"Connor!" Matt called from the doorway in his smooth Irish tone, yet a hint of irritation lurked beneath.
"Yup?" Connor Temple raised his head from a complicated model in the centre of the desk he sat at, deliberately overdoing the innocence.
Beside him, Abby smirked. If anything was going to annoy Matt more, it was that. "What's he done this time?"
Matt opened his mouth to reply, but Connor cut across him hastily, "Nothing much."
"He's just being Connor."
"Right," Abby tilted her head slightly to the side, eyeing Matt inquisitively. That explained things. Not.
Matt shrugged off her seemingly fierce glare, further entering the room and sinking down into a chair opposite them as Abby slid down onto Connor's knees.
It was fair to say they had an odd relationship; they were rather a peculiar pairing, and Connor had spent a long time in his junior years in the team fancying her from afar as the other lads chased her around. But they'd both grown up an awful lot since then, with the deaths of several of their beloved colleagues, and serious advances in the danger their country faced.
Left alone behind an anomaly in the past, and struggling to accept the harsh reality of their new life, they'd formed an irreplaceable bond, and when they'd finally arrived back in the present day, their relationship had been accepted without any fuss. They suited eachother.
"How are Becker and Jess?" Matt asked thoughtfully, reaching out to take a donut from the tin on the desk, and stuffing it into his mouth in a couple of bites.
Abby rolled her eyes at his manners, but took one herself, nibbling at the icing casually, "Okay, I suppose. Jess can probably go home tomorrow; she's still weak, but she'll be fine as long as she rests. Becker...well, I don't know, really. He was awake when I saw him, and the doctor says he's recovering well, considering. But...but he just looked so..."
Matt hastily gulped down the last of the cake in order to reply, "He's embarrassed; he thinks he failed at his job. And he won't be able to work for a while now – he's not the sort of guy to relish lying around at home watching Jeremy Kyle, is he? He's just sulking. He'll be fine."
"It was worse than that, though. He wouldn't look at me, let alone talk, but...but he'd been crying; I'm sure of it. Since when does Becker cry?"
"He nearly did when Matt shot him with that laser thing," Connor, who was leaning around his girlfriend as he continued to fiddle with the gadget on the table, replied dryly, earning a half hearted glare from Abby. He wrinkled his nose in concentration, attempting to redeem himself. "He could be scared of hospitals or something? Maybe he doesn't like the food they give him?"
It was Matt's turn to chuckle, "You're really not helping, mate. Although the last time I was in there I puked all over the floor after I tried their shepherd's pie..."
"Can't you two shut up for one second?" Abby snapped.
Connor's hand slipped from his work in surprise. Yes, she was stroppy sometimes; weren't all girls? But angry? It wasn't in her nature. "Don't worry, Abs. He'll be fine."
"What if he isn't, though? What if he's not okay?" She stood up abruptly, glowering at them. Connor appeared perplexed, while Matt just shook his head and grabbed another donut. "You're supposed to be his friends, and all you can do is sit here laughing about it! How would you feel?"
With one final irate glare specially reserved for extreme situations, she stormed from the room, slamming the door forcefully behind her, and leaving both men staring after her in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
XxXxX
"If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field, That is for ever England."
Becker's eyes flickered open weakly, the room before him merely a blur of murky light, and his entire body throbbing. But she was here, her sweet tone clear in his ears as she read, and her petite hand lain on top of his. He sought comfort from that. "Jess."
"Hey," she sounded both delighted and apprehensive at his waking, pausing as if lost for words, "Well, I didn't have you down as the romantic poet type."
"How did you..."
"Abby. Your locker."
He grimaced, and she braced herself for a lecture on privacy, but he simply mumbled, "The last two lines."
"And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness..."
"In hearts at peace, under an English heaven."
Just something about the way he recited it, sombre, yet so sincere, tugged at her heartstrings. And his expression... "It's gorgeous."
His lips twitched. He owed her an explanation, "My father's funeral poem. I was...I was only eight; I don't really remember, but...but..."
"It's okay," she whispered softly, overcome with guilt. She'd sat there moaning on about her mum, all the while bringing back painful memories for the very man she'd expected to comfort her. "Becker...I'm sorry I didn't come before."
"Don't apologize, Jess," he disputed benevolently, glancing to the side table as his vision gradually returned. It was empty aside from a glass of water. "I doubt I'd have been very good company. And anyway, you're all the more pretty for my wait."
"How are you?"
"Better than I was," came the prompt response. He'd given in to self-pity before, and it never got you anywhere; if only you retained tiny amounts of composure and optimism, you could cope. Still, the pain was horrific, and the sense of loss devastating. Would he ever be fit enough to return to work? Would the scars, both physical and mental, ever heal?
That was another point. He'd refused to glimpse his reflection in the mirror waved in front of his face; the psychologist Lester had commissioned to assess him hadn't gone down well. Nevertheless, he knew he looked bad. He wasn't ready to discover how bad just yet. "And you?"
"Okay."
"Is your mum..."
"She's at home, with my dad. She's peaceful now. That's all I can hope for, really," she mumbled.
"I'm sorry you were injured. I just did what I thought was best. Which evidently wasn't good enough."
"That's not true!" she protested turbulently, the sudden resentment in her tone paramount, "Don't let anyone tell you that, Becker! You saved my life!"
"I'm a soldier, Jess. It's what I'm trained for. What my purpose in life is," he asserted flatly, closing his eyes as an alternative to turning away – too painful to contemplate.
"Stop it!" she exclaimed, removing her hand from his as if he were scalding her, "You're alive, aren't you? You're breathing, you're talking, you're thinking! If you stopped feeling so bloody sorry for yourself for one minute, you'd realise how lucky you are!"
He kept his eyes shut tightly, but her anger stung him. She thought this was lucky? Didn't she realise what this meant for him? Or was she right? Was he acting a total hypocrite – hating pity and selfishness, but wallowing in it anyway?
"Becker, look at me. What happened out there. It doesn't change because...because you're scarred. I don't like you less."
He opened his eyes, gazing into hers. His reflection shone back at him – the left side of his face disfigured with blood and scarring. He wanted to look away, and to never look back. But if it didn't matter to Jess, maybe it didn't matter so much to him. Maybe, as long as he had her, he could get through this. "I like you even more."
A thin smile passed over her expression. She edged closer to him, her hand slipping back up onto his chest, so that his heartbeat pulsed through her. Somehow, amidst the unease, she was fascinated; drawn in towards him.
He, in return, raised a weak hand to her face. He wasn't paralysed, no, but he'd had a fortunate escape, and he barely had the energy to stay awake, let alone move around. Still, he already felt a great surge of affection for this girl, like he'd never felt towards anyone before. She was special. And he needed her to know that.
Jess's lips brushed his unscathed cheek, her breath warm on his neck. Slowly, she reached his own mouth, and they kissed. Gradual, gentle, exploring...
As they pulled apart, Becker grinned. It almost hurt as his muscles stretched; only now did he realise how long it was since he'd felt so light and happy. But it was a good hurt. And, judging by Jess's gleaming eyes, she agreed.
She slipped her coat from her shoulders, and clambered up onto the bed beside him, her gaze never falling from his. He couldn't stifle his yawn, though, however ecstatic he was, and Jess's eyes were also flickering, as if she too were struggling to stay conscious.
So, instead of speaking, he simply slipped an arm around her, and she cuddled down beside him, their bodies fitting perfectly together like a jigsaw puzzle. And, as Jess's hair fell down across her eyes in the picture of angelic innocence, and her chest rose rhythmically alongside her delicate breaths, Becker planted one last kiss on her pale forehead, before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep himself.
Sometimes, actions said so much more than words.
XxXxX
Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed it...please review as I'm still very new to FanFic and really appreciate your comments ;)
I forgot to say last time that this story is for Beth xxx
Again, I don't own any of the characters or settings – I just love to write stories about Primeval...and the poem is by Rupert Brooke :)