I'll be damned. I'm writing fic again! First time since my Christmas fic several months back. Woo!
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Abby/Becker/Connor (though only very vague references to the triad)
Story: Purpose
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-series 5. References events therein.
Author's Note: Occupies a spot in my Both Worlds universe, shortly after Order and Chaos.
Summary: With Prospero's involvement in the ARC over, Connor's feeling a bit lost.
Purpose
“I guess that’s it, then.” Connor looked back at the building as they drove away from it. “Just as soon as I’d got used to this new ARC, we’ve gone.”
Becker glanced up at him in the rear-view mirror. “Does seem a bit strange. Lots of memories there. Good and bad.”
Abby, sat next to Becker up front, nodded, reaching back to pat Connor’s knee. “I’m sure we’ll make good memories at the new one, though.”
“Yeah.” Connor’s voice was low and soft. The chaos of the last two weeks had kept him from really feeling the loss, though looking at the dark building behind them had triggered a feeling he wasn’t at all comfortable with.
In the wake of the destruction of New Dawn, the government had decided that the public-private partnership with Prospero had been a terrible idea. Philip’s nephew—a smart, if somewhat aloof young man who had headed the company’s finance division—had taken over Prospero, but agreed with the minister’s decision. As it was, the company’s stock had plummeted with the news of its founder and CEO’s death, and he was looking to cut costs wherever possible. The ARC, with all its financial drain, was deemed an unnecessary money sink.
So, over the past weeks, the team packed up, set up the new facility—distracted only by one simple anomaly call—and were now on their way to settle in at ARC 3.0.
Logically, Connor knew he should feel relieved. The government infused so much new money into the project that they could afford to hire new staff—including enough people to comprise a proper B team--which meant more time off. And without working two jobs, Connor's own time wasn't in demand so much, either. Once they were properly settled in at the new place, he’d likely have an almost normal schedule, with plenty of time to spend with Abby and Becker. No need for staying late with April. No need to hole up in his office at home, coding well into the night. No need to be ready to answer any questions Philip might have.
But maybe that was the problem: there was no need for him.
He looked back and forth between the other two. They were grinning at each other, chatting amiably, and generally looked quite content. Abby had overseen the construction of the new creature-containment facility, and the transport of its occupants. Becker had overseen hiring and training of the new security teams. Connor, though? He’d mostly sat around while Jess and the tech team set up the monitoring systems. Eventually, Jess told him to go home and get some rest instead of hovering over everyone else.
The bulk of Connor’s recent work had been a colossal failure, and he was left with … what, really? The team didn’t need his dinosaur knowledge—they had half a dozen proper paleontologists on staff. They didn’t need his tech expertise—the new system was built from the ground up, on new specs from someone else. And as everyone was fond of reminding him, he still wasn’t all that useful in the field. It was like coming back home from the Cretaceous all over again. Sure, he was technically employed, but he didn’t have a purpose in this brave, new world. He didn’t have the purpose Philip had given him.
He winced again with the uncomfortable combination of grief and regret. He’d spent years trying to impress Cutter, and then to live up to the responsibility he’d been given. Then he worked so hard to please Philip, only to have his hard work—and the man he was working so hard to please—literally come crashing down before his eyes.
He knew, of course, that he was loved and appreciated at home. He knew he’d been forgiven for his lapse in judgement. But beyond that, Connor was left with a sense of uselessness he was having a very hard time combating. Without some way to use his brain, he felt like a clumsy child. And without someone he respected to work for, he wondered if there was a point to him working at all. With the shared living expenses, his paycheck wasn’t necessary. Maybe he could consider his career closed for now. Take up something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with anomalies or creatures or memories of the men who, like his father, had ultimately left him to fend for himself.
Becker seemed to have noticed that he’d gone quiet. “Connor?” He looked up in the mirror again, hazel eyes meeting deep brown. “Y’OK?”
Connor smiled weakly. “I will be. Just … stuff.”
Abby shifted in her seat, squirming around to look back at him. Becker knew him well, but she knew him better. After a quick scan of his face, she smiled sympathetically. “You know I hated him, but I get it. I know you miss Philip.”
Connor’s breath hitched. “Yeah. I do. I didn’t realize how … misguided … he was. But …” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s not really him I miss. Maybe it’s just what I thought he was—what I wanted him to be.” His eyes burned with a sudden rush of tears, and he rubbed them away. “I think he meant well—at the end. He did ultimately try to make things better, even if he died doing it. I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been. If we could’ve reached him somehow—made him see where he’d gone wrong. With a mind like his, he really could have done amazing things, but now he’s gone, and that’s all lost.”
Abby reached back for him, clutching his trembling hand in her small, soft one. “But is it, though?” She asked quietly.
Connor frowned at her, and sniffled. “What do you mean?”
“All those hours you spent working with him. They weren’t wasted.”
“Of course they were. All my … New Dawn. All that was a big mistake, and it’s gone now, anyway.” He stared down at the ring on her finger, taking some comfort from knowing what it meant.
“OK, so New Dawn’s gone.” She shrugged. “That wasn’t the only thing you ever talked about with him though, is it?”
“No. Why?”
“So, you learned from him. He didn’t completely die—not the good parts, at least. He gave you more knowledge. He passed it on to you. You can continue a lot of the work he did without doing it, well, for the wrong reasons.” She gently stroked his hand.
Becker piped up, “She’s right. Philp’s fatal flaw, as I see it, is that he worked to make the world admire him. You don’t do that. You work to make the world a better place. Yes, you get an ego boost when you do something well—as anyone would—but that’s not why you do it.”
Connor thought on that for a moment. “Maybe. But … well, it’s kind of pointless now, I guess. I feel like maybe I should quit working. It’s not like my skills are really needed, now.”
“They’re not?” Becker pulled up to a traffic light and turned, looking at him with a serious expression. “I think they’re needed now more than ever. OK, so the detection system and the anomaly lockers are all perfectly fine in other hands, now. And so the anomaly generating tech’s probably best left alone. Fine. Last I checked, there was far more to what our team does than that, though.”
“Like?”
Abby huffed a frustrated sigh. “Connor, don’t be daft. Remember what Cutter was originally trying to do: find out why the anomalies happen in the first place and try to stop them.”
A sharp thrill went up Connor’s back. “That’s true. And after the convergence, with them opening up all over the world so often, it’s even more important that we figure out what the hell is happening.”
Becker nodded. “Precisely.” The light turned green, and they started moving again, heading for the motorway that led home. “Connor, I get that you’re feeling a little lost without, well, a mentor to work for. But here’s the thing: that’s you, now. You’re the Cutter. You’re the Philip. You’re the one who the entire anomaly research team looks up to. Somewhere in there is someone who is just as young and confused as you were five years ago—someone who very much needs your expertise and guidance. Are you going to be there to give it?”
He felt a flush creep across his cheeks, and his tears dried up. They were right—though it was a little embarassing to think about it that way. There were some young people on the team—some new ones, even, who had been hired as part of the expansion—who would need him. Darcy, the math whiz with the blue hair and nose ring. Arturo, the spectral analysis wonk who listened to opera while he worked. Even young Samala, excited to be on her first internship while she finished her computer science degree, who sent almost all of her paychecks home to her family back in Mumbai. He could see a bit of himself in all of them. And could see how they could all be useful in working on that kind of research—research he’d design.
“OK,” he finally said. “I get it.” He smiled sheepishly.
“Good!” Abby chirped. “Now, if you really want to be useful, I have a job for you.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s your turn to make dinner tonight.”
~End~
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Abby/Becker/Connor (though only very vague references to the triad)
Story: Purpose
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-series 5. References events therein.
Author's Note: Occupies a spot in my Both Worlds universe, shortly after Order and Chaos.
Summary: With Prospero's involvement in the ARC over, Connor's feeling a bit lost.
Purpose
“I guess that’s it, then.” Connor looked back at the building as they drove away from it. “Just as soon as I’d got used to this new ARC, we’ve gone.”
Becker glanced up at him in the rear-view mirror. “Does seem a bit strange. Lots of memories there. Good and bad.”
Abby, sat next to Becker up front, nodded, reaching back to pat Connor’s knee. “I’m sure we’ll make good memories at the new one, though.”
“Yeah.” Connor’s voice was low and soft. The chaos of the last two weeks had kept him from really feeling the loss, though looking at the dark building behind them had triggered a feeling he wasn’t at all comfortable with.
In the wake of the destruction of New Dawn, the government had decided that the public-private partnership with Prospero had been a terrible idea. Philip’s nephew—a smart, if somewhat aloof young man who had headed the company’s finance division—had taken over Prospero, but agreed with the minister’s decision. As it was, the company’s stock had plummeted with the news of its founder and CEO’s death, and he was looking to cut costs wherever possible. The ARC, with all its financial drain, was deemed an unnecessary money sink.
So, over the past weeks, the team packed up, set up the new facility—distracted only by one simple anomaly call—and were now on their way to settle in at ARC 3.0.
Logically, Connor knew he should feel relieved. The government infused so much new money into the project that they could afford to hire new staff—including enough people to comprise a proper B team--which meant more time off. And without working two jobs, Connor's own time wasn't in demand so much, either. Once they were properly settled in at the new place, he’d likely have an almost normal schedule, with plenty of time to spend with Abby and Becker. No need for staying late with April. No need to hole up in his office at home, coding well into the night. No need to be ready to answer any questions Philip might have.
But maybe that was the problem: there was no need for him.
He looked back and forth between the other two. They were grinning at each other, chatting amiably, and generally looked quite content. Abby had overseen the construction of the new creature-containment facility, and the transport of its occupants. Becker had overseen hiring and training of the new security teams. Connor, though? He’d mostly sat around while Jess and the tech team set up the monitoring systems. Eventually, Jess told him to go home and get some rest instead of hovering over everyone else.
The bulk of Connor’s recent work had been a colossal failure, and he was left with … what, really? The team didn’t need his dinosaur knowledge—they had half a dozen proper paleontologists on staff. They didn’t need his tech expertise—the new system was built from the ground up, on new specs from someone else. And as everyone was fond of reminding him, he still wasn’t all that useful in the field. It was like coming back home from the Cretaceous all over again. Sure, he was technically employed, but he didn’t have a purpose in this brave, new world. He didn’t have the purpose Philip had given him.
He winced again with the uncomfortable combination of grief and regret. He’d spent years trying to impress Cutter, and then to live up to the responsibility he’d been given. Then he worked so hard to please Philip, only to have his hard work—and the man he was working so hard to please—literally come crashing down before his eyes.
He knew, of course, that he was loved and appreciated at home. He knew he’d been forgiven for his lapse in judgement. But beyond that, Connor was left with a sense of uselessness he was having a very hard time combating. Without some way to use his brain, he felt like a clumsy child. And without someone he respected to work for, he wondered if there was a point to him working at all. With the shared living expenses, his paycheck wasn’t necessary. Maybe he could consider his career closed for now. Take up something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with anomalies or creatures or memories of the men who, like his father, had ultimately left him to fend for himself.
Becker seemed to have noticed that he’d gone quiet. “Connor?” He looked up in the mirror again, hazel eyes meeting deep brown. “Y’OK?”
Connor smiled weakly. “I will be. Just … stuff.”
Abby shifted in her seat, squirming around to look back at him. Becker knew him well, but she knew him better. After a quick scan of his face, she smiled sympathetically. “You know I hated him, but I get it. I know you miss Philip.”
Connor’s breath hitched. “Yeah. I do. I didn’t realize how … misguided … he was. But …” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s not really him I miss. Maybe it’s just what I thought he was—what I wanted him to be.” His eyes burned with a sudden rush of tears, and he rubbed them away. “I think he meant well—at the end. He did ultimately try to make things better, even if he died doing it. I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been. If we could’ve reached him somehow—made him see where he’d gone wrong. With a mind like his, he really could have done amazing things, but now he’s gone, and that’s all lost.”
Abby reached back for him, clutching his trembling hand in her small, soft one. “But is it, though?” She asked quietly.
Connor frowned at her, and sniffled. “What do you mean?”
“All those hours you spent working with him. They weren’t wasted.”
“Of course they were. All my … New Dawn. All that was a big mistake, and it’s gone now, anyway.” He stared down at the ring on her finger, taking some comfort from knowing what it meant.
“OK, so New Dawn’s gone.” She shrugged. “That wasn’t the only thing you ever talked about with him though, is it?”
“No. Why?”
“So, you learned from him. He didn’t completely die—not the good parts, at least. He gave you more knowledge. He passed it on to you. You can continue a lot of the work he did without doing it, well, for the wrong reasons.” She gently stroked his hand.
Becker piped up, “She’s right. Philp’s fatal flaw, as I see it, is that he worked to make the world admire him. You don’t do that. You work to make the world a better place. Yes, you get an ego boost when you do something well—as anyone would—but that’s not why you do it.”
Connor thought on that for a moment. “Maybe. But … well, it’s kind of pointless now, I guess. I feel like maybe I should quit working. It’s not like my skills are really needed, now.”
“They’re not?” Becker pulled up to a traffic light and turned, looking at him with a serious expression. “I think they’re needed now more than ever. OK, so the detection system and the anomaly lockers are all perfectly fine in other hands, now. And so the anomaly generating tech’s probably best left alone. Fine. Last I checked, there was far more to what our team does than that, though.”
“Like?”
Abby huffed a frustrated sigh. “Connor, don’t be daft. Remember what Cutter was originally trying to do: find out why the anomalies happen in the first place and try to stop them.”
A sharp thrill went up Connor’s back. “That’s true. And after the convergence, with them opening up all over the world so often, it’s even more important that we figure out what the hell is happening.”
Becker nodded. “Precisely.” The light turned green, and they started moving again, heading for the motorway that led home. “Connor, I get that you’re feeling a little lost without, well, a mentor to work for. But here’s the thing: that’s you, now. You’re the Cutter. You’re the Philip. You’re the one who the entire anomaly research team looks up to. Somewhere in there is someone who is just as young and confused as you were five years ago—someone who very much needs your expertise and guidance. Are you going to be there to give it?”
He felt a flush creep across his cheeks, and his tears dried up. They were right—though it was a little embarassing to think about it that way. There were some young people on the team—some new ones, even, who had been hired as part of the expansion—who would need him. Darcy, the math whiz with the blue hair and nose ring. Arturo, the spectral analysis wonk who listened to opera while he worked. Even young Samala, excited to be on her first internship while she finished her computer science degree, who sent almost all of her paychecks home to her family back in Mumbai. He could see a bit of himself in all of them. And could see how they could all be useful in working on that kind of research—research he’d design.
“OK,” he finally said. “I get it.” He smiled sheepishly.
“Good!” Abby chirped. “Now, if you really want to be useful, I have a job for you.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s your turn to make dinner tonight.”
~End~