fredbassett

Title : An Unacceptable Level of Risk
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Lester, Cutter
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : For once, Cutter doesn’t get a word in edgeways.
A/N : Written for Tarlanx’s fandom stocking last year. At this rate I might get them all posted before the next round starts!

Lester leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. If the gesture was good enough for Mr Burns and Lord Vetinari, it was good enough for him.

The object of his attention was, however, blithely indifferent to popular culture of any type.

Sighing would be simply too much of a cliché, so Lester decided to attract the wretched man’s attention by abandoning his carefully struck pose, picking up his pen, and rapping sharply on the desk.

“Cutter, you were completely in breach of all health and safety procedures! Did you even stop to do a risk assessment?” Lester held up a hand to forestall the reply. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way. It is patently obvious that no risk assessment was carried out. The office manual takes a dim view of employees dashing back into a burning building in a misguided attempt to save their mad ex-wives. In this instance, the ex-wife that had caused the fire in the first place by trying to blow both you and the said building to smithereens.”

Cutter opened his mouth to reply.

Lester rapped sharply on the desk again, mainly because it seemed to have been effective the first time.

“For that reason, there is no possibility whatsoever of the government being held responsible for your untimely death at the hands of the same mad ex-wife who had tried to blow you – and everyone else – up. I have consulted our lawyers who responded, somewhat what to my surprise, rather robustly, for once. To be quite precise, they said, ‘Tell the fuckwit that a) it was his own stupid fault, b) he’s dead. Tough.’ Not their usual style of response, I admit, but I think you’ll find they’ve adequately covered all the bases.”

Cutter spluttered noisily, but didn’t quite manage a coherent sentence. The splutter did sound distinctly Scottish, though, so the man was clearly working his way up to verbalisation.

Lester smiled widely, letting the merest hint of fang show. “Welcome to the freak show, Professor. I’m afraid the pay is abysmal, as no one has yet worked out how to pay ghosts, and I don’t believe it’s a high priority for Her Majesty’s Government, but please feel free to send a memo. Once you’ve worked out how to pick up a pen, that is, or use a keyboard. Mr Hart might be willing to help in that regard. He mastered both arts a little while ago, but do apologise to him first. He did save your life, as I recall. It’s hardly his fault you decided to throw it away in a misguided attempt at chivalry. And no spectral fisticuffs. Mr Hart is now a full member of the team again. As he’ll no doubt explain, the ability to walk through walls comes in extremely useful in this job. But Ms Lewis will take a dim view of any unauthorised entry into the female shower-room. And the rattling of chains in front of the cleaners is frowned on. They already complain enough when Captain Ryan leaves hairs on the sofas in the breakroom.”

Lester retracted his fangs, allowing his smile to turn benevolent, and waved his hand in dismissal.

Cutter obligingly walked through the closed door.

Without opening it.