*stands up* My name is Swifters and I am a bromance/angst/hurt-comfort addict. I like to whump attractive fictional men in my head to relieve real-world stress. *sits down and looks embarrassed*

This is my first H50 story here so please be kind and please just don't read it's not your thing. It's a weird fusion of cop show, sci-fi/fantasy and archaeology. And there's plenty of swearing, UK spelling, whumping (mostly Danny) and angst (mostly Steve).

Totally honoured to have had none other than Irene Claire as my beta (happy to brown-nose as she's so amazing). Many thanks to her and to the rest of the very welcoming DWOCD community- insanity loves company. Any mistakes are my own due to random post-beta tinkering.

CHAPTER 1

"This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real. No fucking way is this real."

Detective Danny Williams, feisty native of New Jersey with over a hundred solved homicides under his belt to date, gasped out the mumbled protests against his current situation between pained, rasping pants.

He was lying face down in a slight hollow in heather-covered moorland, eyes screwed shut, clutching tightly onto the woody stems with both hands as though his life depended on it. His breath burned in his chest and his heart pounded wildly. He was exhausted. He had been running for…..he had no idea how long he'd been running for. He had to stop, he had to rest.

He flopped over onto his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, and allowed himself a moment to try to get his breath back, gather energy and just think.

He shook his head slowly as he muttered to himself again. "Not real, not real, not real. I'm delirious, I'm dreaming, I'm in a coma in a nice, comfortable hospital bed somewhere that is not here. This is fucking ridiculous!"

He forced himself to draw in several deep, shaky breaths, trying to quell the fear that hadn't left him since it happened. The fear that had been growing as the futility of his efforts to escape became increasingly apparent and was threatening to mutate into uncontrollable panic.

He was depleted now, his body beginning to rebel in a big way. His mind was clouded, his head throbbing. But he had to try to stay in control. He had to keep trying.

Danny steeled himself. Hesitantly and with great trepidation, he raised his head slowly above the purple flowers of the surrounding vegetation. He peered over the edge of the hollow in the desperate hope that he had missed something. Anything that would tell him that what he didn't think could have happened really hadn't happened.

But nothing had changed.

He was hunkered down on high moorland which swept gently down from his vantage point to an undulating, rocky coastline. Deep, sweeping bays were highlighted with short sections of white sandy beach which seemed to glow in the sun. He thought he was on an island. He could see the sea in the distance in three directions anyway, although higher ground concealed the fourth.

But it was an island far from home (ha! home! Steve would have loved that slip!). Everything was wrong- familiar but just not right. No way was he in Hawaii at any rate- that right there was at least one fact he was sure of. There were no palm trees, no jungles, no surfers and no shave-ice stalls. For all the sun shone and the sea was a rich turquoise, the persistent wind was cold and cut him to the bone. His jeans and once-white T-shirt offered him little protection and he began to shiver again now he had stopped moving. He had found no shelter. No trees, no buildings, just bleak moorland, heather and long grasses.

But the fact he wasn't in Hawaii wasn't even the crux of the problem- the location was pretty irrelevant and wasn't what was terrifying the crap out of him.

Danny couldn't help but read the evidence in front of him and draw conclusions- he was a detective, it was what he did. And his mind might have been fuzzy round the edges but he remembered well what he was told before it happened. He just can't accept it as true. Yet all of the evidence he has seen with his own two eyes corroborates the ridiculous concept that had made him roll his eyes in disbelief at the time.

Brain on cop-autopilot, he replayed the evidence again looking for the flaw in the fucked-up conclusion. He had been here for…how long? He didn't know- it never seemed to get dark. Three days he thought and his cramping guts agreed- he was starving. And yet he had seen no planes and no boats. There were no power lines, no roads. He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and looked at it then squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. The battery had finally died. But the message on the screen had never changed for all the time the thing had been functioning….'no service'. And then there were the local inhabitants.

Because, no, it wasn't just some random deserted island that a stereotypical revenge-seeking freak had dumped him on. If only it were that easy! Because they were there. And they were another piece of the puzzle. They seemed to be everywhere now- a persistent presence, watching, taunting, threatening him silently.

Mostly bearded, dressed in animal skins or cloaks made of brown, woven cloth, the men now encircling him were armed with bows and arrows. They knew he was there. They had noticed him almost as soon as he had appeared. Their initial fearful reactions had gradually given way to curiosity, followed swiftly by aggressive stances and tactical moves. The loose cordon of….warriors?...he cringed at the word…..had surrounded him at a cautious distance….but surrounded him nonetheless.

So that was the sum total of Danny's case. But…but just no way! No way had that crazy guy from the university been right, no way was time travel actually possible. Danny had bought the man as a total nutjob and potential murder suspect and had played along with his insanity to see where it was leading, but not for a fraction of a second did he think there was any truth in the utter crap he had been spouting.

Danny shook his head incredulously. He was always so damn sceptical and now look where it had landed him. No, when it had landed him. He should never had touched the freaking artefact, never. Everything had turned to shit from that very moment.

Now he had nowhere to run to, not really. Realisation had dawned some time ago- they were containing him, waiting for him to tire himself out before they moved in to get him. It was a sound strategy from a tactical point of view. And chances were they wouldn't have to wait much longer before he ceased to represent any sort of threat. With no food and now no water (they had already moved silently between him and the only water source he had found) he was running on empty. But he couldn't stop trying, looking for a way around them, hoping for escape, trying to explore the island without accidentally coming face-to-face with one of them again.

He raised a hand, fingering hesitantly at the swelling and the oozing cut on his forehead. He swiped at the blood that persisted in running down his face since he had almost outrun one of them some hours earlier.

He had seen an opening, a wide gap between the silent sentries, had seen the open sea beyond and he had run, a vague plan to swim for it in his mind. The closest man had briefly run to intercept, then stopped, raised his bow and unleashed an arrow. Danny had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye and had thrown himself, frantically trying to twist out of the path of the projectile. He had succeeded but his landing had been unkind. He had awoken some time later, alone again, his attacker having withdrawn back to a safe distance. The rewards for his escape attempt- blood sheeting down his face, blurred vision and an inability to think clearly.

The loose cordon was gradually tightening now, keeping him on the high moorland away from the coast, away from the higher ground blocking his view to the…north? He was pretty sure. Steve would have known instantly, of course. And probably would have ninja-moved his way to freedom by now. Of course Danny was a tough guy too, small stature or not. He was a good shot and could kick ass hand-to-hand as well. But hand to bow-and-arrow? Not so much.

He snorted as he thought of Steve. In other circumstances his best friend would no doubt have come storming to the rescue in the nick of time, all irritatingly tall and heroic. Danny would have been grateful as hell but would have bitched at him anyway because that's just what he did. Steve would be concerned if he didn't. But this was different. Everything was fucked up.

"How about it superSEAL? You can do everything else, can you do time travel as well?" he mumbled. An involuntary giggle followed on from the words and he mentally kicked himself, feeling his sanity threaten to slip and not for the first time.

"No!" he growled, repeating the same internal argument for the umptheenth time since he had abruptly found himself in his current predicament. "Time travel is impossible, it's not real. This is bullshit!"

But his eyes were filled with doubt.

Because it sure as hell looked real and it sure as hell felt real.

Without warning Danny's eyes began to sting and fill with tears. He sagged back down to the ground and covered his face with his hands, trying in vain to get a grip of his spiralling emotions.

If it was real, he had no idea how to get back.

If it was real, he was never going to see Grace again.