Taken
Author: Tay_21
Title: Taken - Chapter 2
Fandom: Primeval
Pairings: Connor/Abby
Rating: PG-13 (for violence)
Genre: violence, hurt/comfort, angst, romance (eventually)
Warnings: Some of this story is violent. This is chapter two of what will probably a long fic.
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so please leave lots of comments and any thoughts on the story, or my writing style. Thanks to Wilemina_29 for reviewing and taking out the Americanisms. This chapter explains how Connor came to be Taken.
Summary: Abby and Connor find themselves in a very dark situation with only the other to rely on, if they can learn to trust each other.
Chapter 2 - Kryptonite
It had all happened so fast.
Connor had beaten Abby home, but then he decided to walk to the store to get her some ice cream.
He knew how much she liked it, especially when she was in one of her moods. Scary how attune to her he was. She had snapped at most of the ARC crew today, and Connor could tell she was overtired.
He walked down the street completely lost in thought and totally unaware of the scene around him.
He was tired too and was trying to think of the right way to move things forward with Abby. They had kissed and shared some intimate moments whilst stuck in the past, but nothing had really happened since. At least not in the way he wanted it to.
He saw the door of the dull grey-blue van open out of the corner of his eye and something pricked painfully in his neck at the exact same time.
The world started to spin as the two men in black BDU’s got out of the van and caught him before he hit the ground pulling him into the van. He had just enough time to look into their hard, cold eyes before everything went black.
*************************************************
Connor woke up feeling like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t move, and this confused him. His head pounded which only added to the feeling that he was going to vomit. His arms, shoulders and back ached and he couldn’t alleviate his discomfort because of his inability to move.
He screwed his eyes shut as tight as he could and tried to remember what had happened. All he could remember was that he wanted to get ice cream for Abby.
He breathed slowly and steadily trying to ease the nausea that kept washing over him. He was in a seated position and that seemed to help a little. As he calmed down he opened his eyes and looked around.
It was dark in the room except for cracks of light around a doorway. He took stock of his situation.
He was tied to a chair with his arms uncomfortably zip tied over the top and behind the chair. His legs were also fastened to the chair at each ankle. With his arms positioned as they were, he had to sit up very straight, straining his back by having to keep it slightly arched.
After about what he guessed was an hour of being stuck in the dark like this, the door opened and a bright light flicked on. Connor winced and then completely shut his eyes for a few moments to try to ease the pain; this did nothing to help his still raging headache or the muscle spasms that had started rippling down his back.
A man in a pinstriped suit came in with several soldiers.
“Good evening, Mr. Temple. My name is Mr. Canalla, but that is not really important. What is important is that you understand that you are going to help me.”
He strolled casually around until he was behind Connor.
He leaned down and spoke directly into Connor’s ear, sending shivers up and down his already protesting spine.
“That can go easy, or it can be difficult, but you will help me.” He stood back up and walked back around where Connor could see him properly.
“I need you to build me something. It should not be too difficult; it’s just a matter of reverse engineering.” He looked down at his nails and then nonchalantly rubbed them on his jacket.
"So, easy or hard?” he finished.
He had a hint of a Spanish accent. Everything about him suggested he was dangerous, quietly dangerous. He was clean cut and immaculately dressed.
Connor said nothing, just glaring at the man. He had no intention of helping them, but he wondered how much force they were willing to try. He had been through the scenario training for just this thing with Becker. He was not to reveal any state secrets. There was too much at stake.
“The hard way then.” Mr. Canalla said. One of the soldiers, a big burly man, stalked towards Connor and, with out any warning, sank his fist deep into Connor’s stomach immediately knocking the wind out of him. Connor gasped and tried to sucked in air, but couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The soldier hit him again, this time in his ribs on his left side followed by an almost immediate punch on his right side. He cried out in a gasp of intense pain. His breathing quick and shallow.
He would never have thought it could physically hurt to breathe. His head was down as he tried to catch his breath. It had only been three hits, and he knew it was going to get worse. He looked up at his captors still trying to suck in shallow gasps of air.
“Will you help us, Mr. Temple? Or shall I give my men free reign with you?”
“I can’t help you. Won’t help you. Do… do what… you want.” He followed up defiantly. He knew this was going to hurt. Maybe he could make Becker proud. He’d been working with him lately, and even though he wasn’t anywhere near Becker’s physical prowess, he had gotten stronger, learned how to take a hit. Now that he knew they were coming, he could better prepare for it.
Mr. Canalla got down into his face. “Such defiant words for an intellectual. I don’t think you have it in you to keep up this conviction, but we’ll see.” He turned to address the soldiers, “try to avoid hitting his head, we don’t want to damage that brilliant brain of his.”
Connor took hit after hit as they relentlessly tried to “persuade” him to cooperate. Tears streaked his exhausted face and innumerable grunts of pain escaped his throat, but he wouldn’t talk.
He came close to breaking on more than one occasion, but each time the faces and words of people he cared for came into his mind's eye. Abby: “Don’t give up on me now”. Cutter: “It’s on you now”. Abby. Stephen. Abby: “Think of a happy place”. Even occasionally Danny and Becker flashed before his eyes. But always he returned to the picture of Abby: “Connor, shut up”. Abby. Abby. He couldn’t let them down; he wouldn’t let them down. So many things could go wrong if the information he possessed got into the wrong hands.
Helen had proved that. She had nearly succeeded in trying to wipe out the human race. So he stayed quiet.
Hours seemed to pass; Connor knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, he was near to passing out. His breathing was shallow and labored. They had switched to occasionally using a cattle prod on his already badly bruised and possibly fractured ribs. Not only was this brutally more painful on its own, but it made him arch his back even more as he writhed and screamed at the new level of pain he didn’t even know he was capable of experiencing.
He tried his hardest to be brave and keep quiet, but it was getting harder and harder. Involuntary cries of pain leapt from his mouth, but he swallowed them down as quickly as he could. He tried to focus on breathing. It was getting harder to keep that steady as well. He found himself falling more on the side of gasping mingled with the occasional sob rather than actually breathing.
He began to worry that they might kill him. He didn’t want to die, but that might be what it would take to keep everyone else safe.
His vision started to blur as a soldier, temporarily forgetting about not hitting him in the head, struck his temple. Colours danced in front of his eyes. Another hit across his mouth and his lower lip split. Blood oozed down his face and off his chin.
“Enough.” Came the cool, calm, calculated Spanish accent of Mr. Canalla. “Who knew Mr. Temple had this much in him. I think he’s made of stronger stuff than we gave him credit for.”
Connor looked up, a small, weak grin playing across his now battered face.
“Don’t mistake me, Mr. Temple, you haven’t won, I am simply going to shift tactics; find another way to come at you that might be more persuasive than just brute force.”
He got down in Connor’s face again.
“You should be worried about what I might come up with and who it might involve.”
The small grin vanished from Connor’s face. Abby, he thought again for the hundredth time over the last few hours. He thought he even might have said it a few times. He couldn’t be sure; he hoped he hadn’t.
To his immense relief, they untied him from the chair and took him to another room. There was a camp bed and an adjoining small bathroom. They sliced the zip tie binding his wrists together and shoved him into the room.
He stumbled and in his weakened condition fell to floor. The door slammed shut behind him.
Connor dragged himself over to the bed and rolled onto it. He was thirsty, but he didn’t have the strength to get up and go to the sink. His whole body ached from the beating he’d just had. Not even having the strength to think, he immediately fell into a deep but fitful sleep. Every movement causing him pain, causing him to cry out involuntarily as he moved in his unconscious state.
********************************************************
Some time later, Connor woke to the sensation of someone touching cool water to his face. He jerked away from the unfamiliar touch and opened his eyes. One of the soldiers was sitting on a chair that had not been there before at a table that was also new with a whole variety of first aid equipment on it.
“Easy,” the soldier said, holding up the white cloth that he had been using to clean the blood off of Connor’s face. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Tom, I’m one of the medical officers here and you have been put in my care. However, don’t think that because I’m a medical officer that you can pull anything over on me. I am a soldier as well and I follow orders. Do you understand?” Connor nodded. “Lay back down,” he instructed.
Connor did as he was told. Tom cleaned and bandaged Connors cuts and even taped up his badly bruised ribs. “You’ve been out for a day and a half. I convinced them that you needed to rest. While they were upset that you won’t help us, most of the soldiers were impressed with your resistance.”
Connor simply stared at the ceiling wondering what they were going to do to him now. They must have other plans in place or they would probably just have killed him already. They certainly had proven that they weren’t afraid to use force.
He looked at the other man for the first time. He had kind eyes despite his gruffness. He wondered how he had ended up with this outfit. It was probably the money he concluded cynically.
“Are you done?” Connor asked
“Yes.”
“Can I get up now then? I need to… go, if you know what I mean.” Connor motioned to the small bathroom.
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Connor got up gingerly and crossed to the other room. He shut the door behind him and leaned his head on the cool stone wall.
He tried to put the time line together of how long he had been here and if his friends back home would be looking for him yet. Certainly Abby would have noticed him missing by now.
Connor went to the toilet and relieved himself. As he was washing his hands he caught his reflection in the mirror. The swelling had gone down from before, but the bruises were turning all the mottled funny colours of old bruises. There weren’t that many on his face though. He guessed his torso would be a whole other story.
He didn’t look.
When he came out of the room, the medical officer was no longer alone. Mr. Canalla and a few more soldiers were there with him.
“I see you’re on the mend.”
Connor said nothing; he didn’t even look him in the eyes.
“Well if you won’t acknowledge me, perhaps you’ll acknowledge these.” He held out a dossier type folder with some photographs in it.
Connor took the folder he was handed and on closer inspection recognized the flat he shared with Abby.
He looked up in horror at Mr. Canalla. He flipped through the photos one by one. Pictures of Abby walking to her car. Pictures from inside the flat. Her bedroom; his bedroom; their living room. More pictures of Abby under unknown surveillance. He looked back up at Mr. Canalla.
“Perhaps you might reconsider your previous position?”
“Wha - - What do you want?”
“I told you, I want you to build something for me. And it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“Ok. Just leave Abby out of it. Please.” Connor asked shakily. He couldn’t risk anything happening to her. He handed the photos back dejectedly, hands shaking.
“We’ll see. You’ve already proven that you can be very uncooperative, you might need some extra motivation.”
“I can be cooperative, just don’t hurt Abby.”
“Like I said, we’ll see. Follow me please.”
Connor followed the soldiers out of the small room and up the stairs to the main room of the warehouse, his head down and his shoulders heavy with defeat.
They sat him down at a worktable with a computer; no Internet connection, or at least none that was readily accessible, (Connor would have to try though, after all, he had to warn Abby) and all the technical gear he would need to build anything they wanted. Mr. Canalla dropped a device down in front of him.
“I want you to make this work. Tom here will assist you with anything you’ll need. We’ll be watching very closely, I wouldn’t try anything that might put Miss Maitland in danger.” Connor nodded and immediately got to work.
Title: Taken - Chapter 2
Fandom: Primeval
Pairings: Connor/Abby
Rating: PG-13 (for violence)
Genre: violence, hurt/comfort, angst, romance (eventually)
Warnings: Some of this story is violent. This is chapter two of what will probably a long fic.
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so please leave lots of comments and any thoughts on the story, or my writing style. Thanks to Wilemina_29 for reviewing and taking out the Americanisms. This chapter explains how Connor came to be Taken.
Summary: Abby and Connor find themselves in a very dark situation with only the other to rely on, if they can learn to trust each other.
Chapter 2 - Kryptonite
It had all happened so fast.
Connor had beaten Abby home, but then he decided to walk to the store to get her some ice cream.
He knew how much she liked it, especially when she was in one of her moods. Scary how attune to her he was. She had snapped at most of the ARC crew today, and Connor could tell she was overtired.
He walked down the street completely lost in thought and totally unaware of the scene around him.
He was tired too and was trying to think of the right way to move things forward with Abby. They had kissed and shared some intimate moments whilst stuck in the past, but nothing had really happened since. At least not in the way he wanted it to.
He saw the door of the dull grey-blue van open out of the corner of his eye and something pricked painfully in his neck at the exact same time.
The world started to spin as the two men in black BDU’s got out of the van and caught him before he hit the ground pulling him into the van. He had just enough time to look into their hard, cold eyes before everything went black.
*************************************************
Connor woke up feeling like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t move, and this confused him. His head pounded which only added to the feeling that he was going to vomit. His arms, shoulders and back ached and he couldn’t alleviate his discomfort because of his inability to move.
He screwed his eyes shut as tight as he could and tried to remember what had happened. All he could remember was that he wanted to get ice cream for Abby.
He breathed slowly and steadily trying to ease the nausea that kept washing over him. He was in a seated position and that seemed to help a little. As he calmed down he opened his eyes and looked around.
It was dark in the room except for cracks of light around a doorway. He took stock of his situation.
He was tied to a chair with his arms uncomfortably zip tied over the top and behind the chair. His legs were also fastened to the chair at each ankle. With his arms positioned as they were, he had to sit up very straight, straining his back by having to keep it slightly arched.
After about what he guessed was an hour of being stuck in the dark like this, the door opened and a bright light flicked on. Connor winced and then completely shut his eyes for a few moments to try to ease the pain; this did nothing to help his still raging headache or the muscle spasms that had started rippling down his back.
A man in a pinstriped suit came in with several soldiers.
“Good evening, Mr. Temple. My name is Mr. Canalla, but that is not really important. What is important is that you understand that you are going to help me.”
He strolled casually around until he was behind Connor.
He leaned down and spoke directly into Connor’s ear, sending shivers up and down his already protesting spine.
“That can go easy, or it can be difficult, but you will help me.” He stood back up and walked back around where Connor could see him properly.
“I need you to build me something. It should not be too difficult; it’s just a matter of reverse engineering.” He looked down at his nails and then nonchalantly rubbed them on his jacket.
"So, easy or hard?” he finished.
He had a hint of a Spanish accent. Everything about him suggested he was dangerous, quietly dangerous. He was clean cut and immaculately dressed.
Connor said nothing, just glaring at the man. He had no intention of helping them, but he wondered how much force they were willing to try. He had been through the scenario training for just this thing with Becker. He was not to reveal any state secrets. There was too much at stake.
“The hard way then.” Mr. Canalla said. One of the soldiers, a big burly man, stalked towards Connor and, with out any warning, sank his fist deep into Connor’s stomach immediately knocking the wind out of him. Connor gasped and tried to sucked in air, but couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The soldier hit him again, this time in his ribs on his left side followed by an almost immediate punch on his right side. He cried out in a gasp of intense pain. His breathing quick and shallow.
He would never have thought it could physically hurt to breathe. His head was down as he tried to catch his breath. It had only been three hits, and he knew it was going to get worse. He looked up at his captors still trying to suck in shallow gasps of air.
“Will you help us, Mr. Temple? Or shall I give my men free reign with you?”
“I can’t help you. Won’t help you. Do… do what… you want.” He followed up defiantly. He knew this was going to hurt. Maybe he could make Becker proud. He’d been working with him lately, and even though he wasn’t anywhere near Becker’s physical prowess, he had gotten stronger, learned how to take a hit. Now that he knew they were coming, he could better prepare for it.
Mr. Canalla got down into his face. “Such defiant words for an intellectual. I don’t think you have it in you to keep up this conviction, but we’ll see.” He turned to address the soldiers, “try to avoid hitting his head, we don’t want to damage that brilliant brain of his.”
Connor took hit after hit as they relentlessly tried to “persuade” him to cooperate. Tears streaked his exhausted face and innumerable grunts of pain escaped his throat, but he wouldn’t talk.
He came close to breaking on more than one occasion, but each time the faces and words of people he cared for came into his mind's eye. Abby: “Don’t give up on me now”. Cutter: “It’s on you now”. Abby. Stephen. Abby: “Think of a happy place”. Even occasionally Danny and Becker flashed before his eyes. But always he returned to the picture of Abby: “Connor, shut up”. Abby. Abby. He couldn’t let them down; he wouldn’t let them down. So many things could go wrong if the information he possessed got into the wrong hands.
Helen had proved that. She had nearly succeeded in trying to wipe out the human race. So he stayed quiet.
Hours seemed to pass; Connor knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, he was near to passing out. His breathing was shallow and labored. They had switched to occasionally using a cattle prod on his already badly bruised and possibly fractured ribs. Not only was this brutally more painful on its own, but it made him arch his back even more as he writhed and screamed at the new level of pain he didn’t even know he was capable of experiencing.
He tried his hardest to be brave and keep quiet, but it was getting harder and harder. Involuntary cries of pain leapt from his mouth, but he swallowed them down as quickly as he could. He tried to focus on breathing. It was getting harder to keep that steady as well. He found himself falling more on the side of gasping mingled with the occasional sob rather than actually breathing.
He began to worry that they might kill him. He didn’t want to die, but that might be what it would take to keep everyone else safe.
His vision started to blur as a soldier, temporarily forgetting about not hitting him in the head, struck his temple. Colours danced in front of his eyes. Another hit across his mouth and his lower lip split. Blood oozed down his face and off his chin.
“Enough.” Came the cool, calm, calculated Spanish accent of Mr. Canalla. “Who knew Mr. Temple had this much in him. I think he’s made of stronger stuff than we gave him credit for.”
Connor looked up, a small, weak grin playing across his now battered face.
“Don’t mistake me, Mr. Temple, you haven’t won, I am simply going to shift tactics; find another way to come at you that might be more persuasive than just brute force.”
He got down in Connor’s face again.
“You should be worried about what I might come up with and who it might involve.”
The small grin vanished from Connor’s face. Abby, he thought again for the hundredth time over the last few hours. He thought he even might have said it a few times. He couldn’t be sure; he hoped he hadn’t.
To his immense relief, they untied him from the chair and took him to another room. There was a camp bed and an adjoining small bathroom. They sliced the zip tie binding his wrists together and shoved him into the room.
He stumbled and in his weakened condition fell to floor. The door slammed shut behind him.
Connor dragged himself over to the bed and rolled onto it. He was thirsty, but he didn’t have the strength to get up and go to the sink. His whole body ached from the beating he’d just had. Not even having the strength to think, he immediately fell into a deep but fitful sleep. Every movement causing him pain, causing him to cry out involuntarily as he moved in his unconscious state.
********************************************************
Some time later, Connor woke to the sensation of someone touching cool water to his face. He jerked away from the unfamiliar touch and opened his eyes. One of the soldiers was sitting on a chair that had not been there before at a table that was also new with a whole variety of first aid equipment on it.
“Easy,” the soldier said, holding up the white cloth that he had been using to clean the blood off of Connor’s face. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Tom, I’m one of the medical officers here and you have been put in my care. However, don’t think that because I’m a medical officer that you can pull anything over on me. I am a soldier as well and I follow orders. Do you understand?” Connor nodded. “Lay back down,” he instructed.
Connor did as he was told. Tom cleaned and bandaged Connors cuts and even taped up his badly bruised ribs. “You’ve been out for a day and a half. I convinced them that you needed to rest. While they were upset that you won’t help us, most of the soldiers were impressed with your resistance.”
Connor simply stared at the ceiling wondering what they were going to do to him now. They must have other plans in place or they would probably just have killed him already. They certainly had proven that they weren’t afraid to use force.
He looked at the other man for the first time. He had kind eyes despite his gruffness. He wondered how he had ended up with this outfit. It was probably the money he concluded cynically.
“Are you done?” Connor asked
“Yes.”
“Can I get up now then? I need to… go, if you know what I mean.” Connor motioned to the small bathroom.
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Connor got up gingerly and crossed to the other room. He shut the door behind him and leaned his head on the cool stone wall.
He tried to put the time line together of how long he had been here and if his friends back home would be looking for him yet. Certainly Abby would have noticed him missing by now.
Connor went to the toilet and relieved himself. As he was washing his hands he caught his reflection in the mirror. The swelling had gone down from before, but the bruises were turning all the mottled funny colours of old bruises. There weren’t that many on his face though. He guessed his torso would be a whole other story.
He didn’t look.
When he came out of the room, the medical officer was no longer alone. Mr. Canalla and a few more soldiers were there with him.
“I see you’re on the mend.”
Connor said nothing; he didn’t even look him in the eyes.
“Well if you won’t acknowledge me, perhaps you’ll acknowledge these.” He held out a dossier type folder with some photographs in it.
Connor took the folder he was handed and on closer inspection recognized the flat he shared with Abby.
He looked up in horror at Mr. Canalla. He flipped through the photos one by one. Pictures of Abby walking to her car. Pictures from inside the flat. Her bedroom; his bedroom; their living room. More pictures of Abby under unknown surveillance. He looked back up at Mr. Canalla.
“Perhaps you might reconsider your previous position?”
“Wha - - What do you want?”
“I told you, I want you to build something for me. And it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“Ok. Just leave Abby out of it. Please.” Connor asked shakily. He couldn’t risk anything happening to her. He handed the photos back dejectedly, hands shaking.
“We’ll see. You’ve already proven that you can be very uncooperative, you might need some extra motivation.”
“I can be cooperative, just don’t hurt Abby.”
“Like I said, we’ll see. Follow me please.”
Connor followed the soldiers out of the small room and up the stairs to the main room of the warehouse, his head down and his shoulders heavy with defeat.
They sat him down at a worktable with a computer; no Internet connection, or at least none that was readily accessible, (Connor would have to try though, after all, he had to warn Abby) and all the technical gear he would need to build anything they wanted. Mr. Canalla dropped a device down in front of him.
“I want you to make this work. Tom here will assist you with anything you’ll need. We’ll be watching very closely, I wouldn’t try anything that might put Miss Maitland in danger.” Connor nodded and immediately got to work.