A/N: last chapter, everyone. Major love and hugs to everyone that's followed/favourited/reviewed over the course of this story. Couldn't have done it without you guys.
Connor was in a good mood when he woke up this morning. Was being the operative word. Was meaning past tense, meaning he wasn't in a good mood at the moment. He'd woken up warm and happy, curled up with his sweet Abby-bird in his arms. They would've been content to lay in bed all day, but they were in a hospital still, and an empty stomach could not be ignored. When he'd gotten up and dressed in his clothes—they were stiff with dried blood, he would have to change when they got home—he'd stepped out of the room at precisely the right, or perhaps wrong, moment.
He'd seen Quebec leaving Stephen's room. Both of them were disheveled but smiling, full of bubbling violet-white-green-silver-pink tones that sang like crystal and honey and sunlight, the same kind of sensations that curled about inside Connor's own being. Stephen rested a hand on her back, the gesture possessive and caressing, a warm, indulgent smile Connor had never seen from him before crossing his lips. He knew instantly what they had been up to, without even using the silver cord, and his own warm, curly spectrum feelings give way to jagged spikes of crimson, black, and auburn. Neither had seen him, and he retracted into his room for a moment, breathing hard, struggling to restrain his own anger.
"Connor?" asked Abby gently, touching his back. "What's the matter?"
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. Once he was certain that he could speak to Stephen without throwing the tortoise out of the window to watch his shell crack on the pavement, he opened the door and walked out of the room. She followed at his heels, murmuring questioningly, but he said nothing in reply, not sure if he could guard his tongue well enough.
He found them in the cafeteria with the rest of the team. The Dozen had taken up different perches around the room with plates of breakfast, happily nibbling on their food. Cutter was sitting with a pale, bandaged Jenny perched in his lap, a protective arm cradling around her waist, careful of her bandaged stomach, a plate full of food set in front of them. Danny sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarah, having already cleaned off his own plate and working through his second cup of coffee as Sarah nibbled on eggs and toast beside him. Becker had his own plate full of assorted fruit, as well as a side of bacon, just sitting down to eat. Connor strode forwards.
Stephen set down a plate of his own at the table, full of a bit of everything from the rather expansive buffet the hospital offered—no doubt it was Lester's doing—but before he could pull out a chair to sit down, a sharp blow to his solar plexus took him right off his feet, throwing him onto his back with a crash. Stephen coughed and gasped, wheezing for breath. A furious Connor stood above him, fists clenched, but then Quebec was there, shoving hard against her brother's chest and driving him back a step, standing protectively over Stephen.
"What the hell?" said Cutter. The man gently shifted Jenny from his lap and stood up, frowning.
Coughing, Stephen waved a dismissive hand; Quebec grasped his wrist and helped him to his feet. Abby had an arm around Connor's waist, holding him back as well. "It's…alright," he wheezed, rubbing his chest. Suppose I had that one coming, he thought to himself. "So…guess you've found us out," he said, looking up at Connor.
"You son of a bitch," Connor spat out.
"What the hell is going on here? Stephen, why's he hitting you?" Cutter demanded, stepping between the two men and pushing them apart.
Feeling slightly comforted by Quebec's small hand at the small of his back, Stephen glanced around the room. "Everyone's here, so we might as well get it all out in the open," he said. "Connor is pissed at me—"
"The Stephen tortoise is mine own," Quebec cut him off, stepping back to slide a protective arm around his waist, through her eyes didn't venture from Connor, narrowed at him; Stephen automatically placed a hand on her back. "You will not hurt him, little brother. I won't let you."
All gazes shifted towards Stephen. "You…and Quebec?" echoed Cutter in an incredulous tone, staring at his lab technician in disbelief. His pale gaze flicked from the arm Quebec had around Stephen's waist to the hand that the other man was resting on her back. "You and Quebec," he repeated, though now it was more statement than question. A dark flicker of anger passed through his eyes. "Stephen, I swear to God…"
"Nick," came Jenny's soft voice, making him turn back towards her, everyone's eyes flicking to her. She was still pale and shaky, but there was a calm expression on her face. "Let someone who's on enough painkillers to be objective handle this, yeah?" she suggested, glancing around the room to make it clear that she wasn't just talking to the professor alone. Looking around Cutter, she made a beckoning gesture to Quebec; the girl stepped forward, and as if attached by string, Stephen followed close behind her, remaining within arm's reach at all times. Jenny clasped both of Quebec's pale hands in her own. "Now, tell me the truth," she said firmly. "How long have you two been having these…feelings towards each other?"
"Specify parametres. Conscious or subconscious?"
"Consciously," Jenny clarified. "The both of you."
"Eighteen weeks, five days, three hours, and 12 seconds."
"And since you've been feeling this, has he ever done anything just to hurt you? Purposefully?"
"No."
"Lied to you or said he'd do something that he didn't?"
"No."
"Said or did something hurtful just to get a reaction?"
"No."
"Ever been forceful at all?"
"No. He was a gentleman. Refused to be together until I knew my own mind and was repaired."
Jenny patted the girl's hand. "Well, then, it seems you've found the best romantic prospect in the ARC that isn't either already in a relationship or related to you," she said with a tiny grin. When the others gave her a shocked look, surprised, she only gave them a look daring them to challenge her. "Just out of curiosity, though…why him?"
Quebec smiled fondly, soft expression full of warmth. "He is not afraid of me. He does not mind my broken bits or the fact that I am designed to kill. He sees that I am a weapon and does not fear it. To him, I am not broken or flawed. He ignores my shattered mind-pieces as if they are the oil or soot or dirt that sometimes marks even the best of weapons. There is something powerful in finding someone that accepts you as you are, and there are few who can do it. He thinks that I'm shiny. Are you afraid of your tiger?" she asked suddenly.
"No, of course not," Jenny replied, surprised by the question.
"Others would see him as inhuman or wrong, but you do not. You see him as a man, and one that you love. You do not fear him because you know he would not hurt you, that you are his as much as he is yours. You see him as Stephen sees me," Quebec said gently, then released the PR's hands and turned towards her brother. "And as Abby sees you, little brother."
Connor let out a long, slow sigh. He knew when he was beat, when his argument no longer held any starch or fire whatsoever, and big sister was right. Abby-bird did not see him as broken or wrong. She saw his disparate bits and pieces and accepted them. She saw him as a whole worthy of being whole at all, a made thing but crafted fine and none the worse for not having grown of himself. It was a powerful thing, being accepted as he was by someone he loved, and he could not begrudge his sibling that same kind of peace and love. Opening his eyes, he looked over at Stephen, stepping closer to the tracker; the other man eyed him warily, wondering if he was about to be hit again. "I…may not approve, but if you make her feel whole as Abby does for me…I will not protest. So long as you know that if you hurt my sister, I will quite efficiently remove your reason to be called a man," Connor added with a sharp glint in his eye, but then it softened and he extended one hand towards the other man.
Stephen gave a snort of laughter as he grasped the proffered hand. "Understood. Besides, if I ever do hurt her, I think that she'll tie me in a knot with her feet just fine on her own," he replied.
Cutter heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "Alright. I'm going back to the room, check on the other hybrids. Try not to kill each other," he said. Helping Jenny to her feet and supporting her with an arm, he left the room.
Once they had left the room, Foxtrot bounded over and hugged Quebec tightly. "I am happy for you. You make a fair match. It is good that you have one who sees you as whole. He also has very lovely blue eyes."
Stephen let out a low groan of exasperation, shaking his head as he rested one arm around Quebec's slim waist and drew her in near to him. "Oh, Lord, Foxtrot, there's a few people on this team that still take me seriously. Keep talking like that, and you're going to kill what's left of my reputation. Really, you want that?" he asked pointedly, glaring over at the small, stocky woman.
"No, no. Stephen is tough and stubborn and exceptionally ornery. We would never say otherwise in a public setting." Quebec put her head against the tracker's chest, cuddling herself against him in a way that Abby had to admit was rather…cute; she never would've believed it.
"And don't you forget it. You too," he added with a glare towards Becker, Danny, and Sarah, standing nearby and snickering quietly.
"'Course not. You're mean as a snake. Bad as can be," Sarah giggled out, fighting to keep an even voice.
Danny managed to smother his laughter, but he couldn't lose his smile. "Yeah, you're hard-heartedness incarnate."
"Not a romantic bone in your body," Becker agreed, managing a semi-straight face, though the corners of his mouth still twitched in amusement.
"Better." Stephen pressed his nose against Quebec's hair, closing his eyes, one large hand spread out on her belly, drawing her back against his chest. She smiled and leant back into him with eyes closed; she was just the right height to tuck her head beneath his chin when they stood so close. Becker, Sarah, and Danny wouldn't have ever admitted to anyone aloud, but they had to agree with Foxtrot—it was kind of cute, seeing them together.
Connor, however, shook his head. "If you would refrain from such display in front of me. I said I would not protest, but I did not say I wouldn't be disturbed," he said.
Quebec stuck out her tongue at him. "Don't care."
"Me either," Stephen added without opening his eyes or lifting his head.
Shaking his head, Connor collected a plate of breakfast and made his way out the door, mumbling under his breath, "I will eat elsewhere lest I lose my appetite watching."
Abby rolled her eyes, coming over to hug Quebec as well. "He'll come 'round, don't worry about it," she reassured, then lightly swatted Stephen's on the arm. "And you'd better treat her right, Hart, or I'll kick your arse myself," she added with a teasing light in her eyes.
"Yes, ma'am."
Three Weeks Later
"What d'you suppose ever happened to Helen?" Cutter wondered, glancing up from the board full of formulae for the time map front of him to look at Jenny.
The PR was sitting at his desk, filling out some bit of paperwork or another. She spent more time in his office than hers now, though they didn't often speak, just sat in a comfortable silence as they both worked. She'd since recovered from the wounds inflicted by the canid hybrids, though the scars still remained on her arms and stomach, but he didn't mind them, just as she didn't mind his own scars. Working in a place like the ARC, scars were fairly commonplace. "I dunno," she replied, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "Doubt she'll be gone long, though. She never can resist screwing around with us."
He laughed quietly. "Very true." As he turned back towards the door, he said, "We sent Zane and Cherry home today. Anomaly went to the right time period. Granted, they were in the wrong country, but at least it's better than nothing."
Over the course of the three weeks since leaving the hospital, they'd sent over half of the feline hybrids, all of whom were now chipped and no longer at risk to becoming feral, back home to their proper time. Ten still remained, including Schulyer and Merinus. They spent most of their time with the Dozen, preferring the company of the crazy people over that of the soldiers. The Dozen themselves, though, wouldn't be going home. According to Connor, the process of eliminating Overlord Protocol had also hard-wired in their new personalities; they wouldn't ever be able to regain their memories of their past the way Connor had. Not that they minded, though. They actually seemed quite happy with their new arrangement, seeing as how they were now on the ARC payroll as an elite security detail. Cutter wouldn't ever admit it aloud, but he was pleased as well. He liked the Dozen and was glad they got to stay.
"Better than nothing," Jenny agreed, then shook her head with a huff. "Who the hell is Christine Johnson?"
"Who, now?"
"Christine Johnson. She's some bird from Whitehall, involved with the military. According to Lester, she's been trying to get her hands on the ARC for a while, and she's getting more aggressive about it too," she answered, turning pages of her report, a slight frown working between her brows as she stared at the pages. She had never heard of Christine Johnson before, but if this woman was trying to pull the ARC out from under their feet, she had a feeling that they wouldn't be the best of friends.
Cutter shrugged. "Might have to sic the Dozen on her, then." Connor and the others found Lester to be tolerable, and had a strange sort of respect for the man, but he was the only one. They didn't show deference to anyone else unless they well and truly thought that person deserved it. If this Johnson bird really was trying to steal the ARC from them, she might very well find herself on the bad side of twelve genetically-engineered super-assassins with an insanity streak and no fear of getting their hands dirty. The professor doubted that anyone would ever be able to usurp James Lester from his position as head of the ARC so long as the Dozen were around.
"Might have to," she agreed.
Suddenly the ADD alarm began going off, red lights flashing in warning. "Never a dull moment," Cutter murmured, striding out the office and making his way to the central hub. Stephen, Abby, Quebec, and Becker had already gathered around the ADD; Danny had taken Sarah down to the firing range for target practice. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Connor typed on the keyboards. "New Forest," he answered.
"Let's go, then."
Helen sat down on an outcrop of boulders, looking around at the glaring desert, appreciating the emptiness, untouched by mankind. The sun beat down relentlessly, baking the earth and everything in its path, and she wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead and neck with her scarf, reaching into her knapsack to take out her canteen, taking a deep pull of water. She had left her canids in the Complex of the future after she'd sent them feral, all but a select few of her favourites. She hadn't stuck around to wait, though—far too many Predators. She knew that she didn't need to, though. Twenty-odd felines and a few broken failures from Manticore couldn't stand up to an assault by all those canids.
The memory made her grin fondly. She had hoped Nick would've been able to work beside her, but she should've known better. There was no way he could ever have the stomach to do what needed to be done. Even as a hybrid, he'd resisted his own instincts, tried to convince himself he was still human instead of simply embracing the animal. But at least now she was rid of him, him and all his little sycophants from the ARC.
The ARC. Well, she'd take care of that soon enough. Get rid of Sir James High-and-Mighty Lester, tear down the ARC from the inside out. Then everything would be put right at last. Taking another drink of cool water from the canteen, she took out her anomaly detector from the battered knapsack, switching it on. The crystal display flickered brightly, then chimed softly. Look at that. Perfect, she thought with a smile, seeing the new anomaly on the screen that led to the present day. Maybe she'd have the chance to see the new lackeys that Lester would've hired to replace Nick and his sycophants, put the fear of God into them.
Slinging the knapsack over her shoulder, Helen stood up and started walking, watching the display with one eye to keep herself going in the right direction, hearing the dry earth crackle under her feet, the sun pounding down on her back and shoulders. As she rounded a large outcropping of stones, she saw the anomaly flickering and glittering serenely only a short distance away. Feeling unaccountably happy for some reason, she even felt so inclined to whistle the tune of an old favourite song of hers, though she couldn't remember the words for the life of her. Humming under her breath, she stepped through the anomaly.
A light brush on Cutter's shoulder made him look over. Connor stood beside him, watching the anomaly closely. "The spider of doors makes her approach," he said quietly.
"Helen?" Cutter said in shock. "Helen's coming out—?"
"She believes we are dead. Thinks the hounds devoured us," Connor murmured, still watching the anomaly, then smiled widely. "We will lock the door as soon as she steps through so she will not escape. We will have ourselves a spider in a web of our own."
Cutter nodded. "Fine. Tell the others. Let's be waiting for her when she comes out," he announced. Smiling at Jenny, who'd heard them talk, he came over and grasped her hand in one of his own, moving to stand beside Stephen. The tracker was holding onto his favourite rifle, and Quebec stood beside him, twirling one of her knives in her fingers with keen precision, watching the anomaly happily. Danny and Sarah had come to join them as well, looking just has eager. Becker adjusted his grip on his shotgun, watching the anomaly. Abby rested one hand on Connor's back, waiting.
The anomaly rippled and warped slightly, an indication of something coming through. They all waited.
Helen Cutter strode through the anomaly with a confident swing in her walk, a rather relaxed expression on her face as she whistled a jaunty tune. But when she looked up and saw the entire ARC team standing in front of her, intact and whole and very much alive, she went rigid. The look of utter shock and disbelief on her face was hilariously comical. The smile vanished from her face, eyes widening; her mouth opened but no sound came out, and she blanched beneath her tan.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, darling," Cutter said in a saccharine-sweet voice.
Helen shook her head slowly. "N-no. No. You're dead. All of you are dead," she mumbled.
Jenny strode forward. "Good, then this won't hurt," she said, then drew her fist back and punched the other woman in the face as hard as she could. Something in Helen's nose—and in Jenny's hand—went crunch. Helen staggered and fell back on her arse, blood pouring out of her nose, cursing. "Son of a bitch, ow!" Jenny shrieked, jumping back and shaking out her hand.
Becker strode forward, grabbing a cursing, spluttering Helen by the arm and dragging her to her feet. "Helen Cutter, you are now in the custody of the ARC," he said brightly, a wide grin on his face as he snapped handcuffs on her wrists. "And, as head of security, I do believe that you are a fugitive worthy of our new elite security detail," he added, shoving her forwards into the arms of the waiting detail.
Helen, impossible as it was, went even paler when she saw the Deadly Dozen standing there waiting for her.
"You punched her?" repeated Lester dubiously, staring at his Public Relations manager closely. It'd been hard enough to believe when they brought in Helen Cutter, handcuffed and bleeding from a badly broken nose. The woman was now a prisoner in a facility so heavily guarded that it made maximum security prisons appear a child's playground; she wouldn't be getting out of there except by the grace of God Himself, and Lester had a feeling that He had stopped listening to Helen Cutter a very long time ago. A few blood tests had also pulled up rather interesting results. Helen was no longer fully human, either. She'd done a little genetic modification to herself as well, some kind of serpent, which was rather fitting.
Jenny nodded and held up her hand as proof. She'd put a hairline crack in her middle knuckle punching the other woman, and now she had her hand strapped up and numb from having the ice on it. Of course, Cutter had thought it was quite a turn-on, seeing her break Helen's nose, and she knew that there was a good chance she'd be rewarded for it later in a locked office. "Will I have to fill out an accident report?" asked Jenny, dreading the idea. She'd broken her right hand, and she was right-handed, which would make filling out paperwork a living hell.
Lester sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together across his stomach. "No. Matter of fact, I find that I'm rather envious of you. I wish I could've been there to witness it," he replied, with a glimmer of actual humour in his eyes. He twitched his fingers towards the door. "That'll be all, Miss Lewis."
Jenny reclined in Cutter's lap with a relieved sigh, feeling his arms curl around her waist protectively. A deep love-growl roiled in the depths of his chest, vibrating against her back as he nuzzled against her hair and neck. "I can't believe you actually hit her like that," he laughed softly, reaching out to lightly grasp her strapped hand.
"I can't believe I did either. I broke my hand," she said in disbelief, but then turned her head to smile at him. "But, damn, it was so worth it."
Cutter laughed as he kissed her cheek and neck. "I love you, woman."
She kissed him back. "I love you too."
Everything was finally put right.
The End