightened his grip. “That was what our final row was about. I told her it couldn’t go on… rumours were everywhere… you can’t keep that sort of thing quiet. There had been… complaints. And it was wrong, all so bloody wrong. But she was my wife and I still loved her.”
“But…” Stephen groped for words in the wreckage of his brain. “But if you knew, why…”
“Why give you the job, why keep you with me for eight years?”
Stephen nodded mutely, not able to articulate the questions.
“Because I was too fucking selfish to let you go. Helen might have had her crazy theories, but she was right about one thing…” The look in Nick’s eyes was almost wistful now. “That final night, before she went to the Forest of Dean and I didn’t go with her, she accused me of something, and she was right.”
“Accused you of what?” For a moment Stephen half-expected Nick to confess to an affair of his own, but as far as Stephen knew – then and now – Nick Cutter had never had eyes for anyone other than Helen.
“She accused me of wanting you for myself. She said I was just warning her off because I was jealous.”
Stephen’s brain tied itself in an elaborate knot as he tried to process Nick’s words.
“I’m sorry, lad, I truly am. You shouldn’t have had to carry this for eight bloody years.” Nick let out a very disgusted – and very Scottish-sounding – snort. “We’re a right pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and strode off to the kitchen, returning with the bottle of whisky in one hand and two clean mugs in the other.
Stephen watched as Nick sloshed a generous measure into each mug and handed one to him. He took a sip and felt the liquor burn a trail down his throat and into the churning mess in his stomach. His second mouthful was larger. He didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful for a drink.
“If she was right, why didn’t you do anything about it?” Stephen fought hard to keep his voice level.
Nick took a large gulp of the whisky and practically slammed the mug down onto his desk. “Because you were a student. Because I wouldn’t stoop to her level. Because it would have been… wrong.”
“I never took you for that sort, Cutter.” The words were out before he could stop them, but Stephen felt anger rising in him now.
Nick leaned back against the edge of his desk, his face open and honest… and very, very puzzled. “Stephen, what the fuck are you talking about now?”
“Homophobic.”
To his surprise, Nick just started laughing. Genuine laughter, untainted by bitterness or anger and Stephen began to wonder what he was missing. “I’m hardly that.” Nick smiled wryly. “People who live in glass houses… or something.”
Stephen’s world shifted on its axis for the second time that afternoon. “Cutter, I’ve known you for eight years and I’ve never…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue.
“Seen me with a bloke?” Nick took a large mouthful of whisky. “But you’ve never seen me with a woman, either, have you? Not since Helen. And while we’re on the subject…”
Stephen followed Nick’s lead and swallowed a hefty slug of whisky. “I… I’m bi, have been since my teens.”
“But you’ve lived like a monk for the last eight years, despite half the faculty – of both sexes – throwing themselves at you. Why, Stephen?”
Why? Because he’d chosen the wrong Cutter. Or been chosen by the wrong one. And he’d spent nearly a quarter of his life trying to ignore one simple, inescapable fact.
“Because I wanted what I couldn’t have.” The words were out now and nothing could take them back. Stephen felt, for the second time in his life, that he’d just offered someone his heart on a plate and handed them a knife to cut it with.
Nick sighed. “We’re a pair of fools, you do know that, don’t you? The majority of this place thinks we’ve been at it like rabbits for years.”
Stephen drained the rest of the alcohol in his mug and held it out for a refill. He felt he needed it. “And I never knew?”
“People call me oblivious!” Nick’s smile was wide and genuine. He topped up both of their mugs and allowed his knuckles to brush over the back of Stephen’s hand. “I’m sorry, Stephen, this is all my bloody fault.”
“I slept with your wife,” Stephen felt compelled to point out, beginning to feel that they’d managed to stray quite a long way from the original point of this conversation.
“Aye, you did. Once, if she was telling the truth.”
“She was.” And by Nick’s own admission a few minutes ago, she’d been telling the truth about something else as well.
Stephen was beginning to wonder if it was going to take them the next eight years to bridge the gap that they’d both spent all too long staring across. Only a few minutes ago he’d been intending to say his piece and walk out of Nick Cutter’s life for ever. But now… now he simply didn’t have a clue what was happening. Much like he didn’t seem to have had a clue about an awful lot of things.
Nick put his own mug down on the desk and gently prised the other out of Stephen’s grip. “We can’t exactly go back in time to put all this right. But we can start again. If that’s what you want…”
A fresh start.
That was what he’d been anticipating when he’d embarked on his unplanned confession. He just hadn’t expected it to take quite this direction.
Stephen opened his mouth to reply, just as Nick growled, “Ah, bugger it,” with rather more rs than the word usually contained, and pulled Stephen into his arms for a kiss that tasted very distinctly of whisky.
When they finally broke apart and relearned how to breathe, Stephen leaned his head against Nick’s shoulder and wondered at what point in the last 15 minutes the world had managed to successfully realign itself, leaving him feeling like he’d just been handed everything he’d ever wanted.
It was a good feeling. A very good feeling indeed.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Nick/Stephen
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Stephen decides the time has come to tell the truth.
A/N : Written for
adafrog ’s birthday. Have a lovely day and thanks for all your comments on fic over the years. You always bring a smile to my face! And thanks as well to lukadreaming for the beta.The sound of a book being slammed down on the desk broke the heavy silence that had settled like a shroud on Nick Cutter’s office.
Stephen glanced at the clock. They were overdue for another coffee and, as the sun was finally over the yardarm – somewhere in the world, at least – it was time to slip a whisky into this one. Nick needed it and so did he. It had been a nightmare of a day: a departmental meeting that morning with the Dean at his pompous best, followed by a tutorial with probably the dullest bunch of students ever born, then a grant proposal to write.
When he came back from the tiny kitchen that adjoined Nick’s office, his friend and mentor was staring at the desk calendar, holding Helen’s photograph in his hands. Stephen deposited the mugs of coffee on the desk and rested one hand lightly on Nick’s shoulder. Eight years had passed since Helen Cutter’s disappearance and he wondered if anyone other than he and Nick even remembered the date now.
“She’s dead, isn’t she, Stephen?” Nick commented tonelessly, setting the photograph back in its accustomed place on the desk.
Stephen swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer the question. Maybe if he didn’t say the words they wouldn’t be true.
Nick put the framed photo back down on the desk and stared out of the window instead. Stephen hesitated then laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. Unless Nick was drunk, he wasn’t particularly tactile, although neither of them had any particular issues with guarding their personal space. Gradually, he felt the tension start to leave Nick’s body.
“Drink your coffee before it goes cold,” he advised, giving Nick’s shoulder a slight squeeze before retreating to his own desk.
Nick picked up the mug and gave an appreciative sniff. “Thanks.”
The words hung in the air, meaning nothing and yet everything. Stephen felt his stomach clench inside him and he knew he couldn’t simply carry on pretending. Staring out of the window, he prepared to take the biggest step of his life.
“Cutter, there’s something I need to tell you.” Before Nick had a chance to interrupt, Stephen ploughed on, his words tripping over each other in their haste to be said. “Helen and I, we were close… Closer than we should have been. I… we… I didn’t know you then, but it’s no fucking excuse and I know it… I… I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”
“Stephen…”
Nick’s voice sounded more resigned than angry but Stephen couldn’t meet his eyes. Couldn’t bring himself to see the hurt he’d caused. He had been enough of a man to fuck someone else’s wife, but not man enough to face up to the consequences of his actions.
“I’ll clear my desk by the end of the day,” Stephen said. He’d managed to stop his voice shaking, but he couldn’t stop the shake in his hands as he placed them on the desk and pushed his chair back.
“Stephen…”
He stood up, knocking over the chair in his haste and spilling a pile of papers onto the floor.
“Stephen, will you bloody well look at me, lad!”
If anything, Nick’s voice held more exasperation than anger. Stephen prepared to do as he’d been instructed, thinking that if the devil himself had chosen that moment to appear, he would have quite happily traded his soul – if he had one – to have put the clock back by eight years.
He heard the sound of Nick’s chair scraping on the floor and then two strong hands settled onto his shoulders and turned him around. He’d expected anger, loathing, even hatred, anything except the calm acceptance that stole his breath and rocked what was left of his world on its foundations.
“I know, Stephen. I’ve known for eight years. She never could keep her hands off her students. What do you think we used to fight about so much?” Nick sighed and tightened his grip. “That was what our final row was about. I told her it couldn’t go on… rumours were everywhere… you can’t keep that sort of thing quiet. There had been… complaints. And it was wrong, all so bloody wrong. But she was my wife and I still loved her.”
“But…” Stephen groped for words in the wreckage of his brain. “But if you knew, why…”
“Why give you the job, why keep you with me for eight years?”
Stephen nodded mutely, not able to articulate the questions.
“Because I was too fucking selfish to let you go. Helen might have had her crazy theories, but she was right about one thing…” The look in Nick’s eyes was almost wistful now. “That final night, before she went to the Forest of Dean and I didn’t go with her, she accused me of something, and she was right.”
“Accused you of what?” For a moment Stephen half-expected Nick to confess to an affair of his own, but as far as Stephen knew – then and now – Nick Cutter had never had eyes for anyone other than Helen.
“She accused me of wanting you for myself. She said I was just warning her off because I was jealous.”
Stephen’s brain tied itself in an elaborate knot as he tried to process Nick’s words.
“I’m sorry, lad, I truly am. You shouldn’t have had to carry this for eight bloody years.” Nick let out a very disgusted – and very Scottish-sounding – snort. “We’re a right pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and strode off to the kitchen, returning with the bottle of whisky in one hand and two clean mugs in the other.
Stephen watched as Nick sloshed a generous measure into each mug and handed one to him. He took a sip and felt the liquor burn a trail down his throat and into the churning mess in his stomach. His second mouthful was larger. He didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful for a drink.
“If she was right, why didn’t you do anything about it?” Stephen fought hard to keep his voice level.
Nick took a large gulp of the whisky and practically slammed the mug down onto his desk. “Because you were a student. Because I wouldn’t stoop to her level. Because it would have been… wrong.”
“I never took you for that sort, Cutter.” The words were out before he could stop them, but Stephen felt anger rising in him now.
Nick leaned back against the edge of his desk, his face open and honest… and very, very puzzled. “Stephen, what the fuck are you talking about now?”
“Homophobic.”
To his surprise, Nick just started laughing. Genuine laughter, untainted by bitterness or anger and Stephen began to wonder what he was missing. “I’m hardly that.” Nick smiled wryly. “People who live in glass houses… or something.”
Stephen’s world shifted on its axis for the second time that afternoon. “Cutter, I’ve known you for eight years and I’ve never…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue.
“Seen me with a bloke?” Nick took a large mouthful of whisky. “But you’ve never seen me with a woman, either, have you? Not since Helen. And while we’re on the subject…”
Stephen followed Nick’s lead and swallowed a hefty slug of whisky. “I… I’m bi, have been since my teens.”
“But you’ve lived like a monk for the last eight years, despite half the faculty – of both sexes – throwing themselves at you. Why, Stephen?”
Why? Because he’d chosen the wrong Cutter. Or been chosen by the wrong one. And he’d spent nearly a quarter of his life trying to ignore one simple, inescapable fact.
“Because I wanted what I couldn’t have.” The words were out now and nothing could take them back. Stephen felt, for the second time in his life, that he’d just offered someone his heart on a plate and handed them a knife to cut it with.
Nick sighed. “We’re a pair of fools, you do know that, don’t you? The majority of this place thinks we’ve been at it like rabbits for years.”
Stephen drained the rest of the alcohol in his mug and held it out for a refill. He felt he needed it. “And I never knew?”
“People call me oblivious!” Nick’s smile was wide and genuine. He topped up both of their mugs and allowed his knuckles to brush over the back of Stephen’s hand. “I’m sorry, Stephen, this is all my bloody fault.”
“I slept with your wife,” Stephen felt compelled to point out, beginning to feel that they’d managed to stray quite a long way from the original point of this conversation.
“Aye, you did. Once, if she was telling the truth.”
“She was.” And by Nick’s own admission a few minutes ago, she’d been telling the truth about something else as well.
Stephen was beginning to wonder if it was going to take them the next eight years to bridge the gap that they’d both spent all too long staring across. Only a few minutes ago he’d been intending to say his piece and walk out of Nick Cutter’s life for ever. But now… now he simply didn’t have a clue what was happening. Much like he didn’t seem to have had a clue about an awful lot of things.
Nick put his own mug down on the desk and gently prised the other out of Stephen’s grip. “We can’t exactly go back in time to put all this right. But we can start again. If that’s what you want…”
A fresh start.
That was what he’d been anticipating when he’d embarked on his unplanned confession. He just hadn’t expected it to take quite this direction.
Stephen opened his mouth to reply, just as Nick growled, “Ah, bugger it,” with rather more rs than the word usually contained, and pulled Stephen into his arms for a kiss that tasted very distinctly of whisky.
When they finally broke apart and relearned how to breathe, Stephen leaned his head against Nick’s shoulder and wondered at what point in the last 15 minutes the world had managed to successfully realign itself, leaving him feeling like he’d just been handed everything he’d ever wanted.
It was a good feeling. A very good feeling indeed.