A/N: Hello Primeval fandom! This is my first Primeval fic, but I've written for Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and a new show called Covert Affairs. This came from the first three episodes of the fifth season where there was absolutely no contact between Jess and Becker, and we were all very upset over it.
Alright, well, I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!
He didn't try to correct her when she said he was mean.
In fact, if he could look back on it with a clear head, he might've even agreed with her.
And that was fine, because for all he knew he was a very mean person. She didn't deserve to be treated the way he treated her, and yet he continued to do so. It had been so long since that evening, and it was amazing—at least to him—that he was capable of even acting normal the instance he uttered his first word to her.
"Hey."
Electricity surged through his veins, barreling through his arteries and crashing into his organs. He couldn't move a single muscle, paralyzed by the unique agony that came with an overdose of power. He simply lay there, wishing not to feel this, any of this, anymore.
"Becker? Oh God, Becker!"
Her small hands collided roughly with his face, and he felt her small body slide into his. He wanted to groan at the contact, and he mentally screamed his head off, but his mouth wouldn't work. Damn mouth.
"It's okay, Becker. I've got you. You're going to be just fine."
She was scared, he could hear it, and he instantly hated it. He didn't want anyone to be scared for him, or even care about him in general, because things like this happened (far too often than he would like, to be honest) and he didn't want to risk leaving anyone behind. If he died in the line of duty, that was it. Bury him in the cemetery next to his parents, and the rest would be history.
No one should cry over him, much less his grave.
But here she was, and there were uncomfortably hot drops hitting his cheeks at a steadily increasing rate.
For a moment he wondered if they were the last thing he was ever going to feel: her hands and her knees digging into his ribs and her tears.
She hated hospitals, hated them with a fiery passion, but as long as he was lying there in that over-sterilized bed she wasn't going anywhere. She had her books, and her music, and her blanket. Only the grace of God could move her from Becker's side, and that's only if it tried really, really hard.
At 4:28 in the morning, he made the first sound she had heard from him in days. At first she didn't quite believe it was him, but she launched herself from her vinyl chair just the same. Her hip collided painfully with the bedrail she had forgotten about in her haste, and, leaning heavily against it and wheezing through the pain, she stared down into his agitated (but seemingly still asleep) face.
He groaned again as her clumsy movements jarred him, but quieter this time, and his eyes skittered around behind his eyelids. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "Becker?" She murmured, "Becker, can you hear me?"
"Don't yell," he grumbled back immediately, his face contorting in a painful cringe.
"Sorry," she whispered, and then going another pitch lower for good measure. "Sorry."
He was quiet for another hour, but she didn't dare go back to her seat. She stood, barefoot on the linoleum floor (and trying not to think about it), brushing his hair back as lightly as she could manage, and eyeing him for any more hints of movement.
"Becker?" She whispered again, her voice cracking with worry. "Becker, oh God, Becker, please..."
She blanched: what was she supposed to say? The monitors told her he was stable, even if he was unresponsive, and it wasn't like he was going to die anytime soon complaining like that. How was she supposed to finish that sentence?
"Please just open your eyes," she finally pleaded.
She didn't immediately register that he had popped one bleary eye open to stare at her until he groaned, rolling his head away from her. She froze in shock, her hand falling away uselessly.
"Jess," he acknowledged plainly, still staring at the wall opposite her.
"You're...you're awake." She said, astonished; not actually believing it.
"Been awake for a while now," he corrected her as he moved to sit up straighter, and she hurriedly backed away; her proximity suddenly more apparent than ever.
"W—What? Why didn't you say something?"
"I was hoping you'd leave before I did, actually." He said, turning to give her a hard look.
She blinked through the hazy mist of her own confusion. It was late, and she was delirious with drinking so many cups of coffee. Surely this couldn't be happening.
"Jess," he said again, though slightly more forced. "It's late."
Well of course she knew it was late—she's only seen this side of midnight for the better part of this week. Why should the time matter? She was the one that found him! Shouldn't she be allowed to watch after him?
"I think it's time for you to go. Get some sleep, have a nice cup of tea."
She glared at him from her corner in the small room before sniffing harshly and willing the angry pricks behind her eyes to go away. She nodded and turned to gather her books, and her music, and even her scratchy old blanket.
If he didn't want her around that was fine. She'd already wasted enough time on him.
"Hi," she choked out, quickly returning her attention to the hub and trying to control her erratic heartbeat.
She didn't expect it to hurt so much when he started ignoring her, so she didn't really know what to make of his sudden desire to make small talk while she pin-pointed anomaly coordinates.
Although whether it be the novelty of this mean arse finally talking to her again, or the adrenaline of a new creature incursion racing through her veins, the warmth of his body behind her gave her a reassuring feeling, making her shoot a spontaneous smile at him over her shoulder.
When he, half-startled, gave her a cautious smile back, she couldn't help but think that everything was going to turn out just fine.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously.