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Recovery	By : nicholasdevilance Category: M through R > Primeval Views: 2054 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Primeval and all of it's characters and plot devices are owned by Impossible Pictures. I make no profit from usage of them.

Chapter List
- 1-Recovery
- 1
“Don’t you have any friends to go annoy?”

Lester’s voice was ringing about his head the entire time. Since he’d stormed out of the flat, tears burning in his eyes, all Connor could hear in his head were those harsh words. It hurt so much more than it should have. He knew that Lester wasn’t exactly the most sociable or amicable person to be around, but seriously… Tonight he was being just plain mean. The whole day had just been bad; it had started off with Connor stubbing his toe, which was always a bad omen. Then, the anomaly detector went on the fritz—took Connor four hours of non-stop work and he’d missed his lunch break—and then Becker got pissed at him for tripping an alarm and causing a full-out lockdown of the entire facility. As soon as he got home, Lester snapped at him about something trivial, which had grown into a complete argument.
Immediately, Connor thought about Tom’s death, how his body had felt like it had been hallowed out and filled with fast-drying cement. Duncan wouldn’t speak to him anymore. He thought about watching Cutter die in his arms and the lingering hole it had left in his heart. He thought about how he was manipulated and betrayed by Caroline. He thought of how Abby had no problem having him out of the flat for her deadbeat, gambling-addict brother who didn’t give a shit about her. A lump formed in his throat and he knew that if he tried to speak the sea of pain that was washing around inside of him would come pouring out.

“Not really, no!” he snapped back, the pain of fresh tears burning at the back of his eyes and the bridge of his nose, “All of my friends have either died or won’t speak to me, or turn out not to be my fucking friends in the first place and it’s all because of this stupid, fucking job! So, just…fuck you!”

He turned around as fast as he could, pressed his fist against his eye to try and stop the flow as he ran out. Behind him, he thought he heard Lester yell after him, but he just kept going.

In his anger, frustration, and all-out despair, he stopped and slammed his fist into the closest thing to him over and over again. He didn’t stop punching the light-post until his knuckles were bleeding, then he spun around, kicked the ground, slammed his back into the metal pole and slid down to the ground where he melted into a blob of helpless sobs. His chest felt like it was about to explode with the force of everything building up inside that just needed to get out. In his entire life, things had never gotten this bad. Before he plunged head first and willing into saving the world from an evolutionary implosion, he never hurt this bad. He didn’t think he could handle it.

Sometimes, bad things happened, but why did these things happen? Why did they have to happen to him? He had lost so much, so many people in just a few years. Everything was crashing down on his head, pressing him further and further, making him smaller and smaller. For what felt like hours, he sat there and cried until his throat was so sore no sound came out and his eyes dried up. Then, he just sat for even longer, not doing anything. There was nothing he could do. Nothing would make him better.

Eventually, it numbed to the point where he could get up again, shakily dusting off his pants. He figured that he should probably go back to Lester’s and apologize for cursing at him like that. The man had had a pretty stressful day himself, dealing with all of the chaos that Connor had caused and then an unexpected arrival of our dearly, beloved Christine Johnson. The argument was stupid and pointless, and it was cold outside. He just wanted to go home.

“Hey, buddy, can ya spare some change?”

Turning, Connor wiped some dribble from his nose on his sleeve. A man had approached him. A very foul-smelling, grungy man had tapped him on the shoulder and spoke to him, but it took him a few minutes to register his request through all of his pain. “What? Oh,” he said, patting his pockets, “No, sorry. I don’t have anything on me.”

The homeless man looked a little disheartened. “Well…thank you for the thought. God bless.” A little dejected, he turned around and wobbled over to his spot on the doorstep he’d been sitting on before. It always hurt to be approached by the less fortunate and not be able to help.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, the quiver starting to fade from his voice. “Have a nice night.” Connor turned again, and almost stumbled over a petite, well-built woman looking up at him. She was smiling, and yet shivering in the cold night. Waves of her black hair flowed around her, blocking the golden street light from her face. Still, there was something extremely alluring about her, something that had Connor just staring. The fact that she was staring back didn’t help.

“Do you think I could use your mobile?”

“Ah…sorry. I don’t have that either.” In his hurry to get out before he broke down in front of Lester, he’d forgotten to grab his cell phone. “I got nothing; I haven’t even got my keys.”

“That so?”

Something in that tone ran chills down Connor’s spine. “Uh—Yeah…” He looked up, uncertainly, and a massive pain flared up from his temple. As he fell to the ground, his last thought was about calling Lester to help him.

Saturday morning dawned rather dimly. Lester awoke, sitting up on his sofa, with an empty, coffee-stained mug in his hand. Vaguely, he was aware that something wasn’t right about this, but his mind was too sleep-ridden to really think about it. There was a sharp pain in his back when he tried to move, so he leaned back into the pillows. He must have told Connor a thousand times not to sit on these pillows, yet here he was, falling asleep on them.

…Connor…

Suddenly, he was well-roused. Last night, he’d neglected to go to bed; instead he thought he’d wait for the young man to come back. There were a lot of harsh words and while Lester wasn’t one to apologize under normal circumstances, he was willing to admit when he was wrong, and…he had said some things that he probably shouldn’t have. He looked around for any evidence that Connor had returned. The messy corner of the living room that had been set up as a makeshift work station was completely untouched.

“Damn it,” Lester muttered.

Getting up, he adjusted his rather rumpled shirt and went to put his mug in the kitchen. After a slight hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The number he sought was in the contacts.

It rang for a long time before going to voicemail. “Hey, you’ve reached Connor. Can’t answer my phone right now, so drop me a message, yeah?”

Lester sighed and waited for the tone. “Connor,” he began, slowly, “I need to—well, I just think we need to talk. I’m…sorry about what happened. If you still want to—you know…come back, I’ll…just, call me when you get this.”

With a beep, he ended the call, but he wasn’t satisfied with just that. Sure, the man probably had every right and inclination to ignore his call, but Lester was nothing if not persistent. Quickly, he hit redial and waited through the rings again. It went back to voicemail faster this time. Lester decided that he would call one more time and let it be if Connor really didn’t want to speak with him. While he was listening to the rings again, counting them, he noticed a flashing light out of the corner of his eye. He turned.

There, on Connor’s little, work desk, sat the flashing screen of Connor’s mobile, alerting him that “Boss Man” was calling. It even had a picture that Lester was sure had been taken when Connor was supposed to be working. He went over and picked up the phone before clicking his own off. For a moment, he just stared at the little phone, letting it sink in.

“He left his mobile,” he mumbled, as if saying it would make it a bit more believable. Upon further inspection of the work space—if that was indeed the proper name for this war zone—he noted that both the key to the front door and Connor’s hand-held detector were here as well. On a whim, he returned Connor’s things to their places and dialed a different number.

It picked up almost immediately. “Miss Maitland?” he addressed her.

“Lester? Isn’t it Saturday?”

“Yes, this isn’t about work,” he assured, “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Connor since last night?”

“Connor?” A little surprised, Abby went from sounding like she’d just woken up to suddenly getting dressed. “Is something wrong? Isn’t here there with you?” She was just very quick on the uptake, wasn’t she?

“Ah, no, actually he’s not…” Was there any way to say this without it sounding like a soap opera cliché? He decided not and just went for broke. “He and I, we had an argument last night and he left rather unstable. He forgot to take his mobile, so I can’t call him. I just wondered if maybe he’d gone to yours, seemed like something he’d do.”

With a long hesitation, Abby must have been thinking really hard about that. Then there was movement from her end. “I don’t think so, but he might’ve come in when I was asleep, I guess…Yeah, no. He’s not here. Has he been gone all night?”

“Yes…”

“Do you think maybe he’s at the ARC? Or should we call Becker? What if he’s hurt?”

“Listen, don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. It wouldn’t help any sort of situation if he got all worried over something that might turn out to be nothing. “I’m sure he’s fine. I will go check the ARC and if he’s not there, I will alert the captain.”

“Yeah, I’ll call Danny, you never know. Connor could be with him.”

“Yes, do that…and Abby.” With a deep breath, Lester schooled his tone and settled the tiny hint of anxiety that was fluttering about in his chest. “Do call if you hear from him?”

There was silence on the other line, Lester almost thought that she’d hung up already. Then, he heard the distinct sound of a chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll do that. And don’t you worry either, Lester. We’ll find him.”

Rolling his eyes, Lester ended the call. As he went into his room to change into clothes that didn’t smell like he’d trudge through the Primordial swamp or whatever it was called, he couldn’t help thinking that it felt a bit awkward not to have the other man taking up the bathroom.

It was dark and cold, and he was aware that he was lying back on something rough and uncomfortable. He didn’t move. As his senses slowly came back to him, he noted that his arms were bare, as was his chest and legs and…crap, he was completely naked. Shivers racked through him with sudden force but he still didn’t move. Something wasn’t right about this—what was right about this? Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and attempted to look around, but there was next to no light in the room, no windows, he couldn’t even see a door. A sharp pain shot up his spine, enough to make him whimper quietly, but he still didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

“Where…am…I?” His voice was soft, breathy, and he couldn’t manage much more than that.

“Oh you’re awake!”

Alarmed, he tried to turn his head to the side, but it simply lolled over on its own. He didn’t recognize that voice, but it sounded kind and distinctly female. Straining his sight in the dark, all he could see was a blurry, pale blotch where maybe a face would be. It came closer and he trembled, trying to will himself to move, to get away.

“No,” the voice said, “You won’t be able to move, so I wouldn’t suggest tryin’.” Gentle fingers reached out and stroked his forehead. “We don’t want ya runnin’ off and hurtin’ yourself, do we?”

“We…?” he swallowed the build-up of saliva that was slicking his tongue. “…who?”

“What’s ya name?”

She kept touching him, reassuring brushes over his hair and face, always gentle and somewhat loving. It was nice, to be honest. The cold had seeped into his very bones leaving a sharp ache there, but her hands were warm and soft. Still…he didn’t know who she was, or even where he was. Part of the fuzzy remnants of his conscious mid told him not to be stupid, to think about what exactly was going on here. He was stark naked, paralyzed, in a windowless, doorless cell. Something about that just didn’t seem right. He tried to clench his fist, but all he managed to do was twitch his fingers a little.

“David,” he lied.

Smiling somewhat sadly, the pale blob leaned over him a bit. Then, she took both of her hands away and slammed one, closed fist, into his nose. His dry throat let out a hoarse cry and tears welled up in his eyes at the pain, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. He couldn’t even reach up to hold back the blood flowing down his face. Fear welled up inside of him, quickening his heart and pushing a sob up his throat.

As if nothing had happened, she started stroking his hair again, tender, little movements that were meant to comfort him. “Le’s make a deal,” she said affectionately, “I won’t ever do that again if ya promise not to lie to me again, yeah?”

Shaky breaths worked their way up and out, blood trickling back into his nose and out down his lips. He could taste it, metallic on his tongue, coating his throat. “Okay,” he whined, “I’m…sorry.”

“So…what’s ya name?”

“Connor.”

Testing it out, she repeated it a few times. “It’s nice,” she told him kindly. “My name’s Anita. Kinda weird, eh?”

Hoping not to upset her again, he gave the slightest shake of his head, trying to swallow back some of the blood that was blocking his throat. “No,” he said.

“Are ya scared o’ me, Connor?”

He knew that she could tell. She could feel the way he was shaking under her warm, soft hands, so she knew quite well. The asking as just in formality, or a way to test him, to make sure he understood what the consequences of his actions were. Becker had told him repeatedly that if it ever came down to torture—“God forbid”—don’t let whoever’s doing it to you know that it’s affecting you. The right answer here would have been a sharp “no,” but it was a bold-faced lie. He knew that she knew that and the warm slick oozing over his lips told him what she would do.

“Yes,” he said. He just wasn’t as strong as Becker.

“Well, good then. That’ll keep ya from gettin’ any ideas, eh?”

With that, she patted his hair gently and stood from the box she’d been sitting on. “I have to go now, so ya better be good while I’m gone. Wallace’ll be upstairs, and he’ll hear if ya try an’ be naughty. G’bye, Connor.”

When she’d walked over to the far wall, she knocked in some weird pattern and the room filled with so much light that it blinded Connor. He cried out quietly and tried to turn away as much as his limp body would allow. There were a few loud noises, some hushed conversation and then the sharp slam of a heavy door dropping closed—like a trap door—the light was gone.

Alone, he sorted through his muddy thoughts for some explanation as to what had happened to him. He found none, he couldn’t think straight. All he could remember was yelling. Yelling at Lester, and then he’d run off, into the night with tears on his face. Right now he felt scared, and he wished he hadn’t shouted so much, wished that Lester wouldn’t be angry with him so that the man might come and save him. He cried himself to sleep in the dark and cold room, thinking that even Lester’s couch was more comfortable than this.
- 1
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Recovery