Time Twister, Chapter 6. See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.
His chest was heaving, his breath coming in panicked gasps, his legs pumping, and all the time he could hear the crash of broken branches, feel the tremors as the creature pursued him.
He was definitely getting too old for this.
A sharp whistle, off to his right, and Cutter changed direction. With split second timing the steel mesh descended over the dinosaur and as it thrashed impotently in the constricting bonds, the Special Forces troops moved in to pepper it with tranquilizer darts.
Cutter rolled over in the sticky, damp bracken, spitting a few stray leaves from his mouth and accepted the outstretched hand offered to help him up.
"This technique has a lot going for it," said Stephen in a conversational tone, gesturing with his head to where the latest visitor was now sleeping, although still twitching.
"Yeah," Cutter snorted, "and one major drawback," he wheezed.
Hart grinned. "Next time, don't spill the male pheromone serum over yourself when there's a female in the vicinity."
"What d'you mean? 'Next time'?" Cutter said indignantly. But inwardly he was cheering that their friendship seemed to be finally on the mend.
Stephen smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his face, "C'mon, let's get sleeping beauty there back to the Arc."
The Arc. Or The ARC. Cutter had to admit that the acronym adopted was much better than the Anomaly Research Project. ARC was so much better than ARP. It was fascinating, reading the highly 'Top Secret' documents, now covered in dust, that detailed the 'ARP' founding. And with that knowledge, Cutter hoped to prove his theory, to Stephen if no one else.
Cutter took two cold beers from the fridge and handed one to Stephen who was lolling as far as he was able in one of the office chairs. Stephen nodded in acknowledgement and took a deep gulp closing his eyes in appreciation. Cutter swithered for a moment then perched on the desk corner. This was a very delicate juncture; he did not want the desk to be a barrier between them, but, at the same time, he did not want to appear too informal. What he had to ask was so personal he needed an element of control, but if he was too controlling he would only alienate Hart.
"So," Cutter tried to appear, what? Unconcerned? Nonchalant? Disinterested?
Hart had been enjoying the return of his and Cutter's closeness, revelling in the normality of sharing a drink after stressful events, but the almost strangled tone of his companion had Stephen's senses going into overdrive. Hart's eyes opened immediately to stare at his boss; "What? What is it?"
If Cutter ever had any more doubts about the regard Stephen Hart had for him they were dispelled by Stephen's almost panicked enquiry. "I'm sorry," Nick whispered.
"You're sorry? For what?" Hart still sounded bewildered.
"For not trusting you."
Hart ducked his head slightly, "You were right and I was wrong..."
"I don't mean the search."
"Oh," Stephen risked a quick glance at the Professor's expression but was not reassured by the look of indecision on Cutter's face. He considered what the professor might mean as well as their recent assignments. "Honestly, I didn't say anything to Valerie; I tried to keep her out of all of this!"
"I know you did, Stephen." Cutter sighed.
Stephen blinked, confused, "Then what have you got to be sorry about?" he demanded. "None of this is your fault. None of this is going to reflect on you." Hart cocked his head, "Well, other than disobeying orders, going off on your own..."
"I know that too, Stephen," said Cutter, deliberately repressive. He could not deal with all that guilt again.
"Nick," Stephen's voice was barely more than a whisper, "Whatever you've got to say, say it. I can take it, I'm a big boy." He slumped back in the chair, eyes closing again in defeat.
"Maybe now, but you weren't then, were you?"
Hart's eyes snapped open in shock, his mouth gaping, "You mean Helen, don't you?" Stephen looked away, "You knew? All the time, you knew?" Then he looked back, "No, you didn't know, couldn't know. I didn't want you to know. I saw your face! I saw her eyes! She was laughing, laughing! She wanted you to know, I never wanted you to know, I swear, Nick..."
Cutter launched himself from the table, caught Hart's hands in his and held his forehead against Stephen's. "Stop it. Just, just, stop. Take a breath. Yeah, that's right, and another. Good. Just relax."
Gradually, Hart's breathing slowed, and Cutter rubbed his fingers soothingly. "It's okay," Cutter whispered.
"It's not okay," Stephen snapped, his head coming up defiantly, but almost immediately his expression softened, and his head drooped, "It's never been okay," he added.
"Oh, Stephen," Cutter patted the bowed head, "I just hope you can forgive me."
That comment was sufficiently unexpected that Hart jerked upright, staring at Cutter in astonishment.
"Will you tell me?" Cutter asked.
"Tell you?" said Stephen, incredulously, "Tell you about, about Helen?"
"Please." Cutter nodded.
"Why? What difference can it make?" Stephen's question was anguished.
"It might make all the difference." Cutter said seriously.
And so great was his respect for this man, so deep his regret for the hurt he had caused, Stephen Hart told his Professor everything.
TBC