ebonyfeather (ebonyfeather) wrote,

FIC: Walking Wounded

Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Lester / Danny
Word Count: 413
Summary: For Fredbassett’s primeval denial fandom stocking, using the prompt “Fucking hell, that really hurts”

Walking wounded

To say that Danny and Lester caused a few whispers when they entered the ARC that morning was an understatement. Not that they were together; that particular cat had escaped from the bag, screaming at the top of its lungs, months ago. No, it was the fact that they were an hour late. Lester was never late.

The cause of his tardiness was currently hobbling along slowly on a pair of crutches, one foot heavily strapped up.

Lester was moving alongside him, eyeing him with concern while trying not to appear so, eventually steering him to a chair in the corner of the staff room. He didn’t miss the not-so-subtle glances shared between the team as they passed by, greeting them, but he really wanted Danny to sit down before he fell down. He really shouldn’t have brought him into work this morning but the awkward sod had insisted, threatening to get a taxi if Lester refused to drive him, despite doctor’s orders to stay off his foot for a few days.

Almost at once, the rest of the team followed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, even more so when they caught sight of the bruise that covered most of Danny’s left cheekbone and his black eye. Abby started fussing as Connor jumped up to get him a chair to put his foot up on.

“What the hell happened to you?” Becker demanded.

Danny shrugged his shoulders. “Just an accident,” he told them, avoiding eye contact.

Lester let out a rather undignified snort of amusement before he could stop himself, causing the concerned glances to be directed his way instead.

“Go on, tell them how it happened.”

Danny glared at him. “I tripped while getting out of bed, alright?”

Lester made a ‘carry on’ gesture but, when no more explanation was forthcoming, he added, “He tripped over his own jeans, the ones that he’d dropped on the floor last night,” he said. “The same ones I asked you to tidy up… how many times?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Danny grumbled. He looked up and saw the others watching him. “I sprained my ankle.”

“And the bruise?” Connor asked.

“I hit the wardrobe door on the way down…”

At the badly disguised amusement around him, Danny sighed. “It bloody hurt and do I get any sympathy? No. Just laughed at. You’re as bad a James.”

Lester handed him a mug of tea and some painkillers. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”


Tags: danny quinn / james lester, fiction: slash, tv: primeval

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