Fandom: Primeval Characters: Connor Temple, Abby Maitland Rating: PG, at most Timeline: Set between 3.4 & 3.5 Disclaimer: Obviously a copyright infringement, but surely not worth suing over Summary: A string of bizarre deaths brings Abby Maitland face-to-face with a past she'd tried to forget, and her friendship with Connor Temple is tested as the team races to find the source of an ancient, deadly toxin. Abby usually looked forward to weekends as a much-needed opportunity to decompress from what was, by anyone's standards, a very stressful job. But this week Saturday and Sunday had crawled by. For one thing, the urgency of the current case – and their lack of progress in solving it – made Abby anxious. Three more deaths had been reported over the past several days, along with half a dozen additional psychotic breaks. So far the media hadn't picked up on the string of incidents, but it was only a matter of time. Danny and Becker had been scouring the city for the pusher Linda had identified – their only real lead in discovering who was producing Gob. But Callum Lewis, if he even existed, had gone deep underground.

What made Abby most uneasy was not knowing what was going on with Connor. She hadn't heard from him since he'd walked out of the ARC Saturday morning, and since he'd turned in his mobile, she had no way of reaching him. She hated the strain that was between them. If only she could figure a way to believe that he hadn't taken the drug on purpose … and to be honest, she'd never known him to have anything more mind-altering than a white wine spritzer; Connor Temple was about as straight an arrow as she knew. But the alternative, that someone in the ARC had slipped Connor the drug, was equally unthinkable. Certainly Abby couldn't accept Connor's accusation that Barrington was responsible. Michael knew better than anyone how dangerous Gob was. True, her former mentor was fiercely competitive … but he was no killer.

As soon as Abby got in on Monday morning, she sought out Lester in his office.

"Miss Maitland," he said, looking up from his desk as she burst in. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering … how Connor is."

Lester looked surprised. "I have no idea. I haven't seen him since he skulked out of the infirmary."

"Oh. I thought maybe if you came back to your flat last night you might have had a chance to talk with him."

"Actually, I spent the weekend in town. The Minister has requested I remain available until this Gob situation is cleared up." He frowned slightly. "I assumed Mr. Temple was licking his wounds back at your place."

Abby felt panic building inside her. "No, I haven't seen him either. Where can he have gone?"

"Let's not over-react," Lester said, but Abby saw a trace of concern in his eyes. "I'm just he's just tucked up somewhere with a mate."

"Connor doesn't have any mates, not outside work anyway," Abby answered, her voice tight with worry.

The classified nature of their work and the rather erratic hours made it hard for any of them to maintain relationships with outsiders – but Abby sense that Connor had never had a very active social life. Since his best mate Tom had died from a prehistoric parasite after digging into Connor's secret life, Connor had pulled away from even the few pals he'd had as a student. Abby couldn't imagine anyone Connor could have gone to stay with.

"We need to find him!" she exclaimed. "Who knows what the after-effects of the drug might be. He could be wandering the streets, out of his head … or worse."

"Surely if that were the case he would have been picked up by the authorities and we could have been notified," Lester said, but he didn't sound convinced by his own words.

"Lester, how many homeless people do you pass every day that would fit that description?" Abby asked. "Connor could be lying dead in a gutter someplace and people would just step over him."

Lester sighed. "The Chief Superintendent at the Met owes me a favor. I'll ring him up and make some enquiries … get some eyes on the street looking for him."

"Thank you. I'm going to go out looking myself."

"No you're not," Lester said firmly. "We need you here, working on the Gob problem."

"I can't work, not knowing where Connor is."

Lester set his jaw in a firm line. "I'm afraid you're going to have to put that aside and concentrate on the task at hand." His expression softened slightly. "Believe me, I'll make sure everything is done to find Mr. Temple."

In the lab, Abby struggled to remain focused on the spectrographic analysis of Barrington's latest sample of the Gob antidote. Though the substance had stopped Connor's seizure and — as far as they knew — neutralized the effect of the drug, they couldn't be sure which of the several compounds in the antidote was the operative one, or what the safe, effective dosage was. And now that Connor had disappeared, Abby couldn't help worrying that the effect of the antidote had been only temporary. She tried to shut out vivid images of him wild-eyed and raving like he had been on the roof. She thought of Gerry and the fear that Connor might end up like him made a tight ball of horror in her gut.

Barrington had come in late. Abby didn't say anything to him as he put on his lab coat and set to work on his own tests. After an hour of silence, he finally approached her.

"I think we need to talk about this."

"What?" Abby looked up at him, bewildered.

"About what happened … at the Dorchester. I know that's why you're upset."

Abby gave him a disbelieving look. "Believe me, Michael, you are the last thing on my mind right now."

The scientist looked stung. "I see. Then what's with the silent treatment?"

"Connor is missing," Abby said. "Nobody's seen or heard from him since Saturday morning. I'm afraid something's happened to him – that he's hurt, or the drug caused a delayed psychosis."

"I'm sure that's not the case. He's probably just off somewhere having a sulk."

"Connor's not like that. What if he is having a reaction to the drug? What if his brain has been short-circuited like Gerry Willingham's?" She was becoming distraught.

Barrington shook his head. "No, he didn't have enough of the drug to cause that kind of permanent damage. And the antidote worked; he was completely normal and neurologically intact when he came out of it."

"I hope you're right. Connor has such a brilliant mind … and such a good heart. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to him."

"I could almost believe you have feelings for the boy," Barrington said coldly.

"My God, Michael! My best friend is out there somewhere, in who knows what condition, and you're playing the jealous suitor?" Abby's eyes flashed as she addressed him. "I don't have time to soothe your bruised ego."

"I'm sorry, Abby. Of course I'm also concerned about his welfare. It's just that – "

"Wait a second," Abby interrupted him. "You said Connor didn't have enough of the drug to cause permanent damage. How could you know that? We have no idea how much Gob Connor took."

Barrington flushed. "Well, obviously he didn't have a fatal reaction, so I can only assume the amount of the drug he took was minimal ..."

Abby was staring at him, wide-eyed. "You did it, didn't you?" she gasped. "You slipped Connor some of the Gob!"

"Abby, you can't believe that-"

"Don't deny it, Michael. I can see it in your face. Tell me what you know, or I swear to God I'll have Danny down here in five minutes to administer his very special brand of persuasion."

"Fine," Barrington said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I did give Connor Temple a dose – a very small dose – of the synthetic Gob."

Abby rushed at him, beating on his chest in mindless fury. "You bastard! You almost killed him!"

He grabbed her flailing arms and held her at arm's distance. "Calm down, Abby. I never intended him to be injured or damaged. I had no idea he'd climb up on the roof, for God's sake."

"Why?" Abby was weeping now. "Why would you do such a thing? Because of me?"

"No. We needed a test case for the antidote. You weren't going to allow animal trials or human volunteers."

"So you took it upon yourself to enroll someone in your experiment without their knowledge? I think you must be mad." The realization of what Barrington was capable of made Abby feel dizzy and sick.

"Please don't be melodramatic," he said icily. "This wasn't some nefarious plan. An opportunity presented itself, and I took it. It was, I admit, somewhat impulsive."

Abby broke away from him and retreated to the far end of the lab. She looked at him as though he were a stranger – and in fact, she realized, he was. "How did you do it?"

"I had a vial of the synthetic Gob in my jacket when I came to find you to take you to the Dorchester. When you left to get changed, I stirred a minute quantity of the powder into that concoction he had on the stove."

"The curry!"

Barrington shrugged. "Is that what it was? In any case, I certainly didn't give him enough to cause the extreme reaction he had. It's possible the alcohol he consumed exacerbated the effects. Or perhaps his nervous system is especially sensitive."

"The fact is, we have no idea what the safe dosage of Gob is, or if there even is one. You also had no real evidence that the antidote was going to work. You were prepared to gamble with Connor's life to satisfy your scientific curiosity!"

"When you're calmer, you'll see that what I did was the logical course of action. Cutting edge science sometimes requires unorthodox methods, and there will always be variables. The gravity and urgency of the Gob situation dictated such an approach."

Abby answered with a bitter, humorless laugh. "Believe me, Michael, I will never see what you did as anything but an act of monstrous hubris. You are not the god you think you are." She eyed him with disgust. "I want you out of my lab. Now."

"Our work isn't finished."

"Oh, I think it is. Either you leave or I'm going to call Lester and the Minister and everybody else I can think of and insist that they conduct a full investigation. Your career will be ruined."

"I really don't think you want to do that," Barrington countered. "I'm afraid things could get very awkward for both of us – not to mention your precious ARC Operation - if you did."

"Is that a threat?"

Barrington took off his lab coat and hung it on a peg near the door. "Not at all," he said. "Just something to think about. It happens that I have some business to attend to at the NSF this afternoon. I'll just leave you to gather yourself together. We can discuss this rationally when I return." He exited the lab before she could order him out again.

Abby sat down at the lab table, shaking with anger and shame. Knowing she'd believed Michael Barrington over Connor Temple made her sick inside. And now Connor was gone, and she had no idea if she'd ever have the chance to apologize. Just then her mobile buzzed. She reached into her lab coat pocket and retrieved it. She didn't recognize the number on the screen.

"Abby Maitland here," she said into the phone, hoping the quaver in her voice wouldn't be noticeable to her caller.

"Abby!" The voice was Connor's.

"Oh my God! Are you all right?" Abby almost shouted into the phone.

"Shhh. I don't have long to talk. I borrowed this phone off some bloke who's passed out in the loo," Connor whispered.

"What? Where are you?"

"A pub in Hackney. Abby, I've found the beggar – the one that bird Linda told you about. Callum Lewis."