A Sudden And Violent Blow. Primeval. Gen. PG-13.
Title: A Sudden And Violent Blow
Author: Mab, aka 3lbsponge
Fandom: Primeval
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Pairings: Connor/Abby friendship
Word Count: 1,232
Warnings: Spoilers for 3x03
Summary: Shock. There is that word again, floating up in his brain to remind him why he can't feel his face.
There are ambulances and people looking him over, looking them all over, and Connor keeps trying to say that he feels fine, really, his throat is sore, his ribs hurt from coughing, but he is alive and has a death grip on the artifact but no one will listen to him when he says that he's fine so they keep checking him, pressing stethoscopes to his chest and checking his pulse. If he was more with it, he might realize that maybe the reason the medics keep coming back to look at him is that he is in total shock and not really focusing on anything they are saying to him he just mumbles and nods and hopes they'll leave him alone. He just wants them to leave him be.
He wants them not to zip Cutter into a body bag, but they do that too. Not the medics. Someone else and he doesn't want them to take the professor away either, but they do that too. Sickly, in the back of his mind, he knows that they're taking him to do an autopsy. To cut him up. To find out what they know - Nick Cuter was shot by his fucking wife.
He is sitting with his back against the fence, artifact in his hands, trying so hard not to think about anything at all, when Abby comes to him, sits next to him. He sees the track lines of her tears through the shoot on her face and knows they're mirrored on his own. sit next to me…
The good thing about sitting next to someone is not having to look at their face. Not having to watch the life fade out of their eyes. Connor looks straight ahead and swallows thickly which makes him cough. He thinks a glass of water would help the dry sandpaper feeling. Or a pint or six.
Abby rests her head on his shoulder and Connor can't stop the shudder than runs through him remembering the last person to lean on his shoulder. She sits back up and he hates himself for it.
"Let's go home, yeah?" She asks him. "We have two homeless dinos to take care of."
Connor stares straight ahead, trying to figure out what the hell she means for a good moment before he remembers. The two diictodons. He looks at her and nods. "Yeah." He agrees, managing not to cringe at the rough sound of his own voice.
Lester agrees that they should leave, go home, get rest he tells them like anyone will be sleeping easy. Lester doesn't argue with Connor when he says he's taking the artifact home with him. Connor doesn't know why there wasn't a fight about it, but he doesn't care. Maybe it is the look in his eyes that clearly told Lester not to fight with him about it.
Connor doesn't know how Abby drives. He can't focus on the road, on Abby, on anything but the artifact in his hands. Shock. There is that word again, floating up in his brain to remind him why he can't feel his face. Connor knows it means a sudden and violent blow or impact --he had to look it up in school once and the definition (like every other fact he had to learn in school) is lodged in his brain forever. The definition is perfect for the moment, he realizes.
They make it home and he carries the box of two diictodons into the flat. After Cutter's dead weight, the box is weightless. Or he can't feel the pull in his arms. One of the two. He sets the box down, and hears Rex chirping. Abby fusses over the dinosaurs, all three of them now, a nice little family, and Connor sort of stands there, artifact still in hand, staring off.
"Connor." Abby says, and he knows from the tone of her voice it's not the first time she's called his name.
"Huh?" He asks, looking at her to see the concern in her eyes. He doesn't know how she can do it right now, how she can focus on anything. She has a container of greens in her hands. Did she go all the way into the kitchen and him not notice?
"I said, do you want first shower? We smell like smoke." She says, as she bends down to feed all three dinosaurs.
Showering seems like a lot of work. "Tea." He tells her, the word bubbling up through his brain that is not really firing right. Tea makes all things better. It's in his DNA as an Englishman. "I'll make tea." He tells Abby, not looking at her and heading into the kitchen. "You shower." He adds, because that is what he's supposed to say, to acknowledge what the other said is the way people converse.
He puts the kettle on the stove and turns the burner on. He sets the artifact on the island in middle of the kitchen and leans against it, staring down at the thing that is important somehow. But none of them, dead or alive, know what it is, let alone why it is important. Something brushes by his ankles, an exploring diictodon, but Connor ignores it as much as he ignores Rex's chirps and efforts to get his attention.
He doesn't move until Abby touches his shoulder. Then he jumps and looks at her, trying to focus his eyes, or his attention really. She is holding the kettle in her hand, looking confused.
"Did you put water in it?" She asks him.
Connor thinks about it, and shakes his head. "No."
Abby looks at him concerned and worried all at once before turning and filling the warmed metal with water. She turns back to him once the kettle is on right this time.
"I'm sure left some hot water for you." She tells him.
He is confused for a moment, then remembers. Shower, right. He nods and turns to go into the shower. Only once he's clean (thanks to years of showering half asleep in the morning he goes through the motions with very little thought as to what he's doing or needs to do) does he realize he should have grabbed clean clothes first. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he goes to the loft to get clean clothes.
Abby finds him there, still in the towel sitting on the bed sometime later. She stands at the top of the stairs and sighs. "Oh, Connor." She says, sitting next to him.
He looks at her. Thinks how many fantasies he's had involved this very thing. Her on his bed. And he's wearing only a damp towel. She's in sweats and Connor is ninety-nine percent sure she's not wearing a bra. This, he thinks, really is the compilation of all his fantasies since he met her.
Then he thinks that Nick Cutter is dead and something painful wrenches in his chest. He actually gasps from the pain of it, his body shuddering. Cutter is dead. Shot by Helen.
Her arms are around him, holding him tightly. He doesn't know how long she's been holding him. It doesn't matter. He's holding onto her and he hears sobbing and it's his and hers and both of theirs.
It's not what he'd dream about, her and him on his bed half dressed, sobbing away and Nick Cutter is dead. But she's holding onto him and he's got her and maybe that's better right now. In the very least, it is what the both of them need.
+++
End.
Author: Mab, aka 3lbsponge
Fandom: Primeval
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Pairings: Connor/Abby friendship
Word Count: 1,232
Warnings: Spoilers for 3x03
Summary: Shock. There is that word again, floating up in his brain to remind him why he can't feel his face.
There are ambulances and people looking him over, looking them all over, and Connor keeps trying to say that he feels fine, really, his throat is sore, his ribs hurt from coughing, but he is alive and has a death grip on the artifact but no one will listen to him when he says that he's fine so they keep checking him, pressing stethoscopes to his chest and checking his pulse. If he was more with it, he might realize that maybe the reason the medics keep coming back to look at him is that he is in total shock and not really focusing on anything they are saying to him he just mumbles and nods and hopes they'll leave him alone. He just wants them to leave him be.
He wants them not to zip Cutter into a body bag, but they do that too. Not the medics. Someone else and he doesn't want them to take the professor away either, but they do that too. Sickly, in the back of his mind, he knows that they're taking him to do an autopsy. To cut him up. To find out what they know - Nick Cuter was shot by his fucking wife.
He is sitting with his back against the fence, artifact in his hands, trying so hard not to think about anything at all, when Abby comes to him, sits next to him. He sees the track lines of her tears through the shoot on her face and knows they're mirrored on his own. sit next to me…
The good thing about sitting next to someone is not having to look at their face. Not having to watch the life fade out of their eyes. Connor looks straight ahead and swallows thickly which makes him cough. He thinks a glass of water would help the dry sandpaper feeling. Or a pint or six.
Abby rests her head on his shoulder and Connor can't stop the shudder than runs through him remembering the last person to lean on his shoulder. She sits back up and he hates himself for it.
"Let's go home, yeah?" She asks him. "We have two homeless dinos to take care of."
Connor stares straight ahead, trying to figure out what the hell she means for a good moment before he remembers. The two diictodons. He looks at her and nods. "Yeah." He agrees, managing not to cringe at the rough sound of his own voice.
Lester agrees that they should leave, go home, get rest he tells them like anyone will be sleeping easy. Lester doesn't argue with Connor when he says he's taking the artifact home with him. Connor doesn't know why there wasn't a fight about it, but he doesn't care. Maybe it is the look in his eyes that clearly told Lester not to fight with him about it.
Connor doesn't know how Abby drives. He can't focus on the road, on Abby, on anything but the artifact in his hands. Shock. There is that word again, floating up in his brain to remind him why he can't feel his face. Connor knows it means a sudden and violent blow or impact --he had to look it up in school once and the definition (like every other fact he had to learn in school) is lodged in his brain forever. The definition is perfect for the moment, he realizes.
They make it home and he carries the box of two diictodons into the flat. After Cutter's dead weight, the box is weightless. Or he can't feel the pull in his arms. One of the two. He sets the box down, and hears Rex chirping. Abby fusses over the dinosaurs, all three of them now, a nice little family, and Connor sort of stands there, artifact still in hand, staring off.
"Connor." Abby says, and he knows from the tone of her voice it's not the first time she's called his name.
"Huh?" He asks, looking at her to see the concern in her eyes. He doesn't know how she can do it right now, how she can focus on anything. She has a container of greens in her hands. Did she go all the way into the kitchen and him not notice?
"I said, do you want first shower? We smell like smoke." She says, as she bends down to feed all three dinosaurs.
Showering seems like a lot of work. "Tea." He tells her, the word bubbling up through his brain that is not really firing right. Tea makes all things better. It's in his DNA as an Englishman. "I'll make tea." He tells Abby, not looking at her and heading into the kitchen. "You shower." He adds, because that is what he's supposed to say, to acknowledge what the other said is the way people converse.
He puts the kettle on the stove and turns the burner on. He sets the artifact on the island in middle of the kitchen and leans against it, staring down at the thing that is important somehow. But none of them, dead or alive, know what it is, let alone why it is important. Something brushes by his ankles, an exploring diictodon, but Connor ignores it as much as he ignores Rex's chirps and efforts to get his attention.
He doesn't move until Abby touches his shoulder. Then he jumps and looks at her, trying to focus his eyes, or his attention really. She is holding the kettle in her hand, looking confused.
"Did you put water in it?" She asks him.
Connor thinks about it, and shakes his head. "No."
Abby looks at him concerned and worried all at once before turning and filling the warmed metal with water. She turns back to him once the kettle is on right this time.
"I'm sure left some hot water for you." She tells him.
He is confused for a moment, then remembers. Shower, right. He nods and turns to go into the shower. Only once he's clean (thanks to years of showering half asleep in the morning he goes through the motions with very little thought as to what he's doing or needs to do) does he realize he should have grabbed clean clothes first. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he goes to the loft to get clean clothes.
Abby finds him there, still in the towel sitting on the bed sometime later. She stands at the top of the stairs and sighs. "Oh, Connor." She says, sitting next to him.
He looks at her. Thinks how many fantasies he's had involved this very thing. Her on his bed. And he's wearing only a damp towel. She's in sweats and Connor is ninety-nine percent sure she's not wearing a bra. This, he thinks, really is the compilation of all his fantasies since he met her.
Then he thinks that Nick Cutter is dead and something painful wrenches in his chest. He actually gasps from the pain of it, his body shuddering. Cutter is dead. Shot by Helen.
Her arms are around him, holding him tightly. He doesn't know how long she's been holding him. It doesn't matter. He's holding onto her and he hears sobbing and it's his and hers and both of theirs.
It's not what he'd dream about, her and him on his bed half dressed, sobbing away and Nick Cutter is dead. But she's holding onto him and he's got her and maybe that's better right now. In the very least, it is what the both of them need.
+++
End.