A/N: in my twisted mind, in 3x10, Connor was left alone in the Cretaceous, Abby and Danny chased Helen into the Pliocene, Abby jumped through the anomaly, it closed before Danny could get through, and Abby ended up back in the present instead of the Cretaceous because the anomaly was like the one in the Permian, jumping through the future whilst staying anchored in the past. Yes? Everyone clear? Good. Let's do this, shall we? Also, you really have to read Spectrum first in order for this to really make sense.

A year without colours.

Well, in actuality, it was 398 days, but who's counting? A year without seeing rich emerald in the corner of his eye or being comforted by the presence of columbine violet. Connor had been by himself all that time. He had set up base camp in a tree near to the original anomaly site, hoping that it might someday reopen and let him go home. He was quite adept at climbing trees, especially once his ankle had healed up. He had made himself a rough bow out of a tree branch and string that was made partially out of the gloves he'd unraveled and tough, stringy plant fibres he'd found. It was crude and simplistic and he definitely wouldn't be winning any archery awards, but shooting arrows at dinosaurs from a branch 30 feet off the ground was a hell of a lot safer than trying to spear one from a foot away. Less chance of evisceration.

At first, he truly thought he'd go mad from the lack, not just of colour, but of company. Homo sapiens was a social species, their entire way of life based upon social structure and interaction. They were not wired to be alone. The individual needed to trust and be around people, and they needed to be around people that could be trusted. Connor had always lived in semi-isolation, though not of his own will, but even so, he still had people that he could talk to and interact with. Now he had no one.

The only real company he had was a gift from an anomaly. Archaeopteryx were found in the mid-Jurassic, but Cutter had often told him about the peculiar out-of-place fossils, creatures dislocated from their proper times. Apparently, a small nest of Archaeopteryx had come through an anomaly at some point in time. He'd found their next, raided by the larger Caudipteryx. He had killed the Caudipteryx - it was surprisingly good, tasted a lot like fish rather than chicken, and he used the feathers for his arrows - and found a single egg not crushed or eaten.

He'd been alone for eight months by then and was probably starting to go a little crackers, but either way, he'd carefully wrapped up the egg and carried it back to his tree. Three days later, he had his own little baby Archaeopteryx. Fate or coincidence, he didn't know, but Roma, as he named the hatchling, was bone white, an albino. Even her eyes were that pale red-pink colour. And he wasn't alone anymore. He fed her bugs and tiny snippets of meat until she was old enough to catch her own insects and tiny lizards. Archaeopteryx couldn't actually fly, only glide, but she could climb just as well as anyone. She would curl up on his stomach when they slept and would ride on his shoulder or atop his head during the day, except when he was hunting. It was someone to talk to, finally, some company. She couldn't talk back to him, but she would chirp and whistle and bark and coo her own little language right back to him.

He often wondered about his friends, wondered if Danny and Abby managed to stop Helen, if they had gotten home safely. He wondered what they were doing in the ARC, if Jenny decided to come back; after the fungus incident, she had gone on a sabbatical that might or not be permanent. He wondered if Becker had finally pulled that stick out of his arse, or if he was still a big git like always. He talked to Roma about them so much that she probably knew their names by heart now.

398 days of living like a bloody caveman, without seeing his friends' colours, with only a prehistoric pigeon for company - he loved Roma, but it would be nice to talk to someone that wouldn't just chirp at him - and the one thing he had always wished for finally happened.

The anomaly reopened.

Connor nearly broke his neck climbing down the tree in his excitement, knapsack slung haphazardly over one shoulder, his crude bow and arrows in the other hand, Roma hopping on his shoulder, cheeping loudly and probably wondering what all the excitement was about. Thinking quickly, he tucked Roma inside the knapsack despite her squirming and squawking protests; he didn't want to risk running through and having her shot by some overzealous soldier or eaten by a bigger predator, depending on where the anomaly led to. Taking a deep breath and picking up the now-chirping knapsack, he ran through the anomaly.

The sudden assault on his senses had him dizzy for a moment, but he understood the yelling well enough. There were at least a dozen soldiers and so many colours, new sounds and smells and everything was making his head spin. He was actually a bit grateful to get down on the ground, because he might have well passed out from the onslaught of so much new and colour. But as he lay there, trying to remember how to breathe and not throw up, a pair of black combats came into view. "I hope you brought me a souvenir," said a familiar voice.

Connor lifted his head a fraction, squinting a little to see familiar, warm, welcoming colours there, framing someone he thought he'd never see again. Grinning, he grasped the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Becker hugged him hard, laughing in his ear. "Knew you'd make it back someday, dork," he said, the faintest tremor to his words. Anyone else wouldn't have heard it, but Connor had spent a year hunting by sound.

When Becker let him down again, Connor kept his gaze on the captain, focusing on the colours he could see to keep himself grounded. Grinning, he simply couldn't help but to ask, "Did anyone remember to set the new episodes of Doctor Who to record for me? I'd hate having to wait for reruns."

He was home.