Fic: Miss Becker's Walk on the Wild Side
Sep. 16th, 2011 04:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thelibraniniquity posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tli_productionsTitle: Miss Becker's Walk on the Wild Side
Fandom: Primeval
Summary: In which Hilary Becker's life really and truly does not revolve around her neighbour... except when it does.
Characters: Hilary (OC), Becker; references to and appearances by other characters, including OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~7000
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fredbassett
Spoilers: Through 3.10.
Warnings: Naughty language and references to canonical character deaths.
Author's Notes: Set during the missing year between s3 and 4, but before the webisodes. There are references to various events from s3 as well as Captain Becker's Diary and Captain Becker's Lonely Hearts Club, from which the character of Miss Hilary Becker originated. It's not necessary to have read either of those fics before this one, but certain things will make more sense if you have. With thanks toexplodedpen for the usual handholding and awesomeness.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
“This is the third time this month! Seriously, can you look into putting a sign up that people bigger than bloody Borrowers can read! No – yes – thank you – of course I'll hold.”
There are times that Hilary Becker really hates her job. Not least because she seems to be perpetually surrounded by idiots who think their job description means trying to off the public instead of protecting them.
A badly digitised version of Greensleeves starts emanating from the phone, and Hilary tries not to beat her head against the table. It's a close thing, closer than it should be.
“Legal, how may I be of assistance?”
Finally. “It's me again. We've had another report that the car park signs aren't in large enough print for the poorly sighted.
“That's the third time this month,” the snot-nosed little voice replies.
“I know that,” Hilary says through gritted teeth. “I also know of a sure fire way to reduce the number of potential claims levied against the company. It's downright radical, actually. Want to hear it?” There's no answer. “Make sure the signs warning for uneven surfaces and-slash-or diverted traffic are actually readable by humanity at large. Fewer accidents mean fewer solicitors mean fewer payouts by your bosses. I – hello?”
There's nothing but quiet static on the line. They've hung up on her.
She groans and buries her head in her arms. There are times she genuinely questions her chosen career.
Her bad day manages to get worse, with several more phone calls between her department and Legal, each one progressively more tense and borderline sarcastic and an unexpected thunderstorm cancelling any hope of grabbing a late lunch in the courtyard.
She finally makes it home only to find the entrance hall to her block of flats is filled with boxes – and nobody in sight to claim or move them. She tries moving one of the boxes to clear a path to the staircase which is a great plan until she realises she's pushing what feels like a twenty ton weight. She eventually makes it to the stairs, thanks to some circus-level acts of contortion, and heads up to the third floor.
On her last flight of stairs, she hears a noise from the entrance hall. Leaning over the railing, Hilary catches a brief glimpse of a man with close-cropped hair and wearing some kind of uniform, moving the box she'd failed to budge with ease.
As if he knows he's being watched, the man looks up, but Hilary pulls herself back before she could be seen. You're being ridiculous, she tells herself firmly. It's just a new neighbour – has to be.
o o o o o
The next morning, Hilary checks for post in the now empty entrance hall, something at the back of her mind niggling that she's still due a parcel from that eBay seller in Glasgow. There's no parcel, or any sign that Royal Mail have attempted to deliver one – but on the hatch underneath hers is a newly printed label that reads H. Becker – just like hers.
Weird.
o o o o o
Once Legal finally gets its arse in gear and has Maintenance fix the offending signs, it's back to something like business as usual at work – fortnightly briefings that make mass murder seem appealing, the occasional trip down to the floor to soothe wounded egos (and in one case an actual wound; minor scrape, treated on-site and sent away with profuse apologies), and steadily increasing amounts of bureaucracy being passed down from the higher ups, who clearly had nothing else better to do with their time when they wrote them.
Hilary flips through the latest pamphlet detailing protocol to be followed in case of rampaging animals, and pulls a face. “Did no one ever tell these people too much bureaucracy will kill you?”
“Probably not – but you could always be the first.”
Hilary looks up to see Haia's head poking around her door. “I never did like the sound of martyrdom,” she replies.
Haia grins and steps inside the small office, closing the door behind her. “Think of it as being a trailblazer, then. Sticking it to the Man.”
Hilary stares. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that.”
“Didn't just say what?” Haia deadpans. “Also, these need proofing.” She holds out a box-file labelled Review Practices.
“Oh, lucky me.”
Haia just grins again. “You coming out tonight?”
“No, not this time.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Hilary says, “I just fancy an early night.”
Haia smiles. “Next time, then.”
“You're on.”
That night Hilary surfs the internet aimlessly and ends up buying two pairs of cellulite-reducing knickers on the Marks & Spencer website. They cost more than she usually spends on any given outfit, and despite being a little squishy at the edges she doesn't feel the urge to go on a diet any time soon.
On the other hand there's a half-empty bottle of wine sitting on her coffee table and she can't remember why she's supposed to exercise good behaviour while internet shopping.
o o o o o
A fortnight later – two working days past the estimated time of delivery – Hilary's knickers still haven't shown up. Instead of battling the elements to eat lunch outside, she spends her breaks pointedly not hurling verbal abuse at M&S' customer support staff.
She's told to wait another seven working days and then apply for a refund.
o o o o o
There's something on the news about an escaped rhinoceros causing mayhem at Heathrow Airport. Honestly, Hilary's more focused on the sharp spike in accidents caused by electric scooters for elderly and disabled customers.
She has to spend an entire afternoon lecturing floor staff on why it's a ridiculously stupid idea to let a half-blind octogenarian loose – unsupervised – on one of said electric scooters, no matter how frail and harmless the old dear looks.
Haia is entirely unsympathetic, and insists on taking her to the pub to drown her sorrows in alcohol and men.
She ends up doing neither, and when she eventually escapes and makes it back home, she catches another glimpse of her apparent neighbour checking his post. He's wearing what looks like a military uniform, and she only connects him to the box-shaped obstacle course because of the haircut.
From the relative safety of being three floors up from him again, she checks her watch. It's close to midnight, and this guy's apparently only just clocked off for the night.
Hilary shrugs to herself before fishing for her door key. She's never envied people who do shift work.
o o o o o
A few weeks later there's a smell of strawberries in the building's stairwell.
o o o o o
“Well, it's nice to finally meet one of the neighbours. I'm Hilary Becker.”
Far from shaking her hand, which Hilary's always understood to be the normal response to someone holding their hand out in greeting, her neighbour – twenties, actually kind of cute despite the military-style haircut – stares at her like she's got seeping wounds or horns or who knows what, mumbles something about it being nice to meet her too, and bolts for the second floor.
Hilary just stands there, hand still out in front of her like a complete idiot before she leans over, opens her door and starts levering her shopping bags inside one at a time.
She's in the middle of putting tins in the cupboard when she starts to wonder if it was something she'd done that had made Becker act like that. No, she decides. No. She isn't that repulsive. She just happens to have a neighbour who is able to combine good looks with being completely insane.
Hopefully it won't turn out to be the dangerous kind.
o o o o o
After the Shopping Bag Incident, Hilary doesn't see Becker for a while. She's got a two week training course in Lincoln that teaches her precisely nothing she doesn't know already, and right in line with her getting back from that, work magically becomes more intense and draining. On top of that, one of her team ups and quits without warning and Hilary's workload doubles overnight.
Finally, she's had enough. “You, me – pub, tonight,” she announces in the doorway to Haia's office.
“Not tonight.”
Hilary tries not to groan. “You're the one who's been trying to drag me out for weeks. Why not tonight?”
“Walking With Dinosaurs.” Haia glances up from her computer and looks unimpressed with Hilary's petulant expression. “What? It's really good. I like it.”
Hilary wants to be she she's hearing this right. “You're blowing me off for... a documentary.”
“Which they're only showing again because one of the guys involved with it was killed a few weeks ago.” Haia shrugs. “Any night you like, just not tonight.”
“Fine.”
That night Hilary flops onto the sofa and stares at the ceiling for longer than she'll admit to anyone. She thinks she could call her brother and see if anything wildly exciting is happening in his life. Then she remembers the last time she'd done that and had spent two hours listening to him sob down the phone about what bastards men were and how she was better off staying away from them forever and ever.
Mum and Scott are somewhere in the Med, which rules them out, and there's not really anyone else Hilary can think of who would be up for doing something on short notice, even just chatting and catching up or whatever.
Then she hears the music.
It takes a while for her to place it. It's not the techno crap the idiots on the ground floor pump out every other weekend, but she can still feel the slight vibrations in the floor from... whatever it is. There's definitely a melody, and if Hilary can tell that much from her sofa then whoever's in the same room as the music's origin is probably deaf by now.
She briefly contemplates banging on every door from the second floor down to demand the music be turned down. Then she decides it's too much effort, and goes to bed, closing her windows and burying her head under a pillow for good measure.
Eventually, the music stops. Some time after that, she actually gets to sleep.
In the morning, Hilary's head feels like she's been on a bender and getting up is the last thing she wants to do. She does, though, because there are things like work and wages and the ability to pay the bills that she's been told are kind of important in this day and age. It's also way too fucking early for anybody else to be up, so the quicker she can make it to her office without human interaction the better for everyone concerned. And by that, she means herself.
Her cunning plan is interrupted all of ten seconds after she opens her front door. She's fumbling in her bag for the key she'd literally just been holding when she catches fragments of voices from the second floor. Names that could be 'Danny' or 'Annie' – no, 'Abby'.' Connor'? And then: “We'll find them.”
Hilary locks her door and goes down the stairs. She passes Becker and a woman outside his front door, long dark hair and a leather jacket and they both shut up as Hilary goes by.
At least she makes it to work without having to speak to anyone. Except for Legal's resident perv, but he's sent away quickly enough and Hilary gets to spend the rest of her morning generally hating the world.
o o o o o
Over the next two weeks, Hilary hears the music through her floor eleven times. After she catches a handful of further glimpses of the dark haired woman on various mornings after, it's not difficult to make a connection.
And not that she's counting, of course. No, no – she has far more important things to be doing with her time.
Really.
o o o o o
The music stops one weekend. Hilary spends Thursday night tapping along to the chorus, and then on Friday – nothing.
Nothing on Saturday, or Sunday, or the following three nights, either.
Hilary comes this close to marching downstairs and demanding to know why the break from this new routine, because having ear-wormed its way into her head, the sudden absence of the music is worse than when it had first started.
o o o o o
“You're getting over-invested,” Haia tells her on Thursday morning, before a massive interdepartmental meeting that Hilary fully plans on snoozing through.
The thing is, she's really not – it's Becker's fault for being such a freak after helping her out with the shopping that one time. She'd never have paid him any heed if not for that.
Yeah, that's it.
o o o o o
The following Monday the silence is broken. Hilary's all set up for the evening; just her, a bottle of wine, a bag of popcorn and some random horror movies she's been meaning to watch for a while.
She's right on the verge of starting the first one when this pounding noise comes up through her floor. Her first thought is that it isn't music. No... sounds more like someone's hitting something – a lot. And – is that singing? Could be wailing. It had better be wailing.
Hilary stares at the remote in her hand, and the artfully gory menu on the TV screen. She feels the pounding vibrate the floor a little more, and eyes her wine.
Ten seconds later she's banging on Becker's door.
There's no point him hiding, she knows he's in there, it's just a matter of -
The door opens.
Hilary is greeted with the sight of her neighbour, but he looks a right mess. His hair's all over the place, he's wearing what looks like the remnants of a suit or uniform and – yeah, she can smell alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.
And just like that her anger dies.
“Hilary?” Becker frowns.
“Er, yeah.”
“What are you doing here?”
Hilary points up – to his ceiling and her floor. “You're... making a bit of a noise.”
Becker follows her finger and he sighs. “Oh. Very sorry about that.”
Hilary hesitates. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” His face crumples. “No, everything is not all right. Everyone's gone, okay? Everyone's gone and everyone's dead and I buried my friend today and -”
Hilary flashes on the dark haired woman. “I'm sorry,” she says automatically.
“Me too,” Becker whispers. “I tried, you know. I tried and I tried and I couldn't save them!”
This is starting to get awkward. “I'm sure you did your best,” Hilary tells him.
Becker snorts. “Yeah – just wasn't fucking good enough.” He takes a few deep breaths and seems to compose himself. “You – you shouldn't have to listen to all of this, I -”
“It's fine,” Hilary interrupts. She shrugs. “If you ever need someone to talk to...”
A ghost of a smile appears on Becker's face. “Thanks. I'll try to keep it down, though.”
“Yeah,” Hilary agrees with a smirk. “Else you'll end up on YouTube.” And I'll be the one to put you there.
It works – Becker smiles, and mock bows. “I shall consider myself warned. Goodnight, Miss Becker.”
Oh. Okay. Bit weird, that. But not a bad thing. Hilary curtseys as best she can with a cardigan. “Night, Mr Becker.”
She jogs back upstairs and closes and locks her front door behind her. Then she leans back against it, already processing everything that's just happened.
“I really need to get out more.”
o o o o o
Getting out more is overrated.
The bar is crowded, people who look barely old enough to be out of school constantly pressing up against Hilary. The music is one extended electronic waste of a good melody. The drinks are extortionate and taste like piss – and Haia had disappeared ages ago to stick her tongue down a Frenchman's throat.
Hilary stares at the empty glass in her hand and contemplates getting well and truly hammered. Then a guy in a shiny shirt and leather trousers starts eyeing her up from the other end of the bar, and that's it – she's out of there.
She savours the cool night air and the freedom to stick her arms out wide for a few minutes before heading back to her place. It's still just warm enough that she doesn't mind walking.
“Hey, hey – Hil, wait up!”
Hilary turns around to find Haia chasing her, flapping her arms around and ever so slightly wobbly in platform heels.
“Aren't you supposed to be – acquainting yourself with Pierre?” Hilary asks.
Haia pulls a face. “Peter.”
“Whatever.”
“No.” Haia leans heavily on Hilary's shoulder to take her shoes off. “You left.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” Hilary makes a show of rolling her shoulder a couple of times.
Haia just beams at her. “You sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine.” They start walking again, keeping an even pace. “Just didn't fancy being the resident spinster back there.”
Haia giggles. “It's not usually like that in there.”
“Really? You mean every night's not 'Bring Your Jailbait Drinking' night at that place?”
At that Haia laughs properly. “I always did fancy trying to pull a younger man.”
“Just not too much younger, all right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The lights are on in the launderette at the bottom of Hilary's road and she glances automatically through the window, not really paying attention until -
“That's him.”
Haia looks around. “What's who?”
Hilary jerks her head at the launderette. “My neighbour, the guy I've been telling you about.” It's definitely him, sitting on one of the benches in front of an active machine and he's with someone. Dark, curly hair and his back to the window, but he's definitely a he. She thinks.
“Ooh.” Haia openly gawks. “You never said he was gorgeous.”
Hilary pulls a face. “Was I supposed to rate his attractiveness? He's my neighbour.” More specifically, he's the weird neighbour who either gets shitfaced at random intervals or treats her like a member of an alien species even after he's helped her with her shopping. Not that she ever really over-analysed that particular encounter, of course.
And even more specifically... He's spotted them. Becker's staring at Hilary and Haia like – yeah, like they're aliens, or worse. Like one pair of them's in a zoo or something and -
It is entirely possible that Hilary is just a tiny bit tipsy.
She sighs. So much for subtlety. She puts on her least constipated looking smile, waves awkwardly at Becker and his companion, who's turned around and is staring at the two women with clear amusement, and tries to drag Haia away.
“Come on...”
Haia refuses to budge, and it takes Hilary a few seconds to realise that she's not staring at Becker or the other guy. She's frowning at something else, and half pointing with her free hand.
Hilary follows her aim. It's off to the right of Becker, and right at the back of the... there's a pile of clothes half spilled out of one of the machines and it's... moving?
“What the hell?”
Then something pokes its head out of the laundry. Small, greyish green and -
Becker realises they're not staring at him, and looks behind him – and he yells, shouts loud enough that Hilary can hear him from out on the street.
She just squints at the thing crawling out of the laundry pile. “Is that some kind of lizard?”
“No idea,” Haia breathes, her eyes fixed on the creature.
Becker's companion realises what everyone else is staring at and jumps to his feet. He nearly trips over himself backing up to the window.
Hilary wants to know why there's a lizard in somebody's washing. She also wants to know how it got there in the first place. It dimly occurs to her that the two questions might be the same. She's pretty sure she doesn't care.
She can't just stand there and do nothing, though, so she walks up to the launderette's door and is about to open it when she hears Haia swear behind her, and in front of her she sees Becker gesticulate wildly at his friend.
She steps inside and closes the door behind her. The creature's actually quite small, now that she thinks about it. It could almost be a baby, but it doesn't look like anything she's ever seen before. Maybe someone's idea of an exotic pet; she's heard enough horror stories about black market breeding or whatever and -
“You shouldn't be here.”
She realises it's Becker. And he's addressing her.
She turns to him but doesn't take her eyes off the creature. “I... what?”
“I mean it, Hilary,” Becker says slowly but clearly. “I -”
“Hilary?” the second man asks. “What?”
“What is that thing?” Hilary asks.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Becker shake his head. “Nothing good.”
“Whoa.” It's Haia – she must have followed Hilary inside. “If I didn't know any better I'd say that was a teeny little dinosaur.”
She comes over to stand next to Hilary. “Someone tell me I'm wrong.”
There's silence in the launderette.
It's broken when Becker's friend swears loudly. “Hilary, tell the lady she's wrong.”
Hilary frowns. “What?”
The second man stares at her. Then he points at Becker.
“You're Hilary?” Hilary asks. “Your name is -”
“Hilary, yes.” Becker sighs. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”
“Like the dinosaur.” There's a tinge of hysteria in Haia's voice. “Where did the dinosaur come from – I can't believe I just asked that.”
Hilary just stares at Becker – Hilary. Hilary Becker. They had the same name and they lived in adjacent flats. The odds of that had to be astronomical.
“Do either of you have a mobile on you?” Becker asks.
“Um...” Hilary fumbles around before pulling her phone out and handing it over. Dinosaur.
Hilary.
Dinosaur.
Becker stabs at the keypad. While he's waiting for whoever to pick up, he glances at the dinosaur, then back at the others. “Giles, my place. The weapons case under my bed. I need the Mossberg and small arms. Now.”
“But -”
“Go,” Becker orders. Then his attentions shifts. “This is Captain Becker. I've got a possible anomaly alert, require immediate back up.” He rattles off the street name and directions while Giles pushes past Hilary and Haia to get to the door.
“It's tiny,” Haia says, still staring at the dinosaur. “Why the fire power?”
“You two shouldn't be here,” Becker deflects. He goes to the front of the launderette and puts the 'Closed' sign in full view. “It's safer for both of you if you leave now. Forget this -”
“Bollocks to that,” Hilary interrupts, even as she remembers Becker drunk and miserable just a couple of nights ago. “We're here, we might as well help.” She has no idea what she's even doing any more, but that doesn't seem to have stopped her mouth.
“No,” Becker says. “You're civilians. I can't -”
The dinosaur screeches, and lurches free of the laundry pile.
“We have to stop it,” Becker says, but Haia's already moving. She slips over to the far side of the launderette, dumps her shoes on top of one of the machines and starts to tiptoe closer to the creature.
It's quick, though. It skitters between Haia's legs – barely coming up to her knee – and underneath one of the benches.
Hilary wants to ask what'll happen if it gets out of the launderette, but she's pretty sure she knows the answer already – Nothing Good. She looks around for something she can trap the creature with, but there's nothing. Some cardboard boxes, a couple of dilapidated laundry hampers -
And laundry. On the floor at the back where the creature had first appeared. Hilary thinks if she can find something big enough, like a sheet, then she can catch the thing inside it, like a trap on those nature shows.
Becker seems to be thinking along the same lines. He grabs what looks like a bedsheet from the machine behind him and tosses one end to Hilary. They pull it taut between them and lower it to the floor. Haia stares at them for a second before realisation dawns, and she changes her tactics. Instead of chasing the dinosaur blindly she starts trying to herd it onto the sheet, hitting machines and stamping her feet as she goes.
The dinosaur's having none of it, though, and jumps into one of the tumble dryers. Haia hesitates, then lunges forward to slam the door shut.
“That was easy,” she says brightly.
Hilary stares up at her, then grins. Then she turns back to Becker. “I don't even know where to start.”
There's a flicker of something that might be a smile on his face. “I fight dinosaurs,” he says eventually.
“Bit of a specialist field, I take it?” Haia asks.
“You have no idea,” Becker replies.
Hilary glances at him, and thinks about the way he'd said everyone was dead or missing. She wonders if he really had meant it literally, after all.
“So... does that mean it's over?” she asks.
Becker hesitates. “No. We have to find the anomaly.”
“The what, now?” Haia's crouched down beside the tumble dryer, which has started to screech and vibrate.
“The – it's where the creature came through.”
“Through from where?” Hilary eyes him. He doesn't sound crazy, especially after what's just happened, but she's still not taking any chances.
“From whenever it came from.” Becker frowns. “Giles.”
“Your friend?” Hilary looks out of the launderette, but she can't see much in the darkness.
Becker shakes his head. “My brother. He should be back by now, I -”
As if on cue, Giles comes crashing into the laundrette, carrying a large black case. He sets it down on a bench and tosses a phone to Becker. “Your boss called,” he announces. “Something about a creature incursion, sounded a bit pissed off if you ask -”
“Did he say when back-up was going to get here?”
Giles shrugs. “Something about being mobilised from a remote location?”
Becker looks incredulous. “There's supposed to be a team at the ARC, I -”
“The Ark?” Hilary repeats.
Becker sighs again.
Hilary holds her hands up in brief surrender. “Okay, okay. So what next? I mean,” she continues, when both men stare at her, “it's apparently just the four of us until your boss pulls his finger out. There's one cre – dinosaur secure in a tumble dryer and – what was it you said we're to look for?”
“An anomaly.” Becker watches Hilary, his face inscrutable.
Okay. “And how do we find that?”
Becker shakes his head. “Normally there's a portable detector, but I lost my last one.”
“You? Careless?” Giles makes a dismissive noise, but quickly shushes when Becker glares at him. He turns around to the front window, where Hilary realises a few more revellers are watching the group with obvious interest. Before anyone can say anything, Giles slips out of the launderette and speaks to the spectators, gesticulating firmly.
It works – they move on, and Giles comes back inside. He glances at Becker briefly, but says nothing.
“So how else do we find it?” Hilary asks. “Is it, I don't know – can you see it? Does it make a noise?”
“It's magnetic,” Becker says quickly, snapping his fingers. “Throws compasses haywire. Um... it's visible, very visible. Like shards of light in mid-air.”
“And it's in here somewhere,” Giles guesses.
“Has to be,” Becker nods. “Might even be in one of the machines.”
“So let's start looking,” Hilary tells him.
Becker's mouth quirks. “Yes, ma'am.”
Hilary starts checking inside each of the washing machines and tumble dryers. Giles snoops around at the back of the area while Becker opens his case and starts putting a very big gun together.
“So,” Hilary says, because this is just too weird to be a practical joke. “Dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs,” Becker confirms.
At the far end of the launderette Giles makes a choking noise but says nothing.
“Do I even want know how long this has been going on?” If it's longer than tonight, which is remarkably likely, given Becker's reaction to everything that's happened already, Hilary suspects a cover up of the very highest order.
“Probably not.” Becker makes a shaking motion with his gun, which makes the unmistakeable noise that means it's loaded and ready to fire.
“I think it's just a baby,” Haia says. Everyone turns to face her and Hilary realises she's been sneaking brief peeks inside the dryer. “What?” she asks defensively. “I watch documentaries, okay? Not an expert but that – that is not a grown up dinosaur.”
By rights this should be surreal. And bordering on insane. Hilary's half expecting men in white coats to show up any second. Instead, she asks: “Have you ever seen the Loch Ness Monster?”
“Not personally,” Becker replies. “But I've been told it's only a matter of time – no pun intended.”
Hilary covers her mouth to stop herself from laughing hysterically.
“Hilary,” Giles begins.
“Giles,” Becker replies.
“That time you and the ginger bloke skipped out on the family barbecue.” Giles fixes Becker with a stare, who capitulates with a sigh.
“Velociraptors,” he replies. Then: “Breathe one word of this to Mum and I will have you arrested and locked up for the rest of your life.”
“The rhinoceros at Heathrow Airport,” Haia says. “No way they get a dinosaur guy in for an escaped rhino.”
“G-rex,” Becker tells her.
Haia stares at him. “You were there.”
He nods.
“Shit,” she breathes. “There really is a cover up going on.”
“Yes,” Becker says. “I hear it beats the alternative.”
“Well, yeah.” Haia glances back at the now closed dryer door. “But still.”
“But nothing,” Giles interrupts. “That's the way things work, all right?”
Hilary frowns, and is on the verge of asking whether the brothers work together when Becker shakes his head quickly at her.
“Big floaty light show?” Giles continues. “Bit like a disco ball but without the wires?”
“Yes.” Becker all but leaps over the machines between him and his brother. “That's the anomaly.”
Hilary joins them, and Haia follows her. It turns out Becker's description was surprisingly accurate. The anomaly is small, smaller than Becker had made it sound, but it's like a miniature explosion of light swirling around in mid-air, about a foot away from the fire exit.
It's beautiful.
And luckily for them the creature had chosen to come the other way, through the rest of the launderette.
Becker trains his gun on the centre of the anomaly.
“We need to get the creature back through,” Hilary decides. “If that's how it got here in the first place.”
“It is,” Becker confirms quietly.
Hilary stares at him for a few seconds. “Come on,” she tells Giles. “Give me a hand with this sheet.”
“Going to bundle the thing through?” he asks.
“Got any better ideas?”
“Plenty.” Giles pulls a face. “Nothing that will get a real life dinosaur back to its home though a time portal, though.”
Yeah. It's been that kind of an evening.
Between them Hilary and Giles manoeuvre the bed-sheet so it forms a sort of cocoon around the tumble dryer door, which Haia leans over and opens. She pulls back quickly, just as the little dinosaur's face pokes out. It looks around, still chittering away. It doesn't sound the least bit impressed with what it's been forced to put up with in the 21st century, but it pulls its head back inside the dryer and then leaps out, bouncing and rolling down the material.
Giles steps closer to Hilary, holding his end of the sheet further up to stop the creature from escaping.
Hilary eyes their route to the anomaly. It's short, but not without its obstacles, and she and Giles end up side-stepping the entire way, as much to keep the dinosaur's discomfort to a minimum as anything else. Half on autopilot she thinks about the paperwork she'd have to fill out if this was a normal work occurrence for her, and it's almost enough to make her laugh, although she does get three funny looks for the half-snort that comes out instead.
Getting the dinosaur out of the cocoon and through the anomaly is trickier than it looks. It's Haia who steps in, rolling her eyes and muttering something about desk jockeys under her breath. She motions for Hilary and Giles to step away from each other, which pulls the sheet tauter and brings the dinosaur roughly level with the anomaly. When it shows no sign of making that one final leap, Haia crouches down and cups her hands just underneath the creature. Then, without warning she jerks her hands up.
The dinosaur screeches, but bounces through the anomaly, which pulses and makes a slight high-pitched noise.
“Nicely done,” Becker says, his gun still trained on the anomaly, “Miss...”
“Skurla.” Haia sounds bemused. “Haia Skurla.”
“Downright boring compared to these two,” Giles comments. “Hilary and Hilary.”
“You mean Hilary Becker and Hilary Becker.” Haia rubs the back of her neck. “Bloody hell, though.”
“Yeah,” Giles says, and Hilary nods.
The anomaly continues to swirl and pulse.
o o o o o
Becker's fabled back-up arrives half an hour later. The adrenaline has worn off, but despite being almost dead on their feet, Haia and Giles are keeping watch at the front of the launderette while Hilary hangs back with Becker.
The anomaly is still going strong – whether it's actually supposed to do that or not isn't something Hilary think she wants to know the answer to – and as long as it's still going Becker doesn't appear to want to move an inch.
Hilary keeps half an ear on the growing commotion at the front of the launderette and stretches out against the wall. “So you hunt dinosaurs.”
“I think we've already established that one, yes.” Becker sounds fairly neutral, which Hilary supposes is a good thing.
“And we share a name.”
“So it would seem.”
Hilary laughs sharply. “I'm guessing the name thing doesn't bother you, what with the day job and all that.”
Becker shrugs. “Everything's relative.”
“I am sorry,” Hilary says, “about your friends.” She's been staring at the centre of the anomaly just long enough that she thinks she knows how so many people can either be killed or go missing in a short space of time.
“Me too.”
“And you're still working there.” Wherever one hunted dinosaurs from. Hilary's imagining something like a pimped out warehouse or a government lab. Nothing would surprise her any more.
“We were lucky tonight,” Becker tells her. “One juvenile creature in an already-contained location.”
Hilary wants to know what constitutes unlucky. She can probably guess, though – and it really is Nothing Good.
“Excuse me, miss,” someone says from Hilary's far side. She turns and sees a soldier carrying two metal suitcases. He nods to Becker, and waits for Hilary to stand up and move to one side. He parks the cases in front of the anomaly and pulls out parts of what look like a kid's Meccano set, which he swiftly assembles into one... thing. He points it at the anomaly and hits a button.
Instantly the anomaly closes in on itself so it's just a floating ball as opposed to the light show Hilary had been mesmerised by up to that point.
Becker finally drops his weapon to his side, breathing heavily and he looks tired. Part of that's probably because it's somehow after midnight, but also everything Hilary thinks has been going on but knows she shouldn't ask anything else about.
“Come on,” he tells Hilary. “Now we can leave.”
Hilary follows him out of the launderette, where she sees Haia and Giles talking to someone new – clearly not military, but someone they're all deferring to. In the dim street lights she can just about make out the pinstripes as he shoos Haia and Giles away.
“Ah,” he says loudly. “The second half of our intrepid field team.”
Hilary frowns.
“Sir,” Becker says. “None of this was intended, I -”
“Well, of course not,” the man replies.
“Leave him out of this, all right?” On an intellectual level, Hilary knows she's the one talking, but she can't stop herself. “If you're going to blame anyone, blame us. We're the ones who refused to just up and leave him when there was a – whatever the hell that thing was.”
“Hilary,” Becker says quietly.
“No,” she tells him. “No, I bloody won't. Look, I will sign whatever you want me to sign, promise to never tell a living soul if that's your thing, but you don't blame Becker for any of this, all right?”
The man just stands there, hands folded behind his back. “Are you quite finished?”
Hilary takes a breath. “I think so, yes.”
The man smirks. “What a delightful young friend you've got here,” he tells Becker. “Tell me,” he continues, turning back to Hilary, “you seem to be a remarkably forthright civilian with strong opinions and ideals, not to mention unintentional first hand experience of something that has potentially long lasting repercussions on national security. I suppose you'll be wanting a job out of all of this.”
What? Hilary stares at him. “No,” she says slowly. “I'm good where I am, thanks.”
The man sighs. “What a refreshing change. I'd keep this one around if I were you, Becker.”
“Rather defeats the point of not hiring her,” Becker retorts.
“I'm sorry, what was that?”
“I said 'yes sir'.”
“Good. That's what I thought I heard.” The man glances between Becker and Hilary a few more times. “As you were.” He walks off towards a dark car.
Hilary watches him get inside. “Is he always like that?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
The car drives off. “You poor bastard.”
“Pretty much. So,” Becker turns to her, “what exactly do you do that beats hunting dinosaurs?”
Despite herself, Hilary grins. “Health, Safety and Environment Manager for the Co-operative.”
The look on Becker's face is a picture.
o o o o o
Hilary ends up signing two different versions of the Official Secrets Act, along with Haia and Giles – who doesn't have anything to do professionally with his brother, it turns out. She'd have liked to think that was the end of it, except for the part where Haia left a DVD collection of Walking With Dinosaurs on her desk the first morning they were back at work, and she and Becker started slipping into something actually resembling a friendship.
She kind of gets it though. He's been through a lot of crap, most of which he can't tell anyone outside of work, and she has quite literally been there. Sort of. Whatever a lone baby dinosaur in a London launderette qualifies as, at least.
If nothing else it qualifies for movie night once a week and the occasional drink here and there depending on how much either of them want to rage against the world.
And from what she hears, Haia and Giles have come to a similar arrangement.
Work is something that is reliably consistent, however – for Hilary, at least. Four days after she helped repatriate said lone baby dinosaur in said London launderette, work is back to its usual clusterbomb of disaster upon disaster.
She takes to it all with a smile and a calm demeanour that she's pretty sure is freaking most of her colleagues out. The rest are probably one step away from either sabotage or a betting pool to see when she'll finally break.
Hilary genuinely doesn't get the fuss, though. Standing there one morning, listening to a customer talk at her non-stop about how poorly signed the temporary on-site toilets are, Hilary finds it remarkably easy to smile, nod, and make soothing noises.
And she keeps reminding herself how much worse it all could be.
It could be dinosaurs.
Fandom: Primeval
Summary: In which Hilary Becker's life really and truly does not revolve around her neighbour... except when it does.
Characters: Hilary (OC), Becker; references to and appearances by other characters, including OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~7000
Beta:
fredbassettSpoilers: Through 3.10.
Warnings: Naughty language and references to canonical character deaths.
Author's Notes: Set during the missing year between s3 and 4, but before the webisodes. There are references to various events from s3 as well as Captain Becker's Diary and Captain Becker's Lonely Hearts Club, from which the character of Miss Hilary Becker originated. It's not necessary to have read either of those fics before this one, but certain things will make more sense if you have. With thanks to
explodedpen for the usual handholding and awesomeness.“This is the third time this month! Seriously, can you look into putting a sign up that people bigger than bloody Borrowers can read! No – yes – thank you – of course I'll hold.”
There are times that Hilary Becker really hates her job. Not least because she seems to be perpetually surrounded by idiots who think their job description means trying to off the public instead of protecting them.
A badly digitised version of Greensleeves starts emanating from the phone, and Hilary tries not to beat her head against the table. It's a close thing, closer than it should be.
“Legal, how may I be of assistance?”
Finally. “It's me again. We've had another report that the car park signs aren't in large enough print for the poorly sighted.
“That's the third time this month,” the snot-nosed little voice replies.
“I know that,” Hilary says through gritted teeth. “I also know of a sure fire way to reduce the number of potential claims levied against the company. It's downright radical, actually. Want to hear it?” There's no answer. “Make sure the signs warning for uneven surfaces and-slash-or diverted traffic are actually readable by humanity at large. Fewer accidents mean fewer solicitors mean fewer payouts by your bosses. I – hello?”
There's nothing but quiet static on the line. They've hung up on her.
She groans and buries her head in her arms. There are times she genuinely questions her chosen career.
Her bad day manages to get worse, with several more phone calls between her department and Legal, each one progressively more tense and borderline sarcastic and an unexpected thunderstorm cancelling any hope of grabbing a late lunch in the courtyard.
She finally makes it home only to find the entrance hall to her block of flats is filled with boxes – and nobody in sight to claim or move them. She tries moving one of the boxes to clear a path to the staircase which is a great plan until she realises she's pushing what feels like a twenty ton weight. She eventually makes it to the stairs, thanks to some circus-level acts of contortion, and heads up to the third floor.
On her last flight of stairs, she hears a noise from the entrance hall. Leaning over the railing, Hilary catches a brief glimpse of a man with close-cropped hair and wearing some kind of uniform, moving the box she'd failed to budge with ease.
As if he knows he's being watched, the man looks up, but Hilary pulls herself back before she could be seen. You're being ridiculous, she tells herself firmly. It's just a new neighbour – has to be.
The next morning, Hilary checks for post in the now empty entrance hall, something at the back of her mind niggling that she's still due a parcel from that eBay seller in Glasgow. There's no parcel, or any sign that Royal Mail have attempted to deliver one – but on the hatch underneath hers is a newly printed label that reads H. Becker – just like hers.
Weird.
Once Legal finally gets its arse in gear and has Maintenance fix the offending signs, it's back to something like business as usual at work – fortnightly briefings that make mass murder seem appealing, the occasional trip down to the floor to soothe wounded egos (and in one case an actual wound; minor scrape, treated on-site and sent away with profuse apologies), and steadily increasing amounts of bureaucracy being passed down from the higher ups, who clearly had nothing else better to do with their time when they wrote them.
Hilary flips through the latest pamphlet detailing protocol to be followed in case of rampaging animals, and pulls a face. “Did no one ever tell these people too much bureaucracy will kill you?”
“Probably not – but you could always be the first.”
Hilary looks up to see Haia's head poking around her door. “I never did like the sound of martyrdom,” she replies.
Haia grins and steps inside the small office, closing the door behind her. “Think of it as being a trailblazer, then. Sticking it to the Man.”
Hilary stares. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that.”
“Didn't just say what?” Haia deadpans. “Also, these need proofing.” She holds out a box-file labelled Review Practices.
“Oh, lucky me.”
Haia just grins again. “You coming out tonight?”
“No, not this time.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Hilary says, “I just fancy an early night.”
Haia smiles. “Next time, then.”
“You're on.”
That night Hilary surfs the internet aimlessly and ends up buying two pairs of cellulite-reducing knickers on the Marks & Spencer website. They cost more than she usually spends on any given outfit, and despite being a little squishy at the edges she doesn't feel the urge to go on a diet any time soon.
On the other hand there's a half-empty bottle of wine sitting on her coffee table and she can't remember why she's supposed to exercise good behaviour while internet shopping.
A fortnight later – two working days past the estimated time of delivery – Hilary's knickers still haven't shown up. Instead of battling the elements to eat lunch outside, she spends her breaks pointedly not hurling verbal abuse at M&S' customer support staff.
She's told to wait another seven working days and then apply for a refund.
There's something on the news about an escaped rhinoceros causing mayhem at Heathrow Airport. Honestly, Hilary's more focused on the sharp spike in accidents caused by electric scooters for elderly and disabled customers.
She has to spend an entire afternoon lecturing floor staff on why it's a ridiculously stupid idea to let a half-blind octogenarian loose – unsupervised – on one of said electric scooters, no matter how frail and harmless the old dear looks.
Haia is entirely unsympathetic, and insists on taking her to the pub to drown her sorrows in alcohol and men.
She ends up doing neither, and when she eventually escapes and makes it back home, she catches another glimpse of her apparent neighbour checking his post. He's wearing what looks like a military uniform, and she only connects him to the box-shaped obstacle course because of the haircut.
From the relative safety of being three floors up from him again, she checks her watch. It's close to midnight, and this guy's apparently only just clocked off for the night.
Hilary shrugs to herself before fishing for her door key. She's never envied people who do shift work.
A few weeks later there's a smell of strawberries in the building's stairwell.
“Well, it's nice to finally meet one of the neighbours. I'm Hilary Becker.”
Far from shaking her hand, which Hilary's always understood to be the normal response to someone holding their hand out in greeting, her neighbour – twenties, actually kind of cute despite the military-style haircut – stares at her like she's got seeping wounds or horns or who knows what, mumbles something about it being nice to meet her too, and bolts for the second floor.
Hilary just stands there, hand still out in front of her like a complete idiot before she leans over, opens her door and starts levering her shopping bags inside one at a time.
She's in the middle of putting tins in the cupboard when she starts to wonder if it was something she'd done that had made Becker act like that. No, she decides. No. She isn't that repulsive. She just happens to have a neighbour who is able to combine good looks with being completely insane.
Hopefully it won't turn out to be the dangerous kind.
After the Shopping Bag Incident, Hilary doesn't see Becker for a while. She's got a two week training course in Lincoln that teaches her precisely nothing she doesn't know already, and right in line with her getting back from that, work magically becomes more intense and draining. On top of that, one of her team ups and quits without warning and Hilary's workload doubles overnight.
Finally, she's had enough. “You, me – pub, tonight,” she announces in the doorway to Haia's office.
“Not tonight.”
Hilary tries not to groan. “You're the one who's been trying to drag me out for weeks. Why not tonight?”
“Walking With Dinosaurs.” Haia glances up from her computer and looks unimpressed with Hilary's petulant expression. “What? It's really good. I like it.”
Hilary wants to be she she's hearing this right. “You're blowing me off for... a documentary.”
“Which they're only showing again because one of the guys involved with it was killed a few weeks ago.” Haia shrugs. “Any night you like, just not tonight.”
“Fine.”
That night Hilary flops onto the sofa and stares at the ceiling for longer than she'll admit to anyone. She thinks she could call her brother and see if anything wildly exciting is happening in his life. Then she remembers the last time she'd done that and had spent two hours listening to him sob down the phone about what bastards men were and how she was better off staying away from them forever and ever.
Mum and Scott are somewhere in the Med, which rules them out, and there's not really anyone else Hilary can think of who would be up for doing something on short notice, even just chatting and catching up or whatever.
Then she hears the music.
It takes a while for her to place it. It's not the techno crap the idiots on the ground floor pump out every other weekend, but she can still feel the slight vibrations in the floor from... whatever it is. There's definitely a melody, and if Hilary can tell that much from her sofa then whoever's in the same room as the music's origin is probably deaf by now.
She briefly contemplates banging on every door from the second floor down to demand the music be turned down. Then she decides it's too much effort, and goes to bed, closing her windows and burying her head under a pillow for good measure.
Eventually, the music stops. Some time after that, she actually gets to sleep.
In the morning, Hilary's head feels like she's been on a bender and getting up is the last thing she wants to do. She does, though, because there are things like work and wages and the ability to pay the bills that she's been told are kind of important in this day and age. It's also way too fucking early for anybody else to be up, so the quicker she can make it to her office without human interaction the better for everyone concerned. And by that, she means herself.
Her cunning plan is interrupted all of ten seconds after she opens her front door. She's fumbling in her bag for the key she'd literally just been holding when she catches fragments of voices from the second floor. Names that could be 'Danny' or 'Annie' – no, 'Abby'.' Connor'? And then: “We'll find them.”
Hilary locks her door and goes down the stairs. She passes Becker and a woman outside his front door, long dark hair and a leather jacket and they both shut up as Hilary goes by.
At least she makes it to work without having to speak to anyone. Except for Legal's resident perv, but he's sent away quickly enough and Hilary gets to spend the rest of her morning generally hating the world.
Over the next two weeks, Hilary hears the music through her floor eleven times. After she catches a handful of further glimpses of the dark haired woman on various mornings after, it's not difficult to make a connection.
And not that she's counting, of course. No, no – she has far more important things to be doing with her time.
Really.
The music stops one weekend. Hilary spends Thursday night tapping along to the chorus, and then on Friday – nothing.
Nothing on Saturday, or Sunday, or the following three nights, either.
Hilary comes this close to marching downstairs and demanding to know why the break from this new routine, because having ear-wormed its way into her head, the sudden absence of the music is worse than when it had first started.
“You're getting over-invested,” Haia tells her on Thursday morning, before a massive interdepartmental meeting that Hilary fully plans on snoozing through.
The thing is, she's really not – it's Becker's fault for being such a freak after helping her out with the shopping that one time. She'd never have paid him any heed if not for that.
Yeah, that's it.
The following Monday the silence is broken. Hilary's all set up for the evening; just her, a bottle of wine, a bag of popcorn and some random horror movies she's been meaning to watch for a while.
She's right on the verge of starting the first one when this pounding noise comes up through her floor. Her first thought is that it isn't music. No... sounds more like someone's hitting something – a lot. And – is that singing? Could be wailing. It had better be wailing.
Hilary stares at the remote in her hand, and the artfully gory menu on the TV screen. She feels the pounding vibrate the floor a little more, and eyes her wine.
Ten seconds later she's banging on Becker's door.
There's no point him hiding, she knows he's in there, it's just a matter of -
The door opens.
Hilary is greeted with the sight of her neighbour, but he looks a right mess. His hair's all over the place, he's wearing what looks like the remnants of a suit or uniform and – yeah, she can smell alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.
And just like that her anger dies.
“Hilary?” Becker frowns.
“Er, yeah.”
“What are you doing here?”
Hilary points up – to his ceiling and her floor. “You're... making a bit of a noise.”
Becker follows her finger and he sighs. “Oh. Very sorry about that.”
Hilary hesitates. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” His face crumples. “No, everything is not all right. Everyone's gone, okay? Everyone's gone and everyone's dead and I buried my friend today and -”
Hilary flashes on the dark haired woman. “I'm sorry,” she says automatically.
“Me too,” Becker whispers. “I tried, you know. I tried and I tried and I couldn't save them!”
This is starting to get awkward. “I'm sure you did your best,” Hilary tells him.
Becker snorts. “Yeah – just wasn't fucking good enough.” He takes a few deep breaths and seems to compose himself. “You – you shouldn't have to listen to all of this, I -”
“It's fine,” Hilary interrupts. She shrugs. “If you ever need someone to talk to...”
A ghost of a smile appears on Becker's face. “Thanks. I'll try to keep it down, though.”
“Yeah,” Hilary agrees with a smirk. “Else you'll end up on YouTube.” And I'll be the one to put you there.
It works – Becker smiles, and mock bows. “I shall consider myself warned. Goodnight, Miss Becker.”
Oh. Okay. Bit weird, that. But not a bad thing. Hilary curtseys as best she can with a cardigan. “Night, Mr Becker.”
She jogs back upstairs and closes and locks her front door behind her. Then she leans back against it, already processing everything that's just happened.
“I really need to get out more.”
Getting out more is overrated.
The bar is crowded, people who look barely old enough to be out of school constantly pressing up against Hilary. The music is one extended electronic waste of a good melody. The drinks are extortionate and taste like piss – and Haia had disappeared ages ago to stick her tongue down a Frenchman's throat.
Hilary stares at the empty glass in her hand and contemplates getting well and truly hammered. Then a guy in a shiny shirt and leather trousers starts eyeing her up from the other end of the bar, and that's it – she's out of there.
She savours the cool night air and the freedom to stick her arms out wide for a few minutes before heading back to her place. It's still just warm enough that she doesn't mind walking.
“Hey, hey – Hil, wait up!”
Hilary turns around to find Haia chasing her, flapping her arms around and ever so slightly wobbly in platform heels.
“Aren't you supposed to be – acquainting yourself with Pierre?” Hilary asks.
Haia pulls a face. “Peter.”
“Whatever.”
“No.” Haia leans heavily on Hilary's shoulder to take her shoes off. “You left.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” Hilary makes a show of rolling her shoulder a couple of times.
Haia just beams at her. “You sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine.” They start walking again, keeping an even pace. “Just didn't fancy being the resident spinster back there.”
Haia giggles. “It's not usually like that in there.”
“Really? You mean every night's not 'Bring Your Jailbait Drinking' night at that place?”
At that Haia laughs properly. “I always did fancy trying to pull a younger man.”
“Just not too much younger, all right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The lights are on in the launderette at the bottom of Hilary's road and she glances automatically through the window, not really paying attention until -
“That's him.”
Haia looks around. “What's who?”
Hilary jerks her head at the launderette. “My neighbour, the guy I've been telling you about.” It's definitely him, sitting on one of the benches in front of an active machine and he's with someone. Dark, curly hair and his back to the window, but he's definitely a he. She thinks.
“Ooh.” Haia openly gawks. “You never said he was gorgeous.”
Hilary pulls a face. “Was I supposed to rate his attractiveness? He's my neighbour.” More specifically, he's the weird neighbour who either gets shitfaced at random intervals or treats her like a member of an alien species even after he's helped her with her shopping. Not that she ever really over-analysed that particular encounter, of course.
And even more specifically... He's spotted them. Becker's staring at Hilary and Haia like – yeah, like they're aliens, or worse. Like one pair of them's in a zoo or something and -
It is entirely possible that Hilary is just a tiny bit tipsy.
She sighs. So much for subtlety. She puts on her least constipated looking smile, waves awkwardly at Becker and his companion, who's turned around and is staring at the two women with clear amusement, and tries to drag Haia away.
“Come on...”
Haia refuses to budge, and it takes Hilary a few seconds to realise that she's not staring at Becker or the other guy. She's frowning at something else, and half pointing with her free hand.
Hilary follows her aim. It's off to the right of Becker, and right at the back of the... there's a pile of clothes half spilled out of one of the machines and it's... moving?
“What the hell?”
Then something pokes its head out of the laundry. Small, greyish green and -
Becker realises they're not staring at him, and looks behind him – and he yells, shouts loud enough that Hilary can hear him from out on the street.
She just squints at the thing crawling out of the laundry pile. “Is that some kind of lizard?”
“No idea,” Haia breathes, her eyes fixed on the creature.
Becker's companion realises what everyone else is staring at and jumps to his feet. He nearly trips over himself backing up to the window.
Hilary wants to know why there's a lizard in somebody's washing. She also wants to know how it got there in the first place. It dimly occurs to her that the two questions might be the same. She's pretty sure she doesn't care.
She can't just stand there and do nothing, though, so she walks up to the launderette's door and is about to open it when she hears Haia swear behind her, and in front of her she sees Becker gesticulate wildly at his friend.
She steps inside and closes the door behind her. The creature's actually quite small, now that she thinks about it. It could almost be a baby, but it doesn't look like anything she's ever seen before. Maybe someone's idea of an exotic pet; she's heard enough horror stories about black market breeding or whatever and -
“You shouldn't be here.”
She realises it's Becker. And he's addressing her.
She turns to him but doesn't take her eyes off the creature. “I... what?”
“I mean it, Hilary,” Becker says slowly but clearly. “I -”
“Hilary?” the second man asks. “What?”
“What is that thing?” Hilary asks.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Becker shake his head. “Nothing good.”
“Whoa.” It's Haia – she must have followed Hilary inside. “If I didn't know any better I'd say that was a teeny little dinosaur.”
She comes over to stand next to Hilary. “Someone tell me I'm wrong.”
There's silence in the launderette.
It's broken when Becker's friend swears loudly. “Hilary, tell the lady she's wrong.”
Hilary frowns. “What?”
The second man stares at her. Then he points at Becker.
“You're Hilary?” Hilary asks. “Your name is -”
“Hilary, yes.” Becker sighs. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”
“Like the dinosaur.” There's a tinge of hysteria in Haia's voice. “Where did the dinosaur come from – I can't believe I just asked that.”
Hilary just stares at Becker – Hilary. Hilary Becker. They had the same name and they lived in adjacent flats. The odds of that had to be astronomical.
“Do either of you have a mobile on you?” Becker asks.
“Um...” Hilary fumbles around before pulling her phone out and handing it over. Dinosaur.
Hilary.
Dinosaur.
Becker stabs at the keypad. While he's waiting for whoever to pick up, he glances at the dinosaur, then back at the others. “Giles, my place. The weapons case under my bed. I need the Mossberg and small arms. Now.”
“But -”
“Go,” Becker orders. Then his attentions shifts. “This is Captain Becker. I've got a possible anomaly alert, require immediate back up.” He rattles off the street name and directions while Giles pushes past Hilary and Haia to get to the door.
“It's tiny,” Haia says, still staring at the dinosaur. “Why the fire power?”
“You two shouldn't be here,” Becker deflects. He goes to the front of the launderette and puts the 'Closed' sign in full view. “It's safer for both of you if you leave now. Forget this -”
“Bollocks to that,” Hilary interrupts, even as she remembers Becker drunk and miserable just a couple of nights ago. “We're here, we might as well help.” She has no idea what she's even doing any more, but that doesn't seem to have stopped her mouth.
“No,” Becker says. “You're civilians. I can't -”
The dinosaur screeches, and lurches free of the laundry pile.
“We have to stop it,” Becker says, but Haia's already moving. She slips over to the far side of the launderette, dumps her shoes on top of one of the machines and starts to tiptoe closer to the creature.
It's quick, though. It skitters between Haia's legs – barely coming up to her knee – and underneath one of the benches.
Hilary wants to ask what'll happen if it gets out of the launderette, but she's pretty sure she knows the answer already – Nothing Good. She looks around for something she can trap the creature with, but there's nothing. Some cardboard boxes, a couple of dilapidated laundry hampers -
And laundry. On the floor at the back where the creature had first appeared. Hilary thinks if she can find something big enough, like a sheet, then she can catch the thing inside it, like a trap on those nature shows.
Becker seems to be thinking along the same lines. He grabs what looks like a bedsheet from the machine behind him and tosses one end to Hilary. They pull it taut between them and lower it to the floor. Haia stares at them for a second before realisation dawns, and she changes her tactics. Instead of chasing the dinosaur blindly she starts trying to herd it onto the sheet, hitting machines and stamping her feet as she goes.
The dinosaur's having none of it, though, and jumps into one of the tumble dryers. Haia hesitates, then lunges forward to slam the door shut.
“That was easy,” she says brightly.
Hilary stares up at her, then grins. Then she turns back to Becker. “I don't even know where to start.”
There's a flicker of something that might be a smile on his face. “I fight dinosaurs,” he says eventually.
“Bit of a specialist field, I take it?” Haia asks.
“You have no idea,” Becker replies.
Hilary glances at him, and thinks about the way he'd said everyone was dead or missing. She wonders if he really had meant it literally, after all.
“So... does that mean it's over?” she asks.
Becker hesitates. “No. We have to find the anomaly.”
“The what, now?” Haia's crouched down beside the tumble dryer, which has started to screech and vibrate.
“The – it's where the creature came through.”
“Through from where?” Hilary eyes him. He doesn't sound crazy, especially after what's just happened, but she's still not taking any chances.
“From whenever it came from.” Becker frowns. “Giles.”
“Your friend?” Hilary looks out of the launderette, but she can't see much in the darkness.
Becker shakes his head. “My brother. He should be back by now, I -”
As if on cue, Giles comes crashing into the laundrette, carrying a large black case. He sets it down on a bench and tosses a phone to Becker. “Your boss called,” he announces. “Something about a creature incursion, sounded a bit pissed off if you ask -”
“Did he say when back-up was going to get here?”
Giles shrugs. “Something about being mobilised from a remote location?”
Becker looks incredulous. “There's supposed to be a team at the ARC, I -”
“The Ark?” Hilary repeats.
Becker sighs again.
Hilary holds her hands up in brief surrender. “Okay, okay. So what next? I mean,” she continues, when both men stare at her, “it's apparently just the four of us until your boss pulls his finger out. There's one cre – dinosaur secure in a tumble dryer and – what was it you said we're to look for?”
“An anomaly.” Becker watches Hilary, his face inscrutable.
Okay. “And how do we find that?”
Becker shakes his head. “Normally there's a portable detector, but I lost my last one.”
“You? Careless?” Giles makes a dismissive noise, but quickly shushes when Becker glares at him. He turns around to the front window, where Hilary realises a few more revellers are watching the group with obvious interest. Before anyone can say anything, Giles slips out of the launderette and speaks to the spectators, gesticulating firmly.
It works – they move on, and Giles comes back inside. He glances at Becker briefly, but says nothing.
“So how else do we find it?” Hilary asks. “Is it, I don't know – can you see it? Does it make a noise?”
“It's magnetic,” Becker says quickly, snapping his fingers. “Throws compasses haywire. Um... it's visible, very visible. Like shards of light in mid-air.”
“And it's in here somewhere,” Giles guesses.
“Has to be,” Becker nods. “Might even be in one of the machines.”
“So let's start looking,” Hilary tells him.
Becker's mouth quirks. “Yes, ma'am.”
Hilary starts checking inside each of the washing machines and tumble dryers. Giles snoops around at the back of the area while Becker opens his case and starts putting a very big gun together.
“So,” Hilary says, because this is just too weird to be a practical joke. “Dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs,” Becker confirms.
At the far end of the launderette Giles makes a choking noise but says nothing.
“Do I even want know how long this has been going on?” If it's longer than tonight, which is remarkably likely, given Becker's reaction to everything that's happened already, Hilary suspects a cover up of the very highest order.
“Probably not.” Becker makes a shaking motion with his gun, which makes the unmistakeable noise that means it's loaded and ready to fire.
“I think it's just a baby,” Haia says. Everyone turns to face her and Hilary realises she's been sneaking brief peeks inside the dryer. “What?” she asks defensively. “I watch documentaries, okay? Not an expert but that – that is not a grown up dinosaur.”
By rights this should be surreal. And bordering on insane. Hilary's half expecting men in white coats to show up any second. Instead, she asks: “Have you ever seen the Loch Ness Monster?”
“Not personally,” Becker replies. “But I've been told it's only a matter of time – no pun intended.”
Hilary covers her mouth to stop herself from laughing hysterically.
“Hilary,” Giles begins.
“Giles,” Becker replies.
“That time you and the ginger bloke skipped out on the family barbecue.” Giles fixes Becker with a stare, who capitulates with a sigh.
“Velociraptors,” he replies. Then: “Breathe one word of this to Mum and I will have you arrested and locked up for the rest of your life.”
“The rhinoceros at Heathrow Airport,” Haia says. “No way they get a dinosaur guy in for an escaped rhino.”
“G-rex,” Becker tells her.
Haia stares at him. “You were there.”
He nods.
“Shit,” she breathes. “There really is a cover up going on.”
“Yes,” Becker says. “I hear it beats the alternative.”
“Well, yeah.” Haia glances back at the now closed dryer door. “But still.”
“But nothing,” Giles interrupts. “That's the way things work, all right?”
Hilary frowns, and is on the verge of asking whether the brothers work together when Becker shakes his head quickly at her.
“Big floaty light show?” Giles continues. “Bit like a disco ball but without the wires?”
“Yes.” Becker all but leaps over the machines between him and his brother. “That's the anomaly.”
Hilary joins them, and Haia follows her. It turns out Becker's description was surprisingly accurate. The anomaly is small, smaller than Becker had made it sound, but it's like a miniature explosion of light swirling around in mid-air, about a foot away from the fire exit.
It's beautiful.
And luckily for them the creature had chosen to come the other way, through the rest of the launderette.
Becker trains his gun on the centre of the anomaly.
“We need to get the creature back through,” Hilary decides. “If that's how it got here in the first place.”
“It is,” Becker confirms quietly.
Hilary stares at him for a few seconds. “Come on,” she tells Giles. “Give me a hand with this sheet.”
“Going to bundle the thing through?” he asks.
“Got any better ideas?”
“Plenty.” Giles pulls a face. “Nothing that will get a real life dinosaur back to its home though a time portal, though.”
Yeah. It's been that kind of an evening.
Between them Hilary and Giles manoeuvre the bed-sheet so it forms a sort of cocoon around the tumble dryer door, which Haia leans over and opens. She pulls back quickly, just as the little dinosaur's face pokes out. It looks around, still chittering away. It doesn't sound the least bit impressed with what it's been forced to put up with in the 21st century, but it pulls its head back inside the dryer and then leaps out, bouncing and rolling down the material.
Giles steps closer to Hilary, holding his end of the sheet further up to stop the creature from escaping.
Hilary eyes their route to the anomaly. It's short, but not without its obstacles, and she and Giles end up side-stepping the entire way, as much to keep the dinosaur's discomfort to a minimum as anything else. Half on autopilot she thinks about the paperwork she'd have to fill out if this was a normal work occurrence for her, and it's almost enough to make her laugh, although she does get three funny looks for the half-snort that comes out instead.
Getting the dinosaur out of the cocoon and through the anomaly is trickier than it looks. It's Haia who steps in, rolling her eyes and muttering something about desk jockeys under her breath. She motions for Hilary and Giles to step away from each other, which pulls the sheet tauter and brings the dinosaur roughly level with the anomaly. When it shows no sign of making that one final leap, Haia crouches down and cups her hands just underneath the creature. Then, without warning she jerks her hands up.
The dinosaur screeches, but bounces through the anomaly, which pulses and makes a slight high-pitched noise.
“Nicely done,” Becker says, his gun still trained on the anomaly, “Miss...”
“Skurla.” Haia sounds bemused. “Haia Skurla.”
“Downright boring compared to these two,” Giles comments. “Hilary and Hilary.”
“You mean Hilary Becker and Hilary Becker.” Haia rubs the back of her neck. “Bloody hell, though.”
“Yeah,” Giles says, and Hilary nods.
The anomaly continues to swirl and pulse.
Becker's fabled back-up arrives half an hour later. The adrenaline has worn off, but despite being almost dead on their feet, Haia and Giles are keeping watch at the front of the launderette while Hilary hangs back with Becker.
The anomaly is still going strong – whether it's actually supposed to do that or not isn't something Hilary think she wants to know the answer to – and as long as it's still going Becker doesn't appear to want to move an inch.
Hilary keeps half an ear on the growing commotion at the front of the launderette and stretches out against the wall. “So you hunt dinosaurs.”
“I think we've already established that one, yes.” Becker sounds fairly neutral, which Hilary supposes is a good thing.
“And we share a name.”
“So it would seem.”
Hilary laughs sharply. “I'm guessing the name thing doesn't bother you, what with the day job and all that.”
Becker shrugs. “Everything's relative.”
“I am sorry,” Hilary says, “about your friends.” She's been staring at the centre of the anomaly just long enough that she thinks she knows how so many people can either be killed or go missing in a short space of time.
“Me too.”
“And you're still working there.” Wherever one hunted dinosaurs from. Hilary's imagining something like a pimped out warehouse or a government lab. Nothing would surprise her any more.
“We were lucky tonight,” Becker tells her. “One juvenile creature in an already-contained location.”
Hilary wants to know what constitutes unlucky. She can probably guess, though – and it really is Nothing Good.
“Excuse me, miss,” someone says from Hilary's far side. She turns and sees a soldier carrying two metal suitcases. He nods to Becker, and waits for Hilary to stand up and move to one side. He parks the cases in front of the anomaly and pulls out parts of what look like a kid's Meccano set, which he swiftly assembles into one... thing. He points it at the anomaly and hits a button.
Instantly the anomaly closes in on itself so it's just a floating ball as opposed to the light show Hilary had been mesmerised by up to that point.
Becker finally drops his weapon to his side, breathing heavily and he looks tired. Part of that's probably because it's somehow after midnight, but also everything Hilary thinks has been going on but knows she shouldn't ask anything else about.
“Come on,” he tells Hilary. “Now we can leave.”
Hilary follows him out of the launderette, where she sees Haia and Giles talking to someone new – clearly not military, but someone they're all deferring to. In the dim street lights she can just about make out the pinstripes as he shoos Haia and Giles away.
“Ah,” he says loudly. “The second half of our intrepid field team.”
Hilary frowns.
“Sir,” Becker says. “None of this was intended, I -”
“Well, of course not,” the man replies.
“Leave him out of this, all right?” On an intellectual level, Hilary knows she's the one talking, but she can't stop herself. “If you're going to blame anyone, blame us. We're the ones who refused to just up and leave him when there was a – whatever the hell that thing was.”
“Hilary,” Becker says quietly.
“No,” she tells him. “No, I bloody won't. Look, I will sign whatever you want me to sign, promise to never tell a living soul if that's your thing, but you don't blame Becker for any of this, all right?”
The man just stands there, hands folded behind his back. “Are you quite finished?”
Hilary takes a breath. “I think so, yes.”
The man smirks. “What a delightful young friend you've got here,” he tells Becker. “Tell me,” he continues, turning back to Hilary, “you seem to be a remarkably forthright civilian with strong opinions and ideals, not to mention unintentional first hand experience of something that has potentially long lasting repercussions on national security. I suppose you'll be wanting a job out of all of this.”
What? Hilary stares at him. “No,” she says slowly. “I'm good where I am, thanks.”
The man sighs. “What a refreshing change. I'd keep this one around if I were you, Becker.”
“Rather defeats the point of not hiring her,” Becker retorts.
“I'm sorry, what was that?”
“I said 'yes sir'.”
“Good. That's what I thought I heard.” The man glances between Becker and Hilary a few more times. “As you were.” He walks off towards a dark car.
Hilary watches him get inside. “Is he always like that?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
The car drives off. “You poor bastard.”
“Pretty much. So,” Becker turns to her, “what exactly do you do that beats hunting dinosaurs?”
Despite herself, Hilary grins. “Health, Safety and Environment Manager for the Co-operative.”
The look on Becker's face is a picture.
Hilary ends up signing two different versions of the Official Secrets Act, along with Haia and Giles – who doesn't have anything to do professionally with his brother, it turns out. She'd have liked to think that was the end of it, except for the part where Haia left a DVD collection of Walking With Dinosaurs on her desk the first morning they were back at work, and she and Becker started slipping into something actually resembling a friendship.
She kind of gets it though. He's been through a lot of crap, most of which he can't tell anyone outside of work, and she has quite literally been there. Sort of. Whatever a lone baby dinosaur in a London launderette qualifies as, at least.
If nothing else it qualifies for movie night once a week and the occasional drink here and there depending on how much either of them want to rage against the world.
And from what she hears, Haia and Giles have come to a similar arrangement.
Work is something that is reliably consistent, however – for Hilary, at least. Four days after she helped repatriate said lone baby dinosaur in said London launderette, work is back to its usual clusterbomb of disaster upon disaster.
She takes to it all with a smile and a calm demeanour that she's pretty sure is freaking most of her colleagues out. The rest are probably one step away from either sabotage or a betting pool to see when she'll finally break.
Hilary genuinely doesn't get the fuss, though. Standing there one morning, listening to a customer talk at her non-stop about how poorly signed the temporary on-site toilets are, Hilary finds it remarkably easy to smile, nod, and make soothing noises.
And she keeps reminding herself how much worse it all could be.
It could be dinosaurs.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-09-16 04:10 pm (UTC)And yay for Becker making friends outside of work.
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Date: 2011-09-16 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 04:21 pm (UTC)Because yes, clearly torturing Becker is fun. But at least he made a friend. :oP Aaawwww.
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Date: 2011-09-16 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 06:31 pm (UTC)oh yes...or worse.
>“Bit of a specialist field, I take it?” Haia asks.
>“You have no idea,” Becker replies.
:)
Haia and Hilary are a hoot - bloody great ladies.
and this is an excellent installment in your ongoing series.
though I kept picturing Connor overhearing lines like "Mrs. Becker""Mr. Becker" and wondering when they got married.
my Mary muse says "good to hear he's finally seeing someone."
EDIT: at first, when she saw something in the laundry, I thought it was Rex.
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Date: 2011-09-16 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-17 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-17 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-17 02:20 pm (UTC)I love the OCs in this and the bit about the Loch Ness Monster made me grin.
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Date: 2011-09-17 06:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-18 07:44 pm (UTC)I was on the edge of my seat *g*
Oh my, I think I'm all caught up. :( Thanks for a lovely read tonight! \o/
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Date: 2011-09-18 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-28 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-28 04:58 pm (UTC)