A/N:- Thanks to Rollieo122, Xanthaie, katewantstobecomeanactor, Nicco1395, and shadowlupus for the reviews!! This is for Xanthaie, because I failed to deliver X-Men fic and so am trying to appease her with a Primeval offering *vbg*.

Part 3

Two hours later, Ryan was feeling much more human. Never before had he had felt quite so much appreciation for a cold shower and a change of clothes. And considering he'd served in some really foul places, this only highlighted just how much his standards had changed since the start of the anomaly project.

Originally the plan had been to start the search for the snake that afternoon, but after the horribly long flight and the not-as-long but equally horrible drive, Cutter had put his foot down. Lester had not been best pleased to say the least, but it was somehow much easier to defy the man's orders when he was on the other side of the world and you couldn't see his glare. Anyway, thought Ryan, as he stifled his seventh yawn in so many minutes, the Jet Lag Monster might run screaming from Lester when he travelled abroad but it had no such qualms about making its presence known to the rest of them. He was knackered.

However despite the fact that his and Stephen's so called 'double room' was really too small for two full-grown men and the fact that he couldn't stop yawning, Ryan was strangely content. It was the first time he had been officially (well…) off-duty with nothing to do for a very long time. And even though he was in a foreign country, in the middle of nowhere, about to embark on a treasure hunt with a mythical snake as the prize, he was determined to enjoy it.

Collapsing back on his (frustratingly single) bed, Ryan huffed a sigh of relief. The room was hot, despite the incessant whine of an air conditioning unit and he was fanatically grateful that he didn't have to be dressed in combats. Really it would be nice not to have to be dressed at all, but considering Stephen would probably emerge from the bathroom at any moment, even his heat-and-dust addled brain could recognise that that idea fell into the category of 'highly inappropriate'.

Feeling in dire need of some alcohol, and something to eat, Ryan tried to work up the energy to move, but his body wasn't having any of it. Instead he stayed where he was, sprawled across the bed in a starfish shape, and idly wondered how the others were getting on.

It would be interesting to see how Squid and Cutter survived in the same room. Squid was one of the laxer members of the SAS men, reliable when it counted and excellent in the field but with a complete disregard for neatness and order (with the exception of his guns, which were lovingly cleaned and polished daily). This perhaps might save him from getting up Cutter's nose too much; Lester's use of the adjective 'maverick' fitted the Professor well, and he had apparently had a genetically-inbuilt dislike of taking orders and following rules. Which were the two staple principals of the army.

Becker and Connor…previously Ryan would have said that those two sharing a room would be nothing short of a complete fiasco. Becker was a far more patient man than Ryan would ever be, and he was a lot better at dealing with people as well, but that probably wouldn't have saved Connor from being gagged and handcuffed by the end of the week. Now though…after Becker's little performance on the plane (which despite his pleading looks was definitely getting back to the team at the ARC), Ryan couldn't help but wonder whether the Special Forces Captain might have a whole other use for those handcuffs in mind.

Recalling vaguely that dinner was served at six, Ryan closed his eyes, and allowed himself to doze for a while. However, he must have been more tired than he'd realised, because he awoke with a start, an indeterminable length of time later, to the click of a door and footsteps. Brain not fully in gear yet, he responded instinctively, jolting upright, hand going automatically for his gun, until he realised he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with no holster in sight.

Unfortunately, instead of an intruder, he was met by the sight of Stephen Hart, rumpled, damp from the shower, and mouth-wateringly topless observing his little performance, blue eyes wide with shock and just a tinge of amusement. Ryan winced.

'Sorry. Army instincts. Built in.'

The shock vanished, and Hart grinned at him, tousling his wet hair with one hand. Ryan fought not to be rendered speechless as he watched smooth tanned skin shift over muscle.

'Don't worry, Captain, your virtue is safe with me.'

Yes, thought Ryan, as he was treated to a perfect view of Stephen's arse while the man rummaged around for a shirt, but sadly it isn't the safety of my virtue that's the problem here.

At precisely six o'clock, Stephen and Ryan descended the stairs in search of food. By now, both men were starving, but neither wanted to eat from the mini-bar; Ryan because he objected to the price due to moral reasons, and Stephen because he objected to the nutritious quality of the 'food'.

They met Connor on the stairs, wearing purple skinny jeans (completely suited to heat…), pointy-toed boots, and a long-sleeved black t-shirt under a dark red waistcoat. It was typical Connor, but alcohol and sleep-free as he was, Ryan averted his eyes from the jeans. A glance to his left told him Stephen was doing the same.

When they emerged from the narrow dim corridors into the airy reception, Ryan noticed for the first time a suspicious looking bruise on Connor's cheekbone. Hart shifted, clearly having noticed it too, and the two of them exchanged a glance. Was it possible the heat had eroded away all of Becker's patience and he'd snapped on the very first night?

Clearly sensing eyes on him, Connor shifted uncomfortably. At Ryan's enquiring eyebrow, the younger man waved a self conscious hand towards his cheekbone, flushing slightly.

'Oh that's nothing. Just a bruise. I fell over.'

'Fell over what?'

Connor went redder.

'Becker.'

Ryan felt his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline.

'You fell over Becker?'

'Well…more onto really.'

Clearly Connor was on rare form, co-ordination wise.

'How the hell did you manage that?'

'Yeah…the beds are tiny, and he was sprawled over one of them, and I fell over a protruding leg. And I couldn't stop myself falling without, you know, touching him. So I sort of ended up in his lap.'

Ryan wondered how Becker had taken that. He didn't really have a response for Connor, because how did one respond to a story of straddling an SAS captain? Fortunately, Stephen stepped in.

'Wouldn't worry about it, Conn. It could have been worse. Captain Ryan tried to shoot me.'

Glaring at Stephen, Ryan spun on his heel and strode off in the direction of the bar, resolutely ignoring Connor's incredulous look and questioning squawk.

He'd suspected this trip might be a nightmare.

On entering the bar, the first thing Ryan saw was a dispirited looking Squid, wound around a stool and a pint at the end of the bar. Ryan ordered a drink of his own, and then wove his way around to the other soldier.

'Why the long face?'

'Horse walks into a bar.' Squid muttered.

'What?'

'It's a joke.'

Ryan wondered just how much Squid could have drunk in the ten minutes the bar had been open.

'I'll rephrase. Is everything okay?'

Squid shrugged and nodded at the same time, faintly resembling a nodding dog dancing on a dashboard.

'Tell me though, how essential exactly is the Professor to this team?'

'I believe he's what's referred to as the backbone. Why?'

'So if I killed him, then there'd be hell to pay?'

'Not hell, but you'd have to deal with Lester.'

'Fuck.'

'Sharing a room that bad then?'

Squid shrugged.

'He's like a bloody tank. He talked my ear off about various theories he's got about this serpent thing, he's worse than Temple. And when he went to shower, and I moved all his papers from the middle of the floor, I thought he was going to flatten me.'

Ryan had to bite off a smile at the imagined reaction of Cutter to Squid piling all of his chaotically arranged and ordered papers to the side in a heap.

'Yeah well. He can be a bit of a pain sometimes, but he's the closest thing we've got to an expert. It's only for a fortnight.'

'Easy for you to say. You got Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerously Handsome. I got stuck with the rumpled, insane and supposedly ruggedly charismatic Scott.'

Ryan was snorting with laughter by now.

'Come on Squid, he's not that bad.'

'Swap with me then. Come on, swap the Supposedly Charismatic Scott for Tall, Dark and Dangerously Handsome, and I'll buy the drinks for the next week.'

'Who's tall, dark and dangerously handsome?' questioned a voice from the vicinity of Ryan's right ear.

To his horror, Ryan could almost feel himself flushing. He glanced at Squid, who grinned at him wickedly.

'Don't want to swap Captain Ryan?'

'No.'

'Who's tall, dark and dangerously handsome?' Stephen repeated his question a glimmer of amusement in the blue eyes.

Squid's grin was now pure evil. He got up from the stool, smiled at Ryan, and leant in close to Stephen.

'Lester.'

Stephen's look of horror said it all.

A couple of hours later, it was safe to say that the team had made themselves at home, much to the disgruntlement of the locals. Over in the far corner, Abby was trouncing Cutter and Becker at pool, even hampered as she was by Connor. After watching for several minutes, Ryan had to confess that Becker's performance was highly unimpressive, because surely a man who was king of the firing range should be able to aim a bit better than that when hitting a ball with a stick?

Squid seemed to have shaken off his mood, and, lubricated by multiple pints, was engaged in a fierce game of darts with a couple of other hotel guests. He was wiping the floor, and Ryan had a suspicion that unless he toned it down, Becker was going to be breaking up a fist fight by the end of the evening. Although really, the other men hadn't stood a chance, because thanks to the length of Squid's arms, he could get over twice as close to the board as the others before he even had to throw.

Stephen was sitting over in the corner, a pint in front of him, reading a book on aboriginal myths. Despite the busy pub, he had somehow managed to commandeer an entire booth to himself, and whenever he went up to get another drink, a crowd of slack-jawed admirers parted like the Red Sea. Although to be fair, Hart didn't even seem to notice.

However, as Ryan watched, a tall Barbie doll, with hair an extremely unnatural shade of yellow, slid into the booth next to him, and smiled toothily in a way that not even the seemingly oblivious Stephen could mistake for merely polite. Ryan watched the brief flicker of horror on Stephen's face with some amusement, noting the distant way he returned her greeting, shifting to the very edge of the booth, and suddenly becoming fabulously interested in the wood of the table.

Ten minutes later, Ryan had to credit Malibu Barbie with one thing. She was either extremely dense, or extremely thick-skinned. Despite the fact Stephen had barely said more than three words since she'd sat down, was shifting constantly, staring into the middle distance, and had an expression as frozen as an Ice Age, she still did not appear to be picking up on the 'fuck off and leave me alone' vibes. She was smiling, edging ever closer and chattering away nineteen to the dozen. If Stephen moved any further away from her, he was going to fall off the bench, but the man was too polite to just brush her off. Mind you, save for just walking off and leaving her sitting there, there wasn't a huge amount he could do, seeing as the girl didn't appear to have drawn breath for about five minutes.

Just then, Stephen looked up, catching Ryan's eye and the plea for help was clear. Ryan raised an eyebrow. Stephen pouted at him, eyes pleading, which might have been a mistake, because Barbie leant in even closer, a predatory smile spreading over her face. Ryan watched the look on Stephen's face become panicked, and finally took pity on the guy.

He strode over to the table, clapped a hand on Hart's shoulder, and said,

'Sorry to interrupt darling, but could I borrow you for a second?'

Strangling a rising grin at the identically stunned expressions on Stephen and the girl's faces, Ryan seized Stephen's hand where it lay on the table, and dragged him to his feet.

They were up and halfway across the restaurant before Stephen's brain appeared to catch up, and he starting actively walking as opposed to being forcibly marched from the room. When they reached reception, Ryan released Stephen and after five seconds of waiting for him to say something, dead-panned,

'You're welcome.'

Stephen smiled slightly.

'Thanks for the rescue.'

Ryan smiled back.

'Yeah, well, you looked in danger of being eaten.'

Stephen winced slightly, and Ryan really didn't want to know what images had just flashed through his mind. He yawned, the Jet Lag Monster finally getting its teeth into him.

'I'm going to turn in. I'll see you in the morning.'

Stephen yawned, the expression proving catching.

'Yes, good idea. It's been a long day.'

They walked up to the room in silence, Stephen in front, using an unerring sense of direction to triumph over the maze of corridors and find their room.

Once inside, they flipped a coin for who got the bathroom first, threw open every window possible, turned the air conditioning unit on as high as it would go, forgoing peace for a cool breeze, and fell into bed.

Lying there in the darkness, Ryan estimated it would take five minutes at the most before Stephen felt compelled to ask.

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, he was proved correct.

'Darling??' Stephen's disembodied voice floated out of the darkness.

Ryan shrugged, which was surprisingly difficult to do lying down, before realising Stephen couldn't see him.

'Well, your subtle hints didn't seem to having any kind of impact. I thought something 'slap in the face' obvious might work better.'

There were a few seconds silence.

'So you chose to play the 'gay' card?'

'Well it was either that or 'disturbingly close brothers'.'

Stephen choked.

'Not homophobic are you, Hart?'

There was silence.

'I can't hear you if you shake your head.' Ryan pointed out.

'No, I'm not homophobic'

He could hear the smile in Stephen's voice.

'So what's the problem?'

'There isn't one. Just took me by surprise.'

'Is the idea of me that repulsive?'

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ryan wanted to kick himself. Jesus Christ, what had possessed him to ask that? There were a few seconds of very tense silence, before Stephen finally said,

'No, the idea of you isn't that repulsive.'

It was a long way from being a compliment, but Ryan found himself inexplicably smiling as he rolled over to sleep.