Fic, Burlington House, Part 1,
Nov. 7th, 2014 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Burlington House, Part 1
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen, Lester, Blade, Charles Hemingway
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 7,700 divided into two parts
Summary : Stephen gets to spend some time away from the office, but Lester wants to make sure he’s not left unprotected.
A/N : Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
goldarrow’s birthday. This is set in her wonderful silent!Stephen ‘verse, and Charles Hemingway is her OC. I hope you have a lovely day and that this in some small way lives up to expectation! Can be read as a standalone, I believe.
Blade slid the thin knife back into its wrist-sheath and pushed the plug of the kettle into the wall socket. When he flipped the switch, he was rewarded with the sight of the red light on the handle promptly coming on, confirming his theory that there had been nothing wrong with the kettle other than a loose wire in the plug.
He made himself a coffee and had just settled down to read a magazine when the door open and Stephen Hart stomped in, his own personal thundercloud very obviously hovering over his head. Blade raised his eyebrows in surprised enquiry. The scientist normally had a reasonably sunny disposition, which was fortunate, considering how often the poor sod had found himself on the receiving end of the machinations of Cutter’s hell-bitch of an ex-wife.
“What’s up, mate?” he asked when Stephen didn’t immediately respond.
Nothing, Stephen lied, his hand turning the word into an emphatic gesture of annoyance.
“Kettle’s just boiled,” Blade offered. “I fixed that loose wire.”
Stephen turned to him, the ghost of a smile hovering on his handsome face. Connor won’t love you, he said, his hands moving quickly, clearly secure in the knowledge that Blade had sufficient sign-language skills to follow him. He wants one of those light up ones that change colour as the water boils.
“He’ll be bloody lucky. Lester’s as tight as a rat’s arse where the petty cash is concerned at the moment.”
What, no bloody biscuits?
Blade smiled. Even with something obviously annoying him, Stephen seemed incapable of remaining in a bad mood for long. It was one of the man’s many good points, along with the fact that he was a shit-hot tracker and the best long-distance shot that Blade knew. He was also fucking easy on the eye, but Blade knew better that to show that sort of interest in his captain’s boyfriend, not if he wanted to stay attached to his bollocks for very long.
“He hasn’t stooped quite that low yet, but anyway, I know where Connor keeps his secret stash.”
Finn cleaned that out yesterday.
Stephen got his coffee and plonked a tin of biscuits down on the table. When the scientist had settled down in a loose-limed sprawl on the other sofa and eaten a couple of custard creams, Blade decided to have another attempt to find out what had caused his earlier annoyance.
“Are you going to tell me what the problem is or am I going to have to remove your skin in very thin strips instead?”
Stephen gave him the finger and rolled his eyes, but then started to move his hands in explanation. There’s a one day conference I want to go to in London, but Ryan’s still away, and Lester’s worried that Helen will have another pop at me if she can, so he’s told me I can’t go. It’s not important, he added quickly.
But the wistful look in the man’s eyes gave him away. No one on the anomaly project got much of a chance at a normal life and Blade knew how frustrated Stephen felt at times by the level of security that surrounded him with Helen bloody Cutter still on the loose and gunning for him so she could get revenge on anyone and everyone connected with the ARC. It was a grudge match on both sides and one that was only going to end in tears. With Ryan and several of the other lads away on an op elsewhere, Stringer and Lyle were doing their best to hold things together, so presumably Lester had been unable to spare anyone to keep an eye on Stephen.
“When is it?”
Next Saturday.
“Can’t Cutter lean on Lester for some cover for the pair of you?”
Stephen’s eyes lit up with a flash of amusement. Cutter won’t be going. Not safe to let him with a mile of the place. Last time he was in the same room as the bloke giving the keynote speech, it took three people to break up the fight.
Blade grinned. The professor’s hair trigger temper was pretty legendary, as were the techniques Ryan had once employed to reach a working understanding with the man.
Stephen shrugged. It doesn’t matter, honestly. I guess I’m just missing Ryan and getting cranky.
Blade gave him what he hoped would come over as a sympathetic smile but had nothing by way of definite comfort to offer about the captain’s return. He had no idea where the others were or when they’d be back and there was no point offering a few meaningless platitudes. Instead, he chatted to Stephen for a while in a relaxed mix of spoken speech and signing. All the soldiers had been keen to acquire an extra skill, knowing how useful the ability to use non-verbal communication could be in their line of work and Blade like to keep his hand in, so to speak.
By the time Blade went back to work on an inventory in the armoury, Stephen was over his fit of the grumps and had gone back to his lab to finish looking at some specimens they’d picked up at the last anomaly shout.
***
On his way out of the ARC that evening, Blade noticed a light on in Lester’s office despite the lateness of the hour and, on impulse, he went up to the director’s door and gave a respectful knock.
Lester looked up, quickly wiping the surprise from his face. “Yes, Richards?”
Ever the people person but two could play at that game. Blade kept his own features strictly neutral as well. “Sir, I’m off shift on Saturday.”
“How nice for you,” Lester drawled. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely say at home having a close relationship with various sharp objects. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“I’m happy to keep an eye on Stephen at that conference he wants to go to.”
Lester raised one immaculate eyebrow. “How very public-spirited of you. However, I’m sorry to inform you that there’s no overtime left in the budget, even if you have just saved me the cost of a new kettle. I could perhaps be persuaded run to an extra packet of biscuits as a token of my appreciation…”
“A packet of biscuits would be fine, sir, thank you.”
“Splendid. I’ll leave you to convey the good news to Dr Hart.” Lester’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and his tone turned serious. “And if you happen to see Mrs Cutter, as far as I’m concerned I’m more than happy to authorise expenditure on a bullet, or a new knife-blade, or whatever you might need to remove that particular spike from my backside on a permanent basis.”
“Noted, sir,” Blade said blandly, taking Lester’s words as full authority to go complete with all the tools of his trade. Or at least those that could be kept out of sight in public, which still left him with quite a lot of scope.
***
Blade pressed the bell on the door of Stephen’s flat.
A moment later he heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Stephen opened the door, a wide smile on his face that wiped several years off his age at a stroke. The scientist was more smartly dressed than Blade had ever seen him, although admittedly, their line of work didn’t exactly lend itself to sartorial elegance.
Stephen was wearing a dark blue linen jacket that was definitely on the smart side of smart casual, a pair of immaculately creased blue chinos and a light blue shirt. The whole lot brought out the colour of his eyes and made Blade remind himself again – quite forcibly – that the man was spoken for. Even allowing for the games Helen Cutter had played with his hormones, Stephen Hart was one of the most attractive men Blade had ever known, even with his habitual bed hair tamed into something resembling neatness for once.
Good job you warned me to look halfway decent, Blade signed. Didn’t realised you scrubbed up so well.
Stephen grinned. Don’t get the chance to dress up very often these days. You don’t look so bad yourself, he said, closing the door and dropping the key into his pocket. His shrewd eyes swept Blade from head to foot. Expecting trouble?
“I’m always expecting trouble,” Blade said truthfully.
He knew it was guesswork on Stephen’s part as to whether he was carrying a gun. The jacket he was wearing was perfectly tailored to cover the shoulder rig he was wearing, and with one button done up in front, the chest strap was wholly disguised, but there was no harm in Stephen knowing that he was prepared should something kick off. The well-cut pockets contained four spare magazines for the Glock 17 and he was carrying even more knives than usual.
It wasn’t the day meeting itself they were dressing up for, but Stephen had wanted to go to the drinks reception and meal afterwards, and they wouldn’t have any opportunity to change, so they’d opted for looking respectable for the whole day.
As long as no one had installed covert metal detectors on the doors of Burlington House, he’d be fine.
The journey into central London was uneventful and they arrived at Piccadilly tube station with half an hour to spare before registration started. A short stroll down Piccadilly brought them to the imposing frontage that, according to Stephen, housed five societies, one of them being something called the Linnaen Society. As he did before any close protection job, Blade had done his homework. The society had been founded in 1788 and was the world’s oldest active biological society.
The day meeting they were attending was entitled Radiation and Extinction – Investigating Clade Dynamics in Deep Time. Blade had understood about half of the blurb he’d looked up on line, but as he was there to make sure his principal didn’t come to any harm, it didn’t particularly matter if he hadn’t the faintest idea what they were all talking about. He just had to look interested and make sure he blended in with everyone else.
The chances were high that Stephen would meet people he knew or, more accurately, the man he’d been cloned from had known. From what Blade understood, word had been put out in the academic community a while ago that Stephen had lost his voice as a result of cancer of the larynx and had not chosen to pursue any of the voice restoration options, concentrating instead on communication via signing and the use of a small tablet on which to write messages if needed.
They made their way across the courtyard and into the main part of Burlington House without attracting any attention. Tables had been set up outside the Linnean Society library to enable registration to take place. Name badges were laid out in alphabetical order and Stephen dealt with his own registration by smiling widely and picking up his own badge.
The woman behind the desk returned his smile, looking marginally less harassed than she had done a moment ago. Stephen’s looks often had that effect on people, both female and male. She smiled at Blade as well as he picked up his own badge and she ticked them both off on the list of names he had in front of her.
“There’s tea and coffee in the library,” she said.
Blade thanked her and picked up a copy of the delegates list from the pile on the table. Stephen did the same and then they both went off in search of a drink. Surprisingly, the tea actually tasted like tea rather than the brown sludge that usually got served up at this sort of thing, and there was a decent selection of biscuits.
Stephen drank his coffee quickly and ate a couple of biscuits equally fast. Blade used the time to scan the room, noting all exits, checking sight lines, and working out what cover was available should anything untoward happen.
As soon as his companion had freed his hands up, Blade did the same. He was going to have to work hard at not looking like hired muscle, needing to overcome his short hair and ever-present five o’clock shadow. But if Helen Cutter or any of her minions were in the vicinity, there was no harm in them knowing that Stephen wasn’t there by himself.
“Stephen!” A tall, attractive woman in her early 50s pulled him into a hug, a look of delight on her face. “How are you?”
Stephen hugged her back, and when he had his hands free again, he dragged one finger across his throat and gave a thumbs down, but then put his hand on his heart and turned his thump up, grinning at her.
She smiled back and, in response to Stephen’s gesture from her to Blade, said, “Amanda Jewell. I worked with Stephen for a while at CMU.”
Blade shook her hand. “Niall Richards. Stephen and I used to target-shoot together.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “What on earth brings you along to this?”
Blade grinned. “I was fascinated by dinosaurs as a kid.”
“Welcome to the nut house.” Her answering grin made it clear she wasn’t being too serious. “Is Cutter coming?” she asked Stephen.
Stephen shook his head and made a gesture that looked like he was wringing a chicken’s neck.
Amanda Jewell laughed. “Spoilsport. He’s wanted to wring Dan Friedman’s neck for years and I’d been hoping to hold his jacket while he did it.”
Friedman, Blade knew, was the guy giving the afternoon’s plenary speech, and maybe at that point he’d find out what the fuck ‘The necessity of Macroevolution (in a Microevolutionary World)’ meant, and why half of the title had to be in brackets.
Stephen grinned and quickly scribbled: Bad luck on the screen of his pocket tablet.
While the two of them chatted, Blade continued his careful examination of everyone coming in through the doors. Arriving so early had given them a distinct advantage in that regard. There was a mix of male and female, young and old, with the emphasis more towards the latter end of the spectrum, although there were a couple of students with as much of an odd taste in clothing as he’d become used to after spending time with Connor, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Connor was on call for the weekend, he imagined their resident geek would have been in his element in that gathering.
Nothing about any of the conference participants was setting off any kind of alarm bells for him and Stephen was clearly relaxed, which was a good thing. They’d agreed a series of non-verbal signals in advance, and if Blade saw Stephen’s left fist clenched by his thigh, he would know that something had made the young scientist uneasy.
With the growing press of people coming into the library, it was easy for Blade to fade into the background in a way that all close protection specialists favoured. He did a lot of smiling and nodding, and looking like he was engaged in whatever discussion Stephen was having, but in reality he was constantly checking out the room and the people in it. He also took the time to scan quickly down the guest list. A name on the second page that Stephen clearly hadn’t yet noticed elicited a flash of surprise, but not an unpleasant one.
Five minutes before the end of the pre-conference coffee break, Blade finally saw the man he’d been looking for. He was wearing a smart grey suit, was of medium height, medium build, with nothing out of the ordinary from the slightly thinning brown hair to the polished black shoes. The man looked like any stereotypical civil servant. But on a closer examination it was possible to spot the sharp intelligence hiding behind the brown eyes in a face carefully masked by a politely bland expression. The man was well-practised in blending into the background like a chameleon.
Blade certainly hadn’t expected to see Charles Hemingway here, but maybe getting stuck in the past with Stephen had widened his interests beyond the confines of Health and Safety.
He repressed a grin when the brown eyes widened in surprise. Hemingway tilted his head slightly to one side in unspoken question. Blade nodded slightly, nudged Stephen and smiled. Stephen’s eyes widened even more than Blade’s had done as Hemingway made his way over to them through the growing crowd.
“Good to see you,” Blade said, extending his hand. Hemingway’s grip was firm, with nothing to prove.
“And you both,” he said, signing a greeting to Stephen at the same time.
Hemingway had a sky-high security clearance, and had earned the respect of the anomaly team when he’d reversed a ridiculous and unpopular decision to ground Stephen from field operations. Hemingway had accompanied them into the field and had proved both intelligent and capable. Blade had saved him from a creature attack, which had sealed a pact of mutual respect that had quickly deepened when Hemingway had proved to be a staunch supporter of Stephen’s worth to the team. Later, in yet another of the ex-Mrs Cutter’s crazy stunts, Hemingway and Stephen had been kidnapped and trapped in the past for several days. After that, Blade wasn’t wholly surprised that the man would take an active interest in the subject of dinosaurs and past worlds. Knowledge was, after all, the key to survival.
The socialising over coffee and tea was soon cut short by one of the organisers starting to usher people into a surprisingly modern auditorium. Blade, Stephen and Hemingway stayed together and gravitated towards the back of the room. Blade positioned himself at the end of the row where he had good sight lines through the room. By unspoken agreement, Hemingway sat on the other side of Stephen.
The first talk, A unified framework for inferring phylogenies with fossils, passed by in a blur of scanning both the audience and any points of entry for threats, and at the end of it, Blade still has no fucking idea what it had been about, and from the look on Hemingway’s face, the civil servant agreed with him.
Stephen scribbled the words, pretentious bollocks on his tablet.
Blade thought it was a good summary.
The next one, Bayesian estimation of species divergence using quantitative characters was just about as impenetrable and by the time Distinguishing anagenesis from cladogenesis in the fossil record rolled round, Blade was seriously considering slitting his own wrists for a break from the monotony.
To his surprise, the resulting discussion was lively, and Stephen was clearly taking a keen interest in proceedings. A coffee break at 10.50am allowed time for more one-on-one discussions, leaving Stephen with the problem of devouring several very tasty Danish pastries whilst carrying on talking at the same time. It involved quite a few crumbs and a good deal of hand-waving. Blade simply faded into the background again. Fortunately the conference delegates mainly seemed to be talking to people they already knew and although they did seem to be a pretty inclusive bunch, it was still easy enough to stay on the fringes.
“Is this just a general precaution or are you expecting trouble?” a soft voice asked.
“We’re always expecting trouble these days,” Blade said equally quietly. “Ryan’s away and Lester didn’t want to run any risks.”
“James always did prefer the cautious approach. Will it make your job easier or harder if we appear to be talking? Say the word and I’ll wander off.”
Blade smiled. The man was certainly bright. “Talking is fine. Just don’t be offended when I look over your shoulder.”
“I’m used to do’s in the higher echelon of the civil service. It’s normal behaviour there. Most people are always on the lookout for someone more important to talk to.”
“Seems to be normal with a few people here as well,” Blade said. “Looks like half the people are here because they’re interested in the subject and the other half are using it as a networking opportunity.”
“What do you make of it so far?” Hemingway asked.
“It’s like listening to a badly-tuned radio,” Blade admitted. “Parts of it I understand and parts of it sound total double-Dutch. Even after listening to a few of Cutter’s lectures, I’m still at sea in most of the talks.”
The half-hour break was soon over. The next session resumed with a paper on Mammal diversification, speciation and extinction, the majority of which he could follow. He’d certainly seen a diverse range of the buggers during his time on the anomaly project and the enthusiastic bloke from Dublin doing the talking provided a few useful reminders that not everything that looked scary was actually out to get you. Despite Blade’s reputation, killing creatures that generally had no ill-intent certainly wasn’t his favourite occupation, but that couldn’t be said for most of the raptors they came across. In his experience most of them were shitty little bastards that would rip a hole in you just for the hell of it.
The next three papers veered sharply into the double-Dutch territory and he made a mental note to ask Stephen what the fuck cladistic-type matrices were when they were at home.
The conference broke for lunch between 1 and 2pm. The food that had been laid on consisted of sandwiches and nibbles. Blade, Stephen and Hemingway all quickly filled their plates and retired to a corner of the room to eat so that Stephen could get back to talking to old friends and former colleagues.
So far, he’d seen nothing to give him any cause for concern, but he couldn’t quite shake off a feeling of unease. He certainly didn’t have Lyle’s almost preternatural danger sense, but his instinct for trouble had saved the lives of himself and several principals over the years and he had no intention of ignoring it now.
Not when it was his job to keep Stephen alive.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen, Lester, Blade, Charles Hemingway
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 7,700 divided into two parts
Summary : Stephen gets to spend some time away from the office, but Lester wants to make sure he’s not left unprotected.
A/N : Written for
goldarrow’s birthday. This is set in her wonderful silent!Stephen ‘verse, and Charles Hemingway is her OC. I hope you have a lovely day and that this in some small way lives up to expectation! Can be read as a standalone, I believe.Blade slid the thin knife back into its wrist-sheath and pushed the plug of the kettle into the wall socket. When he flipped the switch, he was rewarded with the sight of the red light on the handle promptly coming on, confirming his theory that there had been nothing wrong with the kettle other than a loose wire in the plug.
He made himself a coffee and had just settled down to read a magazine when the door open and Stephen Hart stomped in, his own personal thundercloud very obviously hovering over his head. Blade raised his eyebrows in surprised enquiry. The scientist normally had a reasonably sunny disposition, which was fortunate, considering how often the poor sod had found himself on the receiving end of the machinations of Cutter’s hell-bitch of an ex-wife.
“What’s up, mate?” he asked when Stephen didn’t immediately respond.
Nothing, Stephen lied, his hand turning the word into an emphatic gesture of annoyance.
“Kettle’s just boiled,” Blade offered. “I fixed that loose wire.”
Stephen turned to him, the ghost of a smile hovering on his handsome face. Connor won’t love you, he said, his hands moving quickly, clearly secure in the knowledge that Blade had sufficient sign-language skills to follow him. He wants one of those light up ones that change colour as the water boils.
“He’ll be bloody lucky. Lester’s as tight as a rat’s arse where the petty cash is concerned at the moment.”
What, no bloody biscuits?
Blade smiled. Even with something obviously annoying him, Stephen seemed incapable of remaining in a bad mood for long. It was one of the man’s many good points, along with the fact that he was a shit-hot tracker and the best long-distance shot that Blade knew. He was also fucking easy on the eye, but Blade knew better that to show that sort of interest in his captain’s boyfriend, not if he wanted to stay attached to his bollocks for very long.
“He hasn’t stooped quite that low yet, but anyway, I know where Connor keeps his secret stash.”
Finn cleaned that out yesterday.
Stephen got his coffee and plonked a tin of biscuits down on the table. When the scientist had settled down in a loose-limed sprawl on the other sofa and eaten a couple of custard creams, Blade decided to have another attempt to find out what had caused his earlier annoyance.
“Are you going to tell me what the problem is or am I going to have to remove your skin in very thin strips instead?”
Stephen gave him the finger and rolled his eyes, but then started to move his hands in explanation. There’s a one day conference I want to go to in London, but Ryan’s still away, and Lester’s worried that Helen will have another pop at me if she can, so he’s told me I can’t go. It’s not important, he added quickly.
But the wistful look in the man’s eyes gave him away. No one on the anomaly project got much of a chance at a normal life and Blade knew how frustrated Stephen felt at times by the level of security that surrounded him with Helen bloody Cutter still on the loose and gunning for him so she could get revenge on anyone and everyone connected with the ARC. It was a grudge match on both sides and one that was only going to end in tears. With Ryan and several of the other lads away on an op elsewhere, Stringer and Lyle were doing their best to hold things together, so presumably Lester had been unable to spare anyone to keep an eye on Stephen.
“When is it?”
Next Saturday.
“Can’t Cutter lean on Lester for some cover for the pair of you?”
Stephen’s eyes lit up with a flash of amusement. Cutter won’t be going. Not safe to let him with a mile of the place. Last time he was in the same room as the bloke giving the keynote speech, it took three people to break up the fight.
Blade grinned. The professor’s hair trigger temper was pretty legendary, as were the techniques Ryan had once employed to reach a working understanding with the man.
Stephen shrugged. It doesn’t matter, honestly. I guess I’m just missing Ryan and getting cranky.
Blade gave him what he hoped would come over as a sympathetic smile but had nothing by way of definite comfort to offer about the captain’s return. He had no idea where the others were or when they’d be back and there was no point offering a few meaningless platitudes. Instead, he chatted to Stephen for a while in a relaxed mix of spoken speech and signing. All the soldiers had been keen to acquire an extra skill, knowing how useful the ability to use non-verbal communication could be in their line of work and Blade like to keep his hand in, so to speak.
By the time Blade went back to work on an inventory in the armoury, Stephen was over his fit of the grumps and had gone back to his lab to finish looking at some specimens they’d picked up at the last anomaly shout.
***
On his way out of the ARC that evening, Blade noticed a light on in Lester’s office despite the lateness of the hour and, on impulse, he went up to the director’s door and gave a respectful knock.
Lester looked up, quickly wiping the surprise from his face. “Yes, Richards?”
Ever the people person but two could play at that game. Blade kept his own features strictly neutral as well. “Sir, I’m off shift on Saturday.”
“How nice for you,” Lester drawled. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely say at home having a close relationship with various sharp objects. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“I’m happy to keep an eye on Stephen at that conference he wants to go to.”
Lester raised one immaculate eyebrow. “How very public-spirited of you. However, I’m sorry to inform you that there’s no overtime left in the budget, even if you have just saved me the cost of a new kettle. I could perhaps be persuaded run to an extra packet of biscuits as a token of my appreciation…”
“A packet of biscuits would be fine, sir, thank you.”
“Splendid. I’ll leave you to convey the good news to Dr Hart.” Lester’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and his tone turned serious. “And if you happen to see Mrs Cutter, as far as I’m concerned I’m more than happy to authorise expenditure on a bullet, or a new knife-blade, or whatever you might need to remove that particular spike from my backside on a permanent basis.”
“Noted, sir,” Blade said blandly, taking Lester’s words as full authority to go complete with all the tools of his trade. Or at least those that could be kept out of sight in public, which still left him with quite a lot of scope.
***
Blade pressed the bell on the door of Stephen’s flat.
A moment later he heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Stephen opened the door, a wide smile on his face that wiped several years off his age at a stroke. The scientist was more smartly dressed than Blade had ever seen him, although admittedly, their line of work didn’t exactly lend itself to sartorial elegance.
Stephen was wearing a dark blue linen jacket that was definitely on the smart side of smart casual, a pair of immaculately creased blue chinos and a light blue shirt. The whole lot brought out the colour of his eyes and made Blade remind himself again – quite forcibly – that the man was spoken for. Even allowing for the games Helen Cutter had played with his hormones, Stephen Hart was one of the most attractive men Blade had ever known, even with his habitual bed hair tamed into something resembling neatness for once.
Good job you warned me to look halfway decent, Blade signed. Didn’t realised you scrubbed up so well.
Stephen grinned. Don’t get the chance to dress up very often these days. You don’t look so bad yourself, he said, closing the door and dropping the key into his pocket. His shrewd eyes swept Blade from head to foot. Expecting trouble?
“I’m always expecting trouble,” Blade said truthfully.
He knew it was guesswork on Stephen’s part as to whether he was carrying a gun. The jacket he was wearing was perfectly tailored to cover the shoulder rig he was wearing, and with one button done up in front, the chest strap was wholly disguised, but there was no harm in Stephen knowing that he was prepared should something kick off. The well-cut pockets contained four spare magazines for the Glock 17 and he was carrying even more knives than usual.
It wasn’t the day meeting itself they were dressing up for, but Stephen had wanted to go to the drinks reception and meal afterwards, and they wouldn’t have any opportunity to change, so they’d opted for looking respectable for the whole day.
As long as no one had installed covert metal detectors on the doors of Burlington House, he’d be fine.
The journey into central London was uneventful and they arrived at Piccadilly tube station with half an hour to spare before registration started. A short stroll down Piccadilly brought them to the imposing frontage that, according to Stephen, housed five societies, one of them being something called the Linnaen Society. As he did before any close protection job, Blade had done his homework. The society had been founded in 1788 and was the world’s oldest active biological society.
The day meeting they were attending was entitled Radiation and Extinction – Investigating Clade Dynamics in Deep Time. Blade had understood about half of the blurb he’d looked up on line, but as he was there to make sure his principal didn’t come to any harm, it didn’t particularly matter if he hadn’t the faintest idea what they were all talking about. He just had to look interested and make sure he blended in with everyone else.
The chances were high that Stephen would meet people he knew or, more accurately, the man he’d been cloned from had known. From what Blade understood, word had been put out in the academic community a while ago that Stephen had lost his voice as a result of cancer of the larynx and had not chosen to pursue any of the voice restoration options, concentrating instead on communication via signing and the use of a small tablet on which to write messages if needed.
They made their way across the courtyard and into the main part of Burlington House without attracting any attention. Tables had been set up outside the Linnean Society library to enable registration to take place. Name badges were laid out in alphabetical order and Stephen dealt with his own registration by smiling widely and picking up his own badge.
The woman behind the desk returned his smile, looking marginally less harassed than she had done a moment ago. Stephen’s looks often had that effect on people, both female and male. She smiled at Blade as well as he picked up his own badge and she ticked them both off on the list of names he had in front of her.
“There’s tea and coffee in the library,” she said.
Blade thanked her and picked up a copy of the delegates list from the pile on the table. Stephen did the same and then they both went off in search of a drink. Surprisingly, the tea actually tasted like tea rather than the brown sludge that usually got served up at this sort of thing, and there was a decent selection of biscuits.
Stephen drank his coffee quickly and ate a couple of biscuits equally fast. Blade used the time to scan the room, noting all exits, checking sight lines, and working out what cover was available should anything untoward happen.
As soon as his companion had freed his hands up, Blade did the same. He was going to have to work hard at not looking like hired muscle, needing to overcome his short hair and ever-present five o’clock shadow. But if Helen Cutter or any of her minions were in the vicinity, there was no harm in them knowing that Stephen wasn’t there by himself.
“Stephen!” A tall, attractive woman in her early 50s pulled him into a hug, a look of delight on her face. “How are you?”
Stephen hugged her back, and when he had his hands free again, he dragged one finger across his throat and gave a thumbs down, but then put his hand on his heart and turned his thump up, grinning at her.
She smiled back and, in response to Stephen’s gesture from her to Blade, said, “Amanda Jewell. I worked with Stephen for a while at CMU.”
Blade shook her hand. “Niall Richards. Stephen and I used to target-shoot together.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “What on earth brings you along to this?”
Blade grinned. “I was fascinated by dinosaurs as a kid.”
“Welcome to the nut house.” Her answering grin made it clear she wasn’t being too serious. “Is Cutter coming?” she asked Stephen.
Stephen shook his head and made a gesture that looked like he was wringing a chicken’s neck.
Amanda Jewell laughed. “Spoilsport. He’s wanted to wring Dan Friedman’s neck for years and I’d been hoping to hold his jacket while he did it.”
Friedman, Blade knew, was the guy giving the afternoon’s plenary speech, and maybe at that point he’d find out what the fuck ‘The necessity of Macroevolution (in a Microevolutionary World)’ meant, and why half of the title had to be in brackets.
Stephen grinned and quickly scribbled: Bad luck on the screen of his pocket tablet.
While the two of them chatted, Blade continued his careful examination of everyone coming in through the doors. Arriving so early had given them a distinct advantage in that regard. There was a mix of male and female, young and old, with the emphasis more towards the latter end of the spectrum, although there were a couple of students with as much of an odd taste in clothing as he’d become used to after spending time with Connor, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Connor was on call for the weekend, he imagined their resident geek would have been in his element in that gathering.
Nothing about any of the conference participants was setting off any kind of alarm bells for him and Stephen was clearly relaxed, which was a good thing. They’d agreed a series of non-verbal signals in advance, and if Blade saw Stephen’s left fist clenched by his thigh, he would know that something had made the young scientist uneasy.
With the growing press of people coming into the library, it was easy for Blade to fade into the background in a way that all close protection specialists favoured. He did a lot of smiling and nodding, and looking like he was engaged in whatever discussion Stephen was having, but in reality he was constantly checking out the room and the people in it. He also took the time to scan quickly down the guest list. A name on the second page that Stephen clearly hadn’t yet noticed elicited a flash of surprise, but not an unpleasant one.
Five minutes before the end of the pre-conference coffee break, Blade finally saw the man he’d been looking for. He was wearing a smart grey suit, was of medium height, medium build, with nothing out of the ordinary from the slightly thinning brown hair to the polished black shoes. The man looked like any stereotypical civil servant. But on a closer examination it was possible to spot the sharp intelligence hiding behind the brown eyes in a face carefully masked by a politely bland expression. The man was well-practised in blending into the background like a chameleon.
Blade certainly hadn’t expected to see Charles Hemingway here, but maybe getting stuck in the past with Stephen had widened his interests beyond the confines of Health and Safety.
He repressed a grin when the brown eyes widened in surprise. Hemingway tilted his head slightly to one side in unspoken question. Blade nodded slightly, nudged Stephen and smiled. Stephen’s eyes widened even more than Blade’s had done as Hemingway made his way over to them through the growing crowd.
“Good to see you,” Blade said, extending his hand. Hemingway’s grip was firm, with nothing to prove.
“And you both,” he said, signing a greeting to Stephen at the same time.
Hemingway had a sky-high security clearance, and had earned the respect of the anomaly team when he’d reversed a ridiculous and unpopular decision to ground Stephen from field operations. Hemingway had accompanied them into the field and had proved both intelligent and capable. Blade had saved him from a creature attack, which had sealed a pact of mutual respect that had quickly deepened when Hemingway had proved to be a staunch supporter of Stephen’s worth to the team. Later, in yet another of the ex-Mrs Cutter’s crazy stunts, Hemingway and Stephen had been kidnapped and trapped in the past for several days. After that, Blade wasn’t wholly surprised that the man would take an active interest in the subject of dinosaurs and past worlds. Knowledge was, after all, the key to survival.
The socialising over coffee and tea was soon cut short by one of the organisers starting to usher people into a surprisingly modern auditorium. Blade, Stephen and Hemingway stayed together and gravitated towards the back of the room. Blade positioned himself at the end of the row where he had good sight lines through the room. By unspoken agreement, Hemingway sat on the other side of Stephen.
The first talk, A unified framework for inferring phylogenies with fossils, passed by in a blur of scanning both the audience and any points of entry for threats, and at the end of it, Blade still has no fucking idea what it had been about, and from the look on Hemingway’s face, the civil servant agreed with him.
Stephen scribbled the words, pretentious bollocks on his tablet.
Blade thought it was a good summary.
The next one, Bayesian estimation of species divergence using quantitative characters was just about as impenetrable and by the time Distinguishing anagenesis from cladogenesis in the fossil record rolled round, Blade was seriously considering slitting his own wrists for a break from the monotony.
To his surprise, the resulting discussion was lively, and Stephen was clearly taking a keen interest in proceedings. A coffee break at 10.50am allowed time for more one-on-one discussions, leaving Stephen with the problem of devouring several very tasty Danish pastries whilst carrying on talking at the same time. It involved quite a few crumbs and a good deal of hand-waving. Blade simply faded into the background again. Fortunately the conference delegates mainly seemed to be talking to people they already knew and although they did seem to be a pretty inclusive bunch, it was still easy enough to stay on the fringes.
“Is this just a general precaution or are you expecting trouble?” a soft voice asked.
“We’re always expecting trouble these days,” Blade said equally quietly. “Ryan’s away and Lester didn’t want to run any risks.”
“James always did prefer the cautious approach. Will it make your job easier or harder if we appear to be talking? Say the word and I’ll wander off.”
Blade smiled. The man was certainly bright. “Talking is fine. Just don’t be offended when I look over your shoulder.”
“I’m used to do’s in the higher echelon of the civil service. It’s normal behaviour there. Most people are always on the lookout for someone more important to talk to.”
“Seems to be normal with a few people here as well,” Blade said. “Looks like half the people are here because they’re interested in the subject and the other half are using it as a networking opportunity.”
“What do you make of it so far?” Hemingway asked.
“It’s like listening to a badly-tuned radio,” Blade admitted. “Parts of it I understand and parts of it sound total double-Dutch. Even after listening to a few of Cutter’s lectures, I’m still at sea in most of the talks.”
The half-hour break was soon over. The next session resumed with a paper on Mammal diversification, speciation and extinction, the majority of which he could follow. He’d certainly seen a diverse range of the buggers during his time on the anomaly project and the enthusiastic bloke from Dublin doing the talking provided a few useful reminders that not everything that looked scary was actually out to get you. Despite Blade’s reputation, killing creatures that generally had no ill-intent certainly wasn’t his favourite occupation, but that couldn’t be said for most of the raptors they came across. In his experience most of them were shitty little bastards that would rip a hole in you just for the hell of it.
The next three papers veered sharply into the double-Dutch territory and he made a mental note to ask Stephen what the fuck cladistic-type matrices were when they were at home.
The conference broke for lunch between 1 and 2pm. The food that had been laid on consisted of sandwiches and nibbles. Blade, Stephen and Hemingway all quickly filled their plates and retired to a corner of the room to eat so that Stephen could get back to talking to old friends and former colleagues.
So far, he’d seen nothing to give him any cause for concern, but he couldn’t quite shake off a feeling of unease. He certainly didn’t have Lyle’s almost preternatural danger sense, but his instinct for trouble had saved the lives of himself and several principals over the years and he had no intention of ignoring it now.
Not when it was his job to keep Stephen alive.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-11-07 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-08 01:43 am (UTC)This is a brilliant start and I can't wait to see what happens next!
*g* For Blade fixing the kettle with one of his ubiquitous knives.
*snorfle* for Stephen's own personal thundercloud - he really does have a target painted on his back by Helen...
Blade knew better that to show that sort of interest in his captain’s boyfriend, not if he wanted to stay attached to his bollocks for very long.
Um, yep. No one ever said Blade is slow on the uptake...
Last time he was in the same room as the bloke giving the keynote speech, it took three people to break up the fight
LOL Oh, my, that must have been a sight.
All the soldiers had been keen to acquire an extra skill, knowing how useful the ability to use non-verbal communication could be in their line of work and Blade like to keep his hand in, so to speak.
*nods* good idea. *groans* at pun.
“How nice for you,” Lester drawled. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely say at home having a close relationship with various sharp objects. Now, if you don’t mind…”
Ouch! LOL. And bravo for Blade hearing between the lines of Lester's snark.
Mmmmm for Stephen's clothes. And Blade's.
“I’m always expecting trouble,” Blade said truthfully.
Rrrrrrrrrrr. Competence is sexy...
As long as no one had installed covert metal detectors on the doors of Burlington House, he’d be fine.
Oh, dear, that would be just slightly difficult.
*nods* Excellent way of explaining Stephen's muteness!
Stephen shook his head and made a gesture that looked like he was wringing a chicken’s neck.
LOL!
Connor would have enjoyed the meeting, definitely.
*snorfle* for the descriptions and titles of the various papers! I'm not surprised Blade was a bit at sea.
Hemingway’s grip was firm, with nothing to prove.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect; Hemingway's personality in a nutshell.
Blade still has no fucking idea what it had been about, and from the look on Hemingway’s face, the civil servant agreed with him.
Stephen scribbled the words, 'pretentious bollocks' on his tablet.
Blade thought it was a good summary.
I think I would have agreed. Wow. And the rest of them! How you came up with those titles, I have no idea. Brilliant!
pastries whilst carrying on talking at the same time. It involved quite a few crumbs and a good deal of hand-waving.
*snorfle*
Hmmmmm, the talk between Blade and Hemingway was very yummy. Intelligent men who know their business...
In his experience most of them were shitty little bastards that would rip a hole in you just for the hell of it.
LOL Blade certainly knows his raptors!
what the fuck cladistic-type matrices were when they were at home.
I love that phrasing. So delightful.
This is terrific, and the ominous foreshadowing of the last line made me squeak!
Oh, dear, epic comment, but wow!
no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 05:42 pm (UTC)*glomps you*
I'm so pleased you like it. Working in someone else's verse with their own characters is rather scary, but very rewarding.
The titles all came from a real one day conference in this setting! I could never make something like that up!!
no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 05:47 pm (UTC)I sort of wondered if they'd been real, but couldn't bring myself to actually believe it!
Brilliant.
I do love what you did with Charles.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-08 10:02 pm (UTC)And rather hilarious, as I have been following some of the tweets today from the 74th annual meeting of the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology, and the bit about brackets and pretentious bollocks resonated rather strongly *g*
Blade is just too awesome for words. AND IN A SUIT. OMG I NEARLY DIED.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-08 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-09 12:24 pm (UTC)And Stephen looking all smart and handsome *faints*
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Date: 2014-11-09 05:45 pm (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2014-11-09 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-08 11:00 pm (UTC)