You may get the impression when you come to the end of this little story that it needs continuing, and that would be very accurate. I did intend for it to be a whole new story, but I wrote this bit about... seven months ago, and have completely forgotten what direction it was going in. So I put it up as a one-shot. Use your imagination, and see where it goes yourself.
New Faces
Captain Hillary Becker dropped his meagre bunch of keys on the table with a splash, and knew immediately that something was wrong. With a grudging sigh he cautiously examined the hallway of his flat. He was convinced that the cream carpet hadn't been quite that visible when he'd last seen it, and the coat that he knew should be draped over the handle of the living room door was no longer there. His shoes; spare pair of boots, casual shoes, trainers; were lined up neatly by the door, something that hadn't happened since he'd first moved in, and the whole room had a fresh, airy smell to it, as if someone had recently opened the window at the other end. He never did that, more because he couldn't be bothered than anything else. Still standing on the cleaner-than-he-remembered doormat he undid the laces of his boots and slipped them off, not wanting to get footprints on the newly-vacuumed carpet despite having no idea how it had arrived at that state in the first place. He stood them next to his other ones, stared at the line for a moment, and then advanced further into the flat.
He wasn't a deliberately untidy man, not at all; he just very rarely got around to cleaning things up after himself, especially since his job at the ARC had him home often in the small hours of the morning. He also had a bad habit of leaving things lying around; a habit that he made sure to leave behind every morning when he went out; and dust, he had realised at a very young age, collected itself everywhere regardless of how often or not you removed it. That fact, coupled with his having far more important things to do most of the time, had led to his flat becoming less than squeaky clean. But he didn't mind. It was, after all, the one place he didn't have to be Captain Becker and could just relax on the sofa with a takeaway Chinese and instead be just plain old Hilary.
He proceeded down the narrow corridor, bypassed the kitchen and went straight into the living room, knowing the kitchen wouldn't be any different. If there was one thing he hated, it was a dirty food preparation environment, and it was the one place in the whole apartment he actually made an effort to clean on a regular basis. The living room, however, was a different story. Usually there were signs of his previous dinner being eaten there; plate, knife and fork, the occasional empty packet of biscuits, that sort of thing. Ordinarily, such items littered the coffee table between the sofa and the TV, but this time, strangely enough, nothing was in sight. The glass top of the table had even been polished, Becker realised, and it was with a sickening dread that he thought of what his mysterious housekeeper had thought of the state of his bedroom.
He was just turning to further explore the flat when the sound of the toilet flushing reached his ears, causing an eyebrow to raise and his arms to fold, almost automatically, as he leaned against the doorframe into the hallway. He ran through a mental list of who it might be. Someone who knew him well enough to know that he had given a spare key to the little old lady who lived across the landing; That ruled out his father and most of the small handful of people he had kept in touch with from Sandhurst; and on top of that liked him enough to have cleaned up for him; ruling out his older brother and the rest of his Sandhurst class. That left two people: his younger brother who, although famous for dropping in unannounced and unexpected, probably wouldn't have been concerned enough by the mess to exert any energy in cleaning it. That only left...
"Evening," the bathroom door swung open to reveal the very person Becker's mental listing had only just concluded. One slim eyebrow raised above calculating grey eyes, shining with amusement beneath an unruly mop of dirty blond hair, all on top of a nicely toned body that was now perfectly mirroring his stance in the opposite doorway. Becker examined his best friend for a few moments, still taking in the fact that she was actually there despite how long it had been, before his smile broadened into a grin and they both stepped forwards into their own personalised embrace that was sort of a cross between a man-hug and that embarrassing thing one's mother does before dropping you off at school.
He had been friends with Bethany Chanbridge since before he could remember, and their parents had been childhood friends since long before that. The two of them had more in common that either had initially thought possible; Bethany also had two brothers and had been the biggest tomboy in junior school, one of the main reasons Becker had taken such a liking to her in the first place. She had taken a liking to him, or so she had told him one day aged fifteen, because he shared her love of action movies, fast cars and guns whilst not having an unbearable ego, which apparently was a combination no one else she knew had mastered. He hadn't seen her since starting work at the ARC, about three years ago, and he found himself laughing out of pure happiness at seeing her again.
"What are you doing here?" he finally managed, "I thought you were still on call in Afghanistan."
"I was, until just two days ago, actually. But that's a long and boring story. What's been happening? How comes you're so busy nowadays that you can't even Hoover your apartment every once in a while? And when was the last time you cleaned up around here anyhow, just out of curiosity?"
"One at a time, please," Becker pleaded with a laugh, ignoring for the time being the alarm bells that had immediately set off in his head at her rapid change of subject. He led the way back to the sofa and dropped onto it, plonking his feet up on the coffee table. Bethany did exactly the same out of habit rather than conscious thought, and sunk low in her seat; a position that Becker thought would never do good things for her spine.
"Thanks for this, by the way," he said, gesturing with a hand around the clean room. "You didn't have to."
"Yeah I did," Bethany said after a sarcastic snort. "I thought I was gonna be content this morning with kicking back and watching all those Friends episodes you have piled up on Sky Plus, but I just could not sit amongst the remnants of pizza which, I am convinced, was about to get up of its own accord and slither over to watch with me. How do you do it, seriously? I didn't venture into your bedroom, by the way; that's one I don't think even my amazing skills could tackle."
"You have so much faith in me, you know, it warms my heart," Becker said, his voice overflowing with sarcasm, as he wondered how she still managed to say such long sentences all in one breath. "You know what, I'm hungry. Want anything?" he got up from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen. She HAD cleaned in there too, not that Becker had thought it possible.
"Nah, I'm fine. I finished the last tube of Pringles about an hour ago."
"You ate my Pringles?"
"Might've done, why? I didn't think you liked them anyway."
"I don't. There just seems to be a popular demand for them at work every now and again so I get loads when they're on offer." That was a lie. Jess liked Pringles, and it was for that reason, although the rational side of his brain had never been able to make the connection, that he'd had so many.
"Meh," came the response from the sofa. "The prawn cocktail ones are by far the best, just for reference. Y'know, Becks, I cannot imagine you in a supermarket. Never have been able to."
"That's why they invented online shopping; for those of us who don't like to do it ourselves."
"You mean for those of you who are unreasonably lazy," she retorted in the middle of a laugh.
"The word I prefer to use is 'Busy,' but it might be a possibility." There was a short pause between them while Becker stared at his Lasagne Ready-Meal; also on offer at the local Sainsbury's; going round and round in the microwave. He was fairly certain that wasn't how he was supposed to cook it, but he hadn't died from doing so yet. Finally, just for want of something to say, the question that had been nagging at him to ask all along surfaced on his tongue.
"Why are you here, Chaz?"
"Do you mean 'In this country' or 'In this flat'?"
"Both." There was another long silence, punctuated by Bethany's heavy sigh. She waited for him to re-join her on the sofa, lasagne and cutlery in hand, before beginning. She also sat up and took her feet off the table, a gesture that Becker didn't like. It meant that she was being serious.
"In short and simple words, I finally went too far with General Douglass," she said, finding a sudden huge interest in her socks. "He told me he didn't like my attitude, that I was setting a bad example to the rest of the officers, being disruptive, etcetera. Those were his precise words, actually."
"Including the 'etcetera'?"
"Mmhmm."
"Hang on a second. Chaz, you're the best field engineer they have, they can't just... Did he explain it properly or was that it?"
"Oh, we'd had this discussion at least a trillion times before, so when it came for him to do the big formal 'This-Is-The-Reason-Why-I'm-Discharging-You' speech, he just said 'etcetera' because he knew that I already knew by heart what he was going to say."
"And you just let it happen? That's not..."
"Like me?" she interrupted, finally looking up at him. "Becks, I wanted out of there, I'm just not the quitting type."
"So you gave them a reason to fire you."
"Yeah, I did. I just figured a couple of months back that this whole thing is pointless, y'know? I mean, the Afghans shoot at us, we shoot them back, they go lay down a load of mines that dozens of people get killed trying to deactivate, we do the same, and then it all repeats with a few technological enhancements. I can't even remember what we're supposed to be getting out of it anymore."
Becker looked worriedly at his friend, whose attention had now shifted to a spot somewhere in another time and place entirely. Having gotten over the excitement of seeing her, he noticed how tired she looked; exhausted, actually; and sad, as if she didn't quite know what to do with herself. He didn't know how to respond to her little speech; they'd had this discussion before, and until now he'd been on the opposite side. But now, he realised, she was right. The purpose had gotten somewhat lost in the constant struggle for land and territory.
"Have you told your mother?" was, for some reason, what he settled for.
"Oh, please," she gave him a withering look. "I would rather go and jump in a shark infested lake than tell her I got sacked. I'll tell her once I get another job, and if she asks before that happens, well... I leave all my worldly possessions to you."
"I'm honoured. What will you do?"
"Oh, I dunno. Something fun. Speaking of," her face suddenly changed completely and she turned to face him, a smile on her lips. "What are you doing nowadays? You never told me."
Getting the impression that the subject of her own personal misfortunes had been officially dropped, Becker decided he wasn't going to worry about it.
"Oh, same old same old." he said, casually. The withering look made an appearance again, causing him to chuckle. "Fine. I'm actually working for the Government now."
"Oh, yes, that thing you're not allowed to tell me about because you may have to kill me if you do." Bethany grinned. "I really would love to see you try."
"Or I could just keep it simple and not tell you."
"Or that. Still in the military?"
"Officially no, but I can't see myself going anywhere else. It's not the sort of thing you can just leave, you know?"
"Yeah, I get it, and don't worry, my questions end there." Without any warning she stretched and yawned loudly, just as Becker forked the last piece of lasagne into his mouth.
"I would ask if you wanted to stay the night, but I have a feeling you've already set up in my spare room." He raised an eyebrow across the sofa at her, to which she responded with a sweet smile.
"You know me too well. It's only for a couple of days, I promise; just until I find somewhere."
"Make yourself at home, especially if you're going to clean up after me on a regular basis." He went back through into the kitchen, whereupon he dropped his plate and fork into the dishwasher, slipped the unused knife back into the draw and slid it shut with a bang. "I'm going to turn in; Have to be back at work by nine."
"You're kidding. Becks, it's half one in the morning! Is that even legal?"
"I don't think legality has anything to do with it," Becker responded with a laugh. "Goodnight Chaz."
He cut off the slightly less decent part of her response as he clicked his door shut, and neither saw nor heard anymore of her that night.
Connor Temple stared zombie-like at the slow trickle of water emerging from the coffee machine as he waited for the stupid thing to make him one of the many caffeine-filled delights that would get him through the day. They needed a new machine. They had needed a new machine for the last six months. It was one of those things everyone expected someone else to do and no one took responsibility for. He added it to his mental To-Do list, and then took it off again when he realised that he had far too much to do already, some of which had been piled up since... He didn't actually know how far back it went.
Finally his coffee was ready, and he whisked it up from the small metal drain before the machine could spit anything else into it, which it did have a habit of doing on the odd occasion. Then, still half asleep and sipping on his not-quite-hot-enough-to-be-worth-it coffee, he progressed towards the lifts, and from there to Abby's lab. Abby looked up from tickling Rex with a stick as he pushed open the door.
"Connor, you look like you just rolled out of bed," she told him affectionately.
"If you think about it I have," he muttered in response. "We need more time in the mornings with this job, I'm not kidding. When did we get home last night? One o'clock?"
"Something like that," Abby confirmed, yawning, as if to prove his point.
"Honestly, can't there be an anomaly alert at a nice, convenient time of day, which then can be dealt with in time for the 5:15 bus home?"
"Life has never been that fair to us, has it?"
"Oh, I dunno. Once when I was seven my dad actually agreed to let me stay the night at a friend's after my pleading for three hours beforehand. That was pretty cool."
"Ha," Abby muttered, not really paying attention. Connor didn't notice.
"And someone needs to replace the coffee machine," he stated.
"You tell me that every other day. Why don't you go and ask Jess very nicely if she'll order one online for you?"
"That is a good idea," Connor realised, in a much happier tone.
"Have fun," Abby leaned across the table towards him and kissed him on the lips. Rex chirped indignantly below them, and Abby poked him with the stick in return. Connor left the menagerie laughing and strolled off to the Technological Research Area, one section of which he had commandeered as his own office.
'Stroll' was probably not the word Connor would have used, since it was half past nine and he felt, literally, like he had died and been forced back to life by some evil enchantment and quite frankly just wanted to be left alone in peace. They had, of course, had an anomaly alert at some ridiculous time the day before, and had only just finished tracking down a small herd of Epidexipterix when midnight had struck. Then, they had been forced back to the ARC to file reports; although no one could fathom why since Lester never even read them; and only then had they been allowed to go home. It made for some really lousy sleeping patterns.
Connor never focused properly on anything on his desk until after he had switched on his computer, no matter how perky he was feeling, and either he was imagining it or that process was getting a second longer every morning. He had tried leaving the accursed thing on all night once, only to find that the maintenance staff had been feeling particularly conservative that day and switched it off. At the mains. It had taken him twenty minutes to figure that out, and he'd never done it again. While listening to the familiar sounds of the computer's lengthy start-up sequence he placed his coffee, entirely by accident, in the dead centre of the placemat on his desk and stared blankly at the pile of paper that had seemed to grow since the previous evening. After yet another moment he realised that it actually had grown, and it wasn't just his imagination. An envelope addressed to a Mr Temple lay obnoxiously; if envelopes could even be obnoxious; on top of his plans for an upgrade in the locking mechanism. He stared at it, realising with a sudden delight that Mr Temple was in fact him and that some people around the ARC actually called him that, and opened it with an anticipation he couldn't quite explain. This delight vanished within the first two sentences.
'Mr Temple,' it read. 'I must regretfully inform you that, due to a change of circumstances within my family, I must resign my position at the ARC, effective immediately.' It then went on to give several apologetic excuses that somehow managed not to tell Connor anything at all, and finished by informing him that all the plans, blue-prints and loose bits of paper relating to Anomaly Prediction Technology could be found inside the envelope. It was signed by Jerry Lance, probably Connor's most capable assistant and the last person he had wanted to be on the other end of the letter. Jerry had also forgotten to include the promised material, which was nothing short of annoying; Connor really wanted to make some headway with this project, and knew that Jerry had done so. He leaned back in his chair and groaned; now he would not only have to find someone to replace Jerry, but he would also have to go and tell Lester. He didn't know which he was dreading the most.
He re-read the letter, wondered what "A change of family circumstances" meant, and then got up to call in on another of his three assistants, Toby, for some clarification. According to him, Jerry had been having problems with his marriage for some time, and felt that obtaining a job with better hours that wasn't a government secret might help his situation. He had also packed everything up last night while the field team were out, and left promptly after dropping that letter on Connor's desk. Toby apologised profusely and told him that Jerry had left all the aforementioned bits of paper with Sylvia; Connor's third and somewhat allusive assistant; before turning back to his computer. Connor sighed and left the room, making his way somewhat grudgingly to the lifts.
He read, re-read and quickly skimmed the letter a further six times, just in case he had missed anything, before the doors pinged open and he found himself looking out over the Hub. As if on auto-pilot he made his way to Lester's office door and knocked on it, and was admitted with the usual response that made him ask himself if it was REALLY necessary to approach the infamously grumpy boss with his issue; until he became aware of being stared at by numerous people working down the stairs in the Hub, so quickly pushed open the door and closed it again immediately behind him. Lester was, as usual, sitting behind his desk, looking completely absorbed by whatever piece of paper was in his hand, and looked up at Connor with an expression that didn't even try to hide the fact that he didn't like being disturbed. It was always the same routine, and Connor wasn't the only one who sometimes wondered if he practiced it at home, just to get it right and make it all the more terrifying. Connor cleared his throat and approached the desk.
"Yes, what is it?" Lester demanded in his usual condescending manner.
"Well, I have a bit of a problem..." Connor simply handed Lester the letter and waited for him to read it, thinking it a far better explanation than any he could give. Lester read it, seemed to read it again, and then turned his attention back to the topmost of the pile of paper on his desk.
"I suggest you start applying for new candidates," he said, as if the answer had been obvious from the beginning. Connor stared at him blankly, and might even have said something extremely clever like 'um...' He had no idea how to even begin finding a replacement, and had secretly been hoping that Lester would do it for him. The boss finally looked up at him.
"Well of course I'll find you a few CVs; I don't want you hiring just any old idiot; but naturally the final decision must be yours, after all he or she will be working very closely with you and I can't judge what you would find appropriate." Lester's words were like music to Connor's ears, and much to his dismay, a huge grin broke out on his face.
"Thanks Lester!" he said, far too cheerily. Lester merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, well, if there isn't anything else..." he left the sentence hanging and Connor got the hint a little too slowly about what he was being instructed to do next. After a pause of a few very awkward seconds, he nodded and in a daft attempt at looking organised, fumbled around behind him for the door handle. Promptly after opening it did he walk into it, and with Lester's famous disparaging stare at his back, he finally left the office.
Practically glowing he bounded down the stairs into the Hub, passed Becker who looked like he was texting, and towards Jess... Connor stopped. Becker. Texting. That wasn't right. At all. In any parallel universe, let alone this one. Doing what he hoped was a subtle double-take he got a closer look, just to confirm if his eyes hadn't been deceiving him. Yep, sure enough, the elusive Captain Becker was on a phone. And he was texting.
"Whatcha doing?" Connor asked him cheerily, and if he hadn't known better, he would have thought he'd made the man jump.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm sending a text." Was the response he received. Sometimes Connor wondered if Becker had gotten his conversational skills from Lester himself.
"I've never seen you do that before," Connor remarked. Becker finally looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"I wasn't born in the Dark Ages, Connor; I text people too."
"Alright, fine. Never said you didn't. Just wondering."
The captain made a noise similar to a grumpy 'humph' and returned to his mobile. Exhaling sharply and wondering what the world was coming to, Connor resumed his original course to Jess.
"Morning," he said, slightly less cheerily, when he reached the Hub's main desk.
"Hi Connor," she chirped. "I heard about Jerry. Did Lester agree to give you a hand replacing him?"
"Yeah, he did. He said he was gonna find me a few CVs."
"Cool." she responded, and an awkward pause stretched between them as Connor tried to work out how to approach the subject of coffee and faulty machines of its production. As he opened his mouth, she began speaking in a blurted whisper.
"Do you know who he's texting?"
"Ey?"
"Becker. He's texting someone. You were just talking to him, did he say who?"
"Um... No, I didn't ask. I thought he was going to eat me or something." Connor grinned at his own humour but swiftly dropped it when he realised that Jess hadn't even noticed. "It's probably just a friend; funnily enough he does have a few."
"Maybe," Jess said weakly. "But since when did Becker ever text anybody?"
"Hey, he was bound to discover the finer workings of a mobile phone eventually," Connor pointed out. This Jess did laugh at, albeit somewhat unconvincingly, and he turned away from her desk, coffee machine completely forgotten. Just as he reached the stairs to the lift, Lester stepped out in front of him with a sheaf of papers in one hand bigger than any Connor had ever seen before that all related to the same subject. Not even his GCSE Chemistry folder had been that big.
"These are the CVs I've found for your approval. Please try not to completely mess this up."
"What, already?" Connor asked, dumbfounded. "But I only told you five minutes ago."
"Your previous lab assistant told me about it last night, so I have had time to work on it. Now chop chop, I want your final choice on my desk tomorrow evening." Lester turned and strode back into his office with these final encouraging instructions, leaving Connor on his own to wait for the lift and try his utmost not to drop the huge pile on the way back to his lab.
The first thing Becker was greeted with when he finally reached home that night was the delightful, if a little tinny, voice of Bethany Chanbridge's mother. Not that he noticed until he reached the living room. One of Connor's assistants had resigned. That was an almost perfect job opportunity for his friend; all he needed to do now was some tactful information gathering and subtly drop her CV into Connor's already enormous pile. It was, he admitted to himself, a flawless situation.
"...don't have a new job by the end of next week I will have you here in my office, you know how much we could all use an extra hand."
Okay. It was almost a perfectly flawless situation.
"Mother, I told you, I am perfectly capable of finding myself another job. I don't need you to..."
"What have I told you about interrupting me when I'm speaking? Now, Bethany..."
Becker poked his head around the door. "I've found you a job," he said, mostly to the phone lying on the coffee table rather than Bethany herself.
"What?" she mouthed while her mother's lecture continued.
"I've found you a job," he repeated, louder this time, and a grin broke out on Bethany's face.
"What was that? Bethany, are you listening to me?"
"Oh, that was Becks, Mother. Don't worry; I am hanging on your every word."
"Liar," Becker muttered, and ducked the cushion Bethany sent flying at him.
"Who?"
"Hilary, Mother. Hilary Becker."
"Oh! Do say hello for me, will you? It's been such a long time."
"It's been three years, Mother; that's hardly particularly long."
"It is when you're my age. Now listen..."
"No, Mother, you listen. Don't worry yourself about me, I have myself a job now, apparently, so thanks for the gracious offer but I am afraid I must decline."
"Very well. But I don't get to see enough of you, dear."
"That, I think, is because you live up in York."
"Well why don't you come up here, darling? Give yourself a holiday for once?"
"I'll think about it, Mother. Must dash, say hi to dad for me."
With a sigh, Bethany snapped her mobile shut and pretended to fall asleep on the sofa.
"Do you think she notices the huge rivers of sarcasm you put into everything you say?" Becker wondered, sauntering into the room.
"No. If she did I would have died years back. What's this about getting me a job?"
"Well, to be precise you don't have it yet. But give me twenty four hours."
"Am I going to profoundly regret it?"
Becker grinned. "Now why would you ask me a thing like that?"
So as I said, it was meant to go on a bit, but I think I ended it on a fairly good note. Please leave a review, I do so love them. :)