fredbassett

Title : Tomorrow is Another Day.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Christine, Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Coup foiled. Tick. Home in time for a nice drink. Tick. So why did he feel compelled to go out again, late at night?
Written for

knitekat’s Denial Stocking

Lester walked out of the ARC, head held high, not bothering to restrain his smirk at the whoops and cheers from his staff.

Thanks to Becker’s quick thinking and loyalty, Christine’s plan to take control of the anomaly project had ended in dismal failure. She really should have known better than to underestimate the young captain.

Listening to classical music on the drive back to his London flat helped clear his mind of the stress of the day. A large gin and tonic followed by a hot shower then a simple meal of poached salmon and salad left him feeling positively mellow.

By 10pm, he was ready for an early night. It made a pleasant change to be home before midnight and he fully intended to take advantage of his good fortune. But two hours later, he’d done nothing more than toss and turn in his very comfortable bed, unable to get to sleep.

After another 15 minutes, he threw the duvet back and pulled on a pair of old, faded jeans and a cashmere sweater, found a pair of lightweight walking shoes, grabbed his jacket and set off in the direction of Westminster Bridge. The ever-present lights sparkled on the dark waters of the Thames and a pale crescent moon hung low in the sky.

Half an hour’s walk saw him on Lambeth Road overlooking the gardens of the Imperial War Museum – fitting, really. Walking up to an elegant white painted townhouse, Lester wondered what the hell he was playing at, but without giving himself the chance to back out, he lifted the lion-headed door knocker and rapped smartly, three times, then stepped back.

He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t a reckless idiot.

When there was no answer within two minutes, he knocked again, harder this time. He waited another two minutes exactly, then fished a key out of his pocket. Somewhat to his surprise, it slid smoothly into the lock and turned. Equally to his surprise, the door wasn’t bolted on the inside.

The light in the hall was off, but he could see a low light coming from the first floor. Making no attempt to walk silently, Lester made his way upstairs and into the drawing room at the front of the house that overlooked the park. The curtains were open, the room lit by nothing more than two table lamps that cast a soft, warm glow but gave very little light.

“Fuck off, James. I’m not in the mood for your gloating.”

“I don’t gloat. It’s ungentlemanly.”

“Being a gentleman has never been one of your weaknesses. And what part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you failed to change your front door lock knowing I still had a key. Don’t be a sore loser, Chris. You mistook Becker for nothing more than ambitious eye candy. That was your fundamental mistake.”

“Are you fucking him?”

“Are you fucking Wilder?”

There was a bottle of red wine on a silver tray on the smoked glass coffee table. Next to it was an untouched wine glass.

Christine Johnson, sprawled out on one of the two large sofas, had a full wine glass in one hand and a look on her face that would have sent anyone with a survival instinct scurrying for cover.

“Expecting company?”

“Yes, you.”

Lester laughed and, without asking, poured himself an equally large glass of wine and sat down on the opposite sofa. “Am I that predictable?”

“Apparently so.”

“Have you eaten?”

“For Christ’s sake, James, we’ve been divorced for five fucking years! Why do you care whether I’ve fucking eaten or not?”

“I don’t, I was just asking out of politeness. Drinking too much red wine on a empty stomach gives you a headache, remember?”

“Losing to you gives me a fucking headache. Does your military toy boy suck your cock?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Christine sighed loudly then drank half her wine in two long swallows. “Yes, James, I have eaten.”

“What?”

She blinked at him in genuine confusion. “What, what?”

“What did you eat?”

“A cheese fucking sandwich. Happy now?”

Lester stifled a smile. She’d always lined her stomach with a cheese sandwich before a party, so some things clearly hadn’t changed. He sipped his own wine, still wondering what the fuck he was doing in his ex-wife’s flat. The ex-wife who had staged a coup to wrest control of the anomaly project from him.

“Why so much interest in the ARC? Haven’t you got enough to do?”

She smiled, and in the low light someone who didn’t know her might have missed the sharp edge of danger in the look. “Plenty, but your project has such potential. And I want that artefact.”

“Give it up, Chris. You’ll be lucky to hang onto your job when the minister has finished with you. He’s a vengeful little shit.”

“He won’t want his wife to know what he got up to at a Christmas party four years ago.”

Lester winced. “You didn’t, did you?”

She tugged up the hem of the dress she was wearing and tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa. “I didn’t have to. He came as soon as he got his cock out.”

Lester had always known she had the morals of an alley cat, but he was impressed she’d kept that bit of office gossip to herself for quite so long. The minister’s wife would no doubt be fully aware of her husband’s hair trigger responses, so Christine’s tale was likely to stand up to scrutiny, and no doubt she’d kept the necessary evidence. “Let me guess, you mopped up the mess with a handkerchief?”

Her smile was distinctly feral. “Naturally.”

“And equally naturally you kept it.”

“Of course.”

“So you’ll keep you job. And will you keep interfering in mine?”

She waved her hand at the bottle on the table. “Be a good ex-husband and top up our glasses.”

There was half a bottle left. He split it between them and sat down next to her on the sofa.

“I’m not looking for a pity fuck.”

“Good, because I’m not offering one.”

“What are you offering, James?”

“Company.”

“If I’d wanted company, I could have phoned Joe Wilder.”

“And if you had done, would you have bolted the front door?”

She smiled, and for once she just looked tired, not predatory. “Probably.”

“Would you like your key back?” He slid the key out of his pocket and held it out to her.

She held his gaze for a long time then shook her head. “No.”

They sat in silence, drinking the wine and staring out of the windows at the railings around the entrance to the museum. They’d spent hours in there together when they’d first started seeing each other. She’d been fascinated by the history of war and warriors and he’d been fascinated by her.

Lester finished his wine and put the glass down on the coffee table.

Christine did the same,

“Do you want me to go, Chris?”

Her expression softened and this time her smile reached her eyes. “No, of course I bloody well don’t.”

He held his arms out to her and she settled comfortably against him.

“Truce?” he said softly, kissing her hair.

“Until tomorrow morning.”

“That’ll do,” he conceded.

Tomorrow was another day.