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faye_dartmouthTitle: A Little Help From My Friends
Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval; feral Stephen belongs to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lena7142
A/N: More in the Continued Adventures of Feral Stephen. Still AU of 2.07, sort of. Now with Cutter/Claudia :) Thanks tolena7142 for the beta!
Summary: Cutter has a date; Stephen helps. Mostly.
-o-
Cutter was nervous.
He wasn’t a man that scared easily. He attributed such blatant fearlessness to his Scottish disposition, but he could face anything from an auditorium full of scholars to a raging prehistoric beast, and Cutter usually managed just fine. Sure, there was the inevitable burst of adrenaline, but in truth, Cutter found that to just be exhilarating.
So the fact that he was nervous was actually something. It wasn’t a speech; it wasn’t a dinosaur or any other number of sundry beasts; it wasn’t even Lester’s wrath after he inadvertently destroyed public property.
It was a date.
True, Cutter had dated before. In his younger years, more than a little. But then there had been Helen and over a decade of his life had fallen into a veritable hole. Or a rift in time. Or whatever.
He could still remember the beginning, back when he’d loved her, but he’d let go of everything he’d had with Helen. It had been rather easy in the end, what with her machinations and duplicity as she’d tried to destroy the ARC and led Stephen to his death.
The clone to his death. It made some sense to him now. She’d created him; she’d destroyed him. All very logical.
All very wrong.
But that was neither here nor there because now there was Claudia.
He’d found her and lost her then found her again. And there was no way he was going to muck that up.
Of course, such intentions were all well and good, but now that they had well and truly snogged, Cutter was faced with the inevitable and somewhat overwhelming task of dating.
Somewhere, in the midst of their novice relations, Cutter had offered to have her over for dinner. It had seemed like a good idea at the time -- a nice, quiet activity, good for conversation and other various extracurriculars. All things of which Cutter heartily approved.
Until he realised that he would have to clean and cook, neither of which had ever been his forte. In truth, he’d always been something of a slob. The only reason he’d ever been able to find anything around the lab was because of Stephen’s impeccable organisational skills. As for cooking, Cutter had lived just fine on carry out for years now.
But that was then. This was now. Cutter had jumped enough timelines and got enough second chances to know not to foul it up.
So cooking and cleaning it was.
Such things, however, were easier said than done.
He’d managed to get himself moderately clean, digging out one of his nicer shirts that he used to wear for conferences back at the university. It had taken him nearly an hour to clean up the kitchen enough to use, and by the time he’d finished that, he’d had to start preparing the dinner.
The recipe he’d chosen had seemed simple enough, and he’d procured the necessary ingredients at the store. He had never done much cooking, but he was a scientist. How hard could it be to follow a recipe?
Very hard, apparently.
He was struggling to make himself a white sauce while his fish defrosted, fumbling around to chop his vegetables while checking the brownies in the oven. But his white sauce wouldn’t thicken and the brownies were soggy in the middle and knives were much better at killing things than stabbing inanimate objects.
He was just about to call the whole thing off when he turned around and nearly had a heart attack.
He swore. “You can’t do that,” he said.
Across from him, Stephen blinked. “Your back door was open.”
Cutter turned and looked. “That doesn’t mean you can just walk in,” he muttered.
Stephen shrugged. “Do you know that the crime rates have gone up substantially in the last ten years?” he asked.
Cutter scowled, going back to stir his white sauce. “Robbers wouldn’t dare take their luck with me,” he said.
Stephen didn’t move. “Your basic lack of security leaves you to be a ready victim,” he said. “You also have three windows unlocked on the first floor.”
Cutter turned, making a face at him. “How do you know that?”
“I checked.”
Cutter rolled his eyes. “Of course you did,” he said, returning to his carrots, trying in futility to slice them into thin strips.
There was a silence, and Cutter turned again to ask Stephen why he was here, when he realised Stephen was right next to him, staring intently down at his food. “You’re not good with a knife,” he commented.
Cutter lifted his eyebrows. “You’re every bit the critic today.”
Stephen ignored him. “You’re too stiff,” he said. “Fluid movements.”
Cutter glared at him. “I don’t need your advice.”
“Yes, you do,” Stephen said. “Because you’re going to cut your finger off.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!” Cutter exclaimed, hissing when he missed his aim, sending the carrot spinning and the knife nicking his finger.
Stephen shrugged. “See.”
Cutter went to the sink, rinsing it off. “You’re awfully smug for someone who just broke into my home,” he said. “Why are you here anyway?”
“You told me to come,” Stephen replied, matter of fact.
“What?” Cutter asked. “Why would I do that?”
“You said to come by,” Stephen added.
“Yeah, sometime,” Cutter said. “Not now.”
“Now is sometime.”
“But I’m busy,” Cutter protested.
“Mauling your dinner, I can see that,” Stephen observed.
Cutter sighed. “I’m having Claudia over.”
Stephen blinked. Then understanding dawned. “A date,” he said. “You’re having a date.”
Cutter felt himself blush. “Yes,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
Shaking his head, Stephen didn’t budge. “The food is going to be unacceptable,” he said. “And the place is not suitable for company. I don’t know why you invited me over.”
“I didn’t,” Cutter snapped. “So either be helpful or go home.”
Stephen stood there.
Cutter stared. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“You gave me a choice,” Stephen said. “Be helpful or go home.”
“And standing there is helpful?” Cutter asked.
“I know how to tidy up,” he said. “And I know how to use a knife without damaging myself.”
Cutter’s eyes narrowed skeptically.
Stephen’s expression turned vaguely sheepish. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
Cutter sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t make me regret it!”
-o-
Stephen was a surprisingly good housekeeper. He cleaned quickly and without hesitation, moving piles of things to less occupied rooms, making neat stacks. He was also generous in what he threw out, and Cutter decided not to worry about that until tomorrow. He had a strange attention to detail, meticulous sweeping the floor, and scrubbing the bathroom until it shined.
This was only surprising in that Stephen had lacked most normal cleanly habits. He was still resistant to showering, but Cutter had to admit, Stephen’s place wasn’t cluttered except for the strange nest-like bed he kept on the floor. The rest of the flat was mostly stripped bare, things arranged in simple and practical ways. The cloned version of Stephen had been minimalistic in his style, and while this Stephen had a bit more character in his decorating style, minimalism was clearly a trait they shared.
“If you’re this inclined to cleanliness, then why did it take you a month to remember how to use a toilet?” Cutter asked.
Stephen grunted. “Toilets are impractical,” he said.
“But cleaning them isn’t?”
Stephen gave him an incredulous look. “Urine is good for marking one’s territory,” he said. “But it’s also a beacon. If you want to hide your tracks, you’ve got to clean up after yourself. Trust me, I didn’t want my camp raided by scavengers because I was too lazy to clean up.”
“So when you peed in the corner of Lester’s office?”
Stephen snerked. “That was just to see the look on his face.”
-o-
If Stephen was good at cleaning, he was better at cooking. He cut the vegetables in two minutes and somehow managed to get the white sauce to gel just so. He’d salvaged the brownies by lowering the rack and rotating the pan, and had somehow found fruit to add as a garnish to the salads.
All they had left to do was to cook the fish, set the table and send Stephen on his way.
Standing back, he actually looked proud. “There,” he said.
Cutter followed his gaze. “Impressive,” he said. “Tell you what, for all your work, you can have a piece of fish.”
With that, Cutter turned to the stove top, grabbing a fresh pan to start frying them. “We just need to cook them up here,” he said, turning back.
And stopped to stare at Stephen.
Stephen stared back, mid bite. He had picked up one of the fish and torn through the skin with one of his teeth, the meat showing through the ripped side as the thing’s eyes still bulged.
It was disgusting, to say the least. But after Stephen had cleaned his house and cooked his food, Cutter reckoned he didn’t have much room to judge.
“Or you could just eat it raw, I suppose,” he said, with a helpless shrug.
Stephen seemed to relax and took another bite as he devoured the thing.
Holding back a smile, Cutter picked up the remaining fish, throwing them on the stove. When he looked back, Stephen was already gnawing down to the bone, fish juice running down his chin. He stopped to lick his fingers before taking another bite.
“Thanks,” Cutter said.
Stephen stopped, cocking his head. “For what?” he asked, mouth still full.
“For helping out today,” he said.
Stephen shrugged and took another bite, and Cutter thought again how grateful he was for today -- and a whole lot more.
Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval; feral Stephen belongs to
lena7142A/N: More in the Continued Adventures of Feral Stephen. Still AU of 2.07, sort of. Now with Cutter/Claudia :) Thanks to
lena7142 for the beta!Summary: Cutter has a date; Stephen helps. Mostly.
-o-
Cutter was nervous.
He wasn’t a man that scared easily. He attributed such blatant fearlessness to his Scottish disposition, but he could face anything from an auditorium full of scholars to a raging prehistoric beast, and Cutter usually managed just fine. Sure, there was the inevitable burst of adrenaline, but in truth, Cutter found that to just be exhilarating.
So the fact that he was nervous was actually something. It wasn’t a speech; it wasn’t a dinosaur or any other number of sundry beasts; it wasn’t even Lester’s wrath after he inadvertently destroyed public property.
It was a date.
True, Cutter had dated before. In his younger years, more than a little. But then there had been Helen and over a decade of his life had fallen into a veritable hole. Or a rift in time. Or whatever.
He could still remember the beginning, back when he’d loved her, but he’d let go of everything he’d had with Helen. It had been rather easy in the end, what with her machinations and duplicity as she’d tried to destroy the ARC and led Stephen to his death.
The clone to his death. It made some sense to him now. She’d created him; she’d destroyed him. All very logical.
All very wrong.
But that was neither here nor there because now there was Claudia.
He’d found her and lost her then found her again. And there was no way he was going to muck that up.
Of course, such intentions were all well and good, but now that they had well and truly snogged, Cutter was faced with the inevitable and somewhat overwhelming task of dating.
Somewhere, in the midst of their novice relations, Cutter had offered to have her over for dinner. It had seemed like a good idea at the time -- a nice, quiet activity, good for conversation and other various extracurriculars. All things of which Cutter heartily approved.
Until he realised that he would have to clean and cook, neither of which had ever been his forte. In truth, he’d always been something of a slob. The only reason he’d ever been able to find anything around the lab was because of Stephen’s impeccable organisational skills. As for cooking, Cutter had lived just fine on carry out for years now.
But that was then. This was now. Cutter had jumped enough timelines and got enough second chances to know not to foul it up.
So cooking and cleaning it was.
Such things, however, were easier said than done.
He’d managed to get himself moderately clean, digging out one of his nicer shirts that he used to wear for conferences back at the university. It had taken him nearly an hour to clean up the kitchen enough to use, and by the time he’d finished that, he’d had to start preparing the dinner.
The recipe he’d chosen had seemed simple enough, and he’d procured the necessary ingredients at the store. He had never done much cooking, but he was a scientist. How hard could it be to follow a recipe?
Very hard, apparently.
He was struggling to make himself a white sauce while his fish defrosted, fumbling around to chop his vegetables while checking the brownies in the oven. But his white sauce wouldn’t thicken and the brownies were soggy in the middle and knives were much better at killing things than stabbing inanimate objects.
He was just about to call the whole thing off when he turned around and nearly had a heart attack.
He swore. “You can’t do that,” he said.
Across from him, Stephen blinked. “Your back door was open.”
Cutter turned and looked. “That doesn’t mean you can just walk in,” he muttered.
Stephen shrugged. “Do you know that the crime rates have gone up substantially in the last ten years?” he asked.
Cutter scowled, going back to stir his white sauce. “Robbers wouldn’t dare take their luck with me,” he said.
Stephen didn’t move. “Your basic lack of security leaves you to be a ready victim,” he said. “You also have three windows unlocked on the first floor.”
Cutter turned, making a face at him. “How do you know that?”
“I checked.”
Cutter rolled his eyes. “Of course you did,” he said, returning to his carrots, trying in futility to slice them into thin strips.
There was a silence, and Cutter turned again to ask Stephen why he was here, when he realised Stephen was right next to him, staring intently down at his food. “You’re not good with a knife,” he commented.
Cutter lifted his eyebrows. “You’re every bit the critic today.”
Stephen ignored him. “You’re too stiff,” he said. “Fluid movements.”
Cutter glared at him. “I don’t need your advice.”
“Yes, you do,” Stephen said. “Because you’re going to cut your finger off.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!” Cutter exclaimed, hissing when he missed his aim, sending the carrot spinning and the knife nicking his finger.
Stephen shrugged. “See.”
Cutter went to the sink, rinsing it off. “You’re awfully smug for someone who just broke into my home,” he said. “Why are you here anyway?”
“You told me to come,” Stephen replied, matter of fact.
“What?” Cutter asked. “Why would I do that?”
“You said to come by,” Stephen added.
“Yeah, sometime,” Cutter said. “Not now.”
“Now is sometime.”
“But I’m busy,” Cutter protested.
“Mauling your dinner, I can see that,” Stephen observed.
Cutter sighed. “I’m having Claudia over.”
Stephen blinked. Then understanding dawned. “A date,” he said. “You’re having a date.”
Cutter felt himself blush. “Yes,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
Shaking his head, Stephen didn’t budge. “The food is going to be unacceptable,” he said. “And the place is not suitable for company. I don’t know why you invited me over.”
“I didn’t,” Cutter snapped. “So either be helpful or go home.”
Stephen stood there.
Cutter stared. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“You gave me a choice,” Stephen said. “Be helpful or go home.”
“And standing there is helpful?” Cutter asked.
“I know how to tidy up,” he said. “And I know how to use a knife without damaging myself.”
Cutter’s eyes narrowed skeptically.
Stephen’s expression turned vaguely sheepish. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
Cutter sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t make me regret it!”
-o-
Stephen was a surprisingly good housekeeper. He cleaned quickly and without hesitation, moving piles of things to less occupied rooms, making neat stacks. He was also generous in what he threw out, and Cutter decided not to worry about that until tomorrow. He had a strange attention to detail, meticulous sweeping the floor, and scrubbing the bathroom until it shined.
This was only surprising in that Stephen had lacked most normal cleanly habits. He was still resistant to showering, but Cutter had to admit, Stephen’s place wasn’t cluttered except for the strange nest-like bed he kept on the floor. The rest of the flat was mostly stripped bare, things arranged in simple and practical ways. The cloned version of Stephen had been minimalistic in his style, and while this Stephen had a bit more character in his decorating style, minimalism was clearly a trait they shared.
“If you’re this inclined to cleanliness, then why did it take you a month to remember how to use a toilet?” Cutter asked.
Stephen grunted. “Toilets are impractical,” he said.
“But cleaning them isn’t?”
Stephen gave him an incredulous look. “Urine is good for marking one’s territory,” he said. “But it’s also a beacon. If you want to hide your tracks, you’ve got to clean up after yourself. Trust me, I didn’t want my camp raided by scavengers because I was too lazy to clean up.”
“So when you peed in the corner of Lester’s office?”
Stephen snerked. “That was just to see the look on his face.”
-o-
If Stephen was good at cleaning, he was better at cooking. He cut the vegetables in two minutes and somehow managed to get the white sauce to gel just so. He’d salvaged the brownies by lowering the rack and rotating the pan, and had somehow found fruit to add as a garnish to the salads.
All they had left to do was to cook the fish, set the table and send Stephen on his way.
Standing back, he actually looked proud. “There,” he said.
Cutter followed his gaze. “Impressive,” he said. “Tell you what, for all your work, you can have a piece of fish.”
With that, Cutter turned to the stove top, grabbing a fresh pan to start frying them. “We just need to cook them up here,” he said, turning back.
And stopped to stare at Stephen.
Stephen stared back, mid bite. He had picked up one of the fish and torn through the skin with one of his teeth, the meat showing through the ripped side as the thing’s eyes still bulged.
It was disgusting, to say the least. But after Stephen had cleaned his house and cooked his food, Cutter reckoned he didn’t have much room to judge.
“Or you could just eat it raw, I suppose,” he said, with a helpless shrug.
Stephen seemed to relax and took another bite as he devoured the thing.
Holding back a smile, Cutter picked up the remaining fish, throwing them on the stove. When he looked back, Stephen was already gnawing down to the bone, fish juice running down his chin. He stopped to lick his fingers before taking another bite.
“Thanks,” Cutter said.
Stephen stopped, cocking his head. “For what?” he asked, mouth still full.
“For helping out today,” he said.
Stephen shrugged and took another bite, and Cutter thought again how grateful he was for today -- and a whole lot more.
