Thank you to those who have read so far, and especially to Sallad and Evenstar who took the time and effort to let me know that they liked it. Reviews mean the world to a writer who has spent many long hours on a story.

So here's chapter 2, enjoy and perhaps a few more people will take a moment to leave some love - or is the Primeval fandom as dead as a dodo?

"Don't make me do this!" Danny's finger twitched on the trigger of the small pistol. Inside he was shaking, battling with the fact that the person in front of him in direct line of fire was his own flesh and blood. He was terrified, but refused to show that on the outside. His years of experience in the firearms division of the Metropolitan police force were being called upon and he hoped they would not fail him now.

"It was always going to come down to this, wasn't it, Danny?" Patrick's lip curled into a sneer. "The moment you stepped back through the gateway to come after me, you knew this would be how it would end."

"You're wrong," Danny responded. "We can sort this out. You can come back with me and we'll get help for you. You've been through an extremely unique and traumatic experience, but I'm sure..."

"Don't give me all of that crap! It's not me that needs help. You're the one that abandoned me for all of those years. I was forced to take matters into my own hands in order to survive, and that's what I'll do now." Patrick raised his arm, his finger also twitching on the trigger of his gun, aiming directly at Danny's face. "It's you or me, Danny. And I won't let it be me."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Patrick," Danny said calmly, and then an automatic reflex kicked in, a result of his police firearms training. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Danny heard his own anguished cry as he pulled his trigger and then a single shot echoed around in the silence of the surrounding forest.

There was a moment of doubt; a moment where he thought that he hadn't been quick enough and that the reason for the silence was because he was dead. Then he opened his eyes and glanced down. It was a sight that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. Patrick was dead. His brother, laid in a pool of his own blood. Danny had murdered him.

Danny sat bolt upright in bed, his breathing was fast and hard, his heart pounding against his chest wall and he could feel beads of sweat falling down his face and neck. He looked around him in the dim light and for a moment couldn't quite place where he was.

"Danny?" a soft, female voice whispered. He felt a tiny hand grip one of his and another wiped his brow. "It's okay, you're safe. It was just a bad dream."

He took a few deep breaths and began to feel himself calming down. He could just about make out the delicate features of Molly Jacobs as she moved closer to him. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he said, feeling his face burning with embarrassment. It was bad enough that he had already burdened her with his presence because he was too weak to go anywhere else, but now he was waking her in the middle of the night with his nightmares.

"I was already here," she said quietly. "This is the third night in a row that you've had these dreams. I wanted to make sure that you didn't do yourself any more harm, you get a little... active."

"There's really no need. You shouldn't be putting yourself out like this for me. In the morning, I'll find a way to send word to my colleagues to come and get me and I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can." Danny fidgeted awkwardly. The sooner he contacted Connor, the better. Molly seemed an intelligent sort, and it would not take her long to work out he didn't belong in this time.

"As you wish," Molly said. "Whatever we can do to assist you... But you're still weak, and the illness you had the other night has not fully passed. It would be unwise of you to leave too soon." She leaned forward and switched on the small lamp at the side of the bed. Danny blinked as his eyes adjusted, and then he took in the sight of Molly properly. She had let her hair fall loose around her shoulders, making her look considerably younger but her eyes seemed concerned. "Your dreams... perhaps it might help to talk about them? They always said that I'm a good listener."

"I wouldn't know where to start," Danny sighed.

"What about Patrick?"

Danny swallowed nervously. Just what had he been saying during these 'active' nightmares? If Molly knew he'd murdered his own brother, she wouldn't be so keen for him to stay, so he supposed he hadn't said too much. "He was my brother," Danny said without emotion. "And I don't want to talk about him."

"Was? I'm sorry to hear that. The loss of a family member is always difficult."

"You wouldn't even begin to understand."

"Try me," Molly squeezed his hand. "It's barely six months since my mother passed away. I was called away from my nursing course to tend to her in her last days."

"Molly, I..."

She dismissed his response with a wave of her hand. "I've had enough condolences to last me for a lifetime. Sadly, our family are no strangers to grief. My cousin Henry was supposed to be taking over the running of this estate when he married, but he and his fiancé were both lost on board the Titanic. Terrible tragedy, all those people... My father is struggling to manage on his own, but with no heir..." Molly shook her head and wiped her cheek, blushing at the stray tear that was falling down her face as she spoke. "Listen to me going on about my problems! We're supposed to be talking about yours."

"Like I said, I don't really want to talk about anything at the moment. I'm truly sorry for your family's losses." There wasn't much else he could say. His eyes felt heavy and he knew sleep would soon overtake him. At least now he did have a better idea of the time he was in. If his memory served him correctly, the Titanic sank in 1912. If he could get a more accurate date and his exact location, then all he had to do was work out how he could leave a note for Connor.

"Well, if you change your mind, Danny, then I'll be here." Molly smiled warmly, feeling her own eyes getting heavy. "Perhaps I should leave you to sleep now. I think that now you've had your nightmare, you'll sleep much better. I'll have breakfast sent up to you as usual, and I'll come and see how you are a little while after."

"Goodnight," Danny said, watching Molly switch off the lamp and then retreat towards the door. "Molly," he called out.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. Thank you for understanding. This thing with my brother, it's complicated."

"Goodnight, Danny." The door clicked closed, and Danny allowed his eyelids to droop so that he could finally fall into a restful sleep.

-o-

Mr. Davies stood in the doorway of Danny's room looking apologetic. In his hands was a folded newspaper that Danny has asked for and a pile of clothing.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Atkinson said that she is still making repairs to your clothes, so she suggested that I should find you some trousers and a shirt amongst the old uniform for the male members of staff. I believe you're about the same size as Will, our chauffeur, so his clothes should fit you." He handed the pile to Danny and looked embarrassed.

"I'm sure these'll be fine, thank you," Danny said. When he thought about it, it was probably best that he didn't wear his own clothes for the time being. He did not want to attract any more attention to himself than he already had. Today he intended to find out where and when he was and compose a letter to Connor. He really couldn't afford to hang around here for too much longer. Molly was already asking awkward questions and he hated evading them.

Davies left the room with a respectful nod, and Danny unfolded the newspaper, keen to get the date that he had found himself. The headline on the front made for uncomfortable reading: "Germans gain ground near Ypres by using asphyxiating gases". Even before he looked at the date in the top corner of the page, Danny had started to piece together all of the bits and pieces he had already learnt. 24th April 1915. He had found himself in England during the first world war, even more reason for him not to hang around any longer than necessary. His knowledge of the era would serve him well enough but he would have to be careful how much he said.

He pulled on the trousers and shirt that Davies had brought for him and paused to look in the mirror at the far end of the room. It had been a long time since he'd gazed upon his own reflection and the sight both horrified and fascinated him. He barely recognised himself as the man that had set out that day, full of determination, to chase after Helen Cutter with Connor and Abby. "So that's what a murderer looks like," he thought, frowning and rubbing the thick stubble on his chin. His hair was extremely unkempt and the dark rings around his eyes made his face look almost skeletal. He had lost a considerable amount of weight during his two years away. It was no wonder Molly seemed so concerned for him and was trying to constantly get him to eat more.

Refolding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm, he made his way out into the corridor. He needed to find Molly and ask her where this house was. She seemed quite willing to open up to him about her family last night so getting her to talk about the house shouldn't be a problem. Finding her in this rabbit warren of corridors was a problem though. He opened several doors and found a number of unused rooms before he came across a staircase. He paused for a moment, not sure where to go and then saw young Daisy, the maid that brought him his food every day.

"Are you lost, Mr. Quinn?" she enquired.

"I was looking for Molly."

"Miss Jacobs will be in the drawing room at this time of the day, she always takes her morning tea in there. I'll show you the way." Daisy set off down the staircase, and Danny followed. The walls were decorated with large oil paintings in ornate frames. Most were portraits, probably of Molly's ancestors, but some were of landscapes, and a few were of horses and dogs. The rail on the staircase was a highly polished dark wood, and the feel of it on the palm of his hand as he descended was a strange but pleasant sensation after touching nothing but rough bark and hard rock for months.

Daisy then turned left at the bottom at the stairs and beckoned for Danny to follow her down the corridor. He wanted to pause and take in all of the features of the house, wondering how long it took the staff to clean it every day. It seemed a lot of house for just Molly and her father, but he supposed it was normal for those with money to show how much they had by the number of rooms they had in their house.

After what felt like a marathon trek, they were stood by the door to the drawing room. The sound of a piano being played filtered through, and for a moment Daisy seemed a little confused. She then pushed open the door and was about to announce Danny's arrival to her mistress when he stopped her, placing his finger to his lips to tell her to remain silent.

He leaned against the door frame, mesmerised as he watched Molly's delicate but nimble fingers move over the black and white keys of the piano, playing a beautifully haunting piece he vaguely recognised but couldn't name. It took him back many years to a time and place where things were uncomplicated and free. How he longed for those times again.

Daisy looked uneasy, so he nodded his permission for her to leave him. Alone, he crept softly into the room and settled himself down on the small loveseat in the centre to listen, not wishing to disturb Molly as she played.

The piece came to an end after a few minutes and Molly took a contented breath, pleased with herself. Danny betrayed his presence by clapping.

"Danny! How long have you been there? Forgive me for not..."

Danny waved his hand and smiled. "Don't apologise. I enjoyed listening. I haven't heard anyone play the piano for years. My mum lost the heart for it after Patrick disappeared..." He stopped. He'd said too much and was afraid Molly would push him to talk about it so he tried to divert the conversation. "How long have you played for?"

"I had lessons as a child from the age of seven," Molly replied, closing the lid over the keyboard and turned on the stool to face Danny. "But I stopped playing a few years ago. Father was going to give it to the church but I couldn't bear the thought of it not being here after the hours of pleasure it had given me. I don't know why I felt the urge to start again today, but I'm glad I did."

"And so am I," Danny said.

"It's good to see you up and about today. You must be feeling a little better?"

"I am, and I meant what I said last night. Today I'll write a letter for my colleagues explaining where I am and they can come and get me. I just need the details. I'm embarrassed to say that I haven't a clue where I am!"

"That doesn't surprise me. You were very much out of it when we took you in. I suspect you had been ill for some time."

Danny suspected that too. He'd spent the best part of the last two years living purely on his wits and surviving on only a couple of hours sleep a night and tiny morsels of food that he ate when he could. It was purely his determination to get back home that had kept him going initially, and then his need to find Patrick and reel him in helped him in the second year. Once Patrick was dead, there was nothing to keep him motivated any more. If he hadn't stumbled through the anomaly and into the path of Molly's car, he would probably be dead by now. He had a lot to be grateful to her for not just the fact she had nursed him back to health but also that she had given him a reason to find his way back home again. He just had to work out how.

Molly was searching in the drawer of a writing desk in the corner of the room. She pulled out a couple of sheets of paper and an envelope and gave them to Danny, along with a pot of ink and a fountain pen. "If you tell your friends that you are a guest of the Jacobs family at Bestwicke Hall, they should have no trouble finding you. If they look for Bestwicke village on the outskirts of..."

"They'll know it, thank you." Danny's heart began to race. He had grown up not far from here, though Bestwicke village had pretty much been swallowed up by the various housing developments as the city suburbs began to spread. Bestwicke Hall was a hotel, he remembered that his friend's mum worked as a cleaner there during the Summer season. It was owned by a national chain, and Danny wondered when the Jacobs family had had to sell the place and what had become of Molly and her father. He vowed that he would look them up when he got back.

He began to write his instructions for Connor, detailing where and when he was so that if the technology was available to him he could open an anomaly and come for him. He paused for a moment and almost crossed out Connor's name. What if he sent the letter to his younger self instead? Maybe he could even warn himself about Patrick's disappearance and prevent him from going to that house? He could spare his family so much heartache, and he needn't ever have to get involved with the anomalies at all.

Battling with the idea for a few moments, Danny eventually decided that it would be wrong to change his own past. He'd often heard Connor talk about going back to warn Professor Cutter that Helen was going to shoot him, then talk himself out of it by thinking about the consequences if the Professor hadn't died. Sighing, he sealed the envelope and wrote Connor's name on the front with an address and instructions to deliver in April 2012, a few weeks after he'd last been at the ARC. He could only imagine the look on Connor's face when he received the envelope and realised how it got to him.

"Molly, have you seen my... Ah, Mr. Quinn. Good to see you looking so well." Mr. Jacobs gave a respectful nod to Danny. "I apologise that I have not had the opportunity to speak with you since you arrived, and that I have to leave you for a few days."

"Leave?" Molly asked. Her father was clearly dressed for the outdoors with his long woollen coat that Molly thought un-necessary in this Spring weather.

"I'm going to see Bainbridge in London. My train leaves from the village station in an hour. I just need my hat and Davies will be ready to drive me to the station."

"I see," Molly sniffed. "And will you actually take his advice this time?"

"That rather depends on what he has to say. Ah, there's my hat!" Mr. Jacobs picked up his hat from the writing desk and placed it on his head before holding his hand out to shake Danny's. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Quinn. I am sure my staff and my daughter will take care of you."

"I'm sure they will, Mr. Jacobs, and thank you. Have a safe and pleasant journey."

Molly gave her father a hug and wished him well, then watched him leave the room. When she was certain he was gone, she slumped down on the piano stool and shook her head.

"Everything okay?" Danny was concerned, and he moved closer to Molly, unsure whether he should offer a supportive hand. "Who's Bainbridge?"

"A business advisor," Molly replied. "I don't know why my father bothers though, he never listens to what he, or anyone else, says. He thinks he knows best. The hall is losing money all the time, we have mounting debts and unless he does something about it we will find that the entire place is taken away from us just to pay off the debts."

"Ouch. Is there much that he can do?"

"We have land that isn't being used. It could be leased out to locals for them to grow vegetables or graze animals for a start." Molly frowned.

"Sounds like you have it all worked out. Why doesn't your father let you handle things?"

"He's like so many men of his generation, Danny. A lady's place is to provide a son and heir. He would have me married off tomorrow if there was a man he considered suitable for me. I think he just thinks it's too late for me now and hopes my cousin Louisa will marry and have a son to pass the hall to. But that's all irrelevant anyway if he doesn't do something about the financial situation."

Danny shook his head and had to bite his tongue. It was how things were here in this time, though he suspected Molly would be one of the women strongly campaigning for change once the war was over. He could see that spark of defiance in her eyes that would probably get her into trouble on more than one occasion. She'd be okay, and he didn't need to get angry on her behalf.

There was the sound of slammed doors and heavy footsteps in the corridor, and Molly stood up to go and see what the commotion was about. Her father was pacing around, looking extremely annoyed. "Papa? What's wrong? I thought you were going to the train station."

"That blasted car! Davies can't get it to start."

Molly sighed. Will was more than just a chauffeur, he was the mechanic as well and kept the vehicle in good working condition. Since he'd left, no-one had thought to ensure it was serviced. "What are you going to do?"

"Davies is cycling into the village to see if there's someone at the garage that can take a look at it, but by the time he gets back here it'll be too late anyway. I have the stable boy getting the cart ready."

"The cart? Papa, poor Hercules hasn't pulled the cart in almost a year, and even then it was just around the grounds at the Spring fête. He may not be up to it."

"What choice do I have, Molly? If I don't make that train, the next one isn't until tomorrow and I'll miss my meeting."

Danny stood up and joined Molly, clearing his throat. "I could have a look at the engine if you like? I'm no expert, but I've tinkered around with a few motorbike engines before. Your car can't be that different."

"I couldn't expect you to do that, Mr. Quinn."

"It's the least I can do, Mr. Jacobs. You and your daughter have taken me in when I needed help." He was already rolling up his shirt sleeves and heading towards the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Danny took a step back and asked Mr. Jacobs to start the engine. It leapt into life and a huge smile spread across everyone's face. There was only one more problem. Davies had not yet returned from the village, and after his previous mishap driving, Mr. Jacobs was reluctant to drive himself.

"I'll take you," Danny said. "As long as Molly comes too so she can give me the directions to get back again."

"But Danny, you're recovering from your illness still. Are you sure you're up to it?" Molly looked concerned, but she sensed that Danny had already made up his mind to go. He gave her a look and she sighed. "Very well, but you can't go like that." She pointed at his shirt, covered in grease and oil. "Back inside with you and I'll get Mrs. Atkinson to bring you a clean shirt and a jacket."

Danny did as he was told, not daring to argue with the young steadfast woman who was already practically shoving him back into the house as she called for Mrs. Atkinson. Some minutes later, the two women were fussing over him, making sure he was presentable enough to go out in public. He dashed into the drawing room to get his letter for Connor just in case he found somewhere that he could deliver it to and was ready to go and get into the car when Mrs. Atkinson stopped him.

"Please forgive me being so bold, Mr. Quinn," she gushed. "I was going to ask Mr. Davies if he would take a parcel to the post office for me. Would you mind doing it on your way back? I wouldn't normally ask, but I won't be able to get into the village for three days and I need to get this sent off. It's for my husband you see, him and some of the boys in his regiment in Belgium."

"Of course I don't mind. After all of the wonderful food you've cooked for me over the last few days, it's the very least I can do."

She handed him a package about the size of a shoe box, wrapped in brown paper and a handful of money. "Daisy and I have been knitting socks," she explained. "My husband says the boys are suffering terrible blisters on their feet on account of the boots they've been issued with. We thought some good, thick socks might help them. It's our little bit for the war effort."

Molly tugged at Danny's arm. They had to leave now otherwise they would miss the train. With a nod to Mrs. Atkinson, Danny followed Molly back out into the corridor. Molly stopped for a moment, looked Danny up and down and gave an approving nod before reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

Danny felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, and when he looked at Molly, her face was glowing too. "What was that for?" he said softly.

"To say thank you. You're such a sweet man, Danny Quinn. And you have Mrs. Atkinson charmed, there's not many men that can do that."

Danny wasn't sure how to respond to that. He didn't consider himself sweet, and the charm just seemed to come naturally without much effort. He supposed it was his Irish ancestry, his father always seemed to have a way with women and Danny had often found that he could get women to give him information during an investigation without really having to try. After an awkward moment, Danny swallowed and said that they should be going. Molly led him out to the car and he got into the driver's seat with Mr. Jacobs at his side in the front passenger seat and Molly in the back. He passed Mrs. Atkinson's parcel to her, along with his letter and she placed them on the seat beside her as Danny started the car and set off for the train station. He was curious to see how the place he'd grown up in had looked before all of the housing developments.

-o-

Danny waited by the car whilst Molly went with her father to wait on the station platform. They'd made good time, and there was still several minutes before the train for London was due. The station looked very familiar to Danny, though in his time it had fallen into disrepair, a victim of Dr. Beeching's closures in the 1960s. It was nice to see it in all its glory, he'd always thought it a shame that nothing had ever been done with the building.

Further down the road he could just about make out the beginnings of the village. A small smile spread across his face as he remembered being dragged into the village on Saturday mornings with his mother. He felt guilty now that he'd given her such a hard time sometimes. She'd felt lonely a lot of the time since they had no other family here, having moved to England from Ireland in search of work. Danny's father had an engineering job that often took him away from home for days and sometimes weeks at a time, and his mother found handling two young, lively boys difficult. As a bribe to make him and Patrick behave whilst she did her shopping, she would buy them a doughnut or an iced bun from the bakery on the corner, and they'd sit and eat them as they waited for the bus home. He supposed it would be there now, old Mrs. Green that owned the shop said it had been in her family for over 100 years. He could picture it now with the large window at the front made from small panes of glass. He and Patrick would gaze through it for several minutes, staring in wonder at the pastries and cakes on display.

Thinking about Patrick made the smile leave his face. Not all of his memories of this place were happy. He tried not to look, but he found himself turning and gazing beyond the train station to the river that ran parallel to the railway line. It was a little shallower here than further down, and in the Summer all the local kids used to bathe in it. They always had to be careful though, only a few metres down river was a ridge where the river suddenly became deeper and had a strong undercurrent. Danny had known it as Jacob's Ridge and he had never known why it had been called that. He'd always assumed Jacob was the man that had built the bridge across the river and railway line nearby but now he wondered if it was actually the surname Jacobs, and that it was something to do with Molly's family. He would ask her when they got back.

Then his gaze moved past the river. It was just fields now, but in about forty years time, a new development would be built there to house the growing population after the second world war, and amongst the new buildings would be the house that had caused so much heartache and tore his family apart. He felt his stomach churn as he thought of those events.

The sound of the train rattling into the station and the screeching of brakes as it came to a stop made him pull himself back together. He got back into the car, knowing that Molly would not be long now. He had to push aside the bad memories and get on with the tasks in hand – going to the post office with Mrs. Atkinson's precious package and asking if there a possibility that they would hold onto his letter for a hundred years with instructions to deliver to the ARC at the right time. It would be a long shot, and he would have to use some of that charm that seemed to be serving him so well here.

Moments later, Molly was getting into the seat beside him. "Did he get off okay?" Danny asked.

"Yes, thanks to you. Now, let's go into the village and get that package sent. We can park by the church hall across the road from the post office."

Danny pulled away and following Molly's directions drove down the narrow road, glad to be away from the station and the river and the bad memories there. He recognised some of the buildings as they approached the centre of the village, many of the cottages had remained unchanged. It almost felt like being home, and there was a small part inside of Danny that wondered if perhaps this was as close to home as he'd ever get. Even if Connor did have the technology to open an anomaly, just how accurate could he be with it? It was one thing to open an anomaly into 'late Jurassic', he'd be right, give or take a few thousand years. Pinning it down to a specific date could be incredibly difficult.

As they rounded the corner and slowed down to park at the side of the church hall, Danny noticed a small crowd had gathered outside. It appeared to be mostly women, and he got the impression that they were angry about something. Molly frowned. "We had better be as quick as possible," she said. "I don't want to get caught up in that. I can't believe those women still think that a man who chooses not to go off to war is a coward after the things that have been reported in the papers."

As Danny brought the car to a standstill, he looked over at the crowd with interest. He'd heard that this kind of thing happened in the early days of the war. It was considered that it was every man's loyal duty to serve king and country, and that anyone who didn't was branded a coward unless they were ruled out on medical grounds. Molly and Danny made their way swiftly across the road to the post office whilst Molly explained that Sam Hereford, the owner of the grocery shop next to the church hall, was a conscientious objector and had made his feelings on conscription well known. As a result, his shop had been boycotted by a number of the villagers, and a small but very vocal group of women had taken it upon themselves to harass him at every opportunity in the hope they would shame him into changing his mind.

Danny waited at the counter whilst the assistant weighed the package and determined how much it would cost to send. He had his reservations about leaving the letter here. This building didn't exist in his time and he couldn't even recall there being a post office in the village. At some point, this place would shut down. Could he rely on the letter being passed on? It wasn't a risk he was prepared to take. Perhaps he could call into the bakery instead? It would take a little persuasion but he believed he stood more of a chance of the letter making it to 2012 that way. Tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of the jacket, he paid for the postage on the package and went to find Molly.

She was stood outside, shaking her head in disbelief at the protesting crowd. It seemed to be dispersing though, Sam had apparently shut the shop for the day and had left so there was no point continuing their protests. Somewhat relieved, Molly and Danny crossed back over the road to where they had parked, and that was when Danny spotted a young woman looking somewhat distressed. He nudged Molly and they went over to her.

"My baby!" she wailed. "He was with me in the crowd, but when we surged forward we became separated and now I can't find him!"

Molly placed a comforting arm around the woman. "How old is he? A small child can't have got very far. My friend, Mr. Quinn, will look for him."

"He's not quite 5 years old."

"Then he's probably just hiding somewhere. I expect the crowd was a frightening experience for one so small and he took himself off to where he felt safe. We'll find him."

Danny was already striding down the road, looking for places where a small boy might go. Word quickly spread, and soon most of the people that had been in the crowd were now helping to look for the child. Danny suddenly felt his stomach twist painfully and his head began to spin. This was exactly how it had been when they realised Patrick was missing. The whole town turned out to search for the boys, hoping that they'd just decided to play a prank on their friend and were hiding somewhere, afraid they'd be in trouble for letting it go on for so long that the police had been called.

Danny found that he could no longer focus his eyes. It was like it had only been yesterday and every single painful moment came crashing back to him. The ground beneath his feet seemed to be moving and then he felt bile rising up his gullet. Then everything went black.