-o-

"I..."

Connor is pale and nervous, twisting his hat between his hands. Under other circumstances it might be funny, having Connor look like a naughty schoolboy, but under these circumstances it's anything but.

"I'm... I'm not going to make a big deal of things." Connor finally gets the words out in a rush, looking anywhere but straight at Nick, not meeting his eyes. His gaze skips over the corkboard behind Nick's desk, adorned with the same sort of clippings he remembers from before; skims over the papers on the desk. Finally settles just past Nick's right ear.

Connor's eyes are too bright, and Nick settles one hip back on his desk, leaning awkwardly. The soft hum of conversation in the recesses of the ARC reaches him and Connor could at least have closed the door behind him if they're having this conversation.

But Connor's voice is low and he's not breaking down yet, which is just as well because Nick's not sure whether he could comfort Connor the way he has in the past. His hugs and occasional affection might be misinterpreted, and he has no idea how to deal with that.

"I know..." Connor continues. "I know that things are different for you now and... and I know that that... that that means me and you are different now, too, and..." His voice cracks just a little and Nick wants this to be over. He's never considered himself a cruel man and this is a little too much like pinning live insects to a collection board for his comfort. "And I'm not... I won't make things more difficult for you, okay?"

Nick waits for a few seconds, not sure whether or not he's supposed to answer. Not sure how he's supposed to answer. He finally settles on, "Okay," and that seems to be all that Connor needs because he nods, fast and shaky and with eyes that are still too wet and bright.

"Okay," he says, and then he backs out of the office, stumbling slightly but at least this time closing the door behind him. Nick sighs and closes his eyes.

So much is still wrong - with someone with Claudia's face but not Claudia's heart running around the place like she belongs here, and this whole bloody building, which is just wrong in ways he doesn't want to quantify, not yet - but at least he can console himself that the whole Connor situation has been resolved.

He can't say that he's disappointed.

He can't.

-o-

The day of the funeral itself dawned bright and fine, with a bitter nip in the wind that was entirely in keeping with the ice in his veins and with Connor and Abby's cold, pale faces.

The two of them were sticking together, on Nick's left. They weren't touching but they never strayed more than a few inches from each, staying silent all the while. They hadn't moved far from Nick either, orbiting him all morning like dark, mute moons. Even their clothing matched. He wondered if they even knew that the purple they both wore was, at one time, the colour of mourning, if that was why they'd done it. He couldn't imagine them co-ordinating, comparing outfits, but he could imagine the pair of them dressing together this morning in silence, unconsciously mirroring each other then just as they were doing now.

Connor had too much gel in his hair, slicking it down like he'd come in from the rain and hadn't realised it yet. Abby's skirt was far too short for a funeral and her bare legs were too pale, goose-bumped from the chill autumn wind. They both looked like children dressing up in their parents' cast offs. Only their grief was adult, thick and heavy, weighing them down.

Nick stuck to black and grey. It was easier that way.

He wasn't alone in that. The rest of the graveside mourners - and there were too few, fewer than he'd expected - were friends of Stephen's, those who had been able to wend their way back from far-flung climes in time to make it, and people from the ARC, including Lester's security teams. It was easy to spot the latter - they wore their black suits like they wore them every day and they probably did.

Connor's Caroline was also there, somewhere behind them. He hadn't recognised her when she'd turned up at the church looking like she was turning up at a photo shoot, but then he'd only ever seen her on a grainy monitor before. But Jenny had set him straight, her tone a mixture of anger and admiration as she whispered a hasty and damning identification of her in his ear. Without that, he'd have gone on believing that she was simply another one of Stephen's exes - she was pretty enough for that, with a certain style that didn't say 'Connor', but then Nick supposed she hadn't been dating Connor because he was her type.

Nick didn't know why she was here. Guilt, maybe, or a sense of respect for someone who had died to protect people like her. Whatever the reason, Connor and Abby simply ignored her and Nick was happy to take his lead from them. There was no reason for him to approach her; she was just another face in the crowd and the ones he cared about - the ones he really cared about - were standing right next to him.

As funeral services went - and Nick hadn't been to many, thankfully - this one was fairly traditional. Church first for the service then the graveyard for the burial itself, all nicely subdued and carefully conservative. And dull, which was a weird way to celebrate the life of someone who had lived the way Stephen had.

Stephen would have hated it. All it needed was for it to start raining as they lowered his coffin into the ground and they'd be able to tick off every single cliché. He could imagine Stephen pointing that out, the laconic drawl in his voice and the amusement sparkling in his eyes, and something inside him twisted even more tightly until it threatened to snap.

Abby was watching the coffin as it descended into the earth, her face expressionless and her fingers flexing, reaching reflexively for Connor's hand but never quite connecting. Connor was staring down at the ground, his gaze several inches from the edge of the pit and his face just as empty as Abby's.

Nick stared at the tree line instead, wincing as the coffin hit the bottom of the pit with a dull thud. It sounded strangely hollow and that echoed in the hollowness inside Nick; he'd been right about there being little left of Stephen to bury. He could only hope that it wasn't something that had occurred to Abby or Connor. Neither of them were children, but they both deserved to be spared that.

When the first shovelful of earth fell onto the coffin it also hit with a dull thud. Connor looked up at the sound, his eyes staring off into the distance, wide and unfocused, and a deep shuddering breath escaped him. Abby swayed closer to him, still not making contact, her face waxen but holding it together, barely. Nick should...

There was no 'should', nothing he could do to make it better for them. All the three of them could do was endure. With Stephen having no family, they were it: him, Abby and Connor. The three of them left behind while Stephen, damn him, rushed ahead.

Then Abby stepped forward, into his line of sight, laying the lily on Stephen's grave. There were others already lying there, brilliantly white against the dark dirt but Nick had never liked lilies. They were too waxy looking, too redolent of neatly embalmed death and funeral homes, neither of which had anything to do with Stephen. He had no idea who had put them there. He'd zoned out as they'd started filling the grave and yet here it was, a neat mound with a bundle of clichés on the top, and he had no memory of the time passing.

He covered that by watching as Abby stepped back, her hand this time making contact with Connor's, a brief brush of fingers that Connor acknowledged with a look.

He envied them that, their ability to communicate without words, especially now, when he couldn't find any. But it helped that Connor was close, just a matter of inches from him, and that Nick, like Abby, could simply reach out and touch him if he'd wanted to. If he'd dared. And that Abby was just beyond Connor, just an arm's length away. The three of them together, all in a neat line with Jenny on his other side, silent and strong.

When the funeral service was finally over, he let Abby and Connor get ahead of him, slowing his steps for a moment to observe, with mingled sadness and pride, how they moved together, still unconsciously mirroring each other, side by side, strong together. No one had ever intended them to be soldiers, least of all Nick, but they were stepping up into the gap left by Stephen as though it had never occurred to them that there was another option.

He slowed his steps even further as he caught sight of the girl, Caroline, approaching them and Jenny slowed hers, too, matching him stride for stride and watching the scene in front of them with narrowed eyes. He got what Connor had meant now, the fierceness in Jenny that he'd refused to see before. The protective, loyal instincts that had come out under pressure and showed no sign of disappearing again. He sure as hell wouldn't go up against her unless he had to and he hoped to God he'd never would.

He was too far away to hear what Caroline was saying, but Abby and Connor barely acknowledged her existence, letting their silence speak for them. As stonewalling went, it was effective, but he didn't miss Connor's raised eyebrow at Abby as they peeled away from Caroline and continued walking back towards the exit, their steps once again synchronised.

It was the first animation he'd seen Connor show all day.

As they walked, Abby's hand reached out, stroking along Connor's fingers, and if he hadn't already suspected that they were moving beyond simple friendship, that touch - comforting and possessive both at once - would have told him.

It ached a little, leaving him feeling like a tired old man, lost and left out. Cast adrift, maybe. They were suitably morose thoughts for a graveyard, where he was surrounded by weathered headstones, consigned to the past whether they realised it or not.

"Drink?" Jenny asked. It started him out of the fugue state he'd drifted into, but he had no answer for her, and he could hear the rueful amusement in her voice as she finally answered for him. "Another time then."

It wasn't fair of him, and maybe it was about time he started being fair to the people who cared about him, whatever reason they had for that. He stopped walking, turning to look at her. She was wearing her hair down and her makeup was more subdued than usual. She looked as much like Claudia then as she'd ever done.

Maybe that was why he said, "Maybe another time." Maybe that was why she smiled.

Stephen would have told him it was a bad idea, but then Stephen - for all of his faults - had never had a problem calling Nick on his bullshit.

He was going to miss that. As infuriating as it could be - as Stephen could be - he was going to miss that like mad.

-o-

There must be a point where the pain of betrayal no longer bit but if there is, Nick hasn't reached it yet.

He's not sure what hurts, what infuriates, more - seeing Stephen with Helen or Stephen not turning up when they needed him. He left the three of them on the M25 with nothing - nothing - to use against a bloody mammoth of all things but Abby's ingenuity and some nifty footwork on Nick and Connor's part...

There's no forgiving Stephen this time, not when it's the fate of the world hanging on it. This isn't about Helen, not entirely. His marriage can't even begin to hold a candle to what's at stake here. Why can't Stephen see it?

"The world changed. We can't protect anyone until we know why the anomalies appear and what they mean."

Stephen snorts and Nick's body tightens in response, ready for Stephen's rebuttal. And it comes.

"It's always your way or nothing."

"That works for me."

There's a long, raw silence, filled with anger and resentment and it's not just Nick who feels it. He's not stupid enough to think that Stephen's calm and rational and unaffected, no matter how mask-like Stephen's face stays. He turns away before he can say anything else, even though there's no recovering from this. Not now, not with a second betrayal.

"No wonder she turned to me."

Nick turns back, slowly, his heart thudding so hard that the rushing in his ears drowns almost everything else out. Everything but the sound of Abby and Connor arriving, the pair of them hovering at the window rather than entering, sensing the tension in the room and, sensibly, keeping a safe distance.

"She turned to you," his voice shakes with the effort of keeping everything in and his fists by his side, "because you were young enough and stupid enough to buy everything she was selling. Or didn't it occur to you that maybe that's why professors aren't supposed to sleep with their students?"

As soon as Stephen's mouth quirks bitterly, Nick realises that he's made a tactical mistake. He doesn't need the way that Stephen's eyes slide to Connor or the angry contempt in them when Stephen looks back at him to tell him that.

And that's it. That's the last straw and it's Nick that breaks. He lets fly, knocking Stephen off his feet, splitting his lip. It's savage and unconscionable and wildly, gleefully irresistible, and it's just the sort of thing that Helen would appreciate.

And that is what stops him from landing a second blow.

He turns abruptly on his heel again, heading out the door, snapping out, "Connor," as he does so.

Stephen's in the past. There's a whole host of other things that they need to deal with, starting with figuring out who the hell is behind this whole thing and how Helen fits into it.

Unlike Stephen, he's not quite stupid enough to believe she doesn't.

Connor has to trot to keep up with him, casting the occasional look back towards Abby. When Nick stops and looks at him - just looks at him, saying nothing - Connor swallows, nervously. It's not until Nick is turning back towards the Control Room that he speaks.

"I wasn't your grad student." Nick stops short again, and Connor starts to look a little panicked. "I mean, when we... I wasn't your grad student. Not any more. Not like Helen and... Stephen." He trails off in the face of Nick's silence and, when Nick still says nothing, he continues, sounding a little hurt, "I'm just saying."

"Connor..." And just like that, Connor flinches and Nick - still seething, still wanting to hit something - has to soften his voice, keep it low and light and not let any of that show on his face. This isn't important to him, not right now, but Connor...

It could be important to Connor and Nick needs Connor on side. That's not fair but then what about this whole thing is?

"Right now, we need to get cracking on figuring out what the hell Helen is up to, okay? Everything else is going to have to wait."

Connor hesitates and then nods, short and jerky.

Nick's already on the pointing of setting off again when Connor has the last word, so quietly that he's not even sure that Connor means for him to hear it.

"I just didn't want you to think it was the same."

There's no answer to that, and so Nick doesn't give one. He just keeps moving, leaving the problem of Connor trailing in his wake.

He's getting good at that.

-o-

For a second Nick had no idea what had woken him. He lay still in his bed, his heart pounding and the nightmares still clinging to him, slicking his skin with sweat.

It took him a moment too long to clear the cotton wool from his brain and kick start it into operation, and in the back of his mind he could hear Stephen's gentle mockery about his reaction times, comments about him being an old man. They were familiar insults, ones so ingrained into him from countless fieldtrips that he didn't even need Stephen to summon them up.

That was just as well.

The dull light of morning was streaming through a crack in the curtains and his feet were cold where he'd kicked his covers off in the throes of reliving Stephen's death over and over in his dreams. His muscles ached, less from the cold, he thought, and - no matter what Stephen had said on numerous occasions - he wasn't old enough for his body to start letting him down, not yet. So that meant - judging by the heap of covers on the floor and the way his pyjama bottoms were twisted around his legs - that he'd been tossing and turning all night, his body re-enacting those things his mind couldn't seem to let go.

And yet, for some reason he didn't think that any of that had woken him.

Then he heard it again, a soft clattering coming from downstairs, and he froze, his heartbeat starting to race again as he strained to hear more, his breathing quick and shallow.

Just on the periphery of his hearing he thought he could hear footsteps. They were faint, barely there, barely heard over the sound of his own breathing. He'd think that it was his imagination if he wasn't already painfully aware that not even his imagination could conjure up many of the things they were faced with every day.

He didn't think 'thief' the way that anyone else living on his street would have done and, for once, his first thought on waking wasn't about the conspiracy that had cost Stephen his life. His first thought was 'Helen', and there was no warmth in it. There was no fear, either, just a sense of inevitability.

She never had known when to quit.

His golf clubs were standing in the corner of the room, in spite of him not playing for years. He thought long and hard, still listening out for sounds of movement, before reaching for one. If it was Helen, he wouldn't need it. If it wasn't... he'd faced off worse things with less but there was no reason to be stupid about it. Even a golf club was better than nothing. And working with Stephen on the anomaly project had finally taught him how to move quietly, even if he'd never manage the kind of cat-like tread that had been Stephen's trademark.

It meant he could go hunting, stealing quietly down the stairs - a middle aged man in his pyjamas, holding a golf club.

Under other circumstances, that might actually have been funny.

The noise was coming from the kitchen, and the door he'd shut firmly last night was ajar. He took a deep breath, his free hand slowly pushing the door all the way open and his grip on his golf club tightening.

It wasn't Helen and it wasn't something from the past or future, and he had no idea whether to be angry or relieved.

Connor stood there, looking entirely at home as he unpacked one of the various carrier bags scattered all the way across Nick's kitchen - dumped on the counters and sitting forlornly on the floor. There was enough food in them to feed an army, and the word 'overkill' sprang to mind.

He dropped his arm and let the golf club swing down to his side with a soft swoosh. That finally got Connor's attention and he turned, starting guiltily when he saw Nick standing in the doorway.

"Shit," he said, the word coming out of him in a shocked gasp, and then he winced apologetically. "Sorry."

Nick spread his hands helplessly, the golf club weaving drunkenly as he did so. Connor's eyes followed it, still guiltily. It was too damned early in the morning to be dealing with the surrealism of the whole situation.

"Connor. What are doing here?"

"Um," he said, and then he smiled, a nervous little twitch that clawed at Nick's insides and yet, strangely, managed to settle him at the same time. There was a tin of baked beans in Connor's hand and Connor glanced down at it before looking back at Nick, his smile this time a little more hopeful. "Abby was worried you weren't eating properly," he said, waggling the tin at Nick even more hopefully.

"Abby...?"

"Yeah." Connor seemed to feel he was on firmer ground now, and was slipping back into his more usual, chatty persona. It did Nick's heart good to see it. More than good. "Don't know why she got the idea into her head but, you know..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly. "I think she's just worried about you."

Abby and apparently everyone else at the ARC. Nick sighed and turned to prop the golf club back up in the corner, where it was out of the way and where he could prop it without wading through the sea of carrier bags that surrounded Connor. "I suppose asking you how you got in wouldn't get an answer, would it?"

His voice sounded gravelly to him, echoing in his ears, so God only knew how he sounded to Connor. He wiped his hand over his mouth and chin, then up to rub the sleep from his eyes before staring at Connor, who had gone silent again.

Connor shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled it out again, keys dangling off his outstretched finger. He treated Nick to another nervously twitchy smile. "You never asked for them back," he said.

"That's because I didn't know that you had them."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them, and he gave himself a mental kick, kicking himself harder when Connor flinched, looking anywhere but at him.

"Yeah, well..." said Connor, flushing blotchily, the way he always did when embarrassed, and it was weird how Nick knew that. "I suppose that was another thing you forgot about." The words hit home, probably a lot harder than Connor had intended. "But you'd better have them back now."

The keys clattered against the kitchen counter. When Nick continued to look at him rather than them, Connor coloured uncomfortably, shifting in position. "I just..." he said and then his flush deepened, the corner of his mouth twitching with irritation now rather than embarrassment. "Come on, Cutter. It's not like I could just suddenly announce one day 'Oh, by the way. You know that bit where we definitely weren't dating in your reality? Well, here are your house keys that you definitely didn't give me when we definitely weren't dating. Can I have mine back now?'"

For a split second of insanity, Nick wanted to give them back, wanted to put his keys in Connor's hand and curl Connor's fingers around them and insist on Connor taking them, keeping them, if only to wipe away the look of misery that was settling back onto Connor's face as if it had never left.

Before he could do anything that stupid - or that brave - there was another clattering sound behind him and he tensed, fingers twitching for the makeshift weapon he no longer held. Connor, however, didn't flicker and that, more than anything, clued Nick in to who it was behind him even before he heard Abby's soft, "'Scuse me."

He shifted to the side, letting her past. She had even more carrier bags, which she dumped down onto the floor next to Connor before turning to look at Nick, pushing her hair back off her forehead so that it spiked up.

She looked better, just as Connor did. Not happy but there was something different in her face, in her stance. It took Nick a second to place it - she wasn't happy, no, but she, like Connor, was resigned to Stephen's loss, settled with it and keeping busy with things in a way that Nick wasn't. Shopping, talking. Loving. The business of living.

They were moving on, he realised with a pang. Moving on and leaving him behind.

"Hey," said Abby after a long pause where she just looked at Nick. There was nothing judgemental in her gaze but Nick shifted a little anyway, conscious of his hair sticking up, the sleep in his eyes, his whole rumpled professor demeanour. "You okay today?"

He summoned up a smile from somewhere, sheepish and standoffish at the same time. "I'm fine. You?"

She nodded, looking more like Abby than she had over the past few days. "You look like crap," she said bluntly. "Which is pretty much like we all feel, so I suppose there's nothing that can be done about it." In spite of her words, she narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully, weighing him up and apparently finding him wanting before she turned back to Connor, Nick dismissed from her thoughts, at least temporarily.

"This stuff needs to go in the fridge," she said. "I'll get the rest out of the car."

"Jesus." Nick didn't apologise for the outburst, in spite of Abby's raised eyebrow and Connor's brief flirtation with a smile. "How much did you actually buy?"

Connor seemed to give the question some serious thought, his brow scrunching up and his lips parting as though he were about to answer, but it was Abby who smiled and Abby who said, "I stopped him buying the kitchen sink. Just."

"Hey! We just didn't know what you had in and what you didn't, so..." The last was directed at Nick, rather than Abby, who was already heading out of the door. "Most of it's stuff that will keep or freeze anyway, so I don't know what she's complaining about." Connor's voice rose to make the final point. She ignored it, but not before Nick had glimpsed the small smile on her face as she stalked past him.

That left him and Connor alone, sucked back into that awkward silence. "I'll... um... I'd better start putting this stuff away."

"Connor -"

Now that he had Connor's attention, he had no idea what to say. He started by settling for a simple, "Thank you." That got him another smile, brief but genuine, and it was amazing how something as simple, something requiring as little effort on Nick's part as that could go someway towards making Connor feel a little better.

And it was amazing how important making Connor feel better was becoming to Nick. That dawning light of realisation got Nick moving again, edging closer towards the counter, mirroring Connor's position in leaning against it.

It brought him closer to Connor, closer than he'd been for a while and that alone spoke volumes about what a bastard he'd been.

"How're you holding up?" The question was genuine, heartfelt, and Connor's face warmed up.

"I'm okay," Connor said. "I'm... I miss him." Connor stopped there, his eyes tearing up. He tilted his head back, but not before Nick had seen it and the sight - and Connor's simple admission - brought a lump to his own throat.

"Yeah."

"It's Abby I'm worried about. Well." Connor gave another one of those smiles, one of the ones that melted away almost immediately. It was a little watery around the edges, and Nick could sympathise with that. "Abby and you."

"You don't need to worry about me, Connor. I'll... I'll cope, you know?"

"Okay." Connor nodded a couple of times, not meeting his eyes, and then turned to put the tin of beans he still held into one of the overhead cupboards. It went straight into the right place and a quick glance around the kitchen told Nick that this wasn't a fluke. The lid of the bread tin in the corner was raised slightly from the bread that had been shoved in, and there was new kitchen towel on the rack, something he always forgot to do until he needed it. A place for everything and everything in its place, and it seemed like Connor knew all of those places inside out.

And Abby must have known that. Why else would she leave Connor to put the shopping away while she brought it in?

It was easier to ask, "Why are you worried about Abby?" with his brain on automatic pilot than to delve into that further. "I mean, I get why you'd... I'm not phrasing this very well, am I?"

Connor turned to eye him again, that slight crease back between his brows as he worked his way through whatever revelations had struck him. He had no idea what those could be, not until Connor asked, slowly, "That was different for you, too, wasn't it? Abby and Stephen?"

"Abby and Stephen what?"

Connor gave him a look, one that was equal parts embarrassment and incredulity. "Abby and Stephen," he repeated, emphasising the words pointedly, and it finally struck Nick what he meant.

It made a weird kind of sense. He'd been aware of Abby's crush, of course, at least in his... reality, for want of a better word. So, yes. It made sense.

And it meant that Stephen had been an idiot, throwing it all away for Helen of all people.

"They were over a while ago." Connor's words dragged him away from the pool of regrets he'd been drowning in - his own and the ones he felt on Stephen's behalf. "Abby and Stephen. But... well. They were still mates."

Nick opened his mouth but was saved from saying anything - anything stupid or otherwise - by the clattering that rose from the hallway again.

"That's everything." Abby dropped the last carrier bag on the floor with a thump, glancing between the two of them as she rubbed her fingers, smoothing out the red and white ridges where the handle of the carrier bag had bitten into her flesh. "What?"

"Nothing -"

"Cutter didn't know about you and Stephen."

He'd have glared at Connor if he could, if he thought that Connor could take it. Connor shrugged apologetically but there was little apology in the brown eyes that met his.

"Oh," Abby said slowly, rolling the sound in her mouth and letting it out on a slow breath. Her eyes locked with Nick's and there was no apology in there either. "Yeah." She hesitated, her face thoughtful, before adding, "It had been over for a while. Since before you... well, before you came back through the anomaly and found everything different, I suppose."

It was an interesting choice of words - 'you found everything different', not 'you went completely insane'.

"I'm..."

"If you say you're sorry one more time, I'm going to make you eat Connor's cooking."

"Hey!"

Abby smiled again but didn't take her eyes from Nick. She tilted her head thoughtfully, like a bird, watching him. "Actually, he's a good cook, but I don't suppose you remember that."

It wasn't said cruelly, but the blood rushed to his face anyway. Abby's face was already scrunching up apologetically before Connor's second "Hey!" even registered.

"Sorry," she said, looking it. Then she turned to Connor, still with that vaguely apologetic look on her face. It softened into something else as she added, "I left your laptop in the boot. I wasn't sure whether or not you wanted it bringing in."

Connor rolled his eyes, as though that was a completely stupid conclusion for Abby to come to, and at least some things hadn't changed. He huffed and started heading towards the door, pausing only to ruffle Abby's hair as he passed, the easy familiarity of the gesture bringing a lump to Nick's throat.

The keys were still sitting on his counter, discarded in a heap, and Nick's fingers reached for them. They were cold to the touch. They would have been warm when Connor pulled them out of his pocket.

"Connor..."

Connor paused in the doorway, looking back at him, his expression quizzical. It was easier than Nick would have thought possible to step over the shopping, to catch hold of Connor's wrist with the same gentle touch he'd used to excavate the past from the ground, and to bring Connor's hand up. Easier than he thought to drop the keys into Connor's outstretched palm and - with the fingers of his other hand - curl Connor's fingers around them.

"Lock the door when you come back in, okay, Connor?"

Connor's hand was warm in his and Connor swallowed, his face - as changeable as Nick's own moods - swinging back towards tearful. He nodded, though, swallowing back the tears and giving Nick another shaky smile before slowly pulling his hand free and leaving the room.

Connor was smart, even if he was still a little clueless about people. But perhaps he knew Nick better than Nick thought. Maybe it was about time Nick started to entertain that possibility.

He wasn't sure that Abby would be as understanding, but when he turned to look at her again, she simply looked back, calmly, before nodding. Then she did something that completely unexpected, throwing Nick completely. She walked up to him and put her arms around him, holding him like he was something fragile.

She was small enough that she fitted underneath his chin, her body tight against his and her hair tickling against his skin. She may have been crying again, but if she was, she kept it low key. The shuddering he felt could have been her breathing or could have been her grief, kept tightly under wraps.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said by way of an answer to that, pulling her in more tightly and holding her like his life depended on it. She nodded against his chest, smelling like Abby: all talc and leather and strength.

And then she let go, taking a step back, her pixie-like face resolved, with the strength of her character written clearly on it.

"I miss him," she said, unconsciously mirroring Connor, even in Connor's absence. "I mean... it was over. It's been over a long time but..." Her lip quivered a little and she clamped down on it, taking a deep breath. In spite of that, her next words came out a little shakily. "I miss him."

Somehow Abby's grief, although better contained, was more difficult for Nick to bear than Connor's had been, and he had to swallow, hard. He didn't protest when Abby reached out for him again, curling her fingers around his the way she had reached out for Connor during the funeral.

"So," he said, pushing the grief and the pain back and trying to focus on the present, the future. Pushing himself to move on the way that Abby and Connor were trying. "You and Connor..."

It wasn't quite a question - he wasn't sure that he had the right to ask that or that this was the right time - but Abby nodded anyway, her expression serious. And then, as though that wasn't answer enough, she added, "Yes."

Nick echoed her nod, finding it in his heart to be glad for her, for both of them. "Good."

Her fingers tightened for a second before slipping away and maybe it was that that compelled Nick to add, "You know... before. It was always you. For Connor, I mean." The words were failing him - he'd spent years using words to instil a love of his chosen field into serried ranks of youth, face after face reflecting it back to him, but they were failing him now and he wasn't sure that Abby understood. "In... my world, I suppose."

She nodded again but her face wasn't clear any more. It was still serious, a small crease between her brows. "Here it was you," she said. "But..."

He waited for more but she disappointed him in the best way possible, moving towards him again for another hug, this one harder, like she could press the words she couldn't find to say into him another way. Her chin was resting on his shoulder this time rather than her head being buried in his chest and it dug in sharply, a pain that reminded him that he - both of them - were still alive.

"This whole world," she whispered. "Everything. The anomalies, the things we see coming through. They're amazing, Cutter. Terrifying, yeah, but amazing, too, you know?" He nodded, her hair scratching against his stubble, the back of his throat stinging. "With all of these possibilities, with all of these wonderful things, did it never occur to you that the heart is capable of wonderful, amazing things, too?"

She finally let go, stepping back again, and his arms felt a little empty. His heart, too. Her eyes were red, the tears welling up in them and, as he watched, they spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. "You know, for a smart guy you can be remarkably dense sometimes."

He couldn't help but smile at that but it was more like a wince - reflexive, coming deep from inside him, and it hurt at the same time as it helped. She was as smart as Connor in some ways, especially when it came to people. But she shouldn't need to be this old and the look in her eyes was as ancient as anything that had ever come through an anomaly.

"Yeah. I'm beginning to get that."

She nodded, a faint smile on her face, rising and disappearing as her hand came up to wipe at her face, smudging her mascara.

"I loved Stephen," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I still do, I suppose. But I love Connor, too. And he loves me. I know that. We're the same in so many ways, me and Conn, and different in good ways, and neither of us are very good at stopping loving someone. And that's okay. It really is." He thought, in some strange way, he got what she was saying, even before she continued, "It's not like love's something that's going to run out."

He laughed, a choked off sound, and she didn't elaborate. Instead she raised one small, callused hand and placed it on his cheek, which did nothing to help with the lump that was growing in his throat by the second, threatening to choke him.

"Do me a favour, Cutter?"

He nodded, shakily.

"Go and have a shower." She stroked her fingers over his cheek. "And a shave. And do something about your hair. It's worse than Connor's at the moment."

And this time when he laughed, it was deep and heartfelt. And if it started to sound like a sob half way through, she didn't call him on it.

-o-

"Does anyone really know what the natural order is any more?"

He doesn't have an answer for Stephen. There aren't any easy ones, and he's never really believed in things being too easy anyway. He stares down the stone steps, past the police line to the hustle and bustle beyond the plaza. Claudia - Jenny - is down there somewhere, organising things and bossing people about even with her hair wet and dripping, and her clothes stained by exploding prehistoric worms.

He has some sympathy. For the worms. Right now it feels like his head is going to explode, too.

"Talking about the natural order," and it's the stiffness in Stephen's voice that tells Nick that the subject is about to change on him abruptly. "Connor... He's a good kid."

As segues go, it's exceptionally badly executed and Nick doesn't have any patience for it.

"Don't go there, Stephen, okay?"

"I'm just saying..." Stephen spreads his hands helplessly, leaning away from him. "I think... he's a good kid and he deserves better than this."

"It's really none of your business."

"Okay, but tell me something. Is it the 'he' in the sentence that's bothering you or the 'kid'?"

"Stephen."

The warning is clear in his voice, but when has that ever stopped Stephen when he has a bee in his bonnet?

"If you're going to end things with him, he deserves to be told to his face. Not..." Stephen waves his hands vaguely. "Not like this, not with you pretending it never happened."

"It didn't happen."

"Because of this Claudia Brown person?" Stephen's voice is now sceptical and while on the surface Nick can't blame him for that, he can't help but feel a certain amount of resentment anyway. "The one who looks just like Jenny Lewis?"

Nick's head is aching, and his clothes are stiff with water and dirt. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need to be lectured by Stephen, of all people.

"Yes," he spits out, then, "No. Not 'because of'. It just didn't happen, Stephen. All right?"

"All right," says Stephen mildly, and he settles back, sitting with his clasped hands hanging between his knees and with his elbows resting on his legs. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world but Nick has known Stephen for far too long to be fooled.

He knew Stephen, anyway. Before. He's not sure he knows this one, the one who slept with his wife.

"You know..." Nick's voice comes out low and mean, just the way he feels. "I think you're a fine one to be telling me about how to manage my personal life."

Stephen nods, still not looking at him, like Nick's just made an interesting scientific point that Stephen is mulling over, one he'll take his time to weigh up before coming to any conclusion. Not like Nick has just ripped into him.

"That's a good point," he finally says, reinforcing the illusion, and he rises to his feet, slapping his palms against his trouser legs as though that will do anything to get the dirt out of them. He moves down a step or two before he finally turns to Nick and looks at him, almost at eye level now. His expression is serious, no amusement in his eyes, just a kind of rueful bitterness or maybe even regret. It's difficult to tell with Stephen. He's always been too bloody good at hiding the things that are important.

Like Helen.

"Maybe..." Stephen says the word quietly but there's no missing the intensity in his tone, and that gets Nick's attention just as much as the hand Stephen leans in to rest briefly on his shoulder. "Maybe I just don't want you making the same kind of mistakes." He squeezes Nick's shoulder lightly before he lets go.

Nick watches as he walks away, jogging down the steps easily, again looking - from the rear at least - as though the man didn't have a care in the world.

Stephen doesn't look back, and Connor and Abby have disappeared entirely. That leaves Nick sitting alone on the cold, stone steps.

Nick's starting to get used to it.

-o-

Most of the shopping had been neatly put away by the Nick came down to the kitchen, towelling his hair. There was no sign of Connor but Abby was standing by the sink, staring out of the window, a cup in her hand. The kettle was humming softly, coming to the boil. The teapot stood next to it, steam gently rising from the spout.

"Connor tells me off if I don't warm the pot," she said off his look. She placed her cup carefully down on the counter, next to the tea pot, and gave him a smile as though she was inviting him to share her amusement at Connor's foibles. She made it easy to respond to it and Nick couldn't help but smile back.

"Where is he?"

"In the living room," she said. "He's working on something, so it's my turn to make a fresh pot. Go on through. I'll bring you a cuppa through when it's had time to brew."

He hesitated, torn between doing what she'd said and not leaving her on her own.

"Are you...?"

"I'm fine, Cutter." This time the eye rolling was aimed at him, but there was genuine affection as well as exasperation in Abby's expression. And then her voice - and her face - softened. "We're going to be fine, Cutter."

He believed her. "When did you get so smart?"

She snorted, turning her attention back to the complex business of making the perfect cup of tea. "Like I had a choice hanging around you and Connor?" And, just in case he'd made the mistake of thinking that she'd given him a compliment, she added, "One of us needs to have some common sense."

He couldn't argue with that, not without losing, and he was starting to figure out that sometimes, when it came to Abby, and to Connor, it might be best to simply give in and go with the flow.

Connor was seated on the floor when he entered the living room. He was curled up cross-legged, leaning against the sofa, with his laptop balanced in his lap. His long fingers were tapping away at the keyboard, moving so rapidly that they were nothing but a blur, and there was a frown on his face but it was the right kind of frown. It was the frown Connor wore when he was working, figuring things out, making things better, and it warmed Nick's heart to see it.

Connor looked up when he realised that Nick was standing in the doorway and gave him a brief, "Hey." He didn't look entirely comfortable, but there wasn't the skittishness there that there once had been. That had been there for months, if Nick was honest with himself for once.

"Hey," he offered in return, moving over to settle himself on the sofa. He pushed one of the cushions out of the way so that there was room for him between the arm rest and where Connor was resting against it and then he leant forward to peer at the screen, his leg pressing into Connor's side. "What are you working on?"

"Oh." Connor pressed a few buttons again, and the familiar layout of his database popped up on the screen - T. rex this time, with a picture of a snarling behemoth that certainly hadn't come from life. "I'm trying to tweak the search parameters, to make it easier for... well, I suppose the other teams to be able to identify what they're dealing with quicker than we can do now. Most of it's up here." He tapped the side of his head, inadvertently pushing his hat up. "And... well, now that Lester wants more teams not every team is going to have a palaeontologist on it and even if they do, it'll be quicker if we can ask some pertinent questions and have a list of options pop up."

He'd lost Nick completely - had he been so out of the loop he hadn't even realised that Lester was thinking of additional response teams? It made sense, he supposed, but still... Connor was confusing him, but then that was nothing new. "Like?" He leant in closer as he asked the question, resting his hand on Connor's shoulder to steady himself, and Connor didn't even twitch.

"Well, look," he said, pulling up yet another screen, this one with neatly labelled text boxes. Connor's dress sense - or lack of it - didn't extend to his coding. "If you fill in what you can, then it will narrow down your options. The more information you can input, the closer you get, but I'm having difficulty in coming up with programming strings that will not result in eliminating the right answer. Like this one." He pointed to a box labelled 'length'. "I mean, prehistoric creatures don't come in one size fits all, and for some of them we may only have two or three fossil exemplars, but is that the full size range? What about juveniles? What about human error? I mean, one of these comes heading at you," he switched back to the first screen and T. rex loomed, appropriately terrifying even at a laptop screen's resolution, "you're pretty much thinking 'pretty bloody big and oh my god look at the teeth', not 'well, I think that's about 12 metres long'..."

He paused to look back at Nick, awkwardly angling his neck to do so, and grinned.

"Then there are those of us who are old school and might say 'forty feet' instead."

"Smart arse," said Nick, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Connor's smile softened slightly, becoming a little flustered. He turned back to his machine, clearing his throat, and continued messing about with various keys as he flicked back and forth between screens.

"So," Connor continued, clearing his throat again. "I've got to take account of those two different measurement systems and I've got to include a margin for error, without making the whole thing useless. And then I've got to figure out a way to include those things we have some evidence for from the fossil record but where it's not conclusive in the search, so we can narrow it down without, again, giving the wrong answer, so I need to base it on some kind of cloud search, one that'll give possibilities, not certainties. Figure out some way to rank them so that the greatest possibilities are given more prominence. I'm trying to build... well, I guess something like one of those things you see on Bones or CSI, you know, where they narrow faces down and get their suspect."

Connor stared back down at the screen. When Nick turned his head to look at him more closely, Connor's face was right there, in profile. He was chewing at the side of his lip, thoughtfully and his hair was falling into his face as he carried on, oblivious of Nick's observation.

"And since it was originally based on Access, it means I've got to rewrite the whole thing, including the underlying code. But it will be worth it," he reassured Nick, and then he turned his head, blushing slightly when he realised how close Nick was.

"Yeah," said Nick. "Some things are, Connor."

For a long moment Connor stared at him uncertainly before he looked back at the laptop. He went silent, but he leant into Nick's touch, just a little.

There was a sound by the doorway as Abby pushed it open with her hip, three cups balanced in her hands. For a second, Nick thought she was bound to tip them but she managed to keep them steady as she made her way towards Nick and Connor, on the sofa. She handed the first, singly held cup to Nick, and he let go of Connor's shoulder to take it from her. Then she retrieved one of the two mugs she held in her other hand to pass it down to Connor.

Connor didn't look up as he took it from her, his entire focus now back on the screen in front of him as he muttered to himself. The database had disappeared and now there were simply lines and lines of confusing letters and numbers scrolling up and down the screen. Nick sat back on the couch and left Connor to it.

There was room on the couch on the other side of Connor for Abby to fit in but she settled on the arm next to Nick instead, leaning over him to peer at the screen with a look of confusion on her face that matched Nick's. When she sat back again, he caught another waft of scent from her hair, fresh and sweet.

She was an island of warmth next to him, where his arm pressed against her side, and he shifted slightly, giving her more room, and felt her settle against him more comfortably, a pleasant, heavy weight.

Connor shifted as well until he was resting against Nick's leg rather than the sofa, just as warm, just as pleasant. His head was now resting on Nick's thigh, near where Nick's hand lay loosely against his leg, and the long strands spilling from under his hat were dark against the paler fabric of Nick's chinos. When Nick shifted his fingers, just slightly, he could touch it.

It was silky under his fingertips, the stiff gel from the funeral just a memory, and Nick sank back, letting the deep sofa cushions pillow him. Abby shifted again, minutely, silently, and her fingers brushed over his head, tangling soothingly in his hair.

-o-

"For once in your life, forget about the past."

Nick knows Stephen's right and, in spite of everything, Stephen's voice is kind, the expression on his face understanding and as close to affectionate as Stephen will ever let show.

In spite of everything.

"You're right," he admits and then, when Stephen's smile threatens to get cocky, he adds, "Just don't overdo it, you know. You haven't been right for a while."

"Yeah, well." Stephen's hand settles heavily on Nick's shoulder. "There's a time for everything, Nick."

-o-

He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds around him, familiar and comforting: the clacking of the keyboard as Connor continued to work; the sounds of the city, the world, around them, muted and at a safe distance.

And the things that weren't as familiar, but just as welcome: the sound of Abby's deep, even breathing next to him; the feel of her fingers in his hair, not moving but resting there like they belonged; the weight and warmth of Connor against his leg. The feel of the pair of them bracketing him, keeping him grounded, keeping him steady.

The old clock on the mantel piece, his grandfather's once and now his, unhurriedly ticked out the remnants of the day, slow and steady, gently moving time along and taking them with it.

Nick let go.

The End