Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Abby/Becker/Connor, Connor/Philip, hints of Becker/Jess, Abby/Matt and Connor/Nick
Story: Splinters
Rating: PG-13 (mild sex references)
Warnings/Spoilers: General early series 5 spoilers. Another big angstfest. Sorry. :(
Author's Note: I don't have a specific place for this yet in my universe's timeline, but it's set vaguely betweem 5x02 and 5x03. Strange tidbit: I actually wrote most of this before I saw anything past 5x01, and am sorta creeped out how accurate some of my guesses were.
Summary: Each of our trio is miserable, but for different reasons.
Splinters
Connor had a recurring nightmare that started when he was 13: his dad, making him run endlessly back and forth across a football pitch, driving him, pushing him, screaming at him. Stopping only when his burning lungs started expelling pink foam, and he passed out.
He wished it had been only a nightmare.
When he died, Connor thought maybe he was finally free, that maybe the endless struggle to please him was over. Instead, all it did was make him ashamed and guilty for never making his father proud, and made his dream self keep trying, ever harder, to finish those sprints like dad wanted.
But then there was Nick. Nick, who breathed life into him just by valuing what he could do. Nick, who, even when he teased or chided him, nonetheless did so with love and affection. Nick, who starred in Connor’s fevered imagination so many nights, though he never knew it. Nick, who believed in him steadily, up until the end.
Connor wondered sometimes what Nick would think of him now. Whether he’d think that this project was the right thing to do, or something dangerous and wrong. But he wasn’t here to give that guidance.
Philip was.
Even though at times he seemed somehow raw and dangerous, every time Philip looked into Connor’s eyes and told him how brilliant he was, it was all right. Even when he asked Connor to do things that seemed dodgy on the surface, Connor did them anyway, knowing there would be a reason for it in the end. And even when his guidance and support started becoming physical, that somehow seemed justified, too.
Connor had jumped the first time, both in shock and because he wasn’t entirely sure it had really happened. But no, it was real: Philip’s hand sliding just a little lower on his back than was purely professional, his fingertips hovering just above the cleft. The next day it was the back of his hand “accidentally” brushing Connor’s crotch. The next, a congratulatory hug that lasted longer than it should have, and connected at the hips.
And then there was now.
His logical mind told him this was wrong. On so, so many levels. The power difference, the professional relationship, the cheating. Connor had drawn a line, at least. Doing this made him uncomfortable enough, and there was no way he'd put his partners at risk by going further. Philip, fortunately, didn't seem interested in crossing that line, but what he did request somehow seemed to Connor like it was supposed to happen. Each time Philip threw his head back and sighed as his pleasure ran over Connor’s hand, it was almost like receiving communion. He was pleasing Philip, making him happy not just with his work, but on a personal level.
He did feel slightly sick every time he came home late, having spent the last hour of his workday in the back of Philip's car, hand pumping away. He shivered every time he crawled back into bed, cuddling up to Abby's back, the hand on her shoulder having just touched someone else. It was becoming steadily more difficult to meet Becker's eyes, or melt into his arms the way he used to. He feared that his lover's keen instincts would somehow sense the truth if they were too close.
Yet, everything else was too important for this to end. The contact with Philip had its own benefits, as well as being a small sacrifice for everything else he was getting from this... collaboration with his idol.
And if nothing else, the nightmares had stopped.
***
Abby hated this. She hated every second of it. She hated hiding what she was doing not only from the man she was investigating, but her other partner as well. It made her feel isolated and alone, triggering all the bad memories all over again.
She also hated Matt, even as he became the only person she could be honest with, because it was he who had made that the case.
“You can’t talk to Connor about this, Abby,” he’d said to her, chiding her after she nearly slipped up. “And you can’t talk to Becker, either.”
She froze, her mouth dropping open.
“Yes, I know,” he said dryly.
“Did Jess…?” She frowned. Or maybe it was one of Becker’s team—those supposedly trustworthy ones maybe not so much after all.
Matt shook his head. “No. Just instinct. Animal behavior, you know? If it wasn’t for the way you lean into him when he’s close, the way Connor squirms when Becker's watching him would tell me. The way he acted with you two after we came back from the bug bomb sort of sealed the deal.”
“Oh.” She looked at the floor.
“Look, I know you love them, but this is bigger than that. Becker wouldn’t understand the importance. All he’d want to do is defend Connor. And that would probably come to ruin all of us in the end.”
She looked away, trying to hold back the humiliated, angry tears.
“Abby, I’m sorry. I wish…” he went quiet. Then he extended a hand to her. Her first instinct was to slap it away, hoping that somehow he'd back off, and stop asking her to violate every sense of loyalty and honesty she'd ever had. But the tone of his voice, and the gentle look in his eyes convinced her otherwise. She sensed that he, too, hated what he was making her do, and that he wanted to somehow make it up to her.
As he pulled her close, she thought that this was what it must feel like to dance with the devil. Yet though she loathed what he asked of her, she took the comfort he offered. It was the only comfort she was going to get.
***
Becker had failed. Again. His job was saving people, and he had failed at it, like he had so many times before.
Sure, they were alive, and that was usually to his credit. But they weren’t well. And nothing—nothing—he did was making it any better.
The more Connor pulled away from them, the more he and Abby pursued, and the more focused Abby got on her primary lover. The nights she’d spent sobbing in Becker’s arms, when he tried desperately to soothe her and give her solace her in any way he could, were growing rarer. Not because she was no longer despondent, but because she’d moved on from finding him a comforting anchor to finding him a only a reminder of whom she was missing.
Instead, she seemed to be turning to Matt, bonding with him as someone as far outside their little circle as possible. Becker knew he had no reason to be jealous, yet he was anyway. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t sleeping with Matt, and that Matt was clearly still stuck on Emily. It mattered only that Abby relied on him and confided in him. Had she actually been sleeping with him, Becker could have understood it, but taking her emotional needs elsewhere was an infidelity that hurt far more.
He knew he wasn’t enough for her. He knew she’d always need Connor, and that everything else she cared about in this world wasn’t going to matter if she didn’t have him. Worse than that, though, was realising that she wasn’t enough for him, either.
He had fallen in love with both of them, and much as he did love them each as a separate person, her without him felt wrong. The person he was so desperately in love with wasn’t Abby or Connor, but Abby and Connor. Together. Not… divided, as they so often were now.
He thought sometimes that maybe he should just leave--find someone else without such baggage and complications. Jess, maybe. Cute, sweet, willing and entirely uncomplicated Jess. She was also probably the only person who’d understand the shattered mental state he’d be in if he left them. He wondered sometimes if she’d sensed it already, flashing him looks of pity and understanding when the others were—yet again—carping at each other. Maybe, he’d thought a time or two, catching himself staring at the swell of her mouth or the rise of her pert arse in those short, short skirts…
But then Connor would finally come home at a reasonable hour, and they wouldn’t talk about why he was usually so late. He’d smile and crack stupid jokes and be… Connor… again. Abby would welcome Connor back, favoring him with casual kisses and touches. And then they’d all fall into bed, in their familiar weave of limbs, and the room would echo with their cries.
For those moments, he could believe that everything was OK, and the relief was far more than physical. The way he felt the mornings after, when they all went their separate ways again, wasn’t yet bad enough to offset that bliss.
So he stayed, even as every day there opened another crack in his heart, desperately hoping that he was strong enough to hold them together until this madness passed.
--End--
Characters: Abby/Becker/Connor, Connor/Philip, hints of Becker/Jess, Abby/Matt and Connor/Nick
Story: Splinters
Rating: PG-13 (mild sex references)
Warnings/Spoilers: General early series 5 spoilers. Another big angstfest. Sorry. :(
Author's Note: I don't have a specific place for this yet in my universe's timeline, but it's set vaguely betweem 5x02 and 5x03. Strange tidbit: I actually wrote most of this before I saw anything past 5x01, and am sorta creeped out how accurate some of my guesses were.
Summary: Each of our trio is miserable, but for different reasons.
Splinters
Connor had a recurring nightmare that started when he was 13: his dad, making him run endlessly back and forth across a football pitch, driving him, pushing him, screaming at him. Stopping only when his burning lungs started expelling pink foam, and he passed out.
He wished it had been only a nightmare.
When he died, Connor thought maybe he was finally free, that maybe the endless struggle to please him was over. Instead, all it did was make him ashamed and guilty for never making his father proud, and made his dream self keep trying, ever harder, to finish those sprints like dad wanted.
But then there was Nick. Nick, who breathed life into him just by valuing what he could do. Nick, who, even when he teased or chided him, nonetheless did so with love and affection. Nick, who starred in Connor’s fevered imagination so many nights, though he never knew it. Nick, who believed in him steadily, up until the end.
Connor wondered sometimes what Nick would think of him now. Whether he’d think that this project was the right thing to do, or something dangerous and wrong. But he wasn’t here to give that guidance.
Philip was.
Even though at times he seemed somehow raw and dangerous, every time Philip looked into Connor’s eyes and told him how brilliant he was, it was all right. Even when he asked Connor to do things that seemed dodgy on the surface, Connor did them anyway, knowing there would be a reason for it in the end. And even when his guidance and support started becoming physical, that somehow seemed justified, too.
Connor had jumped the first time, both in shock and because he wasn’t entirely sure it had really happened. But no, it was real: Philip’s hand sliding just a little lower on his back than was purely professional, his fingertips hovering just above the cleft. The next day it was the back of his hand “accidentally” brushing Connor’s crotch. The next, a congratulatory hug that lasted longer than it should have, and connected at the hips.
And then there was now.
His logical mind told him this was wrong. On so, so many levels. The power difference, the professional relationship, the cheating. Connor had drawn a line, at least. Doing this made him uncomfortable enough, and there was no way he'd put his partners at risk by going further. Philip, fortunately, didn't seem interested in crossing that line, but what he did request somehow seemed to Connor like it was supposed to happen. Each time Philip threw his head back and sighed as his pleasure ran over Connor’s hand, it was almost like receiving communion. He was pleasing Philip, making him happy not just with his work, but on a personal level.
He did feel slightly sick every time he came home late, having spent the last hour of his workday in the back of Philip's car, hand pumping away. He shivered every time he crawled back into bed, cuddling up to Abby's back, the hand on her shoulder having just touched someone else. It was becoming steadily more difficult to meet Becker's eyes, or melt into his arms the way he used to. He feared that his lover's keen instincts would somehow sense the truth if they were too close.
Yet, everything else was too important for this to end. The contact with Philip had its own benefits, as well as being a small sacrifice for everything else he was getting from this... collaboration with his idol.
And if nothing else, the nightmares had stopped.
***
Abby hated this. She hated every second of it. She hated hiding what she was doing not only from the man she was investigating, but her other partner as well. It made her feel isolated and alone, triggering all the bad memories all over again.
She also hated Matt, even as he became the only person she could be honest with, because it was he who had made that the case.
“You can’t talk to Connor about this, Abby,” he’d said to her, chiding her after she nearly slipped up. “And you can’t talk to Becker, either.”
She froze, her mouth dropping open.
“Yes, I know,” he said dryly.
“Did Jess…?” She frowned. Or maybe it was one of Becker’s team—those supposedly trustworthy ones maybe not so much after all.
Matt shook his head. “No. Just instinct. Animal behavior, you know? If it wasn’t for the way you lean into him when he’s close, the way Connor squirms when Becker's watching him would tell me. The way he acted with you two after we came back from the bug bomb sort of sealed the deal.”
“Oh.” She looked at the floor.
“Look, I know you love them, but this is bigger than that. Becker wouldn’t understand the importance. All he’d want to do is defend Connor. And that would probably come to ruin all of us in the end.”
She looked away, trying to hold back the humiliated, angry tears.
“Abby, I’m sorry. I wish…” he went quiet. Then he extended a hand to her. Her first instinct was to slap it away, hoping that somehow he'd back off, and stop asking her to violate every sense of loyalty and honesty she'd ever had. But the tone of his voice, and the gentle look in his eyes convinced her otherwise. She sensed that he, too, hated what he was making her do, and that he wanted to somehow make it up to her.
As he pulled her close, she thought that this was what it must feel like to dance with the devil. Yet though she loathed what he asked of her, she took the comfort he offered. It was the only comfort she was going to get.
***
Becker had failed. Again. His job was saving people, and he had failed at it, like he had so many times before.
Sure, they were alive, and that was usually to his credit. But they weren’t well. And nothing—nothing—he did was making it any better.
The more Connor pulled away from them, the more he and Abby pursued, and the more focused Abby got on her primary lover. The nights she’d spent sobbing in Becker’s arms, when he tried desperately to soothe her and give her solace her in any way he could, were growing rarer. Not because she was no longer despondent, but because she’d moved on from finding him a comforting anchor to finding him a only a reminder of whom she was missing.
Instead, she seemed to be turning to Matt, bonding with him as someone as far outside their little circle as possible. Becker knew he had no reason to be jealous, yet he was anyway. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t sleeping with Matt, and that Matt was clearly still stuck on Emily. It mattered only that Abby relied on him and confided in him. Had she actually been sleeping with him, Becker could have understood it, but taking her emotional needs elsewhere was an infidelity that hurt far more.
He knew he wasn’t enough for her. He knew she’d always need Connor, and that everything else she cared about in this world wasn’t going to matter if she didn’t have him. Worse than that, though, was realising that she wasn’t enough for him, either.
He had fallen in love with both of them, and much as he did love them each as a separate person, her without him felt wrong. The person he was so desperately in love with wasn’t Abby or Connor, but Abby and Connor. Together. Not… divided, as they so often were now.
He thought sometimes that maybe he should just leave--find someone else without such baggage and complications. Jess, maybe. Cute, sweet, willing and entirely uncomplicated Jess. She was also probably the only person who’d understand the shattered mental state he’d be in if he left them. He wondered sometimes if she’d sensed it already, flashing him looks of pity and understanding when the others were—yet again—carping at each other. Maybe, he’d thought a time or two, catching himself staring at the swell of her mouth or the rise of her pert arse in those short, short skirts…
But then Connor would finally come home at a reasonable hour, and they wouldn’t talk about why he was usually so late. He’d smile and crack stupid jokes and be… Connor… again. Abby would welcome Connor back, favoring him with casual kisses and touches. And then they’d all fall into bed, in their familiar weave of limbs, and the room would echo with their cries.
For those moments, he could believe that everything was OK, and the relief was far more than physical. The way he felt the mornings after, when they all went their separate ways again, wasn’t yet bad enough to offset that bliss.
So he stayed, even as every day there opened another crack in his heart, desperately hoping that he was strong enough to hold them together until this madness passed.
--End--