A/N This one shot is dedicated to Prawn Crackers. It was inspired by a conversation we had! It is set as a missing scene at the end of Series 5 Episode 6. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Primeval unfortunately, but if I did, Lester would receive a bug hug (!) from me every day! :P :D :P
The night after the world was saved, the ARC was quiet, deserted. Lester had ordered pretty much everyone out, heaven knew why. Could it be their irascible boss had found his heart, having nearly lost it to a future predator? Nope, no-one believed that explanation for even a fraction of a second. But no-one, not techs, not medics, not soldiers, not even Jess, could figure out exactly why Lester had experienced the gift of magnanimity. Still, a night off work was a night off work.
Except the night off wasn't quite a night off for Jess yet. The team had still not made it back from the anomaly site at Kings Cross Station. There had been some "complications" - at least that had been Matt's garbled mobile phone message. Jess knew that meant an incursion and casualties. So she remained, ever vigilant at the ADD, anxiously waiting for the team's return, determined not to leave before she knew each and every one of them were safe. And not because she was thinking about post-mission Becker either, all grubby and sweaty and hot, with the fire of adrenaline still in his eyes. Absolutely not!
Shaking her head, Jess checked the CCTV, more to keep her mind off the waiting than anything else. What she saw warmed her, leaving a small smile full of affection playing at the corners of her mouth. Then she was distracted by the sound of Matt's voice, asking for information, and she immediately switched into full Field Co-ordinator mode. Of course his request was already done and she found herself grinning - she really was the best field co-ordinator anyone would ever find.
In one corner of an ADD screen, Lester sat in the darkness. There was never any damn light in here for some reason he couldn't fathom but tonight he was grateful for it. His legs were spread out in front of him, on the cold, hard concrete underneath. But Lester didn't feel the chill through his Italian pinstriped suit trousers, seeping through his skin and permeating his old and aching bones. His hand clutched the open bottle of whisky by his side. No glass, just the bottle. Things must be bad.
He sighed and placed the neck to his lips, his eyes closing, trying to savour it just for a moment, before tipping the bottle and taking an excessively large gulp. He held the fiery liquid in his mouth, trying in vain to gain some enjoyment, some satisfaction from the taste. When there was none, he swallowed loudly, grimacing as the whisky flowed down his throat, hot and fast, burning its way towards the large gash in his chest. He leant his head back against the cell wall, opening his eyes and feeling his whole body relax as the fluid saturated his muscles, his nerves endings made dull, his limbs heavy and immobile. God, that felt good.
Closing his eyes again, he took another large swig, before lowering his hand, already with little co-ordination, and allowing the bottle to make contact with the re-enforced concrete with a loud clunk. With a small raise of one eyebrow, he sincerely hoped he hadn't broken the bottle. It would be a shame to waste such good whisky and he had been determined to drink it all himself.
Although, frankly, that was the least of his worries right now. After the day he had just experienced, one in which he had contemplated wandering around the ARC wearing a placard stating "The End of the World is Nigh" several times, a cracked bottle of whisky was hardly momentous. And the end of the world really had been nigh. Too bloody nigh for his liking anyway! Every single person on his staff could have lost their lives today. And he alone would have had to live with the knowledge of how and why. They would have simply been another statistic, another casualty in the fight against the anomalies, another training accident, he mused wryly. Actually, he might not have had to live with the knowledge at all. He may well have been dead with them, had it not been for Jess Parker.
The whisky giddied his brain. Why on earth did anyone do this job? He knew the answer to that, of course. Frankly, they were all bonkers. Yes, quite bonkers. And it seemed that being quite bonkers was catching. Incredibly, nonsensically, contagious.
"You know it all started with Nick Cutter and his loony wife, don't you?" he asked of no-one, his eyes still closed, his addled mind lost in his memories. No-one grunted and shifted against his leg making Lester smile and reach out his hand, grateful for the support.
"You never knew Helen Cutter, did you? Dreadful woman, wore a lot of khaki. Now she was exceptionally bonkers. It all started with her. All this end of the world stuff." He shook his head. "I should have walked away and I would have too, if it hadn't been for Nick Cutter. But, by the time I'd realised he was bonkers as well, it was far too late. And then he was dead."
He paused a moment, taking another draft of whisky, shuddering this time as it passed through his limbs, his toes twitching in his Prada shoes. "He wasn't the first though. To die, I mean. Oh no. Stephen Hart was the first to go. And what a way to go!" Lester shuddered again, a different kind of shudder however, one of revulsion and fear. No, not fear. He was not afraid of the creatures. Not anymore! Not now he had taken on the future predators twice and lived to tell the tale! Oh, hang on, that might actually be the whisky talking. He smiled to himself, a slightly maniacal smile, and placed his hand gently onto the newly stitched wound in the side of his chest, the combination of whisky and painkillers now making his head swim delightfully.
"Ah, whisky," he sighed, staring at the bottle as if it contained Ambrosia, as if it would make him immortal. "Gift of the Gods!" And he took another large swallow from the bottle. It was less than half full now. The medic would not be pleased with him. The thought caused Lester to chuckle and his companion lifted his head, wondering what could possibly be funny at a time like this?
"My dad swore by his whisky in times of trouble," Lester continued wistfully. "Quite literally. "Go and get the ruddy whisky!" he would say." The bureaucrat chuckled to himself again. "And he was quite right. Yes, quite right."
He lapsed into silence again, the only sounds in the cell were Lester's steady breathing and a strange, low huffing noise. Then a shuffling sound as a large trunk reached out and curled itself around the bottle at Lester's side. Lester felt the rough skin graze his hand and his eyes flew open just in time to intercept the proboscis and clutch the whisky to his chest protectively.
"Hey, get your own!" he complained, loudly but half-heartedly.
The Mammoth snorted in reply, as if disgusted by the man's sharing deficiency.
Lester reached out and scratched the Mammoth's fuzzy top with his hand. "Sorry Manny. I would but -," he paused. "Have you ever see Abby in a bad mood?"
He could have sworn the Mammoth rolled his eyes at him.
"You know, Manny, my staff don't make anything easy. Anomalies I can deal with. Creatures I can deal with. You'll help me, won't you?" Lester crooned, gazing into the huge dark eyes, currently locked on to his with what could only be described as a curious expression in them. "But people! These people? Surely there is no more dangerous job on earth! They have no clue what I go through every day for them! Every time they feel the need to disobey orders. Or try to think for themselves! It always goes horribly wrong! And I am left with the paperwork - and the Minister! Oh God, the Minister! That's where I told Jess I was going." Lester paused, mortified for a moment. "Well, I can't possibly go now. I'm covered in Mammoth hair!" He absently brushed at his suit trouser leg, deliberately ignoring the fact that he was also quite plastered.
The Mammoth snorted loudly, the air from its trunk ruffling Lester's hair, but surprisingly Lester didn't complain.
"You know, Manny," he muttered with a deep sigh. "I think you may be my only friend in the whole world."
The words hung in the air, Lester unable to continue, stunned into silence by his revelation. Manny, for his part, cocked his large head to one side, like a really big dog, waiting for its master to elaborate or at least offer him some kind of treat for listening. When Lester did neither of these things, Manny shuffled forward, dragging his large body across the concrete, until he was able to rest his head on Lester's outstretched knees.
"Oh!" Lester exclaimed in surprise, but discovered himself smiling with pleasure at the gesture. He stroked the top of the Mammoth's head and then scratched him behind his ears. Manny huffed softly in appreciation.
"I don't know whether I thanked you for saving my life that day, Manny." Lester murmured, lowering his head closer to the Mammoth's. "But - thank you. I would bet on you against a future predator any day. In fact we could have used your help today!"
Lester sat in deep thought for a moment. "Perhaps I should let you out for a stroll around the ARC once in a while," he mused. "It would keep us predator free - and those irritating freelancing know-it-alls in check too!"
Grunting in what Lester decided passed as amusement, Manny's trunk reached out again for the whisky bottle and this time Lester let him take it.
"Alright, Manny, my friend. Just one. You deserve it."
The team bundled back into Ops loudly and in good spirits and Jess greeted them with her most brilliant smile. Intercepting them all in the middle of the room, she collected their black boxes and placed them back on charge at the ADD herself. Full of the success of their mission, they failed to notice that she was deliberately trying to keep them away from the Hub.
Her eyes sought Becker's as she informed them that Lester had given everyone the night off. Becker's eyebrow twitched upwards, difficult as it was to see with his face covered in black train station grime, but his eyes remained locked on Jess, a question asked with a lopsided smile. She nodded happily, grabbing her bag from under the ADD and shutting down the CCTV feed as she did so.
Her last act as Field Co-ordinator before heading out with the rest of the team was to inform the on-duty medic of the whereabouts of their boss. And the fact that he appeared to be mixing painkillers with alcohol. She switched off her mobile phone in the middle of the strained medic's angry and expletive ridden tirade.
Twenty minutes later the medic and his assistant gained access to the Menagerie. They discovered James Lester resting his head on the wall of the largest cell, eyes closed and snoring softly. Lolling on his outstretched legs was the head of the Mammoth, the great beast having lain down beside the man, dwarfing him with its enormity, also asleep and snoring really rather loudly. Next to man and beast was an empty bottle of 20 year old single malt whisky.
"Get the gurney," the medic whispered to his assistant. "And pray the boss doesn't remember any of this in the morning!"
A/N So, the conversation Prawn Crackers and I had was about how much we loved Lester and the Mammoth. We came up with a new pairing - Mester (although we also thought of Mamster too!). Maybe it will even rival Bounter in its popularity! :P Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the Mester-ing... (or, indeed, if you would prefer it called Mamster-ing!) :D
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Um, yeah, okay then...hehehehehehehe