Jenny came to with a splitting headache, sharp, throbbing pain just behind her eyes pulsating with every beat of her heart. It almost felt as if someone had put the business end of a screwdriver to her temple and was now hammering it into her skull. She was lying on something cold, hard, and very uncomfortable, sore and aching all over the place. She also knew without opening her eyes that she was no longer in New Forest and was back in the city. She could hear car horns, rumbling engines, and people's voices. She could smell asphalt, rubber, car exhaust, grease from street vendors, and countless other scents that all blended together to form an odour that was simply defined as London. There was also a rather unpleasant scent in the air as well, one that made her nose wrinkle up in disgust. With a superhuman effort, she got her eyes open to see a strip of painfully blue sky between the sharp, clear-cut edges of buildings overhead. She turned her head and scowled as she saw trashbins less than two metres away, no doubt the scent of the horrible smell. And she could feel her hand wrapped around something soft-rough and warm, and she craned her neck around to see. Cutter lay beside her, her hand still gripping the collar of his shirt and coat in an iron grip. "Cutter," she said; her voice came out rough and throaty, like she'd been gargling sand. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Cutter!"

He stirred faintly and gave a soft groan. "Let me 'lone," he mumbled thickly.

Rolling her eyes, she released his jacket collar and swatted his shoulder. "Wake up, damn it!"

His lashes came apart, then closed just as quickly at the bright glare of sunlight. "Christ, what the hell happened?"

She winced as she sat up, her joints popping and muscles aching. God, it felt as if she'd slept in a tumble dryer overnight. "No idea, but we aren't in New Forest. How the hell did we end up here?" Jenny mused as she looked around. They were in an alleyway, just a few feet from the sidewalk, and she was grateful for the fact they hadn't somehow ended up in some prehistoric epoch surrounded by deadly creatures.

"Haven't the foggiest." Cutter stood up, rolled his shoulders, and offered her one hand, pulling her to her feet. "Where are the others?"

The others. She'd entirely forgotten, but when she looked around, she didn't see Connor, Abby, or Stephen anywhere, nor did she see any of the soldiers. "I dunno. I'm calling Lester," she said, taking out her mobile, but a small frown crossed her face. "It's not working. Why's it not—? It was fine this morning." She pressed the buttons, but the mobile seemed well and truly broken.

Cutter checked his own mobile and frowned. "Hm, mine isn't working either. Perhaps the anomaly's electromagnetic field fried them when it, erm...exploded," he said, fumbling for a proper word to describe what'd happened in the forest. "Well, we aren't going to accomplish much by standing here. C'mon." He placed a hand on her arm, drawing her out of the alley onto the sidewalk. After casting a fast glance around, he walked over to a nearby stand. "Well, it's still April 25th, still 2007, so at least we didn't travel anywhere else," he said quietly. "Come on, we'll hail a cab, head back to the ARC."

Jenny nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling of something being wrong. She didn't know what it was yet, but the feeling was still there. It was a faint, uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, inherent knowledge that something was just...not right. It was almost like the feeling one had when not sure if the front door was locked, or if the stove was off, but much worse. She couldn't get rid of it. As he flagged down a taxi, she slipped her hand into his own, curling her fingers around his own; somehow, the contact helped to ease the wrong feeling in her gut.

The professor glanced down at their joined hands, but he didn't say anything, squeezing her fingers lightly.

Detective Inspector Lilian Forsythe looked up from her newest case file as the door of her office swung open, but instead of DC Beckett or McKeown, she was greeted with the sight of her son. "Thomas, what are you doing here?" she asked, hastily closing the file before he could see any of the more gruesome crime scene photographs. "Why aren't you home?" she asked; any other parent would have asked why their 17-year-old wasn't in school at this time of day, but Thomas Forsythe didn't attend secondary school; he was already taking college classes, which had let out by now.

"Something is wrong," he whispered in a conspiratorial manner, shutting the door to her office as if scared they'd be overheard.

Lilian frowned. "What do you mean 'wrong', love?" Wringing his thin, gloved hands, Thomas shuffled around the small room, murmuring inaudibly and shaking his head without answering. She pushed to her feet, walked around the desk, and grasped his shoulders with careful hands, lightly pressing her thumbs into the hollows of his collarbone. "Come now, Tom-tom," she said, using her nickname for him, "calm down, tell me what's wrong. What bothered you? Is there something wrong at home?" She had to calm him down before he ended up having a panic attack here in the middle of the Yard. Thomas's autism had always set him apart from other people, but there were times that she truly believed he had some kind of clairvoyance. He often liked to help on cases—when she allowed it—and he was utterly brilliant. But, at the same time, it was his autism that made him so sensitive and excitable.

He took a deep breath, then another, and she could feel his pulse rate lowering. "That's a good lad. Now tell me what's wrong," she coaxed.

"At St. James' Park," he murmured, his eyes still slightly unfocused. "There is something out of its proper place. It must be returned."

"What does that mean?"

His hand came up, lightly trailing the backs of his fingers down her hair. She and Thomas had the same hair, thick and dark with a tendency to curl at the ends, just as they had the same sloe-black eyes. He'd not inherited much from his father, except for his lily-white complexion, a contrast to her darker olive toned skin. "We must go," he said softly. "St. James' Park. Thalia told me so."

Lilian paused then, her throat briefly going tight. "Did she? Well, then, come on. Let's go." As she picked up her keys, she used her other hand to fasten her badge on her belt. "Am I going to need backup?" she asked. She had four other detectives under her command: Damien Beckett, Jez McKeown, Owen Howard, and Nikki Reynholm. They were all good and loyal coppers, ones she trusted with her life.

Thomas paused, tilting his head to one side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. "Bring Damien. The others are annoying," he decided at last; she muffled a snicker at the casual way he said it. He called every one of her detectives annoying at least thrice in a week, but he never meant it, and they all knew it.

"Right then. Let's go."

A/N: There's that chapter down, at long last. So, the team's woken up in the AU, they just don't know it yet. And to avoid confusion, everyone in the AU has different names than the people in the Primeval-verse. Let's see if you can match everyone up. Also, I'm sorry it took me forever to get this done, but I was suffering from the Block of Writer's and I had another multi-chapter fic that needed my attention. I'm still working on the other fic, so I probably won't be able to update regularly. Sorry!