tli_productions | Fic: Through the Looking Glass (And What Ryan Found There)

Title: Through the Looking Glass (And What Ryan Found There)
Fandom: Primeval

Summary: Trapped at the spaghetti junction anomaly site, Ryan and Stephen work together to find a way home.
Characters: Stephen/Ryan; brief cameos by others.
Rating: PG
Length: ~3200
Beta:

explodedpen

Author's Notes: Written for

bigtitch for the 2012 Denial Secret Santa, using the prompt stars. With ginormous thanks to both

lady_drace and

explodedpen for the handholding and moral support.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Ryan's first impression was that he'd run into a hall of mirrors. Dozens of anomalies scattered across the landscape, some close and bright, others distant and dim. Some winked randomly in and out of existence. It was unsettling to say the least.

And the damned Cutter woman was nowhere to be seen.

Neither were the sabre-toothed cats she'd warned her ex-husband about.

Something crackled behind him and Ryan spun around, gun raised. He lowered instantly when he saw someone else had followed him through the anomaly from the football ground.

Stephen Hart held his hands up as he rose to his feet, looking around with shock and something else on his face. “Wow...”

“Cutter's gone,” Ryan said. “No way of telling which anomaly she went through.”

Hart nodded. “We should go back, get Connor's camcorder – Nick'll want to see this.”

“I thought there couldn't be more than one of these things at a time.”

“Guess we were wrong,” Hart shrugged. “Come on.”

He turned around – but the peak of the small hill they'd come through on was empty.

Ryan tensed, but Hart took another step forward. “It was right here – wasn't it?” he half turned back to ask Ryan.

He nodded. “I only took a few steps.” Cutter had obviously known what was on this side of the anomaly and acted accordingly. Ryan was still slightly disoriented by the sheer number of anomalies.

Hart stepped forward again. He reached out and brushed the spot where an anomaly had been only a few minutes before. “So what now?”

Ryan considered the situation. They were in unknown territory in an unknown time period with far too many incursion points for two men to have any hope of monitoring. Every instinct that had got Ryan through his time in the Gulf told him to find high, secure ground – not that there was anything like that in visual range – and wait for the anomaly to reappear.

Instead he said: “I don't know.”

Hart swallowed. He turned slowly on the spot, obviously taking in as much of the vista as he could. Ryan knew that despite being a civilian Hart had extensive wilderness and survival skills plus what little they'd all learned in the short time they'd been dealing with anomalies, so he waited patiently for Hart's verdict.

It wasn't long coming. “We could always go exploring, since we're here.”

Ryan opened his mouth to say no, but Hart interrupted him. “Think about it. There are dozens of anomalies existing at the same moment in this time. One of them has to be a way home.”

Ryan frowned. “We've got a better chance of waiting for this specific one to reopen.”

“And who knows how long that will take – or even if it will open in this spot.” Hart jabbed a finger at the empty space behind him. “We've got better odds trying the different anomalies – and I think we should decide quickly.”

“Why's that?”

Hart pointed over Ryan's shoulder. He turned around to see small brown creatures running towards them, making a bizarre clucking sound.

“Because those,” Hart said, far too calmly for someone in their position, “are dodos.”

Ryan tensed and reached for his handgun.

“No,” Hart said. “Wait.”

When Ryan glanced at him, Hart motioned at the birds, ambling rather than running towards them. “They're supposed be docile, trusting. Have been. Whatever. Point is, wait.”

Ryan did. The dodos – actual, breathing, right out of every history book dodos – came right up to the two of them and looked up at them almost as if to ask what they were doing there like they were the interlopers in this increasingly bizarre scenario. Then one of them turned around and headed back the way it had come. Slowly the others peeled away from Ryan and Hart's ankles and followed suit. They disappeared into an anomaly maybe twenty metres away.

Hart let out something that could have been laughter. “Wow.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows.

“Back to my original point,” Hart continued. “We need to find a way home. At the very least we need to source water and food.”

“I still don't like the idea of... hopping through anomalies,” Ryan pointed out – quite reasonably, he thought.

“Me either,” Hart admitted, “but do you have a better plan?”

Ryan didn't.

o o o o o

The first anomaly they tried was thirty-four metres west of their entrance point into the hall of mirrors – as close to west as either Ryan or Hart could figure out in a landscape with precisely no identifying feature that either of them could determine.

The anomaly pulsated brightly; despite his earlier eagerness to explore, Hart now hesitated before stepping any closer to the portal.

“Together?” he asked, eyeing Ryan's weapons.

“Together,” Ryan agreed easily. He unholstered his handgun and passed it to Hart, who tucked it into his belt.

“Count of three. One, two...”

They stepped onto rocky ground, mountains rising up either side of them.

“...Three.”

They were in a valley. The sky was dark and clouded over, and the cool air felt thick and muggy. Ryan concentrated but couldn't hear any signs of life. “Any idea where this is?”

Hart shook his head. “Not a clue,” he replied. He dropped to a crouch and ran his fingers across the ground. “See the cracks in the dirt beneath the rocks? There hasn't been water here in a long time.”

“No plants, either,” Ryan observed.

“No plants and no water retention means no reason for wildlife to be here.” Hart sighed. “Want to pick the next one, Captain?”

o o o o o

The second anomaly led to a jungle that enveloped Ryan and Hart in thick heat and a constant buzz of noise.

Here Hart came into his own. He picked out several distinct insect and animal noises, and showed Ryan how to extricate water from low lying leaves and roots.

“Most of this is pretty familiar,” he explained, almost shouting to be heard over the din. “Means we're within a few thousand years of the twenty-first century.”

Ryan kept a firm grip on his rifle and ignored the growing pressure of his uniform. He didn't like being out of his element like this, but trusted that Hart knew what he was doing.

He did; he pulled a small leaf off a nearby tree and fashioned a cup shape out of it before filling it with water. He offered it to Ryan with a half smile and: “Rainwater. Clean as it gets.”

Ryan took a sip and handed the bundle back.

Hart glanced at the anomaly, which still shone comfortably brightly off to Ryan's left. “Give me ten minutes to put some packed lunches together. I can't promise anything gourmet but as long as you don't mind veggie I'm sure the menu will be to your liking.”

“That's a joke, right?”

“Kind of.” Hart looked sheepish.

“Just wondering. Ten minutes,” Ryan added.

Eleven minutes later they were back in the hall of mirrors with several leaf bundles tucked into Ryan's tac vest and Hart's shirt pockets. Zero point – the anomaly they had come through – still hadn't reappeared.

They did a quick recon anyway, just to make sure nothing else had come through any of the other anomalies in visual range.

“The gourmet thing,” Hart said eventually. “That wasn't a complete joke. I mean – I wasn't trying to be funny. I -”

And here Ryan had thought Temple was the only one of the civilians to babble incessantly. He thought he could read between the lines here, though. “Do you cook?”

“Yeah,” Hart admitted. “Sometimes.”

He pulled out two leaf pouches and passed one to Ryan. His contained a mixture of berries, more leaves and a few dead insects. Ryan tamped down a sudden squeamish reaction and started with the berries.

The meal, such as it was, passed in silence.

A few hours after that night fell. It came quickly and without warning, and the sense of unease that Ryan had felt when he'd first come through the anomaly returned. It took him a moment to figure out why.

There were no stars.

Hart had clearly come to the same conclusion and stared up at the sky. “That is just wrong,” he muttered.

Ryan had to agree. There was no cloud cover and – anomalies excepted – no obvious signs of light pollution. Yet the sky was completely empty. “Why wouldn't they be there?” he wondered out loud.

“I have no idea,” Hart said. “There are always stars, there have to be stars.”

“Maybe this place was created.” Ryan had meant it to be flippant, almost a joke, like Hart's half hearted menu comment from earlier.

“Maybe it was,” Hart said seriously. “Maybe that's why there are dozens of anomalies here. This place could be some kind of containment facility.”

“Or a laboratory.”

Ryan and Hart looked at each other for a long moment.

“Want to try another anomaly?” Hart asked.

It beat standing around waiting for an anomaly that still hadn't reappeared, or staring up at a sky that was wrong.

Now Ryan just wanted to get home.

o o o o o

This time they found themselves on the crest of a hill in a landscape that reminded Ryan of the Permian. He pointed out some of the trees and rock formations that he remembered from his trip through the Forest of Dean anomaly with Professor Cutter, and was gratified when Hart agreed with his assessment.

Their initial, uneasy cooperation had quickly developed into something much more cohesive, mostly likely due to their complementary skill sets, and a mutual appreciation to go with that.

“Does this specifically look like the area you and Cutter visited?” Hart shouted, this time over a rough wind.

“Where we found the camp?” Ryan shook his head. “No landmarks, no.”

Hart nodded his acknowledgement and instead turned slowly on the spot. The wonder on his face was muted compared to Cutter's unbridled joy and enthusiasm but it was impossible to miss. Ryan smiled a little, watching first Hart's reaction, then taking in his own views.

And the views were spectacular. Hills and plains completely untouched by man stretched from one horizon to an abrupt cut-off point a hundred metres to the other side of the anomaly's hill, and beyond the cut off point the bluest ocean Ryan had seen in a long time.

“Wow,” Hart breathed.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We can't stay here, though.”

There was a herd of creatures further along the coastline; Hart was watching them intently. Not for the first time since they'd met, Ryan wondered what the other man was thinking about.

“Yeah,” Hart said eventually. “I know.”

o o o o o

The hall of mirrors was an almost completely indefensible area – a point proven about ten seconds after Ryan and Hart came back through from the Permian. An anomaly ten metres to their right spat out a pair of what looked like featherless sparrows; they flew around in circles while Ryan tried to ready his gun without making too much sound then zoomed off into yet another anomaly hovering a few metres above their entry point.

Ryan and Hart glanced at each other. Their original anomaly had yet to reappear; they had food and water but only limited understanding of how the multiple anomalies coexisted or cycled in their appearances. All it would take was for something bigger than them to take a wrong turn in time and they'd never stand a chance of getting home.

It was precisely the plan Hart had advocated only a few hours earlier but now the scientist was silent.

“We take our chances in the Permian,” Ryan decided. “There was an anomaly that led to our time once -”

“- maybe it's local enough we'll find it quickly,” Hart finished. He raised an eyebrow and gestured back at the anomaly. “I'm game if you are.”

Ryan nodded and they stepped back through the anomaly together.

“There's always Cutter's fault line theory,” Hart said quickly.

“Same anomaly, different place,” Ryan replied. He could work with those odds.

Something rumbled behind them followed by the unmistakeable roar of something large and Ryan pushed Hart. “Move!”

They ran with the wind; down the hill towards a row of trees, picking up speed from momentum and adrenaline. Ryan focused on his breathing and avoiding obstacles on the ground – a fallen root here, a large rock there. He caught glimpses of Hart at the edge of his peripheral vision; unencumbered by military gear, Hart was moving more easily and jumping over anything that got in his way. It was something Ryan could have admired if there hadn't been something chasing them.

Whatever it was was large; heavy, thudding footfalls easily kept pace with the two humans.

“River ahead,” Hart panted. “My mark.”

Ryan didn't have time to think; he veered closer to Hart. A few seconds later he heard the sound of rushing water. A few seconds after that something – Hart – grabbed Ryan's vest. It was enough to pull him sideways and down a steep bank.

Hart rolled with him until they came to a stop. Hart was on his back, and Ryan on top of him. Ryan pushed his hands into the ground on either side of Hart's head and levered himself up a little, giving Hart space to breathe.

Hart tilted his head back and frowned. “Think we got away,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan nodded. He stared at the hollow of Hart's throat before blinking and averting his gaze to the ground underneath them.

“We could move now, should be safe,” Hart said. His gaze flicked to Ryan's mouth for a fraction of a second but his guarded expression made him almost impossible to read.

Ryan pushed himself up and refrained from offering Hart – Stephen? – a hand to pull himself up with. The river's bank ended just above their heads. “Are you injured?” Ryan asked; Hart shook his head.

“You?” Hart asked.

“No.”

“Good.” Hart pulled a face and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I think we can write lunch off, though.” He pulled out two squashed leaf bundles and tossed them into the river. He wiped his hands on his shirt.

Ryan snorted and reached into his own pockets. The bundles he took out squelched in his hands and thick purplish juice ran through his fingers. He followed Hart's example and chucked the bundles into the river.

Hart chuckled. “Never took you to be squeamish.” His smirk widened. “What are your opinions on dung?”

Ryan just stared at him. “Don't even go there,” he warned, though there was nothing behind it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hart grinned some more, then sobered up and glanced up the riverbank. “Let's do this.”

They got themselves back up the bank easily enough. Hart pushed himself over the top a few seconds of Ryan and as Ryan hauled himself over the edge he heard Hart whistle and say: “You have got to be kidding me.”

Ryan rolled over – and saw an anomaly no more than a few metres away from them.

He tried not to laugh. “Where do you suppose it leads?”

Hart shrugged. “One way to find out.”

So they walked through it. The windy but warm daytime of what was almost certainly the Permian turned into cool air without so much as a hint of a breeze. It was dark – the anomaly only provided so much illumination – and -

“Floor. We are definitely standing on a floor,” Hart said quietly.

Ryan rolled one of his boots and realised he was right. He flicked the light on his weapon on and aimed it downwards. A small circle of laminated hardwood floor lit up and beside him Ryan heard Hart huff something that could almost have been a laugh.

Ryan lifted his weapon up and started to sweep the room. The walls were broad and high and there were intermittent frames filled with -

“Gainsborough's Mr and Mrs Andrews,” Hart said quietly.

Ryan kept the beam of light steady. “What does that mean?”

The light cast shadows across Hart's face but there was no mistaking the growing grin. “We're in the National Gallery in London.”

“Date?”

“Buggered if I know,” Hart said, “but based on the décor, bloody close to where we started from.”

Ryan smiled, then laughed.

Behind them something crashed, followed by the sound of people talking. Double doors at the far end of the room opened and Ryan and Hart were greeted with a platoon of soldiers with some decidedly non-regulation companions.

“Hold it right there,” the lead soldier barked. “Identify yourselves.”

Ryan was about to answer when Stephen stepped forward. “Nick?”

As if on cue, the gallery lights came on, and Ryan realised they'd been met by an anomaly project team.

A man in civilian clothing pushed his way to the front of the cautious soldiers. Ryan blinked. It was Nick Cutter – but he looked worn and thin – and his hair had grown. He was also looking at Stephen like he'd seen a ghost.

“It's you,” Cutter said. “I... how?”

“Long story,” Stephen said.

Cutter just stared at him – then looked over at Ryan. “Captain... Ryan?”

Ryan lowered his gun. “Professor.”

“What the... where the hell did you two come from?”

“Professor?” the lead soldier asked.

“Stand down, Becker,” Cutter told him dismissively. “This is Stephen Hart and Captain Tom Ryan.”

The soldier – Becker – lowered his gun and motioned for his team to do the same.

“One thing,” Cutter said. “Just... one thing?”

“Yeah?” Stephen asked.

Cutter moved forward and swept Stephen into a tight hug.

o o o o o

Things passed in a bit of a blur after that. Ryan and Stephen learned that what had been less than a day for them had been almost a year for Cutter and the others, during which time certain... events had occurred that nobody was willing to go into detail about.

Mostly everybody was glad to have them back, and Ryan and Stephen were glad to be back.

About a month after their return, and almost a week after being allowed out of the new (to them) Anomaly Research Centre, there was a knock on Ryan's front door.

It was Stephen, and he offered Ryan a sheepish smile, holding up two bulging shopping bags. Ryan stood aside to let him in.

“I thought... after the berries thing, the least I could do was cook you a proper dinner,” Stephen explained. “That and... I thought we could, maybe...”

“See where we go from here?” Ryan asked, testing the waters the only way he knew how.

Stephen smiled, a full, genuine smile that threw every other smirk and grin Ryan had seen into shadow. “Yeah,” he said softly.

Ryan smiled back and led the way to the kitchen.

As it turned out, for someone who claimed to be an occasional cook, Stephen turned out some of the most delicious food Ryan had ever tasted.

After dinner, Ryan kissed him slowly.

Stephen kissed back with a smile.