Hello Primeval Fanfiction - I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! Well, I'm back (briefly) and so thought I'd better update this story. Its only been 2 years since the last chapter! Thank you to Sandyleepotts for the prompt on FB - I know I can always count on your nagging to make me get things done lol :D I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Primeval or any of its characters (except the ones I have created and with those I shall do as I please). Oh, and Captain Becker spent last week removing ice cream from various parts of my body with his tongue - its the only way to keep cool in this weather!

A thick fog obscured the dawn as Jess arrived at the imposing row of Georgian town houses that she still called home. No birds yet sang and thick, swirling tendrils curled around her small, cold body. Jess shivered, a little freaked out by the eerie, silent greyness.

She crept across the lawn, her trainers now sparkling with dew, to the little window which she knew would give her access to the cellar. The same cellar she had snuck into with Becker just a few short months ago. She stopped for a moment, staring at the aperture, and the blank glass stared coldly back at her. Had it really only been such a short time since she had wriggled through this small space, Becker waiting below to steady her, his breath catching in his throat as she slid down against his thigh. She had noticed his reaction – how could she not? Would he have behaved like that if he didn't love her? Her heart wanted to believe that this was the proof, the desperately needed evidence that he had lied to her at the safe house. That even if he didn't love her now, he had loved her once; he had loved her then, at this window. But then her head intervened and stomped on her heart. Any man would react like that, having a young woman slide her body down his thigh. It was a natural and completely involuntary male response that had nothing to do with love.

She shook her head quickly to rid herself of that train of thought and pushed her fingers under the wooden window frame to free the broken clasp and open her childhood escape route. Except that it didn't open. She wiggled the clasp again and pulled; still it wouldn't budge. She sighed and knelt on the gravel path in resignation. Hamish had been true to his word when he had announced he had fixed it. She closed her eyes – now what?

"Perhaps you'd prefer to use the door like a normal person, Miss Jessica?" A soft, Scottish voice behind her made her jump and scrape her knees on the gravel. She opened her eyes and found Hamish observing her from a foot away, an expression somewhere between quizzical and amused on his wrinkled face. Smiling, he held out his hand and helped her to her feet. "Come on, Miss, before you catch your death," he murmured, not realising the irony of his statement.

Jess sat meekly at the kitchen table, watching Hamish make her a cup of hot chocolate. Hamish hadn't asked many questions – other than which beverage she would like – and Jess was grateful for his discretion. She had no idea what answers she could give him if he had pried. She curled her cold fingers around the steamy hot mug placed carefully in front of her by the soldier turned butler.

Jess lifted her large blue eyes to his narrow, careworn brown ones. "My mother is - ?"

"Here," came the strong and forthright answer from the doorway to her right.

Jess pushed back her chair with a loud scrape on the stone floor, abandoned her chocolate, and flung herself at Miranda Parker, her small, thin arms draping themselves around the older woman seeking warmth and comfort.

Mrs Parker, unaccustomed to such frantic displays, raised a bewildered eyebrow at Hamish before holding her daughter affectionately, if somewhat awkwardly, and muttering, "There, there, child."

She pushed Jess away slightly so she could see her face and her eyes widened in astonishment as the tear-stained anguish that confronted her. She looked at Hamish and the butler shrugged.

"Hamish," she commanded. "Bring Jessica's hot chocolate up to the sitting room, please." She turned and began to coax Jess out of the kitchen. Stopping suddenly, she amended her instructions. "And tea, Hamish, lots and lots of tea."

Hamish chuckled at her retreating form as Mrs Parker hustled her only daughter up the stairs to the luxury of the sitting room and its comforting, warm log fire.

They had sat in silence for some time, mother and daughter, on the long Chesterfield sofa. Miranda studied her daughter and frowned at the slight tremble of the younger woman's hand as she sipped her hot chocolate, her dishevelled state of dress, and her tear-stained cheeks. She tried to fathom what could possibly have happened to have caused Jess such distress, but failed miserably. She resorted to her lawyer instincts and began asking questions.

"What's happened, Jess?" Gently she brushed her daughter's straggly hair away from her face and tipped her head to look at her.

Jess paused, only briefly, before blurting out in a small voice "He doesn't love me anymore, mum."

Miranda Parker blinked in disbelief. Of all the things she had expected her daughter to say, this was not it! She sighed loudly in exasperation. All this was over a man?! She opened her mouth to retort how a woman's happiness should not be dependent on a man but her admonishment died at the sight of Jess's fresh tears. Instead, Mrs Parker composed herself and patted her daughter's hand.

"I guess you'd better tell me all about it," she said gently, before pouring herself another cup of tea.

Ever since Jess was born, after a long and arduous labour of 38 hours duration, Miranda Parker had experienced a love so intense that she had never expected it could grow any stronger or deeper than it was in that first, incredible moment. But it did, with each milestone that Jess reached and then surpassed, her mother had been overwhelmed by the ferocity of the love and adoration that her daughter inspired. She was never fully capable of expressing it, her upbringing prevented that, but it was always there nonetheless, bubbling away excitedly just beneath her impenetrable composure.

That adoration increased again as she sat quietly and patiently, listening to her daughter babble about her deficiencies, her mistakes, and her guilt. She bristled at his anger, his coldness, and his rejection of her beautiful girl. Then she cradled her daughter in her arms, as she had when she was just a few minutes old, as the tears came again. Huge, gut-wrenching sobs that Miranda Parker QC usually found intolerable but today made her feel more of a mother than she had done in a very long time. She had tried to raise Jess to be independent and, as such, Jess had always been a strong-willed, precocious child, capable of taking care of herself. Today, she was her baby again, in need of the comfort only a mummy can give.

When the tears subsided to irregular, gasping sighs, Miranda shifted Jess's head onto her shoulder and laid hers on top.

"Let me tell you a story, darling," she murmured. "It's a long one but it might help."

Jess sniffed but said nothing so Miranda continued.

"When I was a child, my father was in the Diplomatic Corps, an attache in the Foreign Office. His job took him all over the world and we, my mother and I, as his family, followed him wherever he went. Eventually, he was commissioned as an Ambassador, first to the Netherlands and then to the Lebanon."

Jess shifted slightly beside her and Miranda kissed her forehead softly.

"We all duly moved into the British Embassy and I, at 15, went to the International School in Beirut." She closed her eyes, remembering. "Ahhh, Beirut in the early 70s was a magical place. The Paris of the Middle East, they called it. Popular with tourists, full of hotels, bars, nightclubs, museums, and beautiful beaches along the Mediterranean Sea. The economy grew, powered by the oil Sheiks; it was a playground for the wealthy; a cosmopolitan city, vibrant with different cultures and religions. Unfortunately, it all went to hell and the once beautiful city tore itself apart." She stopped her narrative, sucking in a sharp breath as if the memory disturbed her.

Jess sat up and stared at her mother. "What happened?" she asked, softly.

Miranda sighed. "Civil war. Lebanese against Lebanese; Muslim against Christian. It didn't last long but more than 60,000 people lost their lives across the country."

Jess bit her lip at the enormity of it all and Miranda stroked her arm soothingly. "It was a long time ago now. We were evacuated, obviously, and my mother refused to return. But my father resumed his post as soon as it was deemed safe again and I went with him. I enrolled to study law at the American University in Beirut. For a while, all was quiet. There was a large contingent of foreign soldiers stationed across the city – British, French, and American – ostensibly to maintain the peace. We held parties again – mostly for Westerners then. The Lebanese population was largely ignored. Your father was stationed at the British Barracks in the Christian quarter of the city. A dashing young Lieutenant on his first foreign posting."

She almost giggled girlishly at her description of William Parker. Almost. She stifled it just in time. "He was part of my father's security detail at a formal diplomatic function at the French Embassy. I was allowed to attend. I don't remember much about the reception itself but I do remember my first sight of him. I'd like to say he was stoic and robust and courageous – all the things a Special Forces Lieutenant ought to be. But he tripped on the dress worn by the French Ambassador's wife, fell face first into a huge floral display, and brought the whole lot crashing to the floor on top of himself. I hadn't laughed so hard in ages! I was completely besotted with him."

She paused and allowed herself a lop-sided smile. "Of course, it also helped that he was rather easy on the eye."

Jess giggled, a sound most welcome to Miranda's ears. She continued her tale. "I found out his name after a series of covert enquiries around the reception – I could not run the risk of my father discovering my interest. Soldiers could be re-deployed at the snap of his fingers! That night, in my room, I wrote him a message demanding he meet me for coffee the next morning. He did and from that moment on we were inseparable. All in secret, of course, as my father would not have approved. I would have been sent home and Bill shipped off to God knows where had he found out! We were so in love – with the city, with each other, with our plans for the future. We had such plans – I was to be a lawyer, he was going to be a Major-General." Miranda paused again and smiled with satisfaction. "Well, I guess we achieved that."

Jess smiled too and snuggled back under her mother's arm. She hadn't heard this story before and was desperate to hear more of her parents' life before she was born.

"What happened next?" she prodded. "Did Grandpa find out?"

Miranda smiled ruefully. "Sadly, yes. But under very distressing circumstances. By 1982, relations with Israel had deteriorated. Lebanon was heading for another war, under siege and blockaded by Israel. And then there was the suicide bombing of the American Barracks in 1983. As I recall, 241 American and 58 French servicemen lost their lives, as well as 6 civilians." The numbers had been burned into her memory for nearly 30 years. But no Britons, she remembered pleading in her head. Please, no Britons!

"Your father had been visiting his American friends – foreign soldiers often hung out together as they were forbidden to socialise with the local population. He was at the barracks when the bomb exploded. He lost many good friends that day. As you can imagine, I went out of my mind with worry. I really lost it, crying and begging the Embassy staff for news."

Jess struggled to image her mother "losing it" or begging for anything, even as a young woman in her twenties. For her mother, it just wasn't done.

"My father still didn't know," continued Miranda. "So he couldn't understand why I was so distraught. He ordered the immediate evacuation of non-essential Embassy staff and that included me. I, of course, refused to leave. I stood squarely in front of him and told him I would rather get blown up too than leave."

Now this Jess could imagine and it made her giggle. Her Grandpa had been an imposing figure but he could never out-gun his daughter.

"He tried to get his security detail to manhandle me out of the building to the Royal Navy ships gathering at the Port, ready to transport the evacuees. But I made them take me to the British Barracks instead. I had to find Bill, I had to know he was ok. I didn't know it then but, before I got there, my father had interrogated the remaining Embassy staff and, rather than have their careers ruined, they gave me up. They told him everything."

This made Jess sit up again and stare at her mother, who had stopped talking, lost in her memories.

"And?" Jess prompted, placing her hand over her mother's. She knew her Grandfather's fiery temper and his disregard for the feelings of others when honour was at stake. And there was nothing more dishonourable than carrying on with the Ambassador's daughter behind his back.

"He was alive – Bill – bruised, dazed, and angry but alive. I've never been so happy to see someone. I flung myself at him and he pushed me away." Jess's mother shook her head in disbelief as she recalled the moment. "He said he had been wrong. That our relationship was impossible, there was no future in it. Lebanon was at war and he had a job to do. I was incompatible with that." She bit her lip and looked reproachful. "I behaved badly after that," she admitted. "I cried, I begged." Proud Miranda Parker almost recoiled at the word. "I shouted at him that I thought he loved me. He remained cold and unmoved. I was mistaken, he said. He had never loved me. I was just an idle distraction in a foreign country. And now I had to go home, where it was safe."

Miranda sighed. "I was mortified, ashamed, and heartbroken. I ran, ran out of the barracks and into the street, just as the Israelis started shelling again. I've never been more terrified in my whole life. Hearing that sound, looking up to the sky, not knowing where that projectile is going to come down, screaming as it lands somewhere nearby and being thankful that someone else is dead instead of you." She exhaled loudly and Jess squeezed her hand comfortingly. Miranda rewarded her daughter with a small smile.

"I'm alright, dear. My father found me, cowering not too far from the barracks. His driver took us to the Docks where the last of the Royal Navy ships was waiting for evacuees. As we stood on the dock waiting to board he patted my hand – a very affectionate gesture from him, as you know – and told me it was for the best. That he was sending me home where it was safe. And that's when I knew. I knew my father loved me and he'd used the same phrase as Bill: "where it was safe." I am sure my father didn't intend for his sabotage of my relationship to fail on a single word, but that's when I knew that Bill really did love me. That he way lying to make me go home. So I pretended to board the ship and instead hid behind some packing crates on the dock until it departed and it was too late for my father to force me to leave. There were no ships left. As I emerged from my hiding place, I saw my father arguing with someone on the dock. It was Bill – he had come in secret to tell me he was sorry; to tell me that my father had called his Commanding Officer to demand he lie to me so that I would leave Beirut. Neither of them were pleased to see me still standing there, with my suitcase and gloves. They both began shouting at me – about my disobedience, my bloody-mindedness, and my irresponsibility. They were more alike than they cared to admit! I hugged them both, told them I loved them very much, but that the only way they would persuade me to leave Beirut was if I was married first."

Miranda chuckled. "I'm not sure who was more shocked – Bill or my father."

Jess found she was laughing too, despite herself, at her mother's audacity and at the obvious happy ending of her parents' love story.

Miranda sighed. "Well, we did get married, very secretly, very hush hush and I returned to England as promised. The war with Israel was to rage on until 1990 – my father and the British Barracks were evacuated in 1984. We achieved our goals and had our beautiful baby girl – you." Mrs Parker kissed her daughter's cheek affectionately before standing up and walking across the room to gaze out of one of the full length windows overlooking the busy London street – the very window Becker had reconnoitred from on his one and only visit to the Parker family home.

"Mum?" Jess asked, quietly.

Her mother turned to face her, her expression both gentle and serious.

"The point of the story, my darling, is that military men are hopeless at conducting relationships. They are used to shutting down when situations get difficult – it's a coping mechanism. It keeps them alive during combat. Your father is a great example of this – a damn fine soldier but a hopeless husband. Your Captain Becker reminded me very much of Bill during the course of our brief meeting."

She walked back to her daughter, re-seated herself on the Chesterfield and clasped Jess's hand.

"Don't listen to Becker when he says he doesn't love you, Jessica darling. Look to his actions, not his words. No-one who has seen you together can doubt his feelings for you. He's just trying to keep you safe."

Tearful once more, Jess sought the comfort of her mother's arms as Miranda Parker rang the bell for more tea. All the problems of the heart were solved with more tea.

Actually, all the problems of the world can be solved with more tea! I hope you enjoyed it and feel excited enough to leave a short review...Thank you xxx