A/N: My first Primeval fic since January, though this has been in progress for several months. Comments are welcome and much needed! Hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Canon characters are the property of Impossible Pictures and no copyright is intended, however the OCs are completely mine :)

"Papa!" Molly screamed as her father screeched to a halt a moment too late. The man had appeared out of nowhere, stumbling almost blindly into the road and into the path of their car. She leapt out and immediately knelt at the man's side.

"Did we hit him?" her father called, almost too afraid to get out of the car. Molly nodded as she checked for a sign of a pulse. Thankfully he was just unconscious and she set about doing a quick examination of him to try and determine the extent of his injuries. Until six months ago, Molly had been training to be a nurse, but she'd been summoned back home to tend to her dying mother. She'd passed away not long after, but Molly stayed with her father instead of returning to her studies. He didn't have a clue how to run a household and it would all have fallen apart without her, even if he refused to accept that fact.

"I don't think he's badly hurt," she said out loud and heard her father breathe a sigh of relief. "But we should take him home and call Doctor Latimer to check him."

Pulling himself back to his senses, Molly's father got out and came around to the front. "Should we be moving him?"

Molly thought for a moment. "I don't think we hit him hard enough to have done any major damage and I suspect he was already unconscious." She looked the man up and down and noted two things. His clothing was made from fabric she'd not seen before, it was a thick, heavy quality and brightly coloured, suggesting that he was either rich or well travelled. But that contradicted her second observation. Judging by the smell, he had not seen hot water and soap in a very long time, and his unkempt hair and beard didn't appear to have been trimmed in several months. Her father was wrinkling his nose and keeping a distance, but Molly was intrigued. What was this man's story and how had he managed to get himself into such a state?

"Help me get him into the back of the car," she commanded, putting the stranger's arm around her neck and shoulders and using it to lever him up into a sitting position. Her father did the same with his other arm, and between them they half carried, half dragged the unconscious stranger into the back seat of the car. Once he was safely settled, Molly got back into the front seat and her father sat beside her in the driver's seat.

"Will you be okay to drive home?"

"I'll go slowly," he replied, starting the engine. "But you were right, my dear. I should have waited until either Davies or Jones were free to drive me into town. I'm too old for all of this."

Molly smiled and patted her father's hand. After what had just happened, she had no doubt that this would be the last time he attempted to drive. It had been almost six weeks since their chauffeur, William Greene – Will to those that knew him – had been called up for duty on the frontline in France. He was the third member of staff they'd lost in as many months, and if reports were correct they would lose many more before the war ended. As they slowly made their way along the road back towards their house, Molly glanced back at the stranger on the back seat. Maybe he was running from the war? He certainly looked of the right age to have received a call up. Perhaps his family had rejected him because he'd refused to go? It would certainly explain his appearance.

When they reached home, Molly was assisted by the housekeeper, Margaret Atkinson, a formidable woman who had many of the younger staff members quaking in their boots. She recoiled at the smell from the unconscious man but did not question her mistress and simply helped her to put him to rest in the guest room. A maid was dispatched to go and fetch Dr. Latimer and then Molly proceeded to undress and bathe her patient.

Molly realised she had missed taking care of those in need and wished that she could return to her nursing studies. She had felt it was her calling to tend to those who were sick, but it was not to be.

"Ma'am? What should I do with his clothes?" Mrs. Atkinson said. She was holding them at arm's length and wrinkling her nose. They were in such a state that Molly was inclined to just order them to be incinerated, but she had no right to decide what to do with someone else's possessions.

"Check that there is nothing in his pockets and then put the clothes through the laundry," Molly responded. "When they are dry, have them folded and placed at his bedside. When he awakes, he will be in need of them. In the mean time, I am sure one of the footman can provide him with a shirt to sleep in at least."

"As you wish, Ma'am."

The door was closed and Molly sat on the edge of the bed. Now that some of the dirt had been washed from his face, she could see he had a pale skin dotted with freckles. His hair, although still dirty and matted, seemed to be reddish in colour, similar to her own and that reason made her warm to him even more, despite the fact he had not even opened his eyes or spoken. His body was covered in numerous scars in different stages of healing. Clearly, this man's current state of health was not simply down to being knocked over by her father's car. He had been through many hardships to get to this point.

"Ma'am, I found this in the pocket of his trousers." The housekeeper had come back into the room and was holding out a leather wallet for Molly. She took it and opened it up. Predictably, it contained money, though she did not recognise it despite it bearing the wording 'Bank of England' on it. There were also some strange items made from a material she had never seen before. It was too hard and shiny to be card and it felt strange as Molly ran her fingers over it. One of the items had a photograph on it, obviously the man in the bed next to her but in better days. He was actually rather handsome, she thought.

"Daniel Quinn. A.R.C. Department of the government of the United Kingdom." Molly read and then glanced at her patient. "So, you're Mr. Quinn and you work for the government?" That would explain the strange clothing and money, he'd clearly been travelling. Maybe he had picked up some terrible disease abroad and that was why he was ill now. Dr. Latimer would know what to do though.

When Dr. Latimer arrived, Molly had dressed her patient in a long night shirt that Mrs. Atkinson had borrowed from Davies, the second footman, and was sitting at the side of the bed willing him to awaken. She moved aside to allow the doctor to do a full examination whilst her father watched anxiously from the doorway. After some minutes, the doctor declared that he didn't think the man was badly injured and should be himself after a decent night's sleep and some of Mrs. Atkinson's cooking. "You do have some Laudanum in the house I presume?" he said. "When he awakes, he may be grateful of the pain relief."

Molly nodded. The opium tincture had been administered to her sick mother to relieve her of her pains in the days before her death.

"Good. I can arrange for him to be transported to the local hospital in the morning for you."

"No!" Molly protested, looking pleadingly at her father. He raised his eyebrow, wondering why Molly did not want the man to be cared for at the hospital. "It is our fault he is in this state, at least in part. At the very least, he should remain our guest here until he is able to leave on his own two feet."

The doctor turned to Molly's father. "If you're sure Mr. Jacobs? I can look in on him tomorrow afternoon if you like and we can reassess the situation then."

"I cannot argue with my daughter's logic," Mr. Jacobs said. "He will stay here as our guest for the time being."

As Molly watched her father lead the doctor out of the room, she couldn't help smiling to herself. It felt like a small victory and something felt right about the fact a complete stranger was sleeping in their house.

-o-

Danny blinked open his eyes and glanced around him. At first he thought he was back home, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim, early morning light, he realised that he wasn't. The bed was large and felt as soft as a cloud compared to where he'd been sleeping for the last year or so, and the feel of four solid walls around him was a strange, but comforting one.

He sat up and tried to shake away the nausea that swept through his body. How had he got here? The last thing he remembered was being chased by some creature through the forest. He had no idea what it was, he just knew it had very sharp teeth, looked hungry and hadn't taken kindly to Danny trying to steal the carcass it had left unguarded for a brief moment. The anomaly opened right in front of his eyes and Danny took the chance. He always did; figuring that the next place couldn't be any worse than the last. Sometimes he felt like that guy on that TV show he used to watch as a teenager who jumped in and out of different bodies in different points of time. Danny couldn't remember if that guy had ever actually made it home or not, and now he was beginning to wonder if he ever would either. Still, this place did look promising. At least there was evidence of modern civilisation, and more importantly, humans.

He slowly got out of the bed and padded across the room to the window. Pulling aside the heavy drape, he gazed out across what seemed to be a large country estate that stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Quinn," a female voice said from the doorway. He turned to greet a slightly red faced young woman. His initial assessment of her was that she was probably in her early twenties, but with her auburn hair fastened back in a no- nonsense knot and a pair of wire rimmed spectacles that seemed too heavy for her delicate features she seemed older. Her clothing was clearly not that of a woman from his own time. History had been one of his favourite subjects at school, but changing women's fashions was not something he'd dwelt on. At a guess, this was early twentieth century. She reminded him of the women he'd seen in photographs of the suffragettes.

"You should be in bed," she continued, ushering him back towards the bed. "You were in a pretty bad way yesterday."

"I'm fine," Danny said. "Thank you for your hospitality and all that, but once I've found my own clothes I'll be on my way." His mind was already trying to work out how to get home. If he was right about being in the early twentieth century, he would be able to write a letter and get it to some kind of courier service with instructions to deliver to Connor Temple in 2012. They'd no doubt think him some kind of lunatic, but he would persuade them to at least humour him for the right price. He could picture Connor now, receiving a faded letter from him with details of when and where to find him. If anyone could open an anomaly and come and get him, it would be Connor.

"It was the very least we could do," the woman said. "We thought we'd killed you when my father hit you with the car."

Danny nodded. At least that explained why he felt so rough. Or maybe it was the fact he'd had his first decent night's sleep in months and his body had relaxed, emphasising the injuries he'd sustained over time. He suddenly felt dizzy and must have swayed because the woman was at his side instantly, looking concerned and then practically shoving him towards the bed. Perhaps he should listen to her and get back in.

"I'll have some breakfast and a pot of tea sent up for you, Mr. Quinn. You should feel much better after some food."

"That sounds like heaven," Danny responded. "And it's Danny, please. Mr. Quinn makes me sound like my father."

He watched her cheeks turn even redder as she swallowed nervously. She was clearly not used to having strange men around and making conversation. "It seems you're at an advantage to me. You seem to know who I am, but I don't know..."

"My apologies, Mr. Quinn... Danny. I'm Molly. Molly Jacobs." She moved closer and held out her hand to shake Danny's.

"Molly, eh?" Danny smiled. "I knew a Molly once. Strong and dependable, but she wasn't half as pretty as you are." Her cheeks were now practically glowing and it amused him. He still had it, even though he'd just spent the best part of the last two years in the company of prehistoric beasts and his psychopath brother. It was the thought of Patrick that made his head hurt and he felt all of the energy drain from him.

"I'll go and chase Mrs. Atkinson for your breakfast," Molly said, backing away and almost running.

"My clothes..." Danny began. He should be away from here as soon as possible and looking for a way to get back home. It would not do to drag innocent people into his problems.

"Mrs. Atkinson put them in the laundry, and discovered that they were in need of some repair," Molly said. "They'll be returned to you as soon as possible, but in the mean time if you insist on getting dressed, I'm sure we can find a shirt, trousers and boots amongst the spare uniform we keep for the footmen."

Danny watched Molly leave and then leaned back in the bed, contemplating his current situation. Molly's clothing seemed too grand to be that of a maid, so he suspected she was possibly the lady of the house, or the daughter given her age. For the moment, he would be safe here and could maybe take a day or two to rest and find his feet again before he moved on.

Breakfast arrived on a tray carried by a young girl who barely seemed old enough to have left school. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" she muttered.

"This is fine, more than fine, thank you." It was like a feast compared to what he'd grown used to. A pot of tea with a tiny jug of milk was accompanied by a fine china cup and saucer. On the main plate were eggs on toast, with rashers of bacon and sliced mushrooms, and at the side, pieces of bread and butter. His mouth watered at the sight and his stomach growled in anticipation. He was going to enjoy every single mouthful. The maid nodded and scurried away, leaving Danny to his breakfast. Right now, he was so hungry he could've eaten a horse and he dived straight in, practically shoving the food into his mouth. But it wasn't long before his stomach was swollen and bloated and he was full even though he'd barely touched the food. He felt guilty, knowing how precious food was, but when he tried to force himself to eat more he just felt sick.

He poured himself a cup of tea and took a long mouthful, trying to remember the last time he'd drunk a proper cup of tea. Then his head began to hurt again and he felt odd. Sarah had made the last cup of tea for him on the morning that he had gone through the anomaly with Abby and Connor to go after Helen Cutter. If he'd known then that it would be the last time he'd see her... He blinked, and pushed the tray to one side, needing to close his eyes and rest.

-o-

Molly had gone to bed that evening feeling extremely concerned about Danny. He'd seemed relatively well when she'd spoken to him in the morning, but when Daisy went to get his breakfast tray she reported that he'd only taken a few mouthfuls and had fallen asleep again. He was still sleeping when she went to enquire if he would like some lunch, and it was only when Doctor Latimer came to check on him in the afternoon that he woke.

After taking Molly to one side, the doctor declared that there wasn't much that could be done for Danny's old injuries, and that all he could prescribe for him was pain relief in the form of the Laudanum that had already been administered and complete bed rest. He again offered to arrange for Danny to be taken to the local hospital but Molly dismissed the idea and said that she was perfectly capable of taking care of him.

In the evening, she had taken Danny some soup and bread herself and sat with him. She could see that eating was not something he wished to do, so she did not force the issue and tried to engage him in conversation.

"Is there someone I should contact for you? Family? Friends? Your wife? Work colleagues? They must be terribly worried about you by now."

"I don't have any family, not any more," Danny said sadly. "And my work colleagues are a little difficult to get hold of. I'll try to contact them myself when I'm strong enough."

"As you wish," Molly smiled. "And what is it you do, Mr. Quinn... Danny? Working for the government at a time like this must be quite demanding."

"I'm afraid I can't say."

"Of course, I should have realised. This war is making all of us have to hold our tongues on certain matters. Forgive me for even asking."

"It's fine," Danny patted her hand.

Then she had left to him so that he could rest again. She took his half eaten bowl of soup back down to the kitchen, shaking her head. It was not right for a man of his size to only survive on a few bites of toast in the morning and half a bowl of soup in the evening. No wonder he was weak and tired.

She had laid in bed, trying to get to sleep, for some hours when there was a knocking at her door. It was pitch dark and clearly still the dead of night, so her fear was that something awful had happened to her father. Pulling a dressing gown around her, she called out for whoever was knocking to enter. It was young Daisy, her single white candle illuminating the room.

"I'm sorry for waking you at this hour Ma'am, but Mr. Davies said I should come fetch you."

"What is it, Daisy? Is my father alright?"

"It's not your father Miss Jacobs, it's your guest Mr. Quinn. It's like he's been possessed by the devil himself!"

Molly followed Daisy at speed down the corridor towards the guest room. Davies was stood in the doorway looking concerned, and Molly could hear Danny's groans and shouts. She pushed Davies aside and entered the room. In the dim light, she could see that Danny was thrashing around in the bed, heavy beads of sweat covered his face and shoulders and when she put her hand to his forehead he felt like he was on fire.

"He has a fever," she said to the two servants. "No wonder he wouldn't eat today, he's been sickening for something. Daisy, I need you to get some cold water and a cloth. We have to bring his temperature down."

Daisy scurried away, leaving Molly with Davies. "What do you need me to do, Ma'am? Should I send for the doctor?"

"He won't thank you for fetching him out at this hour when it's something I can deal with. I was at nursing school for almost a year if you recall."

"Of course. I'm sorry Ma'am."

"I may need your help in restraining him though if he gets any worse." Molly swallowed nervously. She'd encountered many patients who had hallucinations caused by a fever, but never had she seen such violent thrashing. Danny was also beginning to call out, mostly nonsense, but she caught the occasional word, "creatures", "stay away!" and "anomaly". He also kept repeating the name "Patrick". It was almost as if he was acting out some bizarre fight that was going on inside his head.

Daisy appeared, carrying a bowl with a cloth which she placed on the drawers at the side of the bed. Molly soaked the cloth, wrung it out and placed it over Danny''s forehead. "There, Mr. Quinn. Sorry, you prefer Danny don't you?" she said softly, grasping his hand with her free hand and hoping he would feel comforted by her presence.

"Don't make me do this!" Danny yelled out, his body going rigid. Molly stood up, afraid at first until she realised that he was still in his feverish state and that his words were not directed at her or either of the servants. "It doesn't have to be like this, Patrick." Then he let out a blood curdling cry, and Davies ran to the side of the bed, grasping Danny's shoulders.

"Mr. Davies, it's fine. His cries are of pain and anguish, not anger or malicious intent. He means no harm to any of us, he's just reliving some terrible event in his mind brought on by the fever," Molly reassured and the young footman backed away. Molly sat back down, edging closer to Danny as she tenderly patted his face with the cold cloth. He seemed to have calmed somewhat, his body now relaxed and at rest so she dismissed Daisy and Davies.

"Are you sure, Ma'am?" Davies asked.

"Quite sure. He's sleeping now. I believe the fever has passed but I'll remain with him for a short while to make sure he won't disturb anyone else again tonight."

"Then I bid you a goodnight," Davies nodded and nudged Daisy before both of them left the room and closed the door behind them.

Finally alone with her patient, Molly removed the cloth and touched Danny's face. He was no longer burning up, his skin pale and clammy now. She'd been right earlier when she had thought that there was more to this handsome stranger than a few old wounds. He had clearly experienced something so traumatic he had locked it inside his head so that he could forget about it. He needed help to deal with whatever it was and move on with his life, and since fate had seen fit to throw him quite literally into her path, she decided that she was the one that was meant to help him.