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vivienTitle: Think of a Happy Place
Author: Vivien
Fandom: Primeval
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Abby, Connor (definite Abby/Connor here)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Occurs right after series 3, episode 10 in a tree in the Cretaceous
Summary: Connor hadn't let Abby fall once upon a future, and she wouldn't let him drop here in the past.
Word Count: 2013
Notes: This is my very first Primeval fic, and I enjoyed writing it a great deal. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alyse and AnimeGirl for betaing for me.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am borrowing them, and I make no profit in any way.
When Connor was ten, he’d spent one summer enamored with the thought of his very own tree house. Never mind that his family’s home didn't have a tree nearby that was large enough to climb, or that his mum pressed her lips together firmly and shook her head no at the mention of such a dangerous notion as him climbing a tree. Practicality rarely got in the way of Connor's fancies, but in retrospect, he reckoned she had been a wise woman.
He’d spent his days drawing elaborate plans for tree houses. He’d even gone out scavenging materials, dragging home a splintered wooden crate that could be used as a platform for his grand designs. He’d hidden it in the shed in the small back garden and crept out with borrowed hammer and nails to tack wooden scraps and painted signs onto his soon-to-be tree house. Of course, his creation never found a tree, and once school started again, he forgot about his plans, moving on to different projects and fixations. He never knew the glory of sleeping in his own space high above the ground, sheltered and hidden in the branches of a tree.
Until now, that was. Connor stared up into the pitch-black sky scattered with stars he didn’t know. He wished he was ten again. He’d be small enough to fit more comfortably on this miserable perch.
When they had first settled in, it had not been fully dark, and Connor had felt okay - chipper, even - once he and Abby had shared one of the energy bars in her backpack. As the chilly night bore down on them and large shapes shuffled and growled through the forest below, his optimism quickly fled. He'd offered to take first watch because there was no way he could sleep. He fidgeted every few minutes as the night dragged on, stretching against the pain in his back and neck and shoulders and hips and knees. He was stiff and cold, and his ankle throbbed unbearably. It wasn’t broken, but scrambling up the tree had worsened the sprain. Even with the use of a rope and more of Abby's help than he would have liked, it had not been an easy task. His ears still rang a bit from the explosion of the stun grenade, and his head pounded about as much as his ankle did. He shifted again, arching his back against the branch that supported him, but not too much to upset his balance. It would be a much farther fall from this tree.
Abby, at least, was able to sleep, and her legs, nestled against his, provided a little warmth to fend off the worst of the chill. Connor knew he had to wake her soon if she didn’t wake on her own. He had to try to sleep, or he’d be even more useless to her in the morning than he already was.
He tried not to think about the morning. He tried not to think about what his stupidity had got them into. Why had he let go of the tree at that particular moment, when he knew the charge was about to go off? Danny had already thrown the damned thing; what did it matter how far away they had been by that point? He always bollocksed things up like this, and now Abby was trapped here with him when she could be with Danny, saving the future of the entire human race. He was glad she was here, of course, but it added an extra layer of guilt to the whole miserable turn of events.
He sighed and wriggled again, wincing when he accidentally jostled his ankle. He took a deep breath, and, distracted, his head thumped back against the bark. His head had been thumped altogether too often of late. He lifted his eyes with a sigh to count the stars, dividing the Cretaceous sky into quadrants. He was up to 778 when Abby woke up with a start, her eyes wide and a frightened cry on her lips.
“Alright?” Connor placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her ankle. He knew that look. Abby woke up from nightmares every now and again. When he'd hear her cry out, he’d wake up and hurtle down the steps to her bedroom, giving her his hand or his shoulder or his ear - whatever she needed. She never needed him for long, but for those few minutes, he could be there for her. He wondered if Jack had comforted his sister during his absence, or whether he’d slept through her cries in the night. Connor supposed it didn’t matter now. When they got back, he would move back to the flat, back home, and he’d be there for her again.
“It’s okay,” he continued in a soft voice. It wasn’t okay. Not really. But at least there were no Mers to pull her underwater or a harsh future sky over her head.
She nodded, sitting up. “Okay,” she repeated, raising her arms over her head and wiggling her fingers. “Your turn to rest. I’ll be awake for a while.”
“Bad one?” He didn’t have to ask, but he always did anyway.
She nodded and stretched again. “I’ve had worse. Christ, this tree is uncomfortable. You okay?”
He smiled, eager to not add to her concern, but he knew from the start that he made a bad job of it. “I’ve been better.”
Abby wrinkled her nose in sympathy. Connor squeezed her ankle. This time the smile he gave her was a little less pained. If he had something to think about – or someone – then it was easier to ignore his miseries.
“It would be better if we had a tree house. I always fancied one. One with carpet and windows and little nooks to hide things inside. When I was small, I…” He trailed off, losing sense of his words. He was tired, but too tired to sleep. He rubbed his eyes, not noticing the pointed look of concern Abby gave him.
Abby nodded. “Grab onto the branch, yeah? I’m going to stand up and move a little, and then maybe we can get you more comfortable. You have to sleep.”
“I know. I will. I just- I’ll try, okay?” He didn’t fancy the idea of moving much at all, not with that much of a drop below him, and sleep seemed even farther away than it had been a moment before. He braced himself against the trunk, hooking his good leg around the edge of the branch for good measure. It creaked and swayed, but Connor held on, trying to push away the terror of falling that swelled within him as Abby carefully pulled her knees to her chest and stood. She grabbed a branch above her to steady her as she began a series of yoga stretches.
Connor watched her. He couldn’t look away. She was so beautiful. He had no idea where he stood with her, even now. She’d been angry with him, and then she'd kissed him, and then she’d not wanted things to be weird, and then she’d stayed with him here when she should have gone on, and then she'd said he could move back in with her. But they had never mentioned the kiss or their feelings for each other, and he was, literally, too terrified to bring it up. It scared him more than falling out of the tree. He could make the first move, sure, if he had any way of predicting what the second move might be. Okay, maybe he couldn't make the first move either. Maybe he just wanted things how they had been. That was safer.
Thinking about it made his head ache even worse, so he stopped thinking altogether.
After a few more minutes, Abby crouched down once again. “That’s better.” She rolled her head to one side and then the other. Connor could hear her neck cracking. “We’ll be fine come morning.”
“I know,” he said, and he believed it. He had to. “Right. I’ll- try now. To sleep.” He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. A shiver swept through him, and he shuddered, his eyes opening again, as if on their own accord. He sighed, and his brows furrowed in frustration.
“Let me help, Connor." Abby knelt and took his hand. "Let's get you shifted."
A few minutes of flailing, exclamations of dismay, and careful rearranging later, Abby leaned back against the trunk of the tree with Connor resting on his back between her legs, his head cushioned against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek on the top of his head.
"I didn't realize you were so afraid of heights," she said, and Connor thought that maybe - just maybe - she pressed her lips to the top of his head in a kiss. Then she tugged up his hood, covering his head to better keep in the warmth. You were supposed to do that when you were sleeping in the rough. He just hadn't remembered that important fact until now.
"I wasn't until I fell out of the flipping tree earlier," he replied, and he let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Are you sure this is okay? You can’t be very comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” she said, patting his chest. He covered her hands with his. This new position was more comfortable than the previous, but the knobs of the branch pressed into new places on his body. Nothing had eased his headache. His eyes blinked but did not close, and they opened wide when something rustled through the underbrush directly below them. Even with Abby warm and soft against him, he couldn't relax.
“Close your eyes and think of a happy place again,” Abby said, her voice soothing.
He did as she asked. He would always do as she asked. She tended to make sense, except when she didn’t.
“How about that beach again?”
He paused a moment and then said, “I have a better place.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.” She moved one hand up to stroke the side of his face. The gentle, repetitive movement sent shivers of a much warmer variety through him. He leaned into her touch, and the pressure in his head and the pain in his body slipped into the background somewhat.
“We’re in the flat. It’s cold out, raining and utterly dreary, but it’s warm inside. We’re on the couch, and the telly’s on for movie night. You picked up fish and chips from the stand I like best for dinner.”
“So your happy place involves my servitude?” Abby said, the smile clearly present in her voice.
“Ah, but see, I popped round to the bakery while you were out and picked up a couple of walnut tarts, the kind you like best, but that I always forget to get for you. Sid and Nancy are rolling about on the floor, playing, and Rex is flying overhead, and we’re- we’re…” He was losing his words again, and the world was beginning to fuzz out.
“We’re safe. We're home." Abby hugged him a little more tightly to her.
Connor smiled, and his eyes stayed closed. “We're home. Movie night. It’s Princess Bride. You like that one, too.”
“Are we sitting together with your arm round my shoulders?” Her voice was soft in his ear.
He didn’t open his eyes. They were too heavy to possibly try. But his smile widened. “Yeah. If you like…” Then in a quieter voice, he murmured, “I hope so. Happy. My happy place…”
A breeze rocked the branch, but Connor didn't startle awake this time. He was safe in Abby's embrace. He hadn't let her fall once upon a future, and she wouldn't let him drop here in the past. In the morning, they would find Danny, and they would save the world, if it still needed saving. And maybe, just maybe, he could make that first move without the fear of the second.
Author: Vivien
Fandom: Primeval
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Abby, Connor (definite Abby/Connor here)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Occurs right after series 3, episode 10 in a tree in the Cretaceous
Summary: Connor hadn't let Abby fall once upon a future, and she wouldn't let him drop here in the past.
Word Count: 2013
Notes: This is my very first Primeval fic, and I enjoyed writing it a great deal. Thanks to
alyse and AnimeGirl for betaing for me.Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am borrowing them, and I make no profit in any way.
When Connor was ten, he’d spent one summer enamored with the thought of his very own tree house. Never mind that his family’s home didn't have a tree nearby that was large enough to climb, or that his mum pressed her lips together firmly and shook her head no at the mention of such a dangerous notion as him climbing a tree. Practicality rarely got in the way of Connor's fancies, but in retrospect, he reckoned she had been a wise woman.
He’d spent his days drawing elaborate plans for tree houses. He’d even gone out scavenging materials, dragging home a splintered wooden crate that could be used as a platform for his grand designs. He’d hidden it in the shed in the small back garden and crept out with borrowed hammer and nails to tack wooden scraps and painted signs onto his soon-to-be tree house. Of course, his creation never found a tree, and once school started again, he forgot about his plans, moving on to different projects and fixations. He never knew the glory of sleeping in his own space high above the ground, sheltered and hidden in the branches of a tree.
Until now, that was. Connor stared up into the pitch-black sky scattered with stars he didn’t know. He wished he was ten again. He’d be small enough to fit more comfortably on this miserable perch.
When they had first settled in, it had not been fully dark, and Connor had felt okay - chipper, even - once he and Abby had shared one of the energy bars in her backpack. As the chilly night bore down on them and large shapes shuffled and growled through the forest below, his optimism quickly fled. He'd offered to take first watch because there was no way he could sleep. He fidgeted every few minutes as the night dragged on, stretching against the pain in his back and neck and shoulders and hips and knees. He was stiff and cold, and his ankle throbbed unbearably. It wasn’t broken, but scrambling up the tree had worsened the sprain. Even with the use of a rope and more of Abby's help than he would have liked, it had not been an easy task. His ears still rang a bit from the explosion of the stun grenade, and his head pounded about as much as his ankle did. He shifted again, arching his back against the branch that supported him, but not too much to upset his balance. It would be a much farther fall from this tree.
Abby, at least, was able to sleep, and her legs, nestled against his, provided a little warmth to fend off the worst of the chill. Connor knew he had to wake her soon if she didn’t wake on her own. He had to try to sleep, or he’d be even more useless to her in the morning than he already was.
He tried not to think about the morning. He tried not to think about what his stupidity had got them into. Why had he let go of the tree at that particular moment, when he knew the charge was about to go off? Danny had already thrown the damned thing; what did it matter how far away they had been by that point? He always bollocksed things up like this, and now Abby was trapped here with him when she could be with Danny, saving the future of the entire human race. He was glad she was here, of course, but it added an extra layer of guilt to the whole miserable turn of events.
He sighed and wriggled again, wincing when he accidentally jostled his ankle. He took a deep breath, and, distracted, his head thumped back against the bark. His head had been thumped altogether too often of late. He lifted his eyes with a sigh to count the stars, dividing the Cretaceous sky into quadrants. He was up to 778 when Abby woke up with a start, her eyes wide and a frightened cry on her lips.
“Alright?” Connor placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her ankle. He knew that look. Abby woke up from nightmares every now and again. When he'd hear her cry out, he’d wake up and hurtle down the steps to her bedroom, giving her his hand or his shoulder or his ear - whatever she needed. She never needed him for long, but for those few minutes, he could be there for her. He wondered if Jack had comforted his sister during his absence, or whether he’d slept through her cries in the night. Connor supposed it didn’t matter now. When they got back, he would move back to the flat, back home, and he’d be there for her again.
“It’s okay,” he continued in a soft voice. It wasn’t okay. Not really. But at least there were no Mers to pull her underwater or a harsh future sky over her head.
She nodded, sitting up. “Okay,” she repeated, raising her arms over her head and wiggling her fingers. “Your turn to rest. I’ll be awake for a while.”
“Bad one?” He didn’t have to ask, but he always did anyway.
She nodded and stretched again. “I’ve had worse. Christ, this tree is uncomfortable. You okay?”
He smiled, eager to not add to her concern, but he knew from the start that he made a bad job of it. “I’ve been better.”
Abby wrinkled her nose in sympathy. Connor squeezed her ankle. This time the smile he gave her was a little less pained. If he had something to think about – or someone – then it was easier to ignore his miseries.
“It would be better if we had a tree house. I always fancied one. One with carpet and windows and little nooks to hide things inside. When I was small, I…” He trailed off, losing sense of his words. He was tired, but too tired to sleep. He rubbed his eyes, not noticing the pointed look of concern Abby gave him.
Abby nodded. “Grab onto the branch, yeah? I’m going to stand up and move a little, and then maybe we can get you more comfortable. You have to sleep.”
“I know. I will. I just- I’ll try, okay?” He didn’t fancy the idea of moving much at all, not with that much of a drop below him, and sleep seemed even farther away than it had been a moment before. He braced himself against the trunk, hooking his good leg around the edge of the branch for good measure. It creaked and swayed, but Connor held on, trying to push away the terror of falling that swelled within him as Abby carefully pulled her knees to her chest and stood. She grabbed a branch above her to steady her as she began a series of yoga stretches.
Connor watched her. He couldn’t look away. She was so beautiful. He had no idea where he stood with her, even now. She’d been angry with him, and then she'd kissed him, and then she’d not wanted things to be weird, and then she’d stayed with him here when she should have gone on, and then she'd said he could move back in with her. But they had never mentioned the kiss or their feelings for each other, and he was, literally, too terrified to bring it up. It scared him more than falling out of the tree. He could make the first move, sure, if he had any way of predicting what the second move might be. Okay, maybe he couldn't make the first move either. Maybe he just wanted things how they had been. That was safer.
Thinking about it made his head ache even worse, so he stopped thinking altogether.
After a few more minutes, Abby crouched down once again. “That’s better.” She rolled her head to one side and then the other. Connor could hear her neck cracking. “We’ll be fine come morning.”
“I know,” he said, and he believed it. He had to. “Right. I’ll- try now. To sleep.” He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. A shiver swept through him, and he shuddered, his eyes opening again, as if on their own accord. He sighed, and his brows furrowed in frustration.
“Let me help, Connor." Abby knelt and took his hand. "Let's get you shifted."
A few minutes of flailing, exclamations of dismay, and careful rearranging later, Abby leaned back against the trunk of the tree with Connor resting on his back between her legs, his head cushioned against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek on the top of his head.
"I didn't realize you were so afraid of heights," she said, and Connor thought that maybe - just maybe - she pressed her lips to the top of his head in a kiss. Then she tugged up his hood, covering his head to better keep in the warmth. You were supposed to do that when you were sleeping in the rough. He just hadn't remembered that important fact until now.
"I wasn't until I fell out of the flipping tree earlier," he replied, and he let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Are you sure this is okay? You can’t be very comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” she said, patting his chest. He covered her hands with his. This new position was more comfortable than the previous, but the knobs of the branch pressed into new places on his body. Nothing had eased his headache. His eyes blinked but did not close, and they opened wide when something rustled through the underbrush directly below them. Even with Abby warm and soft against him, he couldn't relax.
“Close your eyes and think of a happy place again,” Abby said, her voice soothing.
He did as she asked. He would always do as she asked. She tended to make sense, except when she didn’t.
“How about that beach again?”
He paused a moment and then said, “I have a better place.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.” She moved one hand up to stroke the side of his face. The gentle, repetitive movement sent shivers of a much warmer variety through him. He leaned into her touch, and the pressure in his head and the pain in his body slipped into the background somewhat.
“We’re in the flat. It’s cold out, raining and utterly dreary, but it’s warm inside. We’re on the couch, and the telly’s on for movie night. You picked up fish and chips from the stand I like best for dinner.”
“So your happy place involves my servitude?” Abby said, the smile clearly present in her voice.
“Ah, but see, I popped round to the bakery while you were out and picked up a couple of walnut tarts, the kind you like best, but that I always forget to get for you. Sid and Nancy are rolling about on the floor, playing, and Rex is flying overhead, and we’re- we’re…” He was losing his words again, and the world was beginning to fuzz out.
“We’re safe. We're home." Abby hugged him a little more tightly to her.
Connor smiled, and his eyes stayed closed. “We're home. Movie night. It’s Princess Bride. You like that one, too.”
“Are we sitting together with your arm round my shoulders?” Her voice was soft in his ear.
He didn’t open his eyes. They were too heavy to possibly try. But his smile widened. “Yeah. If you like…” Then in a quieter voice, he murmured, “I hope so. Happy. My happy place…”
A breeze rocked the branch, but Connor didn't startle awake this time. He was safe in Abby's embrace. He hadn't let her fall once upon a future, and she wouldn't let him drop here in the past. In the morning, they would find Danny, and they would save the world, if it still needed saving. And maybe, just maybe, he could make that first move without the fear of the second.