Primeval fic: Everybody's Got a Story 1/3
Title: Everybody's Got a Story
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin', not makin' any money neither.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Christine Johnson succeeds at taking over the ARC in the middle of S3. Then Connor plays along with her, revealing a side of himself he'd thought he'd never have to revisit.
AN: So, we're all going to blame this on aunteeneenah. Everyone got that? Dangerous Connor. Hmmph. This shouldn't be all that long in the end, but I'm posting to move on. Also to prove that I can do something that doesn't involve Stephen.
*********************************************
Connor had long known there were advantages to being innocuous, not least of which was that once he'd established who Connor Temple was supposed to be, no one ever bothered to look him over twice. He'd always been more amused than surprised no one even thought to check him for weapons anymore, so innocuous and trusted he was. Even Sarah got a once-over from the guards.
The real shock had been when they'd run into 'Christine Johnson'. It had been all he could do to keep the shock off his face. There was little trace of the person she'd once been, save for the posh accent and her face, but he was a tad surprised when she didn't notice him at all. More than that, though, he'd been sure she was dead. The explosion that had levelled the building they'd been in, that had been blamed on the IRA-bound munitions inside, was supposed to have killed her.
Tina'd always had a gift for landing on her feet, and he had to admit, getting herself into the upper echelons of some government agency where she could play with military personnel and top-secret scientific equipment was just the sort of thing she'd do.
Then the bitch took over the ARC, blocked their escape and had them all dragged into the ARC's main hub, looking down on them from Lester's office, which she'd claimed as her own. He didn't know what she was planning, what she wanted, but he did know that it would be bad. It was why he'd done what he'd done eight years ago.
He just hoped the others would listen to him long enough to explain when it was all over.
******************************
Becker was cursing internally, knew that there was nothing he could do now, hoping he wouldn't have to fling himself into some sort of kamikaze run just to get his once-coworkers, now-friends, out of this. He knew he could play the perfect soldier, get close enough to find something to get that harpy out of his domain, but would Abby, Danny, Sarah and Connor understand? Lester would, but that wouldn't be enough if they never forgave him.
He turned his attention to Johnson, who was speaking with that irritating smirk on her face. "Well, look at this. Why, you'd think I was some sort of invading terrorist," she said, and her smile, thin and close-lipped, nonetheless had teeth in it. "Now," she continued. "I should very much like to discuss with-"
She was cut off but a thud and a scream. They all whipped around to see a sight that left Becker momentarily in utter shock. One of the soldiers in Johnson's employ was clutching his hand, screaming in pain from the knife spearing through it. His hand slowly lowering, was Connor.
Connor had just thrown a knife through the man's hand. Becker spared a moment of irritation for whomever it was that had let him get that past security. Then he saw Connor's face. It was cold and smirking and there was something there completely unlike the affable Connor Temple they all knew.
"Tell your goons to keep their hands off my work, Tina," he said with a sort of false geniality. "The next one . . . well, you recall what I did to Fred O'Brien."
For the first time since he'd had the displeasure of making the woman's acquaintance, she looked shocked. "Jake?"
Connor ambled over. "Mm-hmm," he hummed. "Been a while, hasn't it, Tina?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"Touchy," Connor said, the grin on his face and the raised hands a parody of the geek they were used to. He started towards the woman, garnering the attention of her guards.
Guns snapped up to track his movement, Connor brazenly ignored them. "Stop!" shouted one of them sharply.
A positively sleazy smiled slipped onto Connor's face. Acting as though he weren't in danger of being shot, he simply walked over to Johnson, who continued to glare at him. "What do you think you're doing, Jake? Don't think I don't remember-"
"What?" Connor said to her, laughing. "You still blaming Uncle Ken?" He reached her side, sliding in behind her, one hand sliding around her waist, the other cupping her face, turning it to him, then in a move that made Abby growl, kissed her. When it ended, Connor's voice was husky and deeper than usual as he said, "You know you missed me."
Her eyes narrowed. "What assurance do I have that you weren't to blame?"
"You know quite well I was in too deep for that," he said, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking along the top of her skirt, while the other caressed her face. "The things I did for you . . ." he trailed off. "It really was awful when I thought you'd died," he told her.
Johnson's face shifted from suspicious to a cat in cream. "Captain," she snapped to Wilder, "Take these people away. I'll find some way to deal with them." She turned, a cool smile on her lips. "Unless, of course, you'd be willing to work with me?"
"I'm sure they will," Connor murmured. He was still touching Johnson, something the others seemed to find as repulsive as he did. "All you need to do is make sure that Abby knows her precious little beasties'll be . . ." he paused, shot Abby another parody of his usual friendly smile, "In trouble, if she doesn't cooperate, hmm? She'll be a lot more useful that way." He frowned a little, then pointed at Sarah. "And she's barely capable of more than academics. No point in letting it all go to waste. She's as bad as Cutter that way, can't resist the puzzle."
"Connor! What are you doing?" Abby shouted suddenly, lunging forward. The SFs gripped her ams, pulling her back. Connor and Johnson didn't so much as seem to notice.
"You'd figured out the artefact," Johnson told him. "What would you need her for?"
Connor rolled his eyes, as overdramatic as a teenaged girl. "Do you really think that I've been wasting my time on some idiotic piece of junk from the future? Really, I have better things to do with my time. Like watching paint dry."
"You always were more about flash, weren't you?" she acknowledged. "Or is it that you're interested in someone flashier?"
He pulled away. "Tina, I'm hurt, truly." He grinned. "I'll admit you'll want to keep Danny out of trouble and all, Becker too, probably-"
"That reminds me," she interrupted. "Captain, there is absolutely no need for you to continue posturing. I can, of course, have you thrown in prison for treason, as I have been given control of this facility by the minister, but otherwise, I am your commanding officer now."
Whatever Connor was up to, whether a betrayal or some sort of strange trick, he couldn't do anything to get the woman out if he let himself be thrown out of the ARC. He relaxed into parade rest. "As you say, Ma'am."
Connor's face lit up in amused, dark, glee. "Oh, that is sexy that. All that obedience. Reminds me of that time we-"
Johnson cut him off. "Now, Jake, no reason to say something that might incriminate you."
He laughed. "True enough. Now, if you'll excuse me," he spun away, "I have to get my knife back from that bloke who's been so kind to hold it all this time." He turned, vanishing down the hallway at a quick pace, clearly going after the man he'd maimed.
"Now what?" Danny demanded darkly, glaring at Becker, Johnson and after Connor equally. "You know we'll never work for you."
"Oh, I think Jake's quite right about Miss Maitland's bleeding heart." She turned to Wilder. "Take Maitland down to wherever they keep the animals. Put them down, would you? I mean," she smiled serenely at a furious Abby, "We hardly have the resources to waste on a bunch of animals, do we?" She paused, "Oh, allow me to clarify something to everyone. You're all more than welcome to keep your current positions, even you Mr. Quinn. I have no desire to interfere with the work of controlling the anomalies, you know."
"This isn't over, Christine," Lester said darkly. He was glaring at the woman.
She smiled in delight. "I do love it when people say that," she said. "Mostly because, it always is. Now, since your position is redundant, James, why don't you toddle along?"
Lester allowed himself to be taken from the ARC, Becker forced himself to return to his duties and the ARC settled into a new rhythm under its new, hopefully temporary, management.
***************************************
By the end of the day, Connor retreated to the car park to hold himself together. Danny, with the impulsive nature that characterised who he was had been caught sabotaging Tina's little plot. By Connor. The worst part of it all, in a way, was how damned good it had felt to catch Danny unawares and hold him at knifepoint. To watch the smugness about his skill with guns fall away and see fear there, he'd forgotten how amazing it felt to have control over the people around him.
Danny was now in a holding cell and Connor was waiting in the car park. "Tina."
She smiled, amused at the sight of him. "I must admit, this isn't the look I expected on you."
He let Connor Temple sink away for the moment and Jake Thompson out. He had to be Jake now. At least until he could fix things. He hoped that Becker was doing the same, playing good little soldier, but he couldn't be sure and he couldn't trust it. So he pulled up a part of himself he'd packed away years ago, not so much because he was entirely ashamed, but because he hadn't wanted any connections between Jake and what he'd wanted to do with himself. "You didn't think they'd let me get away with that, did you? It's bad enough the sort of crackdowns the police pull when they catch you with pointed sticks, I'd hate to imagine what they'd do with me and my darlings, here." He twisted his hands enough to show the knives hidden in the sheathes at his wrists.
"So, what brings you down here?" she asked, pressing him into the wall. As they kissed, he hastily thought of, then discarded the thought of Abby. He didn't want those thoughts sullied that way, pulling up Angelina Jolie when she'd played Lara Croft in his head, it did the trick, and when they pulled apart, he was able to keep playing the game, grinning at her.
"You know what," he said with a smile. "It's been a bit of a while, hasn't it, Tina? Playing goody-two-shoes, the pair of us." Then he broached the topic he knew he had to. "My flatmate's not going to be all that happy with me, you know. Maybe you'd clear me some space on a sofa or some such?"
She looked consideringly at him. "I don't . . . oh!" she threw her head back and moaned as he boldly pressed his fingers into the crotch of her pantyhose, pressing just how he remembered she'd liked it. His memory was good. In moments she was rolling her hips into his hand as he used the other to pinch the nipples now pressing into her silk blouse and suckled lightly at her neck. For a quick moment he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but he dismissed it. It didn't even matter if he'd been seen, it could only help establish that he was Jake now, not Connor. And on that thought he dropped to his knees, shoving the skirt up and the hose down, wrapping his lips around her clit and sliding first one finger than two into her.
Clearly it really had been a while, because it took less time than he remembered to bring her over the edge. The sight and taste of her was so familiar, he fell back into old patterns and was painfully pressed into the zip on his jeans by the time she bucked once more and came with the exultant shout he remembered. He stood, smirking at her, waiting for her response and licking his fingers clean.
"Mm, Jake, you haven't lost your touch," she said lasciviously, as she boldly slipped her hand past the waisband on his jeans, into his boxers and reminded him that she'd had a rather excellent touch of her own, she was gorgeous and she was the first woman he'd ever been with and would always have a forcible hold on him, after all.
"So?" he panted. "Do I have a place to stay tonight?"
"Get in the car, Jake," she told him by way of answer.
The drive was surprisingly short, her flat was enormous and sophisticated, and on the walls were the knives she'd taught him to use once and the top flight computers she'd once tested his craft on. She was a brilliant hacker, always had been, but he was better. She was good with knives and he was better. What he'd always lacked was her skills at manipulation, subversion, planning and the ruthless and cruel streak that had made her excel as a member of the team of free agents open to whichever criminal organisation wanted to pay for their expertise. They didn't field the teams that did the theft, they didn't do the actual movement of guns over borders and they most certainly didn't deal in terrorism.
What they'd dealt in was the technical assistance to pull off the heists, the organisational skills and analysis of institutions to be attacked, bombed, stolen from, it really was none of their business. They didn't do the crime, they just made it possible.
It was still a dangerous business, of course. If you worked for the Mafia and their men messed up the theft or whatever they'd been up to, you got blamed, even if the idiots faffed around and got themselves shot by police. He'd never been good with guns, so Tina'd taken him in hand. He couldn't shoot to save his life, but he'd turned out deadly with a blade in hand.
"Nice, isn't it?" she commented as he perused the display of throwing knives on the wall. Ostensibly decoration, every one was sharp, and Connor would have bet his life on them being perfectly balanced too. Tina liked her weapons flawless.
"Lovely," he told her, then dragged her into the bed. He'd been hard for the ride back, appreciatively looking at the delightful legs in the pantyhose and knowing the only reason for him to stay at her place was going to be if he made it worth her while. He was straddling her, about to undo the first button on her blouse, when she got her hands on his knives, the first one slicing through his shirt with precision, the other resting on his cock. He stopped. "So, you still don't trust me?"
"No more than you trust me, Jake," she told him. "Don't think I don't recall you turning when the police came."
"Didn't have your resources, did I?" he asked pointedly. "I was already caught, you know. Uncle Ken may have been family, but he was hardly the most appealing role model."
The tip of the one knife lightly scratched down his chest, and he pointedly didn't wince as he felt the paper-thin cut start to bleed. The other began to circle over his erection, he could feel it through the cloth, teasing. "So, you just . . . what? Played at redemption?"
He hadn't had to pretend for years, but the tears and open sadness Abby was always so impressed by, while he truly looked like that when grieving, it was a skill he had too, his face melting into tears and pooling doe-like eyes. "Oh, Agent Yates, I didn't know, I didn't. And I was so scared when I really got what we were doing. I won't go to prison, will I?"
She laughed, dropping the knives over the edge of the bed and rolling him over. He hissed, arching his hips up as she ran her tongue over the stinging cut on his chest, one of her hands squeezing him as well as a hoarse shout from his throat. They kissed, and he tasted his own blood on her tongue.
There was very little foreplay after that, as she yanked his trousers down and the condom over him, then slammed herself unceremoniously onto him. He fell back, letting her have control, as it made her happy. "So, you played lost little lamb did you?" she purred. "I always did like that look on you."
"I was 17," he groaned. "Easy enough to play younger if I had to." He had his fingers wallowing in her wetness, delicately pinching her clit and half sitting up to catch a wildly rocking nipple in his teeth.
A particularly vicious twist of her hips and he came, relaxing into pure physical sensation. As long as he kept it physical, didn't think about who she really was, it was easy enough. She followed him down, because he still remembered where her every button was. She was also still Tina, rolling out of bed almost before the last spasms of pleasure had gone, and was already heading for the shower. "You're not really interested in wearing that ridiculous casual wear, are you?"
"I'm not wearing a suit, Tina," he objected instantly. It was one thing to play her games, it was another to wear one of those straightjackets.
Unashamedly naked, she smirked. "Then we'll just have to take you shopping tomorrow," she purred. "I think I'd rather like to have you back, Jake."
"It'll be a clear message," he agreed, purring into her ear as he shed the last of his clothes finally.
Hours later he lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, the image of what Abby, Lester, Sarah, Danny and Becker must think of him now, dancing in his mind.
*************************************
Becker hadn't quite known what to expect from Connor after his performance the day before. Or his transformation or reversion or whatever the hell it was that he'd done. He hadn't expected to see the normally nervous and self-conscious geek performing oral sex in the bloody car park on bloody Christine Johnson.
He certainly didn't expect the apparition that appeared the next day in the woman's wake. It was as though someone had taken Connor Temple and twisted him ninety degrees. Where the geek had always worn clothes with a slightly odd fit, as though he liked the bagginess in odd places to conceal something, every inch looked tailored on him, now. Where he'd got used to slightly worn things that looked loved and possibly picked up from a used clothes shop, everything was sharp and pressed. Instead of jeans, the black trousers were leather, as were the new fingerless gloves. More than that, Connor was wearing a set of knives as openly as the SFs bore their guns.
In place of trainers, converse or workboots were doc martens, and the waiscoat he was wearing was tight, emphasising that the normally gawky-looking science nerd was well fit, and a silver chain dangled from the waistcoat to the trouser pocket. Three small hoops were in one ear, high on the cartilage, the other a stud in the lobe, and even a nose ring. To go with that, his hair had been restyled since the day before into one of those idiotic, just-rolled-out-of-bed looks, highlighted with blue streaks and Connor was wearing eyeliner. In the background, he heard Sarah mutter, "Why does he have to look so bloody hot now that he's the bad guy?"
Connor caught that and grinned. "Oh, 'hot' now am I?" he asked. He was over before anyone knew what was happening, and had Sarah around the waist, purring, "I'd be delighted to show you just how . . . hot I can get."
"Jake," Johnson said, sounding playfully chiding. "Work before play, and you do recall that I don't much like it when other people play with my toys?"
Connor, or Jake as Becker was starting to think of him, to differentiate between this . . . apparition and his friend, pouted, then ambled over to his workstation, settling in to a computer, bringing up something on the screen that made Sarah's eyes cross when she tried to parse it briefly. "Oh, don't worry your pretty head about following this, luv," he said with a smarmy imitation of his usual grin, "It's a little beyond you."
She glared, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, clearly planning to drag him off, and found herself in the empty hallway, pinned under Conn . . . Jake's body, her wrists pinioned with one of his hands, a knife at her throat. "Don't think you can shove me about," he growled. "Connor Temple might be a pathetic pushover, but you're not dealing with him now, are you?"
"Let her go," Becker snapped, one hand on the butt of his pistol. He couldn't break from what he was supposed to be, but duty alone to his new 'commanding officer' would have meant he had to stop this. "Don't make me stop you."
The other man pulled away immediately, putting his hands up and making the knife slip back into its sheathe. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of making you do anything," he said with a grin that left Becker uneasy. He nearly oozed over the floor to him, and for a moment, Becker was sure that C . . . Jake was going to make a pass at him. Then, with a contemptuous look up and down, he said, "If, of course, you think you can take me . . ." and left the sentence dangling.
Then he turned, and with an exaggerated bow, said, "After you, Dr. Page. I'd hate to delay you in our quest to resolve Cutter's last idiotic boondoggle."
Becker watched him go, struggling for some sort of self control before he snapped and tried to beat Johnson's new toy to death.
The rest of the day was little better, Abby coming in for near-constant harassment about the animals she was so keen to protect. Though Becker noted that while Connor managed borderline sexual harassment of nearly every woman there, and some of the men, not once did he say a word to Abby that was out of line in that way. It wasn't until the end of the man's shift, just as he was leaving, with Johnson again, and he made an offhand comment about putting the scutosaurus down that he made even one crack at her like that.
She flung herself at him in sheer rage, and Becker knew how deadly Abby could be. The SFs who sparred with her respected the hell out of her skills, and he'd been expecting to have to intervene on Jake's behalf, little as he liked the notion. Which was why everyone was shocked again as the man eluded her fists and seemed to bonelessly slide behind her, slamming her to the floor and pinning her there with bodyweight and a knife that was just barely pricking her skin, letting a single drop of blood well up from that point. "Oh, Abby, I never did tell you I like it rough," he said.
Then he pushed off her and strolled to Johnson's side. "Pity I like a woman, not a girl pretending she's a boy."
The pair left together and it was all he could do not to join Sarah in comforting Abby. They had to stop this, somehow.
***************************
Mum? Mum!" thirteen-year-old Connor Jacob Temple-Thompson (and wasn't that a mouthful) raced into the kitchen as the clatter of falling pots reached his ears. She was on the floor, unresponsive, eyes still open, thankfully breathing. He dialled 999, going with her to the hospital, trying to recall what little he knew about her medical history, cursing since he'd not taken her purse with all her ID and such, just the NHS healthcare card for its number.
"Will your dad be along when he's done work for the day?" the nurse asked kindly.
He shook his head. "Dad passed away last year. I'm still seeing if Uncle Ken's back in town. He might have better answers and all for you."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman said, patting him on the head.
In the end, she was diagnosed with a limited sort of seizures, Jake taking the time in the library to look it up and everything that it meant. In practical terms, though, it meant she couldn't keep her job, it meant she started to suffer memory trouble and it meant that he was starting to think that he'd never be able to stay in school, finish up and go to uni. Because even if, between student loans and scholarships and bursaries he could go without paying for any of it, they still had to pay for part of her pills, for the assistive devices, for the sort of medical things that were like physiotherapy that the government wouldn't cover, and the number of hours that she needed a personal support worker were just a little more than was covered by the government plans too.
And all this on the dole.
He lied about his age and took on part time jobs, but they weren't enough and just cut into his time doing schoolwork, which only made his mum worry when his grades started dropping. Not a lot, but to go from high 90s to low 90s in his grades was a drop she'd notice, and it worried her. He had to find some other way to make up the difference.
It was in the school computer lab that it first started. At the urging of some of his mates, he'd started hacking into a few secure sites, getting in easily, until that afternoon, he was sneaking past the security on a few government websites. An idea took root in his head, and wouldn't let go.
He saved up enough money to take an afternoon in one of the local new internet cafes and strained and struggled with the codes, but did it. He couldn't get hired anywhere, no one would take him on with no certificates or degrees or anything, not at fourteen. But he could divert funds. It was just a bit, really. a few quid here or there from a few major concerns with too much money and not enough security. Let the system think someone'd ordered an extra packet of biros that never showed up or the janitorial staff some more loo roll. He just skimmed off the difference from his internet cafe, sending the money to his mum's account in the end.
Everything eased up around the house, Jake pretending he was being super-economical and for an afternoon's hard labour hacking, he'd get enough to keep them in tea and working telephone and all. He felt guilty sometimes, it was stealing after all, but it wasn't like he was taking money from people like his mum, it was from huge corporations that'd never notice the difference. Didn't they need it more than a faceless international conglomerate?
Still, he stopped complaining when she insisted on calling him Connor, which was a name he hated. He'd been Jake ever since he was seven and had figured out he could demand people call him that instead, but for her and how horrified she'd be if she knew, he let her use it.
Fate stepped in one day when he stumbled over another hacker in the system he'd been playing with. Whoever it was, their codes had been aiming for somewhere else, but they met in the middle at cross-purposes and set off the bank's system security. They'd both hastily pulled out, and he'd packed up and immediately left the cafe, avoiding the place like the plague for days, going so far as to use a library's system to finish up the money he'd left hanging in cyberspace, because leaving it out there was asking for trouble.
Uncle Ken showed up a month later, asking if he could take Jake out to dinner, and Patty Temple-Thompson let her brother-in-law, ne'er-do-well that he was, do it. After all, she hadn't been able to take her son out to a restaurant for a very long time, and he deserved a bit of a treat for being so well-behaved and helpful.
Instead of some family sort of place like Jake had expected, the place was posh. Very posh. And they got ushered into a room at the back. There were a few men in suits, Mr. Patterson, Mr. Hardy and Mr. Kaye. Another man who looked pretty frightening with his stern face and scars, wearing a suit jacket, nice shirt and jeans and a gorgeous woman, the youngest one of the group there, who seemed to be in her early twenties or late teens. It was hard to tell, because her face was young, but her clothes were sophisticated. Sort of what the school's secretary was trying to achieve in her office wear, only this was natty and businesslike and sexy all at once.
Jake felt pretty out of place with his artfully messed hair, jeans, fingerless gloves and slightly too-small leather jacket he wore because his Dad had got it for him, and he wasn't ready to give it up.
"Uncle Ken?" he asked. "What's going on?"
"This is him?" the woman asked. "You're sure? Because I'd expected something a tad more . . . sophisticated."
His uncle chose to answer her, not his nephew. "You said it was traced back to that cafe, you said the money got traced to my sister-in-law's account," he felt his stomach disappear. Were they the police? Come to arrest him? But why here? This was a lot of trouble and expense if they were trying to be nice and not stress his mum, so what was going on? "Jake here's the only possible suspect."
His heart pounding in his throat, he reacted with belligerence, because he was that scared and didn't know what else to do. "What's going on? What are you talking about? Suspect for what?"
"Bit of an attitude there," she said. He noted now that she sounded as super-posh as their surroundings. All clipped and perfect, like she was on the BBC news or some such. She leaned in, looking intently at him, and said, "Be very careful who you use that attitude on. Not everyone will find it as . . . amusing as I do." He got a good look down the front of her top, and cursed the fact that he was going through puberty. She turned to the men. "Give me a few minutes to make sure he's it."
And then she started asking questions. In spite of how scared he was, in spite of how bloody weird it all was, he started to enjoy himself. His friends thought it was amazing he could break into government computers and all, but they didn't understand it. They didn't understand codes and computers and she was the first person he'd talked to face-to-face who did. She drew him out and soon enough they were chatting like old friends about the hows and whys of breaking into systems, interesting places they'd cracked and things they'd done.
He'd almost forgotten about the men there by the time dinner was over. Tina had taken up all his attention, smiling and touching him and generally making him feel like he wasn't silly, geeky, awkward Jake Temple-Thompson, but just him. She'd eventually explained what they did and how they did it, setting up security breaches for the Mafia and IRA, smoothing the way for gun-running to the Middle East and South America. She made it all sound exciting and sort-of legitimate. After all, they weren't the ones committing the real crimes, they were just . . . creating a hole for it to happen. Sort of. And they wanted him to join in. They needed a second hacker and when he'd accidentally nearly wrecked Christine's break-in into the bank, she'd gone to find out who he was.
He'd felt pride then, for the first time in a long time. School was easy, if miserable. Getting good grades didn't mean anything anymore. Not when people expected it as a matter of course, as did he, actually. But he'd been good enough to get the attention of a real professional.
He agreed by the end of the evening, delighted that he'd get paid to do something fun and that he'd even be able to stop stealing from places. He'd tell his mum he'd found a job, and it'd get her all the nice things she deserved since Dad wasn't there to do it for her anymore.
*******************************
There'd been an anomaly appearing out in the middle of nowhere, so Abby, Sarah, Becker and Jake all piled into cars, Jake getting in with Becker, and they drove off to the site. He knew he shouldn't risk his own cover, but Becker couldn't resist asking, "So, has Johnson let go of your leash long enough for this, Jake?" he stressed the name.
If he'd been hoping for some signal that it upset this stranger wearing Connor's face, he was to be disappointed. "As much as I'm sure you'd like to think she's that kinky, you'd be surprised how vanilla Tina can be," he replied instead. "Not enough instant gratification. She prefers to spend her long-term planning on things that'll get her somewhere. Really not much patience for other people faffing around, you know."
They arrived at the old research site and minefield, and quickly located the tracks of something that had come through. "Dinosaurs?" Becker asked, bracing himself for snide comments.
"Probably," came the terse reply. "I'm no expert on trackways, but there's something about the construction of the toes here that doesn't feel right, though. For now, we should probably assume a therapod." He stood, grabbing a tranq rifle and a pistol, checking them both with brisk efficiency, then turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Becker, jerking his head toward the road. "The size would suggest something like a raptor, so we should stick together unless we find differently. We'll have a better chance against a pack in a group. More eyes to see them coming, for one."
"Agreed," Becker said with a nod, gesturing at the men they had with them to fan out, but not too far.
"Who died and put you in charge?" Abby snapped, refusing to follow.
Jake let out his breath in an annoyed hiss. "Cutter died, and Tina, Ms Johnson to you, is in charge now. You want to complain about the chain of command, you can take it to her, but I promise you, she will not give a flying fuck." He started walking away, but Abby refused to stir, as did Sarah, and Becker was forced much to his chagrin, to stay put in order to leave someone around the pair.
"What happened to you, Connor? Was it all a lie? Everything?" she asked, sounding just a little broken.
He whipped around and stormed to her, eyes blazing. "You want to play that game, fine," he snapped. "But you do it when we're not on the clock. One more statement out of you that doesn't have to do with what we're here for, and I walk away. If you get eaten it'll be your own fault."
Abby's eyes were wide, but he didn't look back, just walked off, following the trail, keeping an eye out for footprints. He worked with a sharp efficiency that would have made Becker smile in pleasure at working with such competence, were it not for the fact that it was this brand new bastard. The entire ride back was spent in silence, as Jake tapped away at his laptop, sometimes writing up his report, but other times Becker saw streams of codes and windows flashing by too fast for him to track out of the corner of his eye.
The moment they were inside the car park, though, it was as though the bastard reemerged from behind the competent operative, and Becker was starting to get whiplash from wondering who the hell Temple even was.
"You wanted to know if it was a lie?" he asked Abby as she and Sarah emerged from their car. "How about this, Maitland. I got sick of being everyone's little puppy dog, especially yours."
"I never-"
He moved in on her, deliberately using his greater height to loom. "You always. You love it, Abby. You love the control it gives you." His voice changed to that low purr he'd been using on nearly every woman in the ARC but Abby. "But dominance games don't really do it for me unless I'm in charge." He turned on his heel and walked off.
He wanted to stay, wanted to hold Abby and join Sarah in comforting her, but he couldn't. If he was to keep himself to the role of dutiful soldier, he had to walk away. So he did.
There was one option he had, though, to do something about the situation. "Temple," he called as he caught up to Jake.
"Thompson," he was corrected.
"I'm sorry?" he asked, thrown offstride.
Jake tilted his head. "It's Jacob Thompson," he explained. "Can I help you with something, Captain?"
"Yes," Becker replied, deciding to stick with his original plan here. "You've been lax lately on your training, Te . . . Thompson. Especially the self-defence portions."
A head tilt and a smirk followed. "Ah," he said. A pregnant pause followed, then he told Becker. "Give me a half hour to run something past Tina and I'll meet you in the training room."
A half hour later, they were circling each other on the mat, Jake ducking and sliding around Becker with ease. Although he never seemed to manage many strikes, the fact was, if he kept this up, most opponents he had would get worn down simply from trying to pin him. But Becker wasn't most, and he may not have been faster, but his technique was better and his endurance as good. In the end, he was able to lay Jake out with a few hard strikes to the face, knocking the other man out and garnering a great deal of satisfaction for the effort.
"Maybe you'll be a little less cocky," he suggested.
Jake's grin was, for once, open and the painfully familiar one he was used to from Connor. "I'm not such a great shakes at bare knuckle brawling," he admitted. "No, I like my knives. When it comes down to it, and all."
"You can't rely on them all the time," Becker found himself saying.
A shrug. "Maybe not, but I always preferred to leave the heroics to the gun toting maniacs. I just don't connect with guns."
This wasn't good. He was bonding with this twisted new version of Connor. He had to stop. "Well, just keep in mind you need the practice," he said and hurried off to shower. He had to get Johnson out of the ARC, if only for his sanity. Once she was gone, maybe they could pin Connor Jake Temple Thompson down and get the truth out of him.
Go to Part Two
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Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin', not makin' any money neither.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Christine Johnson succeeds at taking over the ARC in the middle of S3. Then Connor plays along with her, revealing a side of himself he'd thought he'd never have to revisit.
AN: So, we're all going to blame this on aunteeneenah. Everyone got that? Dangerous Connor. Hmmph. This shouldn't be all that long in the end, but I'm posting to move on. Also to prove that I can do something that doesn't involve Stephen.
*********************************************
Connor had long known there were advantages to being innocuous, not least of which was that once he'd established who Connor Temple was supposed to be, no one ever bothered to look him over twice. He'd always been more amused than surprised no one even thought to check him for weapons anymore, so innocuous and trusted he was. Even Sarah got a once-over from the guards.
The real shock had been when they'd run into 'Christine Johnson'. It had been all he could do to keep the shock off his face. There was little trace of the person she'd once been, save for the posh accent and her face, but he was a tad surprised when she didn't notice him at all. More than that, though, he'd been sure she was dead. The explosion that had levelled the building they'd been in, that had been blamed on the IRA-bound munitions inside, was supposed to have killed her.
Tina'd always had a gift for landing on her feet, and he had to admit, getting herself into the upper echelons of some government agency where she could play with military personnel and top-secret scientific equipment was just the sort of thing she'd do.
Then the bitch took over the ARC, blocked their escape and had them all dragged into the ARC's main hub, looking down on them from Lester's office, which she'd claimed as her own. He didn't know what she was planning, what she wanted, but he did know that it would be bad. It was why he'd done what he'd done eight years ago.
He just hoped the others would listen to him long enough to explain when it was all over.
******************************
Becker was cursing internally, knew that there was nothing he could do now, hoping he wouldn't have to fling himself into some sort of kamikaze run just to get his once-coworkers, now-friends, out of this. He knew he could play the perfect soldier, get close enough to find something to get that harpy out of his domain, but would Abby, Danny, Sarah and Connor understand? Lester would, but that wouldn't be enough if they never forgave him.
He turned his attention to Johnson, who was speaking with that irritating smirk on her face. "Well, look at this. Why, you'd think I was some sort of invading terrorist," she said, and her smile, thin and close-lipped, nonetheless had teeth in it. "Now," she continued. "I should very much like to discuss with-"
She was cut off but a thud and a scream. They all whipped around to see a sight that left Becker momentarily in utter shock. One of the soldiers in Johnson's employ was clutching his hand, screaming in pain from the knife spearing through it. His hand slowly lowering, was Connor.
Connor had just thrown a knife through the man's hand. Becker spared a moment of irritation for whomever it was that had let him get that past security. Then he saw Connor's face. It was cold and smirking and there was something there completely unlike the affable Connor Temple they all knew.
"Tell your goons to keep their hands off my work, Tina," he said with a sort of false geniality. "The next one . . . well, you recall what I did to Fred O'Brien."
For the first time since he'd had the displeasure of making the woman's acquaintance, she looked shocked. "Jake?"
Connor ambled over. "Mm-hmm," he hummed. "Been a while, hasn't it, Tina?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"Touchy," Connor said, the grin on his face and the raised hands a parody of the geek they were used to. He started towards the woman, garnering the attention of her guards.
Guns snapped up to track his movement, Connor brazenly ignored them. "Stop!" shouted one of them sharply.
A positively sleazy smiled slipped onto Connor's face. Acting as though he weren't in danger of being shot, he simply walked over to Johnson, who continued to glare at him. "What do you think you're doing, Jake? Don't think I don't remember-"
"What?" Connor said to her, laughing. "You still blaming Uncle Ken?" He reached her side, sliding in behind her, one hand sliding around her waist, the other cupping her face, turning it to him, then in a move that made Abby growl, kissed her. When it ended, Connor's voice was husky and deeper than usual as he said, "You know you missed me."
Her eyes narrowed. "What assurance do I have that you weren't to blame?"
"You know quite well I was in too deep for that," he said, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking along the top of her skirt, while the other caressed her face. "The things I did for you . . ." he trailed off. "It really was awful when I thought you'd died," he told her.
Johnson's face shifted from suspicious to a cat in cream. "Captain," she snapped to Wilder, "Take these people away. I'll find some way to deal with them." She turned, a cool smile on her lips. "Unless, of course, you'd be willing to work with me?"
"I'm sure they will," Connor murmured. He was still touching Johnson, something the others seemed to find as repulsive as he did. "All you need to do is make sure that Abby knows her precious little beasties'll be . . ." he paused, shot Abby another parody of his usual friendly smile, "In trouble, if she doesn't cooperate, hmm? She'll be a lot more useful that way." He frowned a little, then pointed at Sarah. "And she's barely capable of more than academics. No point in letting it all go to waste. She's as bad as Cutter that way, can't resist the puzzle."
"Connor! What are you doing?" Abby shouted suddenly, lunging forward. The SFs gripped her ams, pulling her back. Connor and Johnson didn't so much as seem to notice.
"You'd figured out the artefact," Johnson told him. "What would you need her for?"
Connor rolled his eyes, as overdramatic as a teenaged girl. "Do you really think that I've been wasting my time on some idiotic piece of junk from the future? Really, I have better things to do with my time. Like watching paint dry."
"You always were more about flash, weren't you?" she acknowledged. "Or is it that you're interested in someone flashier?"
He pulled away. "Tina, I'm hurt, truly." He grinned. "I'll admit you'll want to keep Danny out of trouble and all, Becker too, probably-"
"That reminds me," she interrupted. "Captain, there is absolutely no need for you to continue posturing. I can, of course, have you thrown in prison for treason, as I have been given control of this facility by the minister, but otherwise, I am your commanding officer now."
Whatever Connor was up to, whether a betrayal or some sort of strange trick, he couldn't do anything to get the woman out if he let himself be thrown out of the ARC. He relaxed into parade rest. "As you say, Ma'am."
Connor's face lit up in amused, dark, glee. "Oh, that is sexy that. All that obedience. Reminds me of that time we-"
Johnson cut him off. "Now, Jake, no reason to say something that might incriminate you."
He laughed. "True enough. Now, if you'll excuse me," he spun away, "I have to get my knife back from that bloke who's been so kind to hold it all this time." He turned, vanishing down the hallway at a quick pace, clearly going after the man he'd maimed.
"Now what?" Danny demanded darkly, glaring at Becker, Johnson and after Connor equally. "You know we'll never work for you."
"Oh, I think Jake's quite right about Miss Maitland's bleeding heart." She turned to Wilder. "Take Maitland down to wherever they keep the animals. Put them down, would you? I mean," she smiled serenely at a furious Abby, "We hardly have the resources to waste on a bunch of animals, do we?" She paused, "Oh, allow me to clarify something to everyone. You're all more than welcome to keep your current positions, even you Mr. Quinn. I have no desire to interfere with the work of controlling the anomalies, you know."
"This isn't over, Christine," Lester said darkly. He was glaring at the woman.
She smiled in delight. "I do love it when people say that," she said. "Mostly because, it always is. Now, since your position is redundant, James, why don't you toddle along?"
Lester allowed himself to be taken from the ARC, Becker forced himself to return to his duties and the ARC settled into a new rhythm under its new, hopefully temporary, management.
***************************************
By the end of the day, Connor retreated to the car park to hold himself together. Danny, with the impulsive nature that characterised who he was had been caught sabotaging Tina's little plot. By Connor. The worst part of it all, in a way, was how damned good it had felt to catch Danny unawares and hold him at knifepoint. To watch the smugness about his skill with guns fall away and see fear there, he'd forgotten how amazing it felt to have control over the people around him.
Danny was now in a holding cell and Connor was waiting in the car park. "Tina."
She smiled, amused at the sight of him. "I must admit, this isn't the look I expected on you."
He let Connor Temple sink away for the moment and Jake Thompson out. He had to be Jake now. At least until he could fix things. He hoped that Becker was doing the same, playing good little soldier, but he couldn't be sure and he couldn't trust it. So he pulled up a part of himself he'd packed away years ago, not so much because he was entirely ashamed, but because he hadn't wanted any connections between Jake and what he'd wanted to do with himself. "You didn't think they'd let me get away with that, did you? It's bad enough the sort of crackdowns the police pull when they catch you with pointed sticks, I'd hate to imagine what they'd do with me and my darlings, here." He twisted his hands enough to show the knives hidden in the sheathes at his wrists.
"So, what brings you down here?" she asked, pressing him into the wall. As they kissed, he hastily thought of, then discarded the thought of Abby. He didn't want those thoughts sullied that way, pulling up Angelina Jolie when she'd played Lara Croft in his head, it did the trick, and when they pulled apart, he was able to keep playing the game, grinning at her.
"You know what," he said with a smile. "It's been a bit of a while, hasn't it, Tina? Playing goody-two-shoes, the pair of us." Then he broached the topic he knew he had to. "My flatmate's not going to be all that happy with me, you know. Maybe you'd clear me some space on a sofa or some such?"
She looked consideringly at him. "I don't . . . oh!" she threw her head back and moaned as he boldly pressed his fingers into the crotch of her pantyhose, pressing just how he remembered she'd liked it. His memory was good. In moments she was rolling her hips into his hand as he used the other to pinch the nipples now pressing into her silk blouse and suckled lightly at her neck. For a quick moment he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but he dismissed it. It didn't even matter if he'd been seen, it could only help establish that he was Jake now, not Connor. And on that thought he dropped to his knees, shoving the skirt up and the hose down, wrapping his lips around her clit and sliding first one finger than two into her.
Clearly it really had been a while, because it took less time than he remembered to bring her over the edge. The sight and taste of her was so familiar, he fell back into old patterns and was painfully pressed into the zip on his jeans by the time she bucked once more and came with the exultant shout he remembered. He stood, smirking at her, waiting for her response and licking his fingers clean.
"Mm, Jake, you haven't lost your touch," she said lasciviously, as she boldly slipped her hand past the waisband on his jeans, into his boxers and reminded him that she'd had a rather excellent touch of her own, she was gorgeous and she was the first woman he'd ever been with and would always have a forcible hold on him, after all.
"So?" he panted. "Do I have a place to stay tonight?"
"Get in the car, Jake," she told him by way of answer.
The drive was surprisingly short, her flat was enormous and sophisticated, and on the walls were the knives she'd taught him to use once and the top flight computers she'd once tested his craft on. She was a brilliant hacker, always had been, but he was better. She was good with knives and he was better. What he'd always lacked was her skills at manipulation, subversion, planning and the ruthless and cruel streak that had made her excel as a member of the team of free agents open to whichever criminal organisation wanted to pay for their expertise. They didn't field the teams that did the theft, they didn't do the actual movement of guns over borders and they most certainly didn't deal in terrorism.
What they'd dealt in was the technical assistance to pull off the heists, the organisational skills and analysis of institutions to be attacked, bombed, stolen from, it really was none of their business. They didn't do the crime, they just made it possible.
It was still a dangerous business, of course. If you worked for the Mafia and their men messed up the theft or whatever they'd been up to, you got blamed, even if the idiots faffed around and got themselves shot by police. He'd never been good with guns, so Tina'd taken him in hand. He couldn't shoot to save his life, but he'd turned out deadly with a blade in hand.
"Nice, isn't it?" she commented as he perused the display of throwing knives on the wall. Ostensibly decoration, every one was sharp, and Connor would have bet his life on them being perfectly balanced too. Tina liked her weapons flawless.
"Lovely," he told her, then dragged her into the bed. He'd been hard for the ride back, appreciatively looking at the delightful legs in the pantyhose and knowing the only reason for him to stay at her place was going to be if he made it worth her while. He was straddling her, about to undo the first button on her blouse, when she got her hands on his knives, the first one slicing through his shirt with precision, the other resting on his cock. He stopped. "So, you still don't trust me?"
"No more than you trust me, Jake," she told him. "Don't think I don't recall you turning when the police came."
"Didn't have your resources, did I?" he asked pointedly. "I was already caught, you know. Uncle Ken may have been family, but he was hardly the most appealing role model."
The tip of the one knife lightly scratched down his chest, and he pointedly didn't wince as he felt the paper-thin cut start to bleed. The other began to circle over his erection, he could feel it through the cloth, teasing. "So, you just . . . what? Played at redemption?"
He hadn't had to pretend for years, but the tears and open sadness Abby was always so impressed by, while he truly looked like that when grieving, it was a skill he had too, his face melting into tears and pooling doe-like eyes. "Oh, Agent Yates, I didn't know, I didn't. And I was so scared when I really got what we were doing. I won't go to prison, will I?"
She laughed, dropping the knives over the edge of the bed and rolling him over. He hissed, arching his hips up as she ran her tongue over the stinging cut on his chest, one of her hands squeezing him as well as a hoarse shout from his throat. They kissed, and he tasted his own blood on her tongue.
There was very little foreplay after that, as she yanked his trousers down and the condom over him, then slammed herself unceremoniously onto him. He fell back, letting her have control, as it made her happy. "So, you played lost little lamb did you?" she purred. "I always did like that look on you."
"I was 17," he groaned. "Easy enough to play younger if I had to." He had his fingers wallowing in her wetness, delicately pinching her clit and half sitting up to catch a wildly rocking nipple in his teeth.
A particularly vicious twist of her hips and he came, relaxing into pure physical sensation. As long as he kept it physical, didn't think about who she really was, it was easy enough. She followed him down, because he still remembered where her every button was. She was also still Tina, rolling out of bed almost before the last spasms of pleasure had gone, and was already heading for the shower. "You're not really interested in wearing that ridiculous casual wear, are you?"
"I'm not wearing a suit, Tina," he objected instantly. It was one thing to play her games, it was another to wear one of those straightjackets.
Unashamedly naked, she smirked. "Then we'll just have to take you shopping tomorrow," she purred. "I think I'd rather like to have you back, Jake."
"It'll be a clear message," he agreed, purring into her ear as he shed the last of his clothes finally.
Hours later he lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, the image of what Abby, Lester, Sarah, Danny and Becker must think of him now, dancing in his mind.
*************************************
Becker hadn't quite known what to expect from Connor after his performance the day before. Or his transformation or reversion or whatever the hell it was that he'd done. He hadn't expected to see the normally nervous and self-conscious geek performing oral sex in the bloody car park on bloody Christine Johnson.
He certainly didn't expect the apparition that appeared the next day in the woman's wake. It was as though someone had taken Connor Temple and twisted him ninety degrees. Where the geek had always worn clothes with a slightly odd fit, as though he liked the bagginess in odd places to conceal something, every inch looked tailored on him, now. Where he'd got used to slightly worn things that looked loved and possibly picked up from a used clothes shop, everything was sharp and pressed. Instead of jeans, the black trousers were leather, as were the new fingerless gloves. More than that, Connor was wearing a set of knives as openly as the SFs bore their guns.
In place of trainers, converse or workboots were doc martens, and the waiscoat he was wearing was tight, emphasising that the normally gawky-looking science nerd was well fit, and a silver chain dangled from the waistcoat to the trouser pocket. Three small hoops were in one ear, high on the cartilage, the other a stud in the lobe, and even a nose ring. To go with that, his hair had been restyled since the day before into one of those idiotic, just-rolled-out-of-bed looks, highlighted with blue streaks and Connor was wearing eyeliner. In the background, he heard Sarah mutter, "Why does he have to look so bloody hot now that he's the bad guy?"
Connor caught that and grinned. "Oh, 'hot' now am I?" he asked. He was over before anyone knew what was happening, and had Sarah around the waist, purring, "I'd be delighted to show you just how . . . hot I can get."
"Jake," Johnson said, sounding playfully chiding. "Work before play, and you do recall that I don't much like it when other people play with my toys?"
Connor, or Jake as Becker was starting to think of him, to differentiate between this . . . apparition and his friend, pouted, then ambled over to his workstation, settling in to a computer, bringing up something on the screen that made Sarah's eyes cross when she tried to parse it briefly. "Oh, don't worry your pretty head about following this, luv," he said with a smarmy imitation of his usual grin, "It's a little beyond you."
She glared, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, clearly planning to drag him off, and found herself in the empty hallway, pinned under Conn . . . Jake's body, her wrists pinioned with one of his hands, a knife at her throat. "Don't think you can shove me about," he growled. "Connor Temple might be a pathetic pushover, but you're not dealing with him now, are you?"
"Let her go," Becker snapped, one hand on the butt of his pistol. He couldn't break from what he was supposed to be, but duty alone to his new 'commanding officer' would have meant he had to stop this. "Don't make me stop you."
The other man pulled away immediately, putting his hands up and making the knife slip back into its sheathe. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of making you do anything," he said with a grin that left Becker uneasy. He nearly oozed over the floor to him, and for a moment, Becker was sure that C . . . Jake was going to make a pass at him. Then, with a contemptuous look up and down, he said, "If, of course, you think you can take me . . ." and left the sentence dangling.
Then he turned, and with an exaggerated bow, said, "After you, Dr. Page. I'd hate to delay you in our quest to resolve Cutter's last idiotic boondoggle."
Becker watched him go, struggling for some sort of self control before he snapped and tried to beat Johnson's new toy to death.
The rest of the day was little better, Abby coming in for near-constant harassment about the animals she was so keen to protect. Though Becker noted that while Connor managed borderline sexual harassment of nearly every woman there, and some of the men, not once did he say a word to Abby that was out of line in that way. It wasn't until the end of the man's shift, just as he was leaving, with Johnson again, and he made an offhand comment about putting the scutosaurus down that he made even one crack at her like that.
She flung herself at him in sheer rage, and Becker knew how deadly Abby could be. The SFs who sparred with her respected the hell out of her skills, and he'd been expecting to have to intervene on Jake's behalf, little as he liked the notion. Which was why everyone was shocked again as the man eluded her fists and seemed to bonelessly slide behind her, slamming her to the floor and pinning her there with bodyweight and a knife that was just barely pricking her skin, letting a single drop of blood well up from that point. "Oh, Abby, I never did tell you I like it rough," he said.
Then he pushed off her and strolled to Johnson's side. "Pity I like a woman, not a girl pretending she's a boy."
The pair left together and it was all he could do not to join Sarah in comforting Abby. They had to stop this, somehow.
***************************
Mum? Mum!" thirteen-year-old Connor Jacob Temple-Thompson (and wasn't that a mouthful) raced into the kitchen as the clatter of falling pots reached his ears. She was on the floor, unresponsive, eyes still open, thankfully breathing. He dialled 999, going with her to the hospital, trying to recall what little he knew about her medical history, cursing since he'd not taken her purse with all her ID and such, just the NHS healthcare card for its number.
"Will your dad be along when he's done work for the day?" the nurse asked kindly.
He shook his head. "Dad passed away last year. I'm still seeing if Uncle Ken's back in town. He might have better answers and all for you."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman said, patting him on the head.
In the end, she was diagnosed with a limited sort of seizures, Jake taking the time in the library to look it up and everything that it meant. In practical terms, though, it meant she couldn't keep her job, it meant she started to suffer memory trouble and it meant that he was starting to think that he'd never be able to stay in school, finish up and go to uni. Because even if, between student loans and scholarships and bursaries he could go without paying for any of it, they still had to pay for part of her pills, for the assistive devices, for the sort of medical things that were like physiotherapy that the government wouldn't cover, and the number of hours that she needed a personal support worker were just a little more than was covered by the government plans too.
And all this on the dole.
He lied about his age and took on part time jobs, but they weren't enough and just cut into his time doing schoolwork, which only made his mum worry when his grades started dropping. Not a lot, but to go from high 90s to low 90s in his grades was a drop she'd notice, and it worried her. He had to find some other way to make up the difference.
It was in the school computer lab that it first started. At the urging of some of his mates, he'd started hacking into a few secure sites, getting in easily, until that afternoon, he was sneaking past the security on a few government websites. An idea took root in his head, and wouldn't let go.
He saved up enough money to take an afternoon in one of the local new internet cafes and strained and struggled with the codes, but did it. He couldn't get hired anywhere, no one would take him on with no certificates or degrees or anything, not at fourteen. But he could divert funds. It was just a bit, really. a few quid here or there from a few major concerns with too much money and not enough security. Let the system think someone'd ordered an extra packet of biros that never showed up or the janitorial staff some more loo roll. He just skimmed off the difference from his internet cafe, sending the money to his mum's account in the end.
Everything eased up around the house, Jake pretending he was being super-economical and for an afternoon's hard labour hacking, he'd get enough to keep them in tea and working telephone and all. He felt guilty sometimes, it was stealing after all, but it wasn't like he was taking money from people like his mum, it was from huge corporations that'd never notice the difference. Didn't they need it more than a faceless international conglomerate?
Still, he stopped complaining when she insisted on calling him Connor, which was a name he hated. He'd been Jake ever since he was seven and had figured out he could demand people call him that instead, but for her and how horrified she'd be if she knew, he let her use it.
Fate stepped in one day when he stumbled over another hacker in the system he'd been playing with. Whoever it was, their codes had been aiming for somewhere else, but they met in the middle at cross-purposes and set off the bank's system security. They'd both hastily pulled out, and he'd packed up and immediately left the cafe, avoiding the place like the plague for days, going so far as to use a library's system to finish up the money he'd left hanging in cyberspace, because leaving it out there was asking for trouble.
Uncle Ken showed up a month later, asking if he could take Jake out to dinner, and Patty Temple-Thompson let her brother-in-law, ne'er-do-well that he was, do it. After all, she hadn't been able to take her son out to a restaurant for a very long time, and he deserved a bit of a treat for being so well-behaved and helpful.
Instead of some family sort of place like Jake had expected, the place was posh. Very posh. And they got ushered into a room at the back. There were a few men in suits, Mr. Patterson, Mr. Hardy and Mr. Kaye. Another man who looked pretty frightening with his stern face and scars, wearing a suit jacket, nice shirt and jeans and a gorgeous woman, the youngest one of the group there, who seemed to be in her early twenties or late teens. It was hard to tell, because her face was young, but her clothes were sophisticated. Sort of what the school's secretary was trying to achieve in her office wear, only this was natty and businesslike and sexy all at once.
Jake felt pretty out of place with his artfully messed hair, jeans, fingerless gloves and slightly too-small leather jacket he wore because his Dad had got it for him, and he wasn't ready to give it up.
"Uncle Ken?" he asked. "What's going on?"
"This is him?" the woman asked. "You're sure? Because I'd expected something a tad more . . . sophisticated."
His uncle chose to answer her, not his nephew. "You said it was traced back to that cafe, you said the money got traced to my sister-in-law's account," he felt his stomach disappear. Were they the police? Come to arrest him? But why here? This was a lot of trouble and expense if they were trying to be nice and not stress his mum, so what was going on? "Jake here's the only possible suspect."
His heart pounding in his throat, he reacted with belligerence, because he was that scared and didn't know what else to do. "What's going on? What are you talking about? Suspect for what?"
"Bit of an attitude there," she said. He noted now that she sounded as super-posh as their surroundings. All clipped and perfect, like she was on the BBC news or some such. She leaned in, looking intently at him, and said, "Be very careful who you use that attitude on. Not everyone will find it as . . . amusing as I do." He got a good look down the front of her top, and cursed the fact that he was going through puberty. She turned to the men. "Give me a few minutes to make sure he's it."
And then she started asking questions. In spite of how scared he was, in spite of how bloody weird it all was, he started to enjoy himself. His friends thought it was amazing he could break into government computers and all, but they didn't understand it. They didn't understand codes and computers and she was the first person he'd talked to face-to-face who did. She drew him out and soon enough they were chatting like old friends about the hows and whys of breaking into systems, interesting places they'd cracked and things they'd done.
He'd almost forgotten about the men there by the time dinner was over. Tina had taken up all his attention, smiling and touching him and generally making him feel like he wasn't silly, geeky, awkward Jake Temple-Thompson, but just him. She'd eventually explained what they did and how they did it, setting up security breaches for the Mafia and IRA, smoothing the way for gun-running to the Middle East and South America. She made it all sound exciting and sort-of legitimate. After all, they weren't the ones committing the real crimes, they were just . . . creating a hole for it to happen. Sort of. And they wanted him to join in. They needed a second hacker and when he'd accidentally nearly wrecked Christine's break-in into the bank, she'd gone to find out who he was.
He'd felt pride then, for the first time in a long time. School was easy, if miserable. Getting good grades didn't mean anything anymore. Not when people expected it as a matter of course, as did he, actually. But he'd been good enough to get the attention of a real professional.
He agreed by the end of the evening, delighted that he'd get paid to do something fun and that he'd even be able to stop stealing from places. He'd tell his mum he'd found a job, and it'd get her all the nice things she deserved since Dad wasn't there to do it for her anymore.
*******************************
There'd been an anomaly appearing out in the middle of nowhere, so Abby, Sarah, Becker and Jake all piled into cars, Jake getting in with Becker, and they drove off to the site. He knew he shouldn't risk his own cover, but Becker couldn't resist asking, "So, has Johnson let go of your leash long enough for this, Jake?" he stressed the name.
If he'd been hoping for some signal that it upset this stranger wearing Connor's face, he was to be disappointed. "As much as I'm sure you'd like to think she's that kinky, you'd be surprised how vanilla Tina can be," he replied instead. "Not enough instant gratification. She prefers to spend her long-term planning on things that'll get her somewhere. Really not much patience for other people faffing around, you know."
They arrived at the old research site and minefield, and quickly located the tracks of something that had come through. "Dinosaurs?" Becker asked, bracing himself for snide comments.
"Probably," came the terse reply. "I'm no expert on trackways, but there's something about the construction of the toes here that doesn't feel right, though. For now, we should probably assume a therapod." He stood, grabbing a tranq rifle and a pistol, checking them both with brisk efficiency, then turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Becker, jerking his head toward the road. "The size would suggest something like a raptor, so we should stick together unless we find differently. We'll have a better chance against a pack in a group. More eyes to see them coming, for one."
"Agreed," Becker said with a nod, gesturing at the men they had with them to fan out, but not too far.
"Who died and put you in charge?" Abby snapped, refusing to follow.
Jake let out his breath in an annoyed hiss. "Cutter died, and Tina, Ms Johnson to you, is in charge now. You want to complain about the chain of command, you can take it to her, but I promise you, she will not give a flying fuck." He started walking away, but Abby refused to stir, as did Sarah, and Becker was forced much to his chagrin, to stay put in order to leave someone around the pair.
"What happened to you, Connor? Was it all a lie? Everything?" she asked, sounding just a little broken.
He whipped around and stormed to her, eyes blazing. "You want to play that game, fine," he snapped. "But you do it when we're not on the clock. One more statement out of you that doesn't have to do with what we're here for, and I walk away. If you get eaten it'll be your own fault."
Abby's eyes were wide, but he didn't look back, just walked off, following the trail, keeping an eye out for footprints. He worked with a sharp efficiency that would have made Becker smile in pleasure at working with such competence, were it not for the fact that it was this brand new bastard. The entire ride back was spent in silence, as Jake tapped away at his laptop, sometimes writing up his report, but other times Becker saw streams of codes and windows flashing by too fast for him to track out of the corner of his eye.
The moment they were inside the car park, though, it was as though the bastard reemerged from behind the competent operative, and Becker was starting to get whiplash from wondering who the hell Temple even was.
"You wanted to know if it was a lie?" he asked Abby as she and Sarah emerged from their car. "How about this, Maitland. I got sick of being everyone's little puppy dog, especially yours."
"I never-"
He moved in on her, deliberately using his greater height to loom. "You always. You love it, Abby. You love the control it gives you." His voice changed to that low purr he'd been using on nearly every woman in the ARC but Abby. "But dominance games don't really do it for me unless I'm in charge." He turned on his heel and walked off.
He wanted to stay, wanted to hold Abby and join Sarah in comforting her, but he couldn't. If he was to keep himself to the role of dutiful soldier, he had to walk away. So he did.
There was one option he had, though, to do something about the situation. "Temple," he called as he caught up to Jake.
"Thompson," he was corrected.
"I'm sorry?" he asked, thrown offstride.
Jake tilted his head. "It's Jacob Thompson," he explained. "Can I help you with something, Captain?"
"Yes," Becker replied, deciding to stick with his original plan here. "You've been lax lately on your training, Te . . . Thompson. Especially the self-defence portions."
A head tilt and a smirk followed. "Ah," he said. A pregnant pause followed, then he told Becker. "Give me a half hour to run something past Tina and I'll meet you in the training room."
A half hour later, they were circling each other on the mat, Jake ducking and sliding around Becker with ease. Although he never seemed to manage many strikes, the fact was, if he kept this up, most opponents he had would get worn down simply from trying to pin him. But Becker wasn't most, and he may not have been faster, but his technique was better and his endurance as good. In the end, he was able to lay Jake out with a few hard strikes to the face, knocking the other man out and garnering a great deal of satisfaction for the effort.
"Maybe you'll be a little less cocky," he suggested.
Jake's grin was, for once, open and the painfully familiar one he was used to from Connor. "I'm not such a great shakes at bare knuckle brawling," he admitted. "No, I like my knives. When it comes down to it, and all."
"You can't rely on them all the time," Becker found himself saying.
A shrug. "Maybe not, but I always preferred to leave the heroics to the gun toting maniacs. I just don't connect with guns."
This wasn't good. He was bonding with this twisted new version of Connor. He had to stop. "Well, just keep in mind you need the practice," he said and hurried off to shower. He had to get Johnson out of the ARC, if only for his sanity. Once she was gone, maybe they could pin Connor Jake Temple Thompson down and get the truth out of him.
Go to Part Two
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