Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It sits on her desk, a shiny gold envelope with a concise script noted across it saying simply "Jenny".

She strides across quickly, heels clicking against the floor, curious who it's from. She's received enough scrawled post-it notes to tell the handwriting isn't Nick Cutter's.

Tearing across the top she swiftly removes the contents and finds a simple yet stylish card, proclaiming "Best wishes on your birthday, from Abby". No "love", no false sentimentality, just a simple gesture that says the girl cares - but it's the first thing to bring a true smile to her lips for weeks.

Chapter Text

Another five texts he ignores. He listens to the voicemail once more, confused how he could have gotten it so wrong.

Lester had the sense to place her in another ARC department at least, though it's not far enough away. She looks at him in a way he hates – sorry. Because it's half pity, there's that understanding she fooled him, abused what he knows now was naivety. Casually dismissing it was simple at the time, he doesn't want comparing to Leek, but it doesn't go away as easily. The damage is done.

Him and Abby, never goes anywhere. Will anything?

Chapter Text

Computing – A, Maths – B, Biology – B. Phone rings; his mum, who proclaims cheerfully those results are "just good enough".

It starts to sink in an hour later, at the arcade with his mates celebrating. He's playing Time Crisis when he realises he's really going to leave home, go where he wants. Not that he'd set his sights high. Prospectus after prospectus, visits with boring tours and only one captured his attention – fossils filling the glass cabinets lining the halls. Careers had said he'd be better doing computing or engineering, but those bored him compared to evolution. Now, it scares him.

Chapter Text

Helen had been called many things in her time, in many different times. She could blend in. Didn't always want to...sometimes she liked to show-off, to show-up impudent men. They would say she didn't know her place, didn't know better – that was the problem they didn't see, couldn't admit, she did know better. Knowledge was power. Some people didn't like her having that. A few found it enticing, whose ears she could whisper in; important people swayed – she loved the thought she had history in her hands. Others whispered witch. She was happy to put on a display.

Chapter Text

Connor watched her mix a weird smelling paste. He hoped she knew what she was doing. She'd a good track record healing cattle at least. Villagers called her Abigail, causing a scowl. To him she was Abby, a hard-won friendship.

Villagers also said she spent too much time in the forest, knew too much about the animals. They said it in strange tones he hadn't known what to make of when he was younger, now he recognised they didn't trust her. He didn't understand her exactly but he had that same thirst to know and he knew it wasn't magic.

Chapter Text

Every other Sunday without fail she locks herself in the bathroom and unpacks the box. It doesn't take long, over in an hour.

One Sunday, two months after she took THE job, her routine is abandoned.

The week flies by with fieldwork, an almost equal mass of paperwork, plus the now usual schmoozing the press junket. The dye is completely forgotten until she wakes up halfway through the subsequent week and blinks at the sight of more brown than she's seen for a decade. She calls in late and doesn't step into the ARC until she feels completely Jenny again.

Chapter Text

She spent so much time here the ARC was more like home than anywhere else lately. The crisp, neat - calm-inducing - architecture made her feel in control. It was in stark contrast to how she felt out in the field. Still, she was making a real difference in this job, however strange it was. This was saving the world, or in her case, covering that up; preserving the peace for the public. Meanwhile, she, like the others, had to deal with chaos - the natural order, laws of the universe, and quite possibly her life, all distorting: previous constants slipping away.

Chapter Text

The ARC was everything that was wrong with the timeline. It signalled the split. It was cold, purposeful. Helen would have liked it – one version of her had, until it had been reduced to rubble along with the secrets and dangerous creatures it held.

So much centred around the ARC. It was every bit as impersonal in each timeline, despite the names on lockers and spacious offices. The ARC meant change, reality twisted from the airy Home Office and poised Claudia Brown into the spiral downwards of scientific exploration, politics, greed and death. Nothing good ever came from the place.

Chapter Text

Helen says.

It's a game she plays with them, isn't it? She pulls the strings. Even after he's quit paying attention, she's shaping events around him, inescapable.

Stephen believes easily, wants to think well of her - it's only because he knows no better. Nick remembers how the game goes. Helen acting up, like a child, petty and wounded when he got tired of it. There's no rejecting her ideas, with Helen you take everything - or you have nothing.

After eight years he's finally happy with that option, except Helen's version isn't simply losing just her but having nothing at all of his own.

Chapter Text

Hot metal glides over the surface, leaving all behind smooth, the shirt crisp in addition to spotless. Perfectly hung, it's ready.

This is the one time in any day he has to himself, laundry and ironing an excuse to shirk his parental duties under the guise of attempting to be less of a jerk, though he doesn't do other chores because god knows his wife has enough hours in her day to work on more than just her nails and the gardener.

Every day as he sits up straight, the familiar relaxing smell drifts upwards and he's in control, ready.

Chapter Text

Caroline signs on the line the second time, and swallows hard, sudden fear in her heart. What's she got herself into? There's talk of treason and that's the reason she agrees not just to keep secrets but to work for them; she nearly has a degree in business management, some experience in PR and admin. The pay's decent even if it's a form of penance and not so much her choice to take the job, but she wanted exciting graduate work - here's her wish granted. Lester smiles at her, every bit as predatory as those beasts, "Hope you like lizards".

Chapter Text

Lunchbox packed, Mary sits down with a cuppa, lifts up the newspaper only to find page 8 with large chunk missing, again.

"Ben! Get down here right now."

Her son appears, standing sheepishly by the kitchen door, hands behind his back.

"Why?"

He holds out a book - upon opening she sees page after page of cuttings, print-outs from forums on "sightings," not UFO's but beasts. Handwriting in the margin, Latin names she vaguely recognises from books she used to buy him – dinosaurs! She sighs and continues to the final two-page spread, council planning permission and map with position circled.

Chapter Text

Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bodybags full, sir.

Oliver Leek is made for more than this; genius, though he holds that close to his chest - always was good at poker. When he was a boy he dreamt of being cool, he's since realised you don't have to be liked to be on top. Unfortunately he blends in and he's smart enough to know he'll never win the popularity contest politics tends to descend to.

He should be making those all-important decisions instead of Lester, who's himself a servant to the big boys. He knows best, he'll prove it soon.

Chapter Text

Connor slams the door and walks into a wonderland – there's a pert little tree, the mistletoe oft argued over in their decorations discussion, and tinsel tacked up across the banisters, in case Rex tries to walk along it like he had the Halloween lights.

The atmosphere's warm, a sense of sparkling cheer to the flat, but Connor's attention is drawn to the cards strung across a piece of string - because he knows not one of them is for him. Still in the zone, Abby strolls over, giving a quick peck on the cheek. He blushes, realising Yeah, this is home.

Chapter Text

She hadn't believed him but she'd trusted him after a time: her safety in his hands.

That trust had seemed natural, gradual as they came to terms with each other, but she sees in retrospect that it was acceptance of the familiar, exactly what she wanted to deny.

Now she's placed her life in his hands.

The thrill as he kisses her is unlike anything she's ever experienced. It's as if she has found her north, a sensation of belonging, warmth that goes beyond simply the feeling of his lips teasing her own. A sweet farewell with promise. Fix this.

Chapter Text

Helen doesn't ask, doesn't wait to earn. With her, you learn, she demands it. All the while spinning a net of lies, intricate half-truths and diversions to account for any possibility. Helen gets what she wants. You give all - trust misplaced. You might notice some of those lies, details out of place but you want to believe, continue to.

What's sad is, when the truth cascades you can see she expected it, knew the inevitability. Betrayal's a fact for her – no matter promises she will not trust in return, she deals in levels of faith that fail her.

Chapter Text

He doesn't know how to do romance. The dumping via text proves that, seals the deal along with the mood killer that is having your prehistoric pet kidnapped.

What is he doing?

Roses are too cliché, bleeding hearts – figures there must be a reason they're the same colour as both blood and the organ - disappointment, he should know that. And breakfast in bed will get him a smile and a pat on a back for being a good flatmate. Where's the middle ground? The place where he's stretching for answers but not putting himself out on the line.

Babylon 5!

Chapter Text

Abby skimmed the stone across the retreating tide waters. The skies were turning dark grey as the clouds roll over the seas into port. She'd packed up the kite because it had turned out to be boring after ten minutes of lone steering. Shouldn't she have more to do with her days off? Something better. The beach was quiet, but not relaxing like she'd anticipated. It felt like wasted time, meaningless minutes ticking by. Everything stopped for saving the world – her small life washed out to sea and now she simply has to wait for the tide to turn naturally.

She's Dr Abby Maitland– a title qualified by two PhD's, both partly funded with money from her old Home Office salary. Near the end of it all she'd had little free time to enjoy and so she'd accidentally saved enough up to live off for a good time afterwards.

It's been ten years since the last anomaly closed here and she still doesn't know quite what to do with her time. She wills the sky to open up as she stares into the distance, for a crystal crack to appear in the faultless blue above the waters. She's still waiting.

Grains of sand grate against the nape of her neck as they move in unison, pleasure with an edge of pain. She has her release, to the sound of the waves crashing against the beach. Getting up quickly, she realises he might have said anything to her during it but she wasn't listening. He says nothing now, quick peck on the cheek – unkempt black hair flops over his eyes. They walk back to the hotel, his arm over her shoulder casually, not possessively; no strings attached. But when she sees Connor alone at the bar she feels her stomach sink.

Chapter Text

On balance, he preferred the silent treatment. Except the problem was it was more useful to keep Helen talking, to get her to accidentally reveal details on maniacal plans out of pure egotistical gloating. There was also the fact that her studying his face, his eyes, his person, tended to put James on edge. She was at the leisure of Her Majesty's Government – shackled, she came and went as he pleased, but still she sat there, leaning back in the chair, smug smile on her face like she knew something he didn't.

Helen leant forward, nothing accidental about it, and muttered one word to capture him.

Chapter Text

"Fuck," she muttered to herself. "Where the hell am I?" She'd been in hotels plenty but this was humongous, to match Bridezilla's ego. Honestly, she wasn't sure how Connor was related – go fetch this Annie darling! - maybe the age gap explained the differences or adoption.

She turned the corner and froze, staring at the couple making out, at the immaculately dressed Connor with his lips capturing those of a giggly redhead. He looks at her for a moment before she's passed over as not important.

Abby steps back, flat against the wall only to see Connor approaching from the other direction – he'd said he had a brother, obviously forgetting him being a twin. In seconds her lips claim his, desperately glad she's not too late.

Chapter Text

~
"I'll Be Yours" by Placebo – Helen/Nick

Isn't it the beat of the heart that keeps you going? In the heat, blasted from all sides, being worn down in every way possible but no hardship can reach what matters.

He says she hasn't a heart anymore, hasn't a care but her own – not true. One of the few truths she carried with her is that she is Helen Cutter, his wife; time doesn't change that and, for her at least, it only strengthened the feeling. She thinks, as she walks away from him, that he has to see that eventually, now he knows she's alive - what stands between them is merely a sense of confusion, pride hurt by this paradigm shift in his world view. He thinks she's changed, naturally he's right if only by chance but have they changed in their cores for it to be so crazy an idea for him to take her back? The world changes too, the world spins but it doesn't tend to end just because and she won't accept they're done and dusted, because, after all, she is not.

~
"Play the Game" by Queen - Abby/Connor

Connor wakes in the night, sweat on his brow and then he remembers. A dream. A dream of another dream he wants to wake up from.

He walks to the kitchen, takes a swig from the juice carton in the fridge and tries not to look at the bloke sleeping on the sofa. At least Brian is on the sofa... and not in Abby's bed, his brain finishes for him. Brian. Brian who's helpful about the house even when he's a guest, Brian who has all the best little cooking tips even though he's hardly a chef. Brian who likes lizards, who knows about modern day lizards. Bloody perfect Brian. And Connor has to take a deep breath and count to at least five in order to quash the surge of jealous frustration that makes him want to accidentally throw the carton in Brian's face. He'd probably miss though, knowing his luck.

Of course it isn't all about luck. Can he be jealous of a decent bloke chasing after Abby? The guy might not be doing that, but he'd be crazy not to, wouldn't he? Except Connor can't judge that, not really, not when the whole reason he's getting nowhere was because he wouldn't take that first step and admit the truth to what he'd somehow managed to confess. Nah, he's a pure spectator, watching from the stands, relegated to dreaming only, if only he could get some sleep.

~
"These Boots Are Made for Walking" by Chiwetel Ejiofor – Jenny & Nick

He doesn't know how she does it. It seems a physical impossibility for her to still be standing, halfway up a boggy hillside in stilettos. Jenny chooses that moment to look down the slope at him, catching him stopping for a breather, hand supporting him against the stone wall.

"Are you coming or do I need to order a Special Forces heli-lift for us to get there in good time?"

"Jus getting my breath back...," he says exasperated by her gungho attitude. He's not sure if it true enthusiasm or simply her wanting each encounter to be over with 'ASAP,' as she was always writing on her memos.

A tsk tsk sound was uttered from her lips and she smiled tightly before a sudden enlightenment appeared on her features.

"Nick. Stop. Looking. At. My. Boots. Anyone would think you have some sort of strange fetish."

Now that was surely a statement designed to embarrass him, yet he'd heard far worse accusations in his time and purely for a laugh he couldn't resist answering that one. "Who says I don't?"

Jenny stumbled a little at his jest, a quick blush creeping up her face before she snapped her head back to straight ahead of her and took off at a fast pace. She'd say it was the crisp cold air putting colour in her cheeks no doubt but he knew better. It almost made climbing the bloody mountain worth it.

~
"On Being Blue" by Art of Noise – Nick/Helen

It rains at the funeral and he doesn't bother with an umbrella. The dyes run from the cheap new tie onto that blank white shirt. It's an awful tie. All ties are awful to him, but this one he hates especially. Someone had pushed it into his hand, someone else had done it up and all day people had whispered to him, kind condolences and suggestions they planted, pushing him in the directions he was expected to go.

Helen was gone. Missing. He'd stood looking down on empty coffin and as he'd dropped that clump of earth on top of it he'd wished the weight would snap the brittle wooden thing. It was meaningless to him, yet he knew what it meant to everyone else. It represented giving up, it meant they expected him to move on. They all said sorry, they all wished it were different but to them they saw the beginning of the end of his sadness as much as the start. To him it wasn't either, there was a grave but no answer as to why.

He'd never liked unanswered questions, not when there was little hope of a reply, an explanation – a challenge was one thing but this he was realistic about, what hope was there he'd ever know? Helen had loved teasing him, always one keen on keeping a sense of mystery so he supposes this is at least fitting for her, a legacy she could be proud of, even if it breaks him. That was one reason he'd wanted the marriage to fail, for it to trail off, without fear it would come to something like this. He'd never expected death would undo him instead of her alone.

~
"Sorry" by Bic Runga - Abby/Connor

He takes it back. He walks out. He leaves the wrong girl crying. He never knows for sure, but he should have, should have turned back and taken her in his arms and thanked God she was alive, that he was alive.

But no, he'd left with the wrong girl, betrayed them all because he was scared of getting hurt and just wanted to be loved. He didn't get any of that in the end. They all got hurt, they all got pain.

It's five years later. They could have died another dozen times each year, hell, each month practically. But it's a sunny day with clear blue skies, no hint of danger, when he finally says sorry as they sit in loungers on the balcony.

Abby just says I know and he wonders if she knows what it is he's apologising for. How many things could there be? Probably too many to count by her score. It's almost like he's failed her each and every day he hasn't said what he meant to and he can't stand to fail another time. Connor doesn't want to be sorry anymore.

"I love you."

"I know."

That's how it ends, silence descends. It doesn't matter if she says it back, not anymore. Yes, no, whatever – there will be an answer and it will have to be okay. It's like a retraction of a retraction, to match the confession long past, and it feels good to get it off his chest this time.

"I love you too, you prat," she says, like he's stupid for having any kind of doubt whatsoever about that.

"Cheers," he says, chinking his glass against hers.

"Oh no, don't think you get away with a half-hearted toast, you'll have to do better than that. I have been waiting YEARS."

~
"Here Comes The Rain Again" by Eurythmics – Nick/Claudia/Jenny angst (not OT3)

Jenny dresses like a shark, predatory, taking advantage of what nature benefited her with. It's strangely amusing that Helen would think this a curious improvement.

Her face is made up bright and precise, like it's all professional war paint and the hair, so dark, missing the soft fair waves he'd become fond of. You'd think perhaps it would be easy to distance himself, but it's only trivial things that have changed. A name, clothes, periphery to the person.

She still has the same smile when it comes down to it, a sparkle in her eyes as she glances across at him, and his stomach lurches, all the emotion stirred up because if he forgets about the details she still makes him feel the same, longing to close the distance. But he stops himself from acting, and later wonders if it isn't just loneliness that makes him feel that way instead of something inexplicable and unnerving. It's daft to be so scared of that considering all the aspects of his day to day existence that defy explanation, but there it is, it doesn't take much to have him grasping for straws to try and find a woman who doesn't exist in someone else entirely. The answer he guesses is to keep repeating these new facts until he believes them as much as they do, as much as he should unless he wants to go mad.

~
"Hell No (Feat. Sondre Lerche)" by Regina Spektor - Stephen angst, Stephen/Helen

Stephen knows he broke the rules, but Helen was worth it right then.

It's over eight years later that he realises it's no longer true.

He'd had his excuses then, but they feel weak on his tongue as he tries to voice them again and Nick isn't listening anyway, hasn't wanted to the last ten times either. Abby brushes past him too, giving him the cold shoulder in support of Nick.

He remembers Helen's voice purring in his ear, "No one gets harmed," but looking at the results with the truth exposed it's more a case of who didn't. Helen's the only one to whom the rules don't seem to apply. He can't decide if she's lucky to be out of it all, incapable of caring about the pain it caused after a decade, but then he remembers why it was she bothered. She likes to pretend she's pulling the strings, mastermind of the game but she's not free of consequences of her other actions. It wasn't just what they did that brought this on them, it was what they didn't do, time after time, a secret kept and a love she never gave up. A love who wasn't him despite what she had said – the rules seem to be Helen hurts and so everyone else must hurt too.

~
"Bring Me The Disco King (Loner Mix)" by David Bowie – Helen, Helen/Nick

There was one day Helen had not expected. She had thought it would be a day of triumph, plans paying off, Nick accepting the new order she'd outlined. Everything ought to fall in place. It all falls to pieces.

Leek lied. Leek rebelled, should have seen that one coming, and suddenly it's not about her anymore, there's no enticing Nick back – he, they, everyone is on alert against the threat and any help she gives is not enough. She's as much the enemy as she as ever was, because she brought this about, and he blames her, one more thing to blame her for.

She'd still hoped he would be able to forgive her, she'd smiled to herself at the thought he'd said he loved her, only to be stabbed in the back by his admission, and there's yet another lie for the day. So she follows suit, trying to dig herself out of this, digging Stephen's grave instead.

It's never over, she never quite believes Nick is beyond her reach – he's her husband – but after that day she knows everything has changed in a way that cuts her off from him. All she has left is what she can change, and the hope she can still change it enough to get what she wants however she can. If it's fun to experiment that's just a nice bonus, a perk that fills in for everything else that's ended up missing.