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fredbassettTitle : Cake is for Life, not Just for Birthdays
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval (plus teeny, tiny crossover with Alex Rider fandom)
Rating : 12
Characters : Becker, Ryan, Becker’s mother
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Becker’s mum), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Becker just knows he’s going to hate his new boss.
A/N : Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
isamazed’s Denial Stocking
“I’m going to hate him.”
“Stop being melodramatic, darling. Have some more cake.”
Becker sighed heavily but helped himself to another large chunk of chocolate fudge cake. “He’s a fucking legend, mother. Everyone who knows him thinks he walks on water.”
“Language, Hilary. I’m sure he’s very nice.”
“He’s a major in the SAS. He could kill you in 15 different ways without even leaving a mark.”
“And you’re the youngest officer ever to pass selection, dear. And you’re a captain in the SAS.” She blinked owlishly at him. “Does that mean you only know ten different ways to kill me without leaving a mark?”
“Don’t change the subject, mother. Anyway, you probably know more ways to kill people than I do.”
“Invite him for tea sometime.”
“I doubt I’ll hate him quite that much.”
“I’ll pack the rest of the cake for you to take back to the ARC.”
“Official Secrets, mother, remember.”
“Yes, dear. How could I possibly forget?”
****
“Major Ryan, good to meet you, sir.”
Cool grey eyes gave Becker a quick, highly professional appraisal that almost made him look down to check his boots were clean. Except he didn’t need to. He knew perfectly well they were filthy, covered in mud and shit from a field in Surrey where he’d spent the afternoon trying to persuade a herd of flatulent and incontinent triceratops to fuck off home. His pleas to Abby to let him deploy an RPG had fallen on deaf ears.
“Ryan!” Cutter strode up to the major and pumped his hand warmly, slapping the man on the back, looking delighted to see him. If Becker hadn’t seen the original reports, he would have taken the tall tales about Ryan’s treatment of the professor on their first trip to the Permian with a very large pinch of salt, but the man clearly didn’t hold a grudge.
The original members of the anomaly team all welcomed Ryan back with obvious pleasure: Stephen with a quick hug, Abby with a longer one and a kiss on the cheek and Connor with a high five. Sarah Page was quickly introduced, along with other assorted technicians and scientists who were all hanging around hoping for a quick glimpse of the ARC’s new Head of Security. Becker would remain in command of the field response teams, reporting to Ryan, who would act as military liaison with the MoD, the police and other agencies to prevent a repeat performance of Christine Johnson’s abortive coup. The major would also take on responsibility for internal security, as well as logistical and tactical support.
“Where’s Quinn?” Becker asked. It was unlike Danny to miss out on anything interesting.
“Caught him abseiling down a vent shaft,” Ryan said. “I’m waiting to see how long it takes him to get out of a pair of standard issue handcuffs.”
“Four minutes 23 seconds,” Danny Quinn remarked, strolling in, rubbing his wrists.
“Too slow. You should have been able to do it in less than half that time.”
“Smart arse. I don’t think I like him,” Danny announced, a broad grin on his craggy face. “Can we send him back and get a different one?”
Ryan returned the grin. “You’re on coffee making duty for the next two days.”
Becker stood stiffly to one side, wondering how the fuck Danny managed to be on such easy terms with someone he’d only just met.
He was beginning to think he hated everyone, not just his new boss.
****
“So, how are you getting on with him?”
Backer glared at his phone. “Stop finding this so funny, mother!”
“Did he like the chocolate cake?”
“Of course he liked the bloody chocolate cake. Everyone likes your chocolate cake. It’s a confectionary wet dream.”
“When are you inviting him over to tea?”
“He’s not my type.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“I am not 13 any more!”
“I’ll send you some more cake.”
****
“Does your mother run the WI or something?” Ryan asked, accepting the hefty chunk of cake Becker had just cut.
“Something like that.”
His mother was clearly determined to ensure he died of a combination of chocolate poisoning and acute embarrassment. Her last cake parcel had been delivered direct to the ARC with a large label saying: FROM BECKER’S MUM xxx.
Becker was seriously considering spending a large amount of money on a highly capable assassin.
The only problem with that as a plan was her stubborn refusal to divulge the recipe for the chocolate fudge cake. He couldn’t take the risk of that dying with her.
“Drink after work?” Ryan asked. “Stephen said people usually go to the Black Swan on Friday evening. I must admit, working out of this place is a hell of a lot better than having to traipse up to Marsham Street all the time.”
Ryan had been in recovery for six months after his injuries in the Permian, then he’d been off somewhere on an op that was way over even Becker’s security clearance. He’d come back to the anomaly project tanned, fit and newly promoted. And had been welcomed back by everyone, including Lester.
Yep, Becker really hated him. And didn’t fancy him at all. Not one little bit.
Not even slightly.
Nope.
****
When’s he coming to T?
He’s not. And stop sending cake.
I cud always text him direct
Hacking personal data is an offence, mother.
Punctuating your whatsapps properly is just weird
Go away, use your spellchecker, turn on your autocorrect and stop trying to seduce my colleagues with cake.
CU next weekend darling hope U enjoy the nxt parcel
****
The next parcel arrived addressed to Ryan.
The cake was festooned with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY and decorated with balloons that Becker thought looked just like swimming sperm. Naturally after ten minutes in the break room, they’d acquired eyes, and someone had drawn a large cock and balls on the icing.
Danny Quinn’s attempts to look innocent were wholly unconvincing.
Becker hadn’t even known it was Ryan’s birthday.
The card his mother had sent with the cake had a large doughnut on the front. Her lack of subtlety was well known.
Becker scrolled through the contacts on his phone. The idea of spending his savings on a really good contract killer was getting more attractive by the minute. He was sure he could find another good recipe for chocolate fudge cake from somewhere. And maybe lemon drizzle cake would be less fattening, anyway. He was really starting to go off chocolate.
His phone pinged with an incoming WhatsApp message.
Don’t waste your time Hilary. Mr Gregorovich and I have come to an understanding. He likes my cakes.
Becker was tempted to scream very, very loudly.
“Cake?” Ryan said blandly.
****
The following week was a complete fucking shitshow.
They had shout after shout, dragged off all over the bloody country, stretched as thinly as grease on workhouse bread.
By Wednesday, Ryan had called in a favour from a friend in the Fleet Air Arm and borrowed a helicopter while Lester was doing his best to acquire one for them on a more permanent basis.
By Thursday they had three injured team members and the overtime claims from hell. Lester had ceremonially combined the lot to the small round filing cabinet beside his desk and promised everyone time off in lieu when things calmed down.
By Friday, Becker had a twisted ankle, badly bruised ribs and a raging headache.
He limped back into the ARC, covered in mud and shit yet again, rain-damp hair plastered to his head, exhausted and very, very bad-tempered.
After checking the weapons back in and helping to clean the kit, Becker hobbled into the changing room, accepted a couple of painkillers from one of the medics and allowed himself to be poked and prodded for a couple of minutes before being handed a neoprene strap for his ankle and told to take painkillers and anti-inflammatories for the next few days. A long, hot shower improved his mood slightly.
The large slice of cake and bottle of cold, strong Belgian beer delivered by Ryan while Becker was stark bollock naked and towelling his wet hair improved it even further. His state of undress was a slight problem, but Becker was damned if he was going to act like a shy teenager. But as a precautionary measure, he sent a stern memo to his cock warning it of the consequences of showing an inappropriate interest in his boss.
For once, his cock got the hint, which was more than his fucking mother ever did.
“Looks like I’ll be driving us to Cheltenham tomorrow,” Ryan commented, as Becker faffed with the Velcro straps on the ankle support.
Becker jerked upright so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
Ryan gave him a sympathetic look and another bottle of beer.
“Sorry. She’s as mad as a box of frogs and I’ve started legal proceedings to have myself declared an orphan.”
Ryan’s phone pinged. He looked at it and grinned.
Becker groaned. “She’s WhatsApped you the address, hasn’t she?”
Ryan nodded, not even trying to hide his amusement. “I’ll pick you up at 14.00.”
The moment the words “It’s a date” left his mouth, Becker wanted to cut his own tongue out and eat it.
As soon as Ryan had gone, Becker pulled out his phone. I’ve doubled the bounty on you. Gregorovitch might be tempted.
In your dreams sweetpea CU 2mrro
****
Ryan picked him up in a battered green Range Rover and the drive to Cheltenham was conducted in a companionable bitch fest about a) things that didn’t know when to stay extinct and b) the cockwombling shitgibbons in the ministry who thought a top-secret organisation could be run on a shoestring.
As their vehicle approached the tall metal gates at the end of his mother’s drive, Becker said, “Sorry about this, by the way. She really is bonkers.”
“She makes bloody good cakes.”
The gates swung smoothly inwards.
Becker’s depressingly unassassinated mother met them in the hall, dressed casually in jeans and a cream cashmere sweater. She hugged him, not even bothering to conceal her shit-eating grin. He hated her. He really, really hated her.
“Mother, this is …”
“Hello, Tom, nice to see you again.” She pulled Ryan into a warm hug and he kissed her on both cheeks.
“And you, Grace.”
“Bad week.” As ever, from her, it was a statement, not a question. “Glad you could still make it.”
“Mother …” Becker’s outrage was building up an impressive head of steam. He was going to triple that bloody bounty. No contract killer would turn down that amount of dosh. He’d even tell them the entry code for the gates and the location of the surveillance cameras. “You know each other.” She wasn’t the only one who could do the statement thing.
Grace Armitage, Director of GCHQ, the woman who could easily have won the Cold War with the strategic deployment of weapons grade confectionary, smiled brightly at them and waved a hand airily in the direction of the conservatory. “Tea and cake, boys?”
“Large brandy?” Becker said hopefully.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval (plus teeny, tiny crossover with Alex Rider fandom)
Rating : 12
Characters : Becker, Ryan, Becker’s mother
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Becker’s mum), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Becker just knows he’s going to hate his new boss.
A/N : Written for
isamazed’s Denial Stocking“I’m going to hate him.”
“Stop being melodramatic, darling. Have some more cake.”
Becker sighed heavily but helped himself to another large chunk of chocolate fudge cake. “He’s a fucking legend, mother. Everyone who knows him thinks he walks on water.”
“Language, Hilary. I’m sure he’s very nice.”
“He’s a major in the SAS. He could kill you in 15 different ways without even leaving a mark.”
“And you’re the youngest officer ever to pass selection, dear. And you’re a captain in the SAS.” She blinked owlishly at him. “Does that mean you only know ten different ways to kill me without leaving a mark?”
“Don’t change the subject, mother. Anyway, you probably know more ways to kill people than I do.”
“Invite him for tea sometime.”
“I doubt I’ll hate him quite that much.”
“I’ll pack the rest of the cake for you to take back to the ARC.”
“Official Secrets, mother, remember.”
“Yes, dear. How could I possibly forget?”
****
“Major Ryan, good to meet you, sir.”
Cool grey eyes gave Becker a quick, highly professional appraisal that almost made him look down to check his boots were clean. Except he didn’t need to. He knew perfectly well they were filthy, covered in mud and shit from a field in Surrey where he’d spent the afternoon trying to persuade a herd of flatulent and incontinent triceratops to fuck off home. His pleas to Abby to let him deploy an RPG had fallen on deaf ears.
“Ryan!” Cutter strode up to the major and pumped his hand warmly, slapping the man on the back, looking delighted to see him. If Becker hadn’t seen the original reports, he would have taken the tall tales about Ryan’s treatment of the professor on their first trip to the Permian with a very large pinch of salt, but the man clearly didn’t hold a grudge.
The original members of the anomaly team all welcomed Ryan back with obvious pleasure: Stephen with a quick hug, Abby with a longer one and a kiss on the cheek and Connor with a high five. Sarah Page was quickly introduced, along with other assorted technicians and scientists who were all hanging around hoping for a quick glimpse of the ARC’s new Head of Security. Becker would remain in command of the field response teams, reporting to Ryan, who would act as military liaison with the MoD, the police and other agencies to prevent a repeat performance of Christine Johnson’s abortive coup. The major would also take on responsibility for internal security, as well as logistical and tactical support.
“Where’s Quinn?” Becker asked. It was unlike Danny to miss out on anything interesting.
“Caught him abseiling down a vent shaft,” Ryan said. “I’m waiting to see how long it takes him to get out of a pair of standard issue handcuffs.”
“Four minutes 23 seconds,” Danny Quinn remarked, strolling in, rubbing his wrists.
“Too slow. You should have been able to do it in less than half that time.”
“Smart arse. I don’t think I like him,” Danny announced, a broad grin on his craggy face. “Can we send him back and get a different one?”
Ryan returned the grin. “You’re on coffee making duty for the next two days.”
Becker stood stiffly to one side, wondering how the fuck Danny managed to be on such easy terms with someone he’d only just met.
He was beginning to think he hated everyone, not just his new boss.
****
“So, how are you getting on with him?”
Backer glared at his phone. “Stop finding this so funny, mother!”
“Did he like the chocolate cake?”
“Of course he liked the bloody chocolate cake. Everyone likes your chocolate cake. It’s a confectionary wet dream.”
“When are you inviting him over to tea?”
“He’s not my type.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“I am not 13 any more!”
“I’ll send you some more cake.”
****
“Does your mother run the WI or something?” Ryan asked, accepting the hefty chunk of cake Becker had just cut.
“Something like that.”
His mother was clearly determined to ensure he died of a combination of chocolate poisoning and acute embarrassment. Her last cake parcel had been delivered direct to the ARC with a large label saying: FROM BECKER’S MUM xxx.
Becker was seriously considering spending a large amount of money on a highly capable assassin.
The only problem with that as a plan was her stubborn refusal to divulge the recipe for the chocolate fudge cake. He couldn’t take the risk of that dying with her.
“Drink after work?” Ryan asked. “Stephen said people usually go to the Black Swan on Friday evening. I must admit, working out of this place is a hell of a lot better than having to traipse up to Marsham Street all the time.”
Ryan had been in recovery for six months after his injuries in the Permian, then he’d been off somewhere on an op that was way over even Becker’s security clearance. He’d come back to the anomaly project tanned, fit and newly promoted. And had been welcomed back by everyone, including Lester.
Yep, Becker really hated him. And didn’t fancy him at all. Not one little bit.
Not even slightly.
Nope.
****
When’s he coming to T?
He’s not. And stop sending cake.
I cud always text him direct
Hacking personal data is an offence, mother.
Punctuating your whatsapps properly is just weird
Go away, use your spellchecker, turn on your autocorrect and stop trying to seduce my colleagues with cake.
CU next weekend darling hope U enjoy the nxt parcel
****
The next parcel arrived addressed to Ryan.
The cake was festooned with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY and decorated with balloons that Becker thought looked just like swimming sperm. Naturally after ten minutes in the break room, they’d acquired eyes, and someone had drawn a large cock and balls on the icing.
Danny Quinn’s attempts to look innocent were wholly unconvincing.
Becker hadn’t even known it was Ryan’s birthday.
The card his mother had sent with the cake had a large doughnut on the front. Her lack of subtlety was well known.
Becker scrolled through the contacts on his phone. The idea of spending his savings on a really good contract killer was getting more attractive by the minute. He was sure he could find another good recipe for chocolate fudge cake from somewhere. And maybe lemon drizzle cake would be less fattening, anyway. He was really starting to go off chocolate.
His phone pinged with an incoming WhatsApp message.
Don’t waste your time Hilary. Mr Gregorovich and I have come to an understanding. He likes my cakes.
Becker was tempted to scream very, very loudly.
“Cake?” Ryan said blandly.
****
The following week was a complete fucking shitshow.
They had shout after shout, dragged off all over the bloody country, stretched as thinly as grease on workhouse bread.
By Wednesday, Ryan had called in a favour from a friend in the Fleet Air Arm and borrowed a helicopter while Lester was doing his best to acquire one for them on a more permanent basis.
By Thursday they had three injured team members and the overtime claims from hell. Lester had ceremonially combined the lot to the small round filing cabinet beside his desk and promised everyone time off in lieu when things calmed down.
By Friday, Becker had a twisted ankle, badly bruised ribs and a raging headache.
He limped back into the ARC, covered in mud and shit yet again, rain-damp hair plastered to his head, exhausted and very, very bad-tempered.
After checking the weapons back in and helping to clean the kit, Becker hobbled into the changing room, accepted a couple of painkillers from one of the medics and allowed himself to be poked and prodded for a couple of minutes before being handed a neoprene strap for his ankle and told to take painkillers and anti-inflammatories for the next few days. A long, hot shower improved his mood slightly.
The large slice of cake and bottle of cold, strong Belgian beer delivered by Ryan while Becker was stark bollock naked and towelling his wet hair improved it even further. His state of undress was a slight problem, but Becker was damned if he was going to act like a shy teenager. But as a precautionary measure, he sent a stern memo to his cock warning it of the consequences of showing an inappropriate interest in his boss.
For once, his cock got the hint, which was more than his fucking mother ever did.
“Looks like I’ll be driving us to Cheltenham tomorrow,” Ryan commented, as Becker faffed with the Velcro straps on the ankle support.
Becker jerked upright so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
Ryan gave him a sympathetic look and another bottle of beer.
“Sorry. She’s as mad as a box of frogs and I’ve started legal proceedings to have myself declared an orphan.”
Ryan’s phone pinged. He looked at it and grinned.
Becker groaned. “She’s WhatsApped you the address, hasn’t she?”
Ryan nodded, not even trying to hide his amusement. “I’ll pick you up at 14.00.”
The moment the words “It’s a date” left his mouth, Becker wanted to cut his own tongue out and eat it.
As soon as Ryan had gone, Becker pulled out his phone. I’ve doubled the bounty on you. Gregorovitch might be tempted.
In your dreams sweetpea CU 2mrro
****
Ryan picked him up in a battered green Range Rover and the drive to Cheltenham was conducted in a companionable bitch fest about a) things that didn’t know when to stay extinct and b) the cockwombling shitgibbons in the ministry who thought a top-secret organisation could be run on a shoestring.
As their vehicle approached the tall metal gates at the end of his mother’s drive, Becker said, “Sorry about this, by the way. She really is bonkers.”
“She makes bloody good cakes.”
The gates swung smoothly inwards.
Becker’s depressingly unassassinated mother met them in the hall, dressed casually in jeans and a cream cashmere sweater. She hugged him, not even bothering to conceal her shit-eating grin. He hated her. He really, really hated her.
“Mother, this is …”
“Hello, Tom, nice to see you again.” She pulled Ryan into a warm hug and he kissed her on both cheeks.
“And you, Grace.”
“Bad week.” As ever, from her, it was a statement, not a question. “Glad you could still make it.”
“Mother …” Becker’s outrage was building up an impressive head of steam. He was going to triple that bloody bounty. No contract killer would turn down that amount of dosh. He’d even tell them the entry code for the gates and the location of the surveillance cameras. “You know each other.” She wasn’t the only one who could do the statement thing.
Grace Armitage, Director of GCHQ, the woman who could easily have won the Cold War with the strategic deployment of weapons grade confectionary, smiled brightly at them and waved a hand airily in the direction of the conservatory. “Tea and cake, boys?”
“Large brandy?” Becker said hopefully.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 11:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 11:57 am (UTC)So many great lines in it. The Gregorovich one had me sporfling muchly.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 10:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 10:05 pm (UTC)I'm tempted to do a follow up to this at some point. Maybe with another element of Alex Rider crossover.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-08 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-09 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-10 10:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 11:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-03-02 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-03-03 02:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-08 09:02 am (UTC)“Invite him for tea sometime.”
“I doubt I’ll hate him quite that much.”
LOLOLOL
Becker's mum's non-use of grammar is just so relatable :D
Genius, utter genius.
no subject
Date: 2021-05-08 01:41 pm (UTC)