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fredbassettTitle : The Ghost and Mr Temple, Part 1 of 3
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Becker, Connor, Lester, Cutter, Stephen, Abby, Lyle, Blade, Ditzy, Finn, (Ryan)
Rating : 15
Word Count : 12,700 (posting in three parts)
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Connor begins to suspect that something strange is going on.
Warning : None.
A/N : Written for my darling Evil Twin,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
munchkinofdoom for her birthday. Thanks to lukadreaming for the fastest beta on record. This is a sequel to The Ghost and Miss Maitland and The Ghost and Captain Becker. I will be posting in three parts.
Connor leaned back in his chair and stared at the Anomaly Detection Device’s bank of screens. He’d been working for the last five hours on some improvements to the system and had declined a lift home from Abby, preferring to work on through the evening, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the late shift.
The screens flickered and Connor sucked in a quick breath. He’d been struggling with reliability issues for a couple of months and every time he thought he’d got the problems cracked, something else would go wrong. It seemed to be a perpetual game of one step forward, two steps back. The flickering stopped and Connor let out the breath he’d been holding.
A waft of cold air raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Connor shivered, turning around to see if anyone had left open the doors to the cavernous internal garage. He’d never quite got his head around the design of the building, including why the central area needed a pair of doors that wouldn’t have been out of place in an aircraft hanger. The heating bills would be horrendous, especially in the cold snap that had been causing chaos in the south of England for the past few weeks.
The doors were firmly closed, providing no clue as to where the draught was coming from. Connor pulled up the collar on his jacket and considered going to get a coffee and something to eat. It was nearly midnight and there was no way he’d bother going home now. He knew he should get some sleep, not inject more caffeine into his already hyped-up system, but he was hungry and thirsty, and everyone was always telling him that commonsense wasn’t his strongest suit…
Movement caught the corner of his eye and Connor looked up to find a black-clad figure looking down at him from the top of the ramp that led up to Lester’s office. It looked like he wasn’t the only one working late. The soldier turned away before Connor could work out who it was and he tried to quell the uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his stomach. It had been three months since Ryan’s death and the pain still seemed as raw as ever. He’d thrown himself into his work but it hadn’t helped. He still woke up every day with that same gut-wrenching feeling of loss and he dreamed of Ryan as well. There were even times – like now – when he thought he’d caught a glimpse of Ryan.
Tears formed in Connor’s eyes and he dashed them away on the back of his woollen gloves. He’d never imagined that someone like Ryan would have been interested in him. Hell, he’d never imagined for a moment that Ryan had even been gay. Connor had known since he’d been at school that he was attracted to men – or boys at that point – rather than the opposite sex, but it wasn’t something he’d ever talked about or acted on. University had been the same. He stayed so firmly in the closet that even his closest friends had no idea which way he swung. Not that Tom and Duncan had done any better when it came to romance, so at least he’d been in good company in that respect and his lack of a girlfriend had never been any cause for comment.
Then the anomalies had entered his life and everything had changed. It had been fun at first but then they’d encountered the dodos and their deadly parasites, and Tom had died. After that, Connor had thought life would never be fun again. He had his friend’s death on his conscience and nothing Cutter or anyone else said could change that. But then another Tom had taken him out for a drink after work and the soldier had done what no one else had, he’d actually listened to him. Captain Tom Ryan, macho tough guy extraordinaire, had sat there in the Black Swan and had really listened. Not interrupting, not telling him that it hadn’t been his fault, not fobbing him off with platitudes. Just listening. At the end of the evening, when Connor had finally unloaded all the thoughts that had been buzzing around in his mind like a swarm of angry bees, the soldier had simply bought him another pint and agreed that sometimes life just sucked. There’d been nothing deep or profound about anything he’d said, but Connor had felt a bit better afterwards and a few days later when Ryan had asked him out for a drink again, he’d gone. Drinks had progressed to trips to the cinema and film nights, then a meal at an Italian restaurant instead of a takeaway.
By the time he and Ryan had become an item, the only person who had been surprised was Connor.
And then Ryan had been rushed back through an anomaly on a stretcher and Connor had felt like someone had torn his heart out of his chest and stamped on it. Ryan had died and that feeling hadn’t gone away, and sometimes he wondered if it ever would.
“Coffee.” The single word was quietly spoken, but it was enough to make Connor jump, let out an undignified yelp and nearly fall off his chair.
He glared up at Becker. “I’m going tie a collar on you with a bell on it!”
“Miaow,” Becker grinned, clearly unrepentant, leaving Connor wondering how the hell the guy managed to move so quietly in army boots. Ryan had been just as bad…
Every single screen flickered at once and one of them went black.
“Shit!” Connor rarely swore, but he really didn’t need any more hassle. Couldn’t the sodding machine just behave nicely for once, was that really too much to ask?
He noticed Becker’s eyes stray to the ramp for a moment and caught a flash of dark movement on the first floor then the offending screen blinked back to life, claiming his attention.
“Coffee,” Becker said, more firmly this time, when Connor had finished running another set of diagnostics and had found nothing wrong with the machine.
“Yes, mum.” Connor stared thoughtfully at the screens. “What’s the bloody matter with this place?” It was a rhetorical question and Becker clearly knew him well enough not to answer it. Ryan had been good like that as well, always knowing when to just let him babble on…
Two screens went blank in front of him and at the same time the wail of the ADD alarm ripped through the silence of the atrium.
Connor slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him, making coffee slop over the rim of the mug. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it in the direction of the spreading brown puddle. “This is really starting to piss me off!”
It was a false alarm, but it took him ten minutes to turn the noise off and convince the Special Forces contingent that they could go back to the bunkrooms. While all that was going on, Becker hovered protectively at his side. With a wry grin, Connor wondered what it was about him that seemed to attract the strong silent types. Not that he’d been thinking of Becker that way, God no, the man would probably do something very threatening with his favourite gun if he knew that the thought had even crossed Connor’s mind, which it hadn’t, not at all, not even when he’d seen the captain in the showers…
The alarm blared again and Connor gave up any pretence of self-control and swore violently before diving under the desk to rip the plug out of the socket. His knee landed on something hard that wasn’t the floor and he swore again even more creatively. Bloody hell, he’d been hanging around soldiers far too long if he’d picked up language like that! He rolled onto his side, holding the plug up in triumph and looked down to realise that what his knee had landed on was actually his pocket compass. It must have been pulled out when he’d chucked his handkerchief at the coffee spillage.
The needle was spinning wildly on its axis.
Connor picked it up and the needle continued to spin. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “I’m a complete idiot.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that strongly,” Becker commented. “But I’d get that thing plugged back in, if I were you.”
“Yeah, right.” Connor slammed the plug back into the socket, his attention still focussed on the compass. Gradually, the needle stopped spinning and returned to normal. Connor clambered back to his feet and stared at Becker in amazement. “Magnetic spikes! That’s what’s causing the problems. Why the hell didn’t I figure that out before?”
“You hadn’t just knelt on a compass?” Becker hazarded. “Why are we getting magnetic spikes in the ARC?”
“I have no bloody idea,” Connor admitted. “But now I know what it is, all I have to do is fit a big enough spike suppressor and we’ll be back in business!” He grinned and high-fived Becker. The young captain laughed and slapped his hand against Connor’s palm. In Connor’s other hand, the compass needle started to spin again…
This time Connor slid to the floor and hauled the plug for the power supply out of the socket without damaging his knee in the process.
* * * * *
Two days later, Connor had the biggest mainspike suppressor he could lay his hands on fitted to the ADD. When that seemed to be working satisfactorily he did the same thing with the CCTV cameras and started to extend the suppressors to the other computer systems as well. Lester grumbled half-heartedly about the expense but even Connor could see that his complaints were more about keeping up appearances than anything else.
What Connor still couldn’t fathom out, though, was what was causing the magnetic spikes in the first place. He’d taken to wearing a compass on his wrist like a watch, but there seemed to be no pattern to the occurrences – or at least no pattern that made sense. He still hadn’t been able to do anything to stop the kettles in the recreation room blowing up with monotonous regularity but that was a minor annoyance in comparison with the chaos that a constantly malfunctioning ADD had caused.
“Fancy a drink tonight, genius?”
Connor looked up from his keyboard and grinned at Becker. He’d been so wrapped up in his work over the past few days that he’d totally forgotten it was Friday. “Yeah, that’d be good.”
At 6.30pm, after an uneventful afternoon, Connor handed over control of the ADD to a duty technician and went off for a quick visit to the loo en route to the recreation room. As he opened the door into the corridor the sight of a black-uniformed figure in the distance made his heart give a slight jump in his chest. Connor shook his head ruefully and wondered if there was any suppressor available for his emotions. Or at least one that didn’t involve large amounts of alcohol and a hangover the following morning. He worked with soldiers day in, day out, and had thought – or more accurately hoped – that he was making progress but every now and then something would come back to haunt him…
The corridor lights flickered. Connor looked down at the compass on his wrist and saw the needle rotating madly. A shiver ran down his spine. This was getting beyond the realm of coincidence.
A door banged further down the corridor and one of the cleaners hurried out of the loos looking like he’d just had a nasty fright. Connor walked towards the toilets, keeping an eye on the compass as the needle continued to spin. He pushed open the door and stared around the room, seeing absolutely nothing to account for the look on cleaner’s face as he’d dashed out. Four stalls stood empty, their doors partly open. The urinals were unoccupied. The sound of running water drew Connor’s attention to the washbasins. It looked like the cleaner had scarpered without turning one of the taps off. He dealt with the running tap, then stood at one of the urinals while he relieved himself.
Behind him, he heard footsteps on the tiled floor. Connor’s fingers prickled slightly the way they did when he got nervous. He hadn’t heard the outer door open and the toilet stalls had all been unoccupied so how come someone was now in the room with him? He shook himself off as casually as he could manage, noticing that the compass strapped to his right wrist was still behaving erratically, zipped his jeans up and turned around. The room was empty.
His heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest. He’d been certain he’d heard footsteps – the sort he associated with the heavy black boots the soldiers wore. Hell, he’d been around someone who wore boots like that for long enough…
Almost unconsciously, he looked up as, right on cue, the fluorescent strip light started to hum in the way they always did just before a tube was about to blow. A moment later the light cut out, leaving him with nothing more than the faint green glow of the emergency lighting. Connor stared around him and forced himself to stand still, fighting against an overwhelming urge to bolt for the door. This was stupid. He wasn’t a kid, he hadn’t been watching too many horror films and he was not going to bolt like a frightened rabbit. He was going to wash his hands, walk calmly outside and report yet another fault in the lighting system.
Connor walked over to the washbasins, quite pleased with his resolve, and then made the fatal mistake of looking in the mirror. In the semi-darkness, he saw a dark shape behind him, half-turned away from him. The face was in shadow, but Connor would have known that profile anywhere.
He turned around sharply and found himself staring into the darkness of an empty room. He clenched his fists hard to stop his hands shaking. He knew, without needing to look, that the compass needle was still gyrating.
Light suddenly flooded into the room. He blinked and glanced at the door. Becker was standing there, dressed casually in jeans and a brown leather jacket, staring at him. “Connor?”
“The light’s blown,” Connor said, surprising himself by managing to keep his voice steady even though he felt like he’d just run a marathon.
Becker simply nodded and leaned against the door, holding it open while Connor washed his hands. When he finished, Becker commented, “I’ll be with you in a minute, mate, I just need a quick slash.”
“Do you want me to hold the door open?”
The Special Forces captain grinned. “I reckon I can find my own dick in the dark. Tell maintenance the light needs fixing and I’ll catch up with you in the atrium.”
Connor nodded and stepped back into the corridor, letting the door swing closed. Without quite knowing why, he stayed where he was, staring at the pale grey door. A moment later, he heard the low murmur of Becker’s voice, talking to someone. But the soldier hadn’t been wearing his radio. Connor reached out and gently turned the door handle, easing the door open an inch. The partition that shielded the interior of the toilets from the eyes of anyone passing by in the corridor while the door was open blocked his view, but he could now hear Becker’s words more clearly.
“You’re going to give someone a heart attack if you’re not careful.” The young captain’s voice held a mixture of amusement and exasperation. There was a silence, then Becker said, “He needs a break from this place. I was going to take him out for a drink, if that’s OK?”
For a moment, Connor wondered if Becker was talking to Abby on his mobile phone, but she’d left about half an hour ago with Jenny, declaring that they were going for a girly night out with Lester’s secretary and there was no reason at all why Becker would have been seeking her approval. In the silence that followed Becker’s question, a draught of cold air came from somewhere and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Connor stared around him, conscious of the fact that he’d started to sweat.
Connor heard a tap running and then Becker laughed softly. “Yeah, scout’s honour, I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
On impulse, Connor pushed the door fully open and stepped quickly around the partition. Becker had a paper towel crumpled in his hands as he balled it up and tossed it accurately into the waste bin. The hand-dryers were as unreliable as every other piece of electrical equipment in the ARC and Norman had recently installed towel dispensers in all of the toilets.
Becker glanced at him and Connor knew a guilty look when he saw one. The soldier had both hands occupied and couldn’t have been talking to someone on a mobile phone, and he definitely wasn’t wearing an ear-piece or a throat mike.
“Thought I’d dropped my phone,” Connor mumbled, staring around at the floor before bolting back out into the corridor and hurrying back to the atrium. By the time Becker caught up with him, he’d hauled his phone out of his pocket and slid it on the floor under the ADD. He grabbed it, plastered a goofy grin on his face and muttered, “Found you!” It couldn’t exactly be described as an Oscar winning performance, but it was the best he could muster.
* * * * *
The Black Swan was fairly empty for a Friday night. It looked like the off-duty soldiers had headed into town for a curry and the rest of the regulars obviously hadn’t been inclined to brave the freezing temperatures and rain that was showing an unhealthy tendency to degenerate into sleet.
Equipped with two pints of beer and a large packet of peanuts, Connor and Becler settled down at a corner table where the soldier could indulge his Special Forces paranoia and face the room with a wall at his back. Connor knew the drill well enough. He should do after the months he’d spent with Ryan. He glanced down, half-expecting the compass needle to start spinning. It gave a quick twitch, but settled down almost immediately.
“You look like someone who’s lost a pound and found sixpence,” Becker commented quietly. “I thought you’d be like a dog with two tails now that your baby’s not sending us on a wild goose chase every five minutes.”
In spite of himself, Connor grinned. “Neat, isn’t it? Lester bitched about the cost, but it seems to be working. I’m going to rig one up in the flat and see if I can use it to stop the telly playing up all the time.”
“What do you think is causing it?”
Connor shrugged. “I wish I knew. I wondered at first if it was some sort of static charge we were bringing back from the anomalies but…” he shrugged again and trailed off. What he really thought seemed too far-fetched, even for someone who dealt with dinosaurs for a living…
As a displacement activity, he ripped open the packet of peanuts and tipped a handful into his palm. Becker did the same and by mutual assent they steered the conversation onto other topics. Ones that didn’t make the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stand up.
The Special Forces captain was as good as his word – although who he’d given it to, Connor didn’t know – and when they spectacularly failed to find a taxi, Becker actually walked him home, in spite of Connor’s protestations that he’d be fine on his own and that Becker’s flat was in the opposite direction. They arrived back at Abby’s place soaked to the skin and it seemed only the right thing to do to invite Becker in for a coffee.
As they piled, dripping wet, into the hall, Connor’s phone bleeped. The message was from Abby and read: No taxis. Staying at Jenny’s. C U tomorrow. It looked like they hadn’t been the only ones having problems. He kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen in damp socks, leaving wet footprints on the parquet flooring. Rex swooped down from one of the beams, chattering at him in welcome. Connor put the kettle on and chopped up an apple that he deposited into the lizard’s food bowl. Rex munched appreciatively. Over the last month or so, Becker had been a reasonably frequent visitor to the flat, mainly on Friday nights after the pub, and the coeleosaurovus no longer displayed any nervousness in his presence.
“I’ll fetch a towel,” Connor commented as Becker pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, looking – for once – not quite his usual immaculate self.
The flat was warm, heated to an extent that allowed Rex reasonable freedom of movement, but even so, it had been bloody freezing outside. Connor left Becker making the coffee and went in search of dry clothes for himself and a towel for Becker. He quickly changed into a sweatshirt and dry jeans and wondered if he had anything that would fit Becker. The soldier was several inches taller than him, with wider shoulders, a deeper chest and longer arms… His eyes fell on a dark blue shirt on a shelf in the wardrobe. He hadn’t even realised that he still had any of Ryan’s clothes in the flat.
Connor reached out and ran his fingers tentatively over the soft brushed cotton. Tears pricked at his eyes. He pulled the shirt off the shelf and buried his face in the material. It was clean, but if he closed his eyes and inhaled really deeply, he could almost smell Ryan’s own scent, a blend of citrus shower gel and cordite and something that was uniquely, indefinably… Ryan.
It had been a long week. He was knackered, over-emotional and suddenly felt like shit. He clutched the shirt like a teddy bear and felt tears start to trickle out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He missed Ryan. He missed him so bloody much it was like having a spike in his guts the whole time. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he immersed himself in the work of the anomaly project it just all kept coming crashing back.
Memories crowded into his mind of the soldiers rushing back through the anomaly carrying Ryan’s broken, bloodied body on a makeshift stretcher. Ditzy’s calm voice giving orders. Stephen at Connor’s side, his arm protectively around his shaking shoulders. Abby holding his hand. The stricken look on Cutter’s face. Everyone trying to sound positive and hopeful, right up to the moment when the doctor at the hospital had told him that Ryan had been pronounced dead on arrival, in spite of Ditzy’s best efforts at resuscitation. Connor had heard of people talking about the bottom dropping out of their worlds, but he’d never known what they meant, not until then. But afterwards, oh God, yes, he knew exactly what that phrase meant and he’d lived with that cold, hollow feeling every minute of the last three months and he was sick to bloody death of pretending that everything was all right.
It bloody well wasn’t all right. It would never be all right again. And if anyone gave him any shit about it being better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he wouldn’t be answerable for his sodding actions. He buried his face in the shirt and sobbed. He felt strong hands on his shoulders and then fingers were combing through his wet hair, the way Ryan always used to do when he’d been upset about something and Connor gave up any pretence of stiff upper lip and simply buried his head against Becker’s chest and cried his heart out.
When he’d reached the stage of needing a handkerchief, Connor dropped a hand to his pocket and took a step back, his eyes still closed against the embarrassment of having cried like a big kid in the arms of one of his colleagues. When he opened them, Becker had gone. Connor grinned ruefully. He really was going to have to get the guy that belled collar.
He blew his nose, splashed cold water on his eyes his eyes in the bathroom and, still clutching Ryan’s shirt, took a large towel through to the kitchen. Becker accepted the towel with thanks and waved his hand at a steaming mug off coffee, giving no sign that he’d just hugged Connor while he’d cried his heart out.
Connor held out the shirt to Becker. “This might fit you, it was…” he hesitated then pushed the name out past the lump in his throat, “…Tom’s.”
The kettle suddenly started to crackle. Moving with a speed that had no doubt taken years of practice to achieve, Becker whipped it off the base, muttering, “No, you bloody well don’t!” He set the kettle back down on the work surface and glared at it. The object of his attention apparently thought better of malfunctioning again and remained quiescent, for which Connor was grateful. They were on their third kettle this month already.
Becker grinned at him. “I wish the ones in the rec room took as much notice.” He cocked his head slightly, regarding Connor quizzically, then said, “It’s all right, this teeshirt’ll dry out soon enough.”
“You’ve got goosebumps like bloody marbles,” Connor commented, with perfect truth. He held the shirt out again. “Take it, it’s OK, honestly. And… thanks…”
Becker quirked an eyebrow – and one day Connor would pluck up the courage to ask where he’d got the scar from – but took the shirt from him and stripped off his sopping wet and distinctly figure-hugging, teeshirt, and wrung it out over the sink, before rubbing the towel over his hair and chest and pulling on the dry shirt.
Connor’s breath hitched in his throat. Less than five minutes he’d had his nose buried in a dry teeshirt – wet with nothing more than his own tears – not the cold, damp thing Becker had just taken off. A shiver he couldn’t control ran down his spine and Connor took a step backwards, his eyes darting around him, not really sure what he expected to see, half-scared, half-hopeful. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste.
“Connor?” Becker’s voice was hesitant. “Connor, are you…?”
“All right?” Connor demanded sharply. “No, I’m not fucking all right. If you must know, I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again!” He stared down at the compass on his wrist. The needle twitched. “My boyfriend died. You know that, you were brought in to replace him.” Another twitch. “His name was Tom Ryan. Captain Tom Ryan…”
“Connor…” There was no mistaking the plea in Becker’s voice now.
The compass needle started to flicker like a snake’s tongue and Connor felt a grin forming on his face even though the hairs on the back of his neck were starting rise.
“Captain Tom Ryan,” Connor repeated firmly. “How many times am I going to have to say it?” He stared challengingly at Becker. “I heard you talking to someone in the toilets, Becker. You promised you’d see me home safely. You weren’t talking to Abby, were you? You were talking to him. To my boyfriend. To my dead boyfriend.”
“Connor…” Becker’s voice was practically beseeching now.
If Connor was wrong he knew he was going to look a right twat, but he was willing to bet his entire set of Star Wars action figures on the fact that he wasn’t bloody wrong.
“Who else knows, Becker? Who else knows that the ARC is being haunted by the ghost of my boyfriend? Is that why Lester keeps having to hire new cleaning staff? Is that why everyone but me seems to go to the toilet in pairs the whole time, and not just the girls?” Things were falling into place now, things he didn’t even remember noticing at the time. He knew, without needing to look down that the compass had now started to behave as though it was in the presence of an anomaly. “When was anyone going to tell me what the hell’s been going on? When, Becker?” A sudden thought struck him. “Abby knows, doesn’t she?” He waved his hand angrily at Becker. “Don’t just say Connor again!”
“We didn’t want to make things worse for you,” Becker said quietly, with a resigned look on his face.
“Make things worse for me?” Connor laughed, his voice sounding harsh even in his own ears. “Like I just said, Becker. My boyfriend is dead. How the hell do you think anything could possibly make things worse?” A slight shimmer in the air next to the sink drew his attention. Connor stared hard, wondering if what he was seeing was a trick of the light or the product of his – admittedly feverish – imagination. The compass was now gyrating as wildly as he’d ever seen and the overhead light had started to flicker. The incongruous thought hit him that if the tube blew, they didn’t have a replacement. “Tom? I’m right, aren’t I? You were there, in the bedroom, weren’t you? You held me while I cried… I could touch you... I could bloody smell you! Tom…”
The haze started to coalesce in front of his eyes, deepening, solidifying, taking on features, wearing a face that Connor had never expected to see again outside of a photograph. Tears started to run down his face and he took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Tom…”
The fluorescent lighting tube shattered, showering pieces of glass and plastic across this kitchen. The microwave switched itself on without warning, the turntable starting to spin and then, a moment later, it exploded as well.
In the sudden silence that followed, Becker’s voice commented in the darkness of the kitchen, “I think we might be better off with a more controlled experiment next time, mate.”
And caught between tears and incredulous, hopeful laughter, Connor had to agree with him.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Becker, Connor, Lester, Cutter, Stephen, Abby, Lyle, Blade, Ditzy, Finn, (Ryan)
Rating : 15
Word Count : 12,700 (posting in three parts)
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Connor begins to suspect that something strange is going on.
Warning : None.
A/N : Written for my darling Evil Twin,
munchkinofdoom for her birthday. Thanks to lukadreaming for the fastest beta on record. This is a sequel to The Ghost and Miss Maitland and The Ghost and Captain Becker. I will be posting in three parts.Connor leaned back in his chair and stared at the Anomaly Detection Device’s bank of screens. He’d been working for the last five hours on some improvements to the system and had declined a lift home from Abby, preferring to work on through the evening, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the late shift.
The screens flickered and Connor sucked in a quick breath. He’d been struggling with reliability issues for a couple of months and every time he thought he’d got the problems cracked, something else would go wrong. It seemed to be a perpetual game of one step forward, two steps back. The flickering stopped and Connor let out the breath he’d been holding.
A waft of cold air raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Connor shivered, turning around to see if anyone had left open the doors to the cavernous internal garage. He’d never quite got his head around the design of the building, including why the central area needed a pair of doors that wouldn’t have been out of place in an aircraft hanger. The heating bills would be horrendous, especially in the cold snap that had been causing chaos in the south of England for the past few weeks.
The doors were firmly closed, providing no clue as to where the draught was coming from. Connor pulled up the collar on his jacket and considered going to get a coffee and something to eat. It was nearly midnight and there was no way he’d bother going home now. He knew he should get some sleep, not inject more caffeine into his already hyped-up system, but he was hungry and thirsty, and everyone was always telling him that commonsense wasn’t his strongest suit…
Movement caught the corner of his eye and Connor looked up to find a black-clad figure looking down at him from the top of the ramp that led up to Lester’s office. It looked like he wasn’t the only one working late. The soldier turned away before Connor could work out who it was and he tried to quell the uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his stomach. It had been three months since Ryan’s death and the pain still seemed as raw as ever. He’d thrown himself into his work but it hadn’t helped. He still woke up every day with that same gut-wrenching feeling of loss and he dreamed of Ryan as well. There were even times – like now – when he thought he’d caught a glimpse of Ryan.
Tears formed in Connor’s eyes and he dashed them away on the back of his woollen gloves. He’d never imagined that someone like Ryan would have been interested in him. Hell, he’d never imagined for a moment that Ryan had even been gay. Connor had known since he’d been at school that he was attracted to men – or boys at that point – rather than the opposite sex, but it wasn’t something he’d ever talked about or acted on. University had been the same. He stayed so firmly in the closet that even his closest friends had no idea which way he swung. Not that Tom and Duncan had done any better when it came to romance, so at least he’d been in good company in that respect and his lack of a girlfriend had never been any cause for comment.
Then the anomalies had entered his life and everything had changed. It had been fun at first but then they’d encountered the dodos and their deadly parasites, and Tom had died. After that, Connor had thought life would never be fun again. He had his friend’s death on his conscience and nothing Cutter or anyone else said could change that. But then another Tom had taken him out for a drink after work and the soldier had done what no one else had, he’d actually listened to him. Captain Tom Ryan, macho tough guy extraordinaire, had sat there in the Black Swan and had really listened. Not interrupting, not telling him that it hadn’t been his fault, not fobbing him off with platitudes. Just listening. At the end of the evening, when Connor had finally unloaded all the thoughts that had been buzzing around in his mind like a swarm of angry bees, the soldier had simply bought him another pint and agreed that sometimes life just sucked. There’d been nothing deep or profound about anything he’d said, but Connor had felt a bit better afterwards and a few days later when Ryan had asked him out for a drink again, he’d gone. Drinks had progressed to trips to the cinema and film nights, then a meal at an Italian restaurant instead of a takeaway.
By the time he and Ryan had become an item, the only person who had been surprised was Connor.
And then Ryan had been rushed back through an anomaly on a stretcher and Connor had felt like someone had torn his heart out of his chest and stamped on it. Ryan had died and that feeling hadn’t gone away, and sometimes he wondered if it ever would.
“Coffee.” The single word was quietly spoken, but it was enough to make Connor jump, let out an undignified yelp and nearly fall off his chair.
He glared up at Becker. “I’m going tie a collar on you with a bell on it!”
“Miaow,” Becker grinned, clearly unrepentant, leaving Connor wondering how the hell the guy managed to move so quietly in army boots. Ryan had been just as bad…
Every single screen flickered at once and one of them went black.
“Shit!” Connor rarely swore, but he really didn’t need any more hassle. Couldn’t the sodding machine just behave nicely for once, was that really too much to ask?
He noticed Becker’s eyes stray to the ramp for a moment and caught a flash of dark movement on the first floor then the offending screen blinked back to life, claiming his attention.
“Coffee,” Becker said, more firmly this time, when Connor had finished running another set of diagnostics and had found nothing wrong with the machine.
“Yes, mum.” Connor stared thoughtfully at the screens. “What’s the bloody matter with this place?” It was a rhetorical question and Becker clearly knew him well enough not to answer it. Ryan had been good like that as well, always knowing when to just let him babble on…
Two screens went blank in front of him and at the same time the wail of the ADD alarm ripped through the silence of the atrium.
Connor slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him, making coffee slop over the rim of the mug. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it in the direction of the spreading brown puddle. “This is really starting to piss me off!”
It was a false alarm, but it took him ten minutes to turn the noise off and convince the Special Forces contingent that they could go back to the bunkrooms. While all that was going on, Becker hovered protectively at his side. With a wry grin, Connor wondered what it was about him that seemed to attract the strong silent types. Not that he’d been thinking of Becker that way, God no, the man would probably do something very threatening with his favourite gun if he knew that the thought had even crossed Connor’s mind, which it hadn’t, not at all, not even when he’d seen the captain in the showers…
The alarm blared again and Connor gave up any pretence of self-control and swore violently before diving under the desk to rip the plug out of the socket. His knee landed on something hard that wasn’t the floor and he swore again even more creatively. Bloody hell, he’d been hanging around soldiers far too long if he’d picked up language like that! He rolled onto his side, holding the plug up in triumph and looked down to realise that what his knee had landed on was actually his pocket compass. It must have been pulled out when he’d chucked his handkerchief at the coffee spillage.
The needle was spinning wildly on its axis.
Connor picked it up and the needle continued to spin. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “I’m a complete idiot.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that strongly,” Becker commented. “But I’d get that thing plugged back in, if I were you.”
“Yeah, right.” Connor slammed the plug back into the socket, his attention still focussed on the compass. Gradually, the needle stopped spinning and returned to normal. Connor clambered back to his feet and stared at Becker in amazement. “Magnetic spikes! That’s what’s causing the problems. Why the hell didn’t I figure that out before?”
“You hadn’t just knelt on a compass?” Becker hazarded. “Why are we getting magnetic spikes in the ARC?”
“I have no bloody idea,” Connor admitted. “But now I know what it is, all I have to do is fit a big enough spike suppressor and we’ll be back in business!” He grinned and high-fived Becker. The young captain laughed and slapped his hand against Connor’s palm. In Connor’s other hand, the compass needle started to spin again…
This time Connor slid to the floor and hauled the plug for the power supply out of the socket without damaging his knee in the process.
* * * * *
Two days later, Connor had the biggest mainspike suppressor he could lay his hands on fitted to the ADD. When that seemed to be working satisfactorily he did the same thing with the CCTV cameras and started to extend the suppressors to the other computer systems as well. Lester grumbled half-heartedly about the expense but even Connor could see that his complaints were more about keeping up appearances than anything else.
What Connor still couldn’t fathom out, though, was what was causing the magnetic spikes in the first place. He’d taken to wearing a compass on his wrist like a watch, but there seemed to be no pattern to the occurrences – or at least no pattern that made sense. He still hadn’t been able to do anything to stop the kettles in the recreation room blowing up with monotonous regularity but that was a minor annoyance in comparison with the chaos that a constantly malfunctioning ADD had caused.
“Fancy a drink tonight, genius?”
Connor looked up from his keyboard and grinned at Becker. He’d been so wrapped up in his work over the past few days that he’d totally forgotten it was Friday. “Yeah, that’d be good.”
At 6.30pm, after an uneventful afternoon, Connor handed over control of the ADD to a duty technician and went off for a quick visit to the loo en route to the recreation room. As he opened the door into the corridor the sight of a black-uniformed figure in the distance made his heart give a slight jump in his chest. Connor shook his head ruefully and wondered if there was any suppressor available for his emotions. Or at least one that didn’t involve large amounts of alcohol and a hangover the following morning. He worked with soldiers day in, day out, and had thought – or more accurately hoped – that he was making progress but every now and then something would come back to haunt him…
The corridor lights flickered. Connor looked down at the compass on his wrist and saw the needle rotating madly. A shiver ran down his spine. This was getting beyond the realm of coincidence.
A door banged further down the corridor and one of the cleaners hurried out of the loos looking like he’d just had a nasty fright. Connor walked towards the toilets, keeping an eye on the compass as the needle continued to spin. He pushed open the door and stared around the room, seeing absolutely nothing to account for the look on cleaner’s face as he’d dashed out. Four stalls stood empty, their doors partly open. The urinals were unoccupied. The sound of running water drew Connor’s attention to the washbasins. It looked like the cleaner had scarpered without turning one of the taps off. He dealt with the running tap, then stood at one of the urinals while he relieved himself.
Behind him, he heard footsteps on the tiled floor. Connor’s fingers prickled slightly the way they did when he got nervous. He hadn’t heard the outer door open and the toilet stalls had all been unoccupied so how come someone was now in the room with him? He shook himself off as casually as he could manage, noticing that the compass strapped to his right wrist was still behaving erratically, zipped his jeans up and turned around. The room was empty.
His heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest. He’d been certain he’d heard footsteps – the sort he associated with the heavy black boots the soldiers wore. Hell, he’d been around someone who wore boots like that for long enough…
Almost unconsciously, he looked up as, right on cue, the fluorescent strip light started to hum in the way they always did just before a tube was about to blow. A moment later the light cut out, leaving him with nothing more than the faint green glow of the emergency lighting. Connor stared around him and forced himself to stand still, fighting against an overwhelming urge to bolt for the door. This was stupid. He wasn’t a kid, he hadn’t been watching too many horror films and he was not going to bolt like a frightened rabbit. He was going to wash his hands, walk calmly outside and report yet another fault in the lighting system.
Connor walked over to the washbasins, quite pleased with his resolve, and then made the fatal mistake of looking in the mirror. In the semi-darkness, he saw a dark shape behind him, half-turned away from him. The face was in shadow, but Connor would have known that profile anywhere.
He turned around sharply and found himself staring into the darkness of an empty room. He clenched his fists hard to stop his hands shaking. He knew, without needing to look, that the compass needle was still gyrating.
Light suddenly flooded into the room. He blinked and glanced at the door. Becker was standing there, dressed casually in jeans and a brown leather jacket, staring at him. “Connor?”
“The light’s blown,” Connor said, surprising himself by managing to keep his voice steady even though he felt like he’d just run a marathon.
Becker simply nodded and leaned against the door, holding it open while Connor washed his hands. When he finished, Becker commented, “I’ll be with you in a minute, mate, I just need a quick slash.”
“Do you want me to hold the door open?”
The Special Forces captain grinned. “I reckon I can find my own dick in the dark. Tell maintenance the light needs fixing and I’ll catch up with you in the atrium.”
Connor nodded and stepped back into the corridor, letting the door swing closed. Without quite knowing why, he stayed where he was, staring at the pale grey door. A moment later, he heard the low murmur of Becker’s voice, talking to someone. But the soldier hadn’t been wearing his radio. Connor reached out and gently turned the door handle, easing the door open an inch. The partition that shielded the interior of the toilets from the eyes of anyone passing by in the corridor while the door was open blocked his view, but he could now hear Becker’s words more clearly.
“You’re going to give someone a heart attack if you’re not careful.” The young captain’s voice held a mixture of amusement and exasperation. There was a silence, then Becker said, “He needs a break from this place. I was going to take him out for a drink, if that’s OK?”
For a moment, Connor wondered if Becker was talking to Abby on his mobile phone, but she’d left about half an hour ago with Jenny, declaring that they were going for a girly night out with Lester’s secretary and there was no reason at all why Becker would have been seeking her approval. In the silence that followed Becker’s question, a draught of cold air came from somewhere and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Connor stared around him, conscious of the fact that he’d started to sweat.
Connor heard a tap running and then Becker laughed softly. “Yeah, scout’s honour, I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
On impulse, Connor pushed the door fully open and stepped quickly around the partition. Becker had a paper towel crumpled in his hands as he balled it up and tossed it accurately into the waste bin. The hand-dryers were as unreliable as every other piece of electrical equipment in the ARC and Norman had recently installed towel dispensers in all of the toilets.
Becker glanced at him and Connor knew a guilty look when he saw one. The soldier had both hands occupied and couldn’t have been talking to someone on a mobile phone, and he definitely wasn’t wearing an ear-piece or a throat mike.
“Thought I’d dropped my phone,” Connor mumbled, staring around at the floor before bolting back out into the corridor and hurrying back to the atrium. By the time Becker caught up with him, he’d hauled his phone out of his pocket and slid it on the floor under the ADD. He grabbed it, plastered a goofy grin on his face and muttered, “Found you!” It couldn’t exactly be described as an Oscar winning performance, but it was the best he could muster.
* * * * *
The Black Swan was fairly empty for a Friday night. It looked like the off-duty soldiers had headed into town for a curry and the rest of the regulars obviously hadn’t been inclined to brave the freezing temperatures and rain that was showing an unhealthy tendency to degenerate into sleet.
Equipped with two pints of beer and a large packet of peanuts, Connor and Becler settled down at a corner table where the soldier could indulge his Special Forces paranoia and face the room with a wall at his back. Connor knew the drill well enough. He should do after the months he’d spent with Ryan. He glanced down, half-expecting the compass needle to start spinning. It gave a quick twitch, but settled down almost immediately.
“You look like someone who’s lost a pound and found sixpence,” Becker commented quietly. “I thought you’d be like a dog with two tails now that your baby’s not sending us on a wild goose chase every five minutes.”
In spite of himself, Connor grinned. “Neat, isn’t it? Lester bitched about the cost, but it seems to be working. I’m going to rig one up in the flat and see if I can use it to stop the telly playing up all the time.”
“What do you think is causing it?”
Connor shrugged. “I wish I knew. I wondered at first if it was some sort of static charge we were bringing back from the anomalies but…” he shrugged again and trailed off. What he really thought seemed too far-fetched, even for someone who dealt with dinosaurs for a living…
As a displacement activity, he ripped open the packet of peanuts and tipped a handful into his palm. Becker did the same and by mutual assent they steered the conversation onto other topics. Ones that didn’t make the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stand up.
The Special Forces captain was as good as his word – although who he’d given it to, Connor didn’t know – and when they spectacularly failed to find a taxi, Becker actually walked him home, in spite of Connor’s protestations that he’d be fine on his own and that Becker’s flat was in the opposite direction. They arrived back at Abby’s place soaked to the skin and it seemed only the right thing to do to invite Becker in for a coffee.
As they piled, dripping wet, into the hall, Connor’s phone bleeped. The message was from Abby and read: No taxis. Staying at Jenny’s. C U tomorrow. It looked like they hadn’t been the only ones having problems. He kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen in damp socks, leaving wet footprints on the parquet flooring. Rex swooped down from one of the beams, chattering at him in welcome. Connor put the kettle on and chopped up an apple that he deposited into the lizard’s food bowl. Rex munched appreciatively. Over the last month or so, Becker had been a reasonably frequent visitor to the flat, mainly on Friday nights after the pub, and the coeleosaurovus no longer displayed any nervousness in his presence.
“I’ll fetch a towel,” Connor commented as Becker pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, looking – for once – not quite his usual immaculate self.
The flat was warm, heated to an extent that allowed Rex reasonable freedom of movement, but even so, it had been bloody freezing outside. Connor left Becker making the coffee and went in search of dry clothes for himself and a towel for Becker. He quickly changed into a sweatshirt and dry jeans and wondered if he had anything that would fit Becker. The soldier was several inches taller than him, with wider shoulders, a deeper chest and longer arms… His eyes fell on a dark blue shirt on a shelf in the wardrobe. He hadn’t even realised that he still had any of Ryan’s clothes in the flat.
Connor reached out and ran his fingers tentatively over the soft brushed cotton. Tears pricked at his eyes. He pulled the shirt off the shelf and buried his face in the material. It was clean, but if he closed his eyes and inhaled really deeply, he could almost smell Ryan’s own scent, a blend of citrus shower gel and cordite and something that was uniquely, indefinably… Ryan.
It had been a long week. He was knackered, over-emotional and suddenly felt like shit. He clutched the shirt like a teddy bear and felt tears start to trickle out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He missed Ryan. He missed him so bloody much it was like having a spike in his guts the whole time. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he immersed himself in the work of the anomaly project it just all kept coming crashing back.
Memories crowded into his mind of the soldiers rushing back through the anomaly carrying Ryan’s broken, bloodied body on a makeshift stretcher. Ditzy’s calm voice giving orders. Stephen at Connor’s side, his arm protectively around his shaking shoulders. Abby holding his hand. The stricken look on Cutter’s face. Everyone trying to sound positive and hopeful, right up to the moment when the doctor at the hospital had told him that Ryan had been pronounced dead on arrival, in spite of Ditzy’s best efforts at resuscitation. Connor had heard of people talking about the bottom dropping out of their worlds, but he’d never known what they meant, not until then. But afterwards, oh God, yes, he knew exactly what that phrase meant and he’d lived with that cold, hollow feeling every minute of the last three months and he was sick to bloody death of pretending that everything was all right.
It bloody well wasn’t all right. It would never be all right again. And if anyone gave him any shit about it being better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he wouldn’t be answerable for his sodding actions. He buried his face in the shirt and sobbed. He felt strong hands on his shoulders and then fingers were combing through his wet hair, the way Ryan always used to do when he’d been upset about something and Connor gave up any pretence of stiff upper lip and simply buried his head against Becker’s chest and cried his heart out.
When he’d reached the stage of needing a handkerchief, Connor dropped a hand to his pocket and took a step back, his eyes still closed against the embarrassment of having cried like a big kid in the arms of one of his colleagues. When he opened them, Becker had gone. Connor grinned ruefully. He really was going to have to get the guy that belled collar.
He blew his nose, splashed cold water on his eyes his eyes in the bathroom and, still clutching Ryan’s shirt, took a large towel through to the kitchen. Becker accepted the towel with thanks and waved his hand at a steaming mug off coffee, giving no sign that he’d just hugged Connor while he’d cried his heart out.
Connor held out the shirt to Becker. “This might fit you, it was…” he hesitated then pushed the name out past the lump in his throat, “…Tom’s.”
The kettle suddenly started to crackle. Moving with a speed that had no doubt taken years of practice to achieve, Becker whipped it off the base, muttering, “No, you bloody well don’t!” He set the kettle back down on the work surface and glared at it. The object of his attention apparently thought better of malfunctioning again and remained quiescent, for which Connor was grateful. They were on their third kettle this month already.
Becker grinned at him. “I wish the ones in the rec room took as much notice.” He cocked his head slightly, regarding Connor quizzically, then said, “It’s all right, this teeshirt’ll dry out soon enough.”
“You’ve got goosebumps like bloody marbles,” Connor commented, with perfect truth. He held the shirt out again. “Take it, it’s OK, honestly. And… thanks…”
Becker quirked an eyebrow – and one day Connor would pluck up the courage to ask where he’d got the scar from – but took the shirt from him and stripped off his sopping wet and distinctly figure-hugging, teeshirt, and wrung it out over the sink, before rubbing the towel over his hair and chest and pulling on the dry shirt.
Connor’s breath hitched in his throat. Less than five minutes he’d had his nose buried in a dry teeshirt – wet with nothing more than his own tears – not the cold, damp thing Becker had just taken off. A shiver he couldn’t control ran down his spine and Connor took a step backwards, his eyes darting around him, not really sure what he expected to see, half-scared, half-hopeful. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste.
“Connor?” Becker’s voice was hesitant. “Connor, are you…?”
“All right?” Connor demanded sharply. “No, I’m not fucking all right. If you must know, I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again!” He stared down at the compass on his wrist. The needle twitched. “My boyfriend died. You know that, you were brought in to replace him.” Another twitch. “His name was Tom Ryan. Captain Tom Ryan…”
“Connor…” There was no mistaking the plea in Becker’s voice now.
The compass needle started to flicker like a snake’s tongue and Connor felt a grin forming on his face even though the hairs on the back of his neck were starting rise.
“Captain Tom Ryan,” Connor repeated firmly. “How many times am I going to have to say it?” He stared challengingly at Becker. “I heard you talking to someone in the toilets, Becker. You promised you’d see me home safely. You weren’t talking to Abby, were you? You were talking to him. To my boyfriend. To my dead boyfriend.”
“Connor…” Becker’s voice was practically beseeching now.
If Connor was wrong he knew he was going to look a right twat, but he was willing to bet his entire set of Star Wars action figures on the fact that he wasn’t bloody wrong.
“Who else knows, Becker? Who else knows that the ARC is being haunted by the ghost of my boyfriend? Is that why Lester keeps having to hire new cleaning staff? Is that why everyone but me seems to go to the toilet in pairs the whole time, and not just the girls?” Things were falling into place now, things he didn’t even remember noticing at the time. He knew, without needing to look down that the compass had now started to behave as though it was in the presence of an anomaly. “When was anyone going to tell me what the hell’s been going on? When, Becker?” A sudden thought struck him. “Abby knows, doesn’t she?” He waved his hand angrily at Becker. “Don’t just say Connor again!”
“We didn’t want to make things worse for you,” Becker said quietly, with a resigned look on his face.
“Make things worse for me?” Connor laughed, his voice sounding harsh even in his own ears. “Like I just said, Becker. My boyfriend is dead. How the hell do you think anything could possibly make things worse?” A slight shimmer in the air next to the sink drew his attention. Connor stared hard, wondering if what he was seeing was a trick of the light or the product of his – admittedly feverish – imagination. The compass was now gyrating as wildly as he’d ever seen and the overhead light had started to flicker. The incongruous thought hit him that if the tube blew, they didn’t have a replacement. “Tom? I’m right, aren’t I? You were there, in the bedroom, weren’t you? You held me while I cried… I could touch you... I could bloody smell you! Tom…”
The haze started to coalesce in front of his eyes, deepening, solidifying, taking on features, wearing a face that Connor had never expected to see again outside of a photograph. Tears started to run down his face and he took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Tom…”
The fluorescent lighting tube shattered, showering pieces of glass and plastic across this kitchen. The microwave switched itself on without warning, the turntable starting to spin and then, a moment later, it exploded as well.
In the sudden silence that followed, Becker’s voice commented in the darkness of the kitchen, “I think we might be better off with a more controlled experiment next time, mate.”
And caught between tears and incredulous, hopeful laughter, Connor had to agree with him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 10:39 pm (UTC)Although I suspect if Ryan inadvertantly breaks Connor's laptop there will be trouble!
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Date: 2011-01-28 09:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 10:48 pm (UTC)That was... there are no words. Shocking! Brilliant!
I cried my bloody eyes out when he found the shirt. Oh Tom!
It's just unspeakably wonderful to have more of this story, and I can barely imagine what's going to happen!! eeeee!!
Just... YAY!! So shivery and amazing.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:00 am (UTC)I couldn't resist the bit with the shirt.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 02:55 am (UTC)Can't wait until the next part!
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Date: 2011-01-28 10:02 am (UTC)Glad you're enjoying it.
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Date: 2011-01-28 03:03 am (UTC)It had been a long week. He was knackered, over-emotional and suddenly felt like shit.
Can totally relate to Connor there!
He felt strong hands on his shoulders and then fingers were combing through his wet hair, the way Ryan always used to do when he’d been upset about something and Connor gave up any pretence of stiff upper lip and simply buried his head against Becker’s chest and cried his heart out.
Oh I was sniffling up a storm at this scene *huggles Connor too!*
“I think we might be better off with a more controlled experiment next time, mate.”
I am looking forward to seeing how this all plays out!
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Date: 2011-01-28 10:03 am (UTC)I'm glad it still managed to come over as a bit creepy, as writing anything scary when the audience knows what's going on is tricky.
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Date: 2011-01-28 03:22 am (UTC)And caught between tears and incredulous, hopeful laughter, Connor had to agree with him.
LOL!
Poor Conner though! It sucks to be the last to know but now he knows the truth.
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Date: 2011-01-28 10:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 08:17 am (UTC)*sniffle*
I had wondered when Connor was going to twig that it wasn't just electrical problems.
Can't wait for the next installment.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 09:41 am (UTC)Loved the bit when Ryan actually managed to hold Connor as he cried, and that moment when Connor realised that the man who had been holding him hadn't been dripping wet. Detective!Connor is a thing of beauty...
*smooches* Can't wait for the rest!! Thank you!
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Date: 2011-01-28 10:05 am (UTC)LOL, it has to be the longest drawn out series on record! But at least you're getting more of it this time.
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Date: 2011-01-28 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 11:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 03:34 pm (UTC)I'm so curious about the connection between Becker and Ryan (and yes, like Connor I'm also curious how Becker got that eyebrow scar *g*)
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Date: 2011-01-28 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 03:55 pm (UTC)But even thought I'm a complete scaredy cat, it's still a gorgeous fic!
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Date: 2011-01-28 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 06:39 pm (UTC)And yes, Connor should definitely get Becker a collar with a bell on *g*
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Date: 2011-01-28 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 07:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 08:32 pm (UTC)EDIT: icon fail.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 08:35 pm (UTC)I still blame you for this series, btw. 8g*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 11:48 pm (UTC)Connor was just...Connor. And I loved Becker's role.
Slightly heartbroken now, but very much looking forward to the next part.
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Date: 2011-01-29 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 10:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 10:18 am (UTC)Glad you like it, hon.
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Date: 2011-01-29 08:34 am (UTC)scary stuff is scary! i'm totally not a horror movie person, but i love how those scenes in all of these fics made me jump.
so appropriate and sweet that connor started dating ryan almost without realizing it. :) seems kinda equally sweet that he doesn't quite realize that becker's a similar sort of guy who just wants to be there for him -- and maybe more. i do hope that there's more with them (assuming ryan really is dead and on his way out of the frame) and hopefully without too much guilt on connor's part for moving on.
you've got me all curious about how ryan's ghost thing works. he can be solid enough to hold connor while he cries, but he glitches out all the technology the rest of the time?
speaking of holding connor… epic sobs when he finds ryan's shirt and falls apart. i'm part sad, part impressed, and another part hopeful that he offers it to becker, even after he thinks it smells just a little like ryan.
Becker quirked an eyebrow – and one day Connor would pluck up the courage to ask where he’d got the scar from – but took the shirt from him and stripped off his sopping wet and distinctly figure-hugging, teeshirt, and wrung it out over the sink, before rubbing the towel over his hair and chest and pulling on the dry shirt.
THANK YOU for that. that made my yesterday and my today too. :)
this is great. the other ones were as well, and i'm eagerly awaiting the next installation. i do hope we don't have to wait til next january. :)
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Date: 2011-01-29 10:20 am (UTC)The second part will be up shortly, with the third on Monday. (I've had to stage them out to give my beta time to do them a I only finished the last part the day before Munchkin's birthday.
There will be more on how the ghosting works, but some of the explanations will be in later parts. I haven't run out of ideas for this series yet.
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Date: 2011-01-29 10:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-31 08:23 am (UTC)////By the time he and Ryan had become an item, the only person who had been surprised was Connor.////
LOL. Love that. And Ryan's way of listening to him re the other Tom.
And I love how Becker is in this fic (including but not limited to the wet shirt peeling off...)
I've got a theory that somehow Ryan is just 'out of phase' due to being seriously injured while being carried back through the anomaly, so I'm hoping he gets to come back. But, if not, I hope he finds some peace and a way not to blow everything up...
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Date: 2011-01-31 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 02:36 pm (UTC)It was so cute as Becker asked for permission of Ryan. Until that I had a feeling that we was dealing a jealous ghost *.*
The end of the chapter was so sad and angsty! O.O But it seems that everything'll turn out fine :P
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 02:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 07:49 pm (UTC)Very touching and sad *runs to read part2*
no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 11:27 pm (UTC)Ghost and Mr. Temple
Date: 2012-02-22 02:48 am (UTC)Re: Ghost and Mr. Temple
Date: 2012-02-22 09:18 am (UTC)The two previous parts, The Ghost and Miss Maitalnd and The Ghost and Captain Becker all have Connor in as well and are the early parts in the series, if you;re interested.