fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2013-01-20 10:40 am
fredbassett) wrote2013-01-20 10:40 am
Fic, Playing Hard to Get, Sanctuary!Verse, 12
Title : Playing Hard to Get
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Becker, Ryan, Stephen, Claudia, Nick, Felix and assorted special guest stars
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : It’s Becker’s birthday and he’s really not enjoying himself.
A/N : 1) Written for the very lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lukadreaming’s birthday. I hope you have a lovely day, sweetie! ) The wonderful world of Sanctuary was created by mysteriousaliwz and Felix is the brain-child of lsellersfic. No one would dare say they ‘owned’ the other co-star of this particular show! 3) Thank you to fififolle for the beta and for all the pleasure she’s given with the creation of the ever-adorable pup!verse, but around here, nothing is ever too sacred for Sanctuary! *g*
Becker threw himself flat on the ground as a clubbed tail set with several very lethal spikes swept over his head, missing him by inches.
There really had to be easier ways of earning a living, he reflected, rolling over in the mud as he tried to avoid some equally dangerous feet. And to compound that thought, he had to admit that whilst he wasn’t a great one for birthdays, he was bloody sure most people didn’t spend theirs chasing after a herd of armoured tanks masquerading as animals in a field in Surrey. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The most immediate problem was that the damn things didn’t so much run as scuttle – at high speed – leaving a trail of particularly foul-smelling shit in their wake. To cap it all, he was absolutely certain he’d already got some in his hair.
As Becker struggled to his feet, something heavy caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder, knocking his shotgun from his grasp and spinning him around…
* * * * *
Becker opened his eyes to find someone shining a penlight in them. “Having a PhD doesn’t make you a doctor, Hart,” he muttered irritably.
As strong hands hauled him upright, Becker looked down at his chest and was relieved to see that the badge safety-pinned to the front of his equipment vest only said Visitor’s Pass. This place was all right every now and then, but he didn’t fancy an extended stay. The inhabitants were all rather too prone to taking the piss out of his hair for his liking, and then there was the strange feeling he always got that his chest hair was starting to take on a life of his own. Speaking of which, it was rather chilly in certain parts… He pulled at the neck of his teeshirt and peered down. Yep, it had happened again.
“The girls have taken the wee chap into the kitchen for a saucer of milk,” Cutter told him.
Becker closed his eyes. It was no doubt too much to hope for that this was only going to be a short visit.
“Aw, don’t look like that, mate! Cheer up, everyone’s got you some presents for your birthday!” Connor sounded as cheerful as ever. Some things never changed.
“You didn’t listen when I told you to stay in the truck, did you?” Becker said accusingly. Connor seemed to have a permanent visitor’s pass, no matter how hard they all tried to take it away from him. “You’ve already got an accident book with your very own name on the cover.”
“I did stay in the truck! It’s not my fault it got trampled!”
Becker winced. He’d rather liked that truck.
“Is he OK?”
Becker glanced over Stephen’s shoulder and saw that the question had come from Ryan and the other captain’s face was sporting a distinctly worried-looking expression.
“He’ll be fine,” Stephen said reassuringly. He grinned at Becker. “Come on, you’d better get your presents opened before you get whisked away. You know Lester doesn’t approve of anyone pulling a sickie on his watch.”
“I got whacked by the bastard love-child of a Challenger 2 and something out of the Royal Armouries!” Becker protested. “I’d hardly call that pulling a bloody sickie.”
“Lester will,” said Connor, with too much relish in his voice for Becker’s liking. “He expects daft stuff from me, but you’ve got a reputation to keep up. Can’t go lolling around in a field on an anomaly shout, you know.”
Connor was starting to give him a headache. Becker closed his eyes again, hoping that when he opened them again he would see something less irritating – like T. rex.
It didn’t work.
Stephen and Ryan pulled him to his feet and he found himself being propelled out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A quick glance into the large kitchen told him that the whole place was still as stark raving bonkers as ever. Something that looked like a giant squid appeared to be icing a cake whilst simultaneously doing the washing up, chopping a large pile of vegetables and playing football with a pair of feet wearing yellow scarves and sheepskin slippers. And unless he was very much mistaken, one tentacle was doing something under the table to Claudia that had brought a very distinct flush to her cheeks while she fed a familiar-looking ball of dark brown fluff from a bottle.
“Hello, Miss Brown,” he said weakly.
“Hello, Captain Becker. Happy birthday! I’ll let you have George back when he’s finished his bottle.”
One of the feet kicked a football in his direction. Becker ducked and promptly tripped over a wire strung across the corridor at ankle-level. Fortunately, Ryan grabbed him before he hit the floor and Becker found himself being cradled in the other man’s strong arms. He looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, feeling like he never wanted that moment to end…
“Put the lad down, Ryan, you don’t know where he’s been,” Cutter said briskly, breaking the spell.
“He’s been in a field with a load of very farty herbivores,” Connor commented. “We know exactly where he’s been.”
“They were doing more than farting,” Becker grumbled. He stared suspiciously around him, wondering why the hell a trip-wire had been strung across the corridor. Then he noticed a large pet-carrier in a doorway, the front held up by a piece of string. Inside was a piece of paper on which someone had printed 10,000 words. Just for you. It looked very much like a overgrown mousetrap.
The note had been chewed in one corner, but the trap had clearly not been sprung.
Ryan slipped his arm around Becker’s waist and guided him into the living room. “Sit down, take the weight off your feet. You are all right, aren’t you?” His hand hovered for a moment over Becker’s stomach.
Becker stared at him suspiciously, certain that Ryan was taking the piss. The shit-eating grin on Hart’s face wasn’t helping, either. “Someone mentioned presents,” he said. He might as well get this over with. No doubt he’d end up with half a dozen bottles of hair gel, or something equally unsubtle.
Connor grinned brightly. “Birthdays are great!”
Becker rolled his eyes. “Birthdays are great when you can spend them in the pub getting rat-arsed, Connor. Not when you end up sharing a near-death experience with a pair of disembodied feet.”
“Shush, you’ll hurt their feelings!” Ryan said, scooping up Sinister – or was it Dexter? – and cuddling him protectively.
“Don’t worry, he’s only sublimating,” Cutter said, leaving Becker none the wiser as to why a former Special Forces captain was hugging a former part of Connor’s anatomy. Mind you, he still wasn’t entirely sure how Connor’s feet had ended up there in the first place, especially as another pair seemed to be firmly attached to the end of his legs. Questions on the subject were invariably met with upwards glances at the ceiling and the response, ‘Don’t ask!’
At the far side of the room, a black and white shape with a bandit face suddenly dashed from cover behind a sofa and headed for the door at speed. With a reaction time honed by some of the world’s more lethal hotspots, Ryan tossed the scarf-wearing foot to Connor and set off in hot pursuit.
“Presents?” Becker said weakly. If everyone else was ignoring what was going on, he thought it was probably safer to follow suit.
Stephen picked up an untidily wrapped box off a pile near the fireplace and chucked it at him.
“That one’s from me!” Connor told him cheerfully.
Becker pulled off the paper, opened the box and stared down at what looked like a fleece blanket. Surprisingly practical, coming from Connor. He pulled it out of the box and tried to work out why Connor had decided to buy him a pale blue blanket liberally splattered with cream paw prints. But Becker’s mother had trained him well in the matter of presents…
“Thanks, Connor, this’ll be really… useful.”
Connor stared at the blanket looking almost as puzzled as Becker felt. “That’s weird, I could have sworn I bought you some h…”
“This one’s from Cutter,” Stephen said quickly, cutting across Connor’s words and handing over something that was very definitely a book.
Becker felt on safer ground already. Cutter was well known for the fact that he always handed out dinosaur books for birthdays and Christmas. It was no bloody wonder his wife had booked a one way tour of the Permian. He pulled the book out of its wrapping, schooling his features into the sort of look of surprise his mother had still insisted on, even after the tenth pair of socks from Aunt Muriel in as many years.
Feigned surprise turned into genuine amazement. Why the hell did Cutter think he needed a book titled Caring for Your Puppy? But the really weird thing was that Cutter looked almost as surprised as he felt.
After the eighth present, Becker had started to long wistfully for some hair care products. Instead, he was now the proud possessor of several small sets of fleece bootees, three fleece puppy baskets, several more fleece blankets in assorted colours, a few little knitted bobble hats and a large, partially-chewed dried pig’s ear. He had Lyle to thank for that, apparently.
He’d been opening the various packages to the accompaniment – minus the cannon fire – of what sounded like a minor Balkan war raging in the rest of the house. Ryan still hadn’t reappeared, but Becker had heard various grunts and numerous curses of the sort he normally associated with the sergeants’ mess at Hereford on a Friday night.
Finally, a sort of strangled whine echoed through the house, like the last despairing gasp of a particularly irascible banshee. Cutter looked even more amazed than he’d been when Becker had unwrapped the puppy care book.
“Looks like you owe me a fiver, Cutter,” Stephen said smugly. “I told you he’d manage it eventually.”
“Not until I see the evidence with my own eyes…” retorted Cutter, living down to every stereotype in the book.
At exactly that moment, Ryan walked back into the room, cradling in his arms the scary-looking raccoon that usually sat in the corner of the room and glowered at everyone. The raccoon that had dashed out of the door just before Becker had started opening his presents. The creature was now firmly swaddled in a blanket very similar to the one that Connor had just given Becker. The raccoon was also securely muzzled, which was probably fortunate in view of the death-glare it was currently giving Ryan.
Before Becker had chance to object, the evil-eyed critter had been dumped on his lap and a second later, Ryan whipped a baby’s bottle out of his back pocket and handed it to Becker. “I put a nip of brandy in,” Ryan said with a distinctly soppy look on his face. “It’ll help him get off to sleep.”
A corner of the blanket fell away to reveal that the raccoon was securely trussed up in a pale blue baby-grow, with a bootee tightly fastened around each paw, which probably explained why Becker hadn’t already been ripped to shreds by its claws. The whole lot was wound around with enough webbing straps to immobilise half of 3 Para after a night on the piss.
He was about to ask what the hell Ryan was playing at, when he suddenly realised how adorable the little fella looked, staring up at Becker with his big brown eyes.
With a very Scottish snort, Cutter extracted a fiver from his wallet, a pained expression on his face as he handed it over to a grinning Stephen. A moment later, Becker heard Cutter mutter, “A tenner says your boy won’t manage to get His Lordship to call either of them daddy.”
Stephen glanced up at the ceiling. “What do you reckon, ladies?”
As Becker tickled his new-found charge under the chin, a voice from above declared, “Sorry, Stephen, we’re good, but we’re not that bloody good!”
* * * * *
“Come on, mate, stay with me!” There was an unaccustomed note of concern in Ditzy’s voice.
Becker opened his eyes, rolled over and was promptly sick.
When the contents of his stomach had finished leaving his body at speed, he sat up, trying to banish from his mind the image of bottle-feeding probably the scariest-looking raccoon in the world.
There were times when dinosaurs really weren’t the weirdest part of his job.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Becker, Ryan, Stephen, Claudia, Nick, Felix and assorted special guest stars
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : It’s Becker’s birthday and he’s really not enjoying himself.
A/N : 1) Written for the very lovely
lukadreaming’s birthday. I hope you have a lovely day, sweetie! ) The wonderful world of Sanctuary was created by mysteriousaliwz and Felix is the brain-child of lsellersfic. No one would dare say they ‘owned’ the other co-star of this particular show! 3) Thank you to fififolle for the beta and for all the pleasure she’s given with the creation of the ever-adorable pup!verse, but around here, nothing is ever too sacred for Sanctuary! *g*Becker threw himself flat on the ground as a clubbed tail set with several very lethal spikes swept over his head, missing him by inches.
There really had to be easier ways of earning a living, he reflected, rolling over in the mud as he tried to avoid some equally dangerous feet. And to compound that thought, he had to admit that whilst he wasn’t a great one for birthdays, he was bloody sure most people didn’t spend theirs chasing after a herd of armoured tanks masquerading as animals in a field in Surrey. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The most immediate problem was that the damn things didn’t so much run as scuttle – at high speed – leaving a trail of particularly foul-smelling shit in their wake. To cap it all, he was absolutely certain he’d already got some in his hair.
As Becker struggled to his feet, something heavy caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder, knocking his shotgun from his grasp and spinning him around…
* * * * *
Becker opened his eyes to find someone shining a penlight in them. “Having a PhD doesn’t make you a doctor, Hart,” he muttered irritably.
As strong hands hauled him upright, Becker looked down at his chest and was relieved to see that the badge safety-pinned to the front of his equipment vest only said Visitor’s Pass. This place was all right every now and then, but he didn’t fancy an extended stay. The inhabitants were all rather too prone to taking the piss out of his hair for his liking, and then there was the strange feeling he always got that his chest hair was starting to take on a life of his own. Speaking of which, it was rather chilly in certain parts… He pulled at the neck of his teeshirt and peered down. Yep, it had happened again.
“The girls have taken the wee chap into the kitchen for a saucer of milk,” Cutter told him.
Becker closed his eyes. It was no doubt too much to hope for that this was only going to be a short visit.
“Aw, don’t look like that, mate! Cheer up, everyone’s got you some presents for your birthday!” Connor sounded as cheerful as ever. Some things never changed.
“You didn’t listen when I told you to stay in the truck, did you?” Becker said accusingly. Connor seemed to have a permanent visitor’s pass, no matter how hard they all tried to take it away from him. “You’ve already got an accident book with your very own name on the cover.”
“I did stay in the truck! It’s not my fault it got trampled!”
Becker winced. He’d rather liked that truck.
“Is he OK?”
Becker glanced over Stephen’s shoulder and saw that the question had come from Ryan and the other captain’s face was sporting a distinctly worried-looking expression.
“He’ll be fine,” Stephen said reassuringly. He grinned at Becker. “Come on, you’d better get your presents opened before you get whisked away. You know Lester doesn’t approve of anyone pulling a sickie on his watch.”
“I got whacked by the bastard love-child of a Challenger 2 and something out of the Royal Armouries!” Becker protested. “I’d hardly call that pulling a bloody sickie.”
“Lester will,” said Connor, with too much relish in his voice for Becker’s liking. “He expects daft stuff from me, but you’ve got a reputation to keep up. Can’t go lolling around in a field on an anomaly shout, you know.”
Connor was starting to give him a headache. Becker closed his eyes again, hoping that when he opened them again he would see something less irritating – like T. rex.
It didn’t work.
Stephen and Ryan pulled him to his feet and he found himself being propelled out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A quick glance into the large kitchen told him that the whole place was still as stark raving bonkers as ever. Something that looked like a giant squid appeared to be icing a cake whilst simultaneously doing the washing up, chopping a large pile of vegetables and playing football with a pair of feet wearing yellow scarves and sheepskin slippers. And unless he was very much mistaken, one tentacle was doing something under the table to Claudia that had brought a very distinct flush to her cheeks while she fed a familiar-looking ball of dark brown fluff from a bottle.
“Hello, Miss Brown,” he said weakly.
“Hello, Captain Becker. Happy birthday! I’ll let you have George back when he’s finished his bottle.”
One of the feet kicked a football in his direction. Becker ducked and promptly tripped over a wire strung across the corridor at ankle-level. Fortunately, Ryan grabbed him before he hit the floor and Becker found himself being cradled in the other man’s strong arms. He looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, feeling like he never wanted that moment to end…
“Put the lad down, Ryan, you don’t know where he’s been,” Cutter said briskly, breaking the spell.
“He’s been in a field with a load of very farty herbivores,” Connor commented. “We know exactly where he’s been.”
“They were doing more than farting,” Becker grumbled. He stared suspiciously around him, wondering why the hell a trip-wire had been strung across the corridor. Then he noticed a large pet-carrier in a doorway, the front held up by a piece of string. Inside was a piece of paper on which someone had printed 10,000 words. Just for you. It looked very much like a overgrown mousetrap.
The note had been chewed in one corner, but the trap had clearly not been sprung.
Ryan slipped his arm around Becker’s waist and guided him into the living room. “Sit down, take the weight off your feet. You are all right, aren’t you?” His hand hovered for a moment over Becker’s stomach.
Becker stared at him suspiciously, certain that Ryan was taking the piss. The shit-eating grin on Hart’s face wasn’t helping, either. “Someone mentioned presents,” he said. He might as well get this over with. No doubt he’d end up with half a dozen bottles of hair gel, or something equally unsubtle.
Connor grinned brightly. “Birthdays are great!”
Becker rolled his eyes. “Birthdays are great when you can spend them in the pub getting rat-arsed, Connor. Not when you end up sharing a near-death experience with a pair of disembodied feet.”
“Shush, you’ll hurt their feelings!” Ryan said, scooping up Sinister – or was it Dexter? – and cuddling him protectively.
“Don’t worry, he’s only sublimating,” Cutter said, leaving Becker none the wiser as to why a former Special Forces captain was hugging a former part of Connor’s anatomy. Mind you, he still wasn’t entirely sure how Connor’s feet had ended up there in the first place, especially as another pair seemed to be firmly attached to the end of his legs. Questions on the subject were invariably met with upwards glances at the ceiling and the response, ‘Don’t ask!’
At the far side of the room, a black and white shape with a bandit face suddenly dashed from cover behind a sofa and headed for the door at speed. With a reaction time honed by some of the world’s more lethal hotspots, Ryan tossed the scarf-wearing foot to Connor and set off in hot pursuit.
“Presents?” Becker said weakly. If everyone else was ignoring what was going on, he thought it was probably safer to follow suit.
Stephen picked up an untidily wrapped box off a pile near the fireplace and chucked it at him.
“That one’s from me!” Connor told him cheerfully.
Becker pulled off the paper, opened the box and stared down at what looked like a fleece blanket. Surprisingly practical, coming from Connor. He pulled it out of the box and tried to work out why Connor had decided to buy him a pale blue blanket liberally splattered with cream paw prints. But Becker’s mother had trained him well in the matter of presents…
“Thanks, Connor, this’ll be really… useful.”
Connor stared at the blanket looking almost as puzzled as Becker felt. “That’s weird, I could have sworn I bought you some h…”
“This one’s from Cutter,” Stephen said quickly, cutting across Connor’s words and handing over something that was very definitely a book.
Becker felt on safer ground already. Cutter was well known for the fact that he always handed out dinosaur books for birthdays and Christmas. It was no bloody wonder his wife had booked a one way tour of the Permian. He pulled the book out of its wrapping, schooling his features into the sort of look of surprise his mother had still insisted on, even after the tenth pair of socks from Aunt Muriel in as many years.
Feigned surprise turned into genuine amazement. Why the hell did Cutter think he needed a book titled Caring for Your Puppy? But the really weird thing was that Cutter looked almost as surprised as he felt.
After the eighth present, Becker had started to long wistfully for some hair care products. Instead, he was now the proud possessor of several small sets of fleece bootees, three fleece puppy baskets, several more fleece blankets in assorted colours, a few little knitted bobble hats and a large, partially-chewed dried pig’s ear. He had Lyle to thank for that, apparently.
He’d been opening the various packages to the accompaniment – minus the cannon fire – of what sounded like a minor Balkan war raging in the rest of the house. Ryan still hadn’t reappeared, but Becker had heard various grunts and numerous curses of the sort he normally associated with the sergeants’ mess at Hereford on a Friday night.
Finally, a sort of strangled whine echoed through the house, like the last despairing gasp of a particularly irascible banshee. Cutter looked even more amazed than he’d been when Becker had unwrapped the puppy care book.
“Looks like you owe me a fiver, Cutter,” Stephen said smugly. “I told you he’d manage it eventually.”
“Not until I see the evidence with my own eyes…” retorted Cutter, living down to every stereotype in the book.
At exactly that moment, Ryan walked back into the room, cradling in his arms the scary-looking raccoon that usually sat in the corner of the room and glowered at everyone. The raccoon that had dashed out of the door just before Becker had started opening his presents. The creature was now firmly swaddled in a blanket very similar to the one that Connor had just given Becker. The raccoon was also securely muzzled, which was probably fortunate in view of the death-glare it was currently giving Ryan.
Before Becker had chance to object, the evil-eyed critter had been dumped on his lap and a second later, Ryan whipped a baby’s bottle out of his back pocket and handed it to Becker. “I put a nip of brandy in,” Ryan said with a distinctly soppy look on his face. “It’ll help him get off to sleep.”
A corner of the blanket fell away to reveal that the raccoon was securely trussed up in a pale blue baby-grow, with a bootee tightly fastened around each paw, which probably explained why Becker hadn’t already been ripped to shreds by its claws. The whole lot was wound around with enough webbing straps to immobilise half of 3 Para after a night on the piss.
He was about to ask what the hell Ryan was playing at, when he suddenly realised how adorable the little fella looked, staring up at Becker with his big brown eyes.
With a very Scottish snort, Cutter extracted a fiver from his wallet, a pained expression on his face as he handed it over to a grinning Stephen. A moment later, Becker heard Cutter mutter, “A tenner says your boy won’t manage to get His Lordship to call either of them daddy.”
Stephen glanced up at the ceiling. “What do you reckon, ladies?”
As Becker tickled his new-found charge under the chin, a voice from above declared, “Sorry, Stephen, we’re good, but we’re not that bloody good!”
* * * * *
“Come on, mate, stay with me!” There was an unaccustomed note of concern in Ditzy’s voice.
Becker opened his eyes, rolled over and was promptly sick.
When the contents of his stomach had finished leaving his body at speed, he sat up, trying to banish from his mind the image of bottle-feeding probably the scariest-looking raccoon in the world.
There were times when dinosaurs really weren’t the weirdest part of his job.
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This is absolute bloody hysterical genius and I am going to be reciting chunks from it for ever more! Put-upon Becker is one of my favourites. All the hair gel pressies. The pressies that have mysteriously changed. Felix! George having his saucer of milk.
And then the raccoon was the icing on the best cake ever!
Thank you so much for a totally brilliant pressie!
*Hugs you very very hard*
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It all started from the idea of Ryan using Torrence as a surrogate pup. I'd had that in mind for ages, but when I decided to use Becker as the POV character, the whole thing just started writing itself and getting madder and madder!
And anyway, Ryan was due to win this round against Torrence.
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Love it all!
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I so love Sanctuary.
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That was priceless! :-D
*goes back to laughing*
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Ryan slipped his arm around Becker’s waist and guided him into the living room. “Sit down, take the weight off your feet. You are all right, aren’t you?” His hand hovered for a moment over Becker’s stomach.
I wasn't sure whether to squee or hurl, hahahaha!! Perfect :D
George and Terrence at bottle-time was just insane, I loved it.
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And Ryan makes such a good proud papa!
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This is wonderful, wonderful, hilarious stuff :D
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George!!!!!!!!
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Epic! :D
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Lucky Claudia......
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To cap it all, he was absolutely certain he’d already got some in his hair.
Oh, the horror!!!
Speaking of which, it was rather chilly in certain parts… He pulled at the neck of his teeshirt and peered down. Yep, it had happened again.
Saucer of milk. Saucer of milk... *chokes*
“I did stay in the truck! It’s not my fault it got trampled!”
Becker winced. He’d rather liked that truck.
*snorfle*
“I got whacked by the bastard love-child of a Challenger 2 and something out of the Royal Armouries!”
*howls*
Something that looked like a giant squid appeared to be icing a cake whilst ...
*decorates keyboard with coffee*
OMG the presents! ROFL!
Finally, a sort of strangled whine echoed through the house, like the last despairing gasp of a particularly irascible banshee.
And Torrence...
My stomach hurts from laughing. That was incredible.
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I hope Becker's shotgun is all right!!!
George is obviously doing fine *G*
LOL at Becker and Ryan going all maternal, and Becker's presents.
And was that a trap for a plot bunny or a muse?
Sanctuary is wonderful therapy, and this was hysterical fun
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LOL, it was a trap for Torrence, as he like words.
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Sporfles - I'm sure George prefered getting his milk your way: in a bottle while he's cradelled in Claudia's cleavage ;)
That's right...of course the trap was for Torrence! Shows that I need a holiday.
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Just brilliant!
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I'm so glad it's helped!
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