TIMESCAPES

by Soledad

INTRODUCTION

This story is basically an AU version of Series 4 and 5 of Primeval, as well as of late Series 2 and 3 of Torchwood. I don't even consider COE as a true part of Torchwood anyway. Save for Ianto's sister and her family, who were cool. So, this is a version where Tosh and Owen are still alive but the Rift has closed – temporarily after the end of Series 2 and the team is out of half their jobs.

As for Primeval, let's start with a confession: I belong to a small minority that cannot stand Connor Temple… to put it mildly. Yes, I know he's gifted; but he's also a spoiled brat who never does as he's told, gets people in trouble all the time and hardly ever has to face the consequences. It is particularly jarring in Series 4 and 5, where he nearly helps Philip Burton to destroy the world, despite the fact that everyone else warns him about the man and his intentions. I was so irritated with him and the whole situation that I decided to write a version of the events where he doesn't get away so easily. The same is true, although to a much lesser level, for Abby.

So, if you are a Connor fan, and especially if you are an Abby/Connor shipper, this story is definitely not for you. Because no, I don't buy that pairing either, save perhaps for the time they spent in the Cretaceous. But even there, Connor never listened to Abby, without whom he'd have died a thousand deaths during their one-year-sojourn, and barely got them back, his ego started to blow to unhealthy proportions and he was back to getting people in trouble and having to be rescued by them.

As for the third part of this multiple crossover, the only Sherlock characters the two teams will interact with are Mycroft Holmes and his ever-present, mysterious PA. I added Mycroft to the mix because I needed somebody powerful and ruthless enough to neutralize even Philip Burton, if needs must be. We are speaking about the Mycroft Holmes of Series 1 and 2, of course, not about the neutered caricature of the later seasons.

So, these are the basic settings. If they meet your approval, be welcome and enjoy. If not, please, take us both the favour and hit the Back button, now. I have zero tolerance for people who ignore clear warnings, read stories they know they won't like and then complain afterwards.

PRELUDE

Author's notes:

The Prelude takes part during the break between Primeval's Series Three and Four; in fact, some lines of the dialogue are quoted from the webisodes.

In these settings Mycroft Holmes is the true superior of James Lester; they are both civil servants with direct access to Whitehall, but Holmes is the ranking one, seconded only by the Permanent Secretary.

Prime Minister Brian Green has been borrowed from Torchwood – Children of Earth. Even though I refuse to accept that monstrosity as a genuine part of Torchwood, I needed a narrow-minded, selfish Prime Minister, and Brian Green fit these categories nicely.

In his private office inside the Diogenes Club Mycroft Holmes was studying some very specific files.

Files that the Prime Minister never got to see and even the Home Secretary only ever got heavily edited summaries of them.

Files concerning organisations and research facilities that officially didn't even exist.

Files that bore titles like ARC, Baskerville, Prospero, Torchwood, aside from the EYES ONLY mark.

Files that sometimes did not let him sleep in the night. Because these files were about places and events that evaded control, and Mycroft Holmes liked to be in control and disapproved of everything that was uncontrollable.

Which was why he got the job in the first place: because people in very high places trusted him to keep a close eye on these places and events. Naturally, he could do it quite effectively – unless some clueless, self-important politician messed up his system.

Like it happened with the suspension of the ARC, leaving them with an uncontrollable mess that needed to be cleaned up, as soon and as thoroughly as possible. And, as so often before, it was his job to clean up after the Minister. After any minister, in fact.

He pushed the intercom button – a heavily frowned-upon anachronism within the walls of the Diogenes Club, but necessary for him to be able to work from here. Besides, he owned the club, at least partially, so he could do as he pleased, as long as he did not disturb the solitude of the others.

"Anthea, do we have the footage from the latest job interviews for the new ARC?" he asked.

They better did, or heads would roll. He did not accept anything but perfection.

"Of course, sir," came the crisp answer, and his best operative (whose name wasn't really Anthea, and who was the only woman ever allowed to enter the Diogenes Club) hurried in, handing him a data stick.

"Anything of interest?" he asked, inserting the stick into his secure laptop.

"Several things," she replied, "and some of them may give reason for concern. But at least they have accepted Miss Parker as field coordinator."

Mycroft Holmes nodded. That, at least, was a relief. Miss Jessica Parked did not directly belong to his network of operatives, but she had been personally trained by Anthea and knew where her loyalties ought to lie.

Even if she was indeed a bit too young for his comfort. Child geniuses were unpredictable (his own brother had been proof enough), and sending a nineteen-year-old to a place like the new ARC was risky at best. But currently they had no-one else who would suit for the job.

"What about the new team leader?" he asked.

"Matt Anderson," Anthea handed him a file. "Impressive CV. He's ex-military, decorated for heroism, an expert an animal behaviour and extremely fit, too. Apparently, he even climbed the Mount Everest once."

"Hmmm," Mycroft Holmes studied the photo attached to the file with a certain amount of wariness. It showed a young man in his early thirties, with short-cropped, light brown hair and a three-day-shadow. It was an interesting face, with a shortened chin, a somewhat short, straight nose and clear, intelligent eyes, but there was… something he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Anthea asked.

"Aside from the fact that he's a little too perfect, nothing I can pinpoint at first sight," he replied shaking his head in mild exasperation. "The Everest, really?"

"You think it's a lie, sir?"

"The question isn't if it is a lie – it is one beyond doubt. Every single expedition to the Everest is documented and closely watched."

"Even the private ones?"

"Especially the private ones, my dear."

"Because of the Yeti population?"

That wasn't really a question, but he answered nonetheless.

"Indeed. Now, since we know that Mr Anderson is lying, one wonders why is he lying."

"Perhaps he wants to impress," Anthea suggested.

"No, my dear. This CV," he lifted the folder briefly, "is not only too good to be true; it is absolutely waterproof. Whoever created it, they did an excellent job. And they didn't want to merely impress. They wanted to intimidate."

"Do you think they've succeeded, sir?"

"Well, it went through every level up to the Secret Service without anyone questioning it, did it not?"

"You have just questioned it," she pointed out.

"True. But I am not just anyone, am I?" he reached for the mouse. "Let's hear what our enigmatic Mr Anderson has to say, shall we?"

He clicked on the video file titled final_int_anderson, and the same uneven face he had just seen on the photo appeared on the screen – and it did not appear more mobile, either. Matt Anderson was staring at another computer screen with what seemed to be a permanent frown – but that was all.

His reaction was noticed by the questioner, too.

"That footage was captured last week, Mr Anderson," he said, outside the focus of the camera. Mycroft Holmes recognised the voice nonetheless: the questioner was one of the PAs of the Permanent Secretary. A fairly big gun for a mere job interview, but again, the Permanent Secretary was one of the selected few with access to the same files as Homes himself. "You don't seem particularly surprised by it."

Anderson shrugged. "I've been told I don't have a very expressive face," he replied in a flat, slightly hoarse voice.

That was doubtlessly the understatement of the decade. Whether by design or by extensive training, the man was sporting the best poker face Holmes had seen for a long time – save for the times when he looked in a mirror, that is. A grave effigy would have been easier to read. He found that… interesting.

"Besides," Anderson added, "after a month of very strange vetting procedures and a job interview at a top secret government facility I was kind of prepared for you to show me pretty much anything."

"Oh no, my young friend, that's not why you aren't surprised," Holmes said softly. "You know exactly what to expect when you went to the very first interview already."

"Where from?" Anthea asked.

"I don't know – not yet," her boss answered. "There are several possibilities and frankly, I don't like any of them."

She nodded. Being a time-displaced person herself, she knew more about such possibilities than anyone else on contemporary Earth, including her boss… except that outrageous, flirtatious time-traveller in Cardiff, of course.

"What are we doing now, sir?" she asked. "About Mr Anderson, I mean. He's definitely a risk."

"What we always do," he replied. We watch him, we analyse what we see, anticipate his moves – and step in, should he indeed prove a risk."

"Level Two observation?" she asked, reading for her BlackBerry device to give the necessary orders.

"Level Three," her boss corrected. "The same for Mr Burton from Prospero Industries. I find his sudden interest in these… anomalies and his willingness to support the new ARC with ungodly amounts of money highly suspicious."

She nodded in agreement. "It did come a bit sudden. Why now? The ARC has been in operation for three years!"

"There must be something at the ARC that he wants… or even needs. Something that even a Nobel Prize winner, genius level billionaire cannot achieve otherwise. Something that James Lester wouldn't just hand over to him out of the goodness of his heart."

"But if this thing is so important, are we really letting him have it, sir?"

"Unfortunately, as long as we don't know what it is, we cannot hinder him in laying hand on it."

"I could infiltrate the ARC in a minor position and find out," she offered, but her boss shook his head.

"No; it would be too dangerous. Those people are no fools; should they find out who you really are… besides, I need you here. But the idea does have its merits. Let me think about it; and let us keep an eye on the new ARC. Let them doing their work for a couple of weeks – and observe."

Anthea nodded again, ordered the Level Three surveillance on both targets via her phone, and then returned to her other duties.

In the following two weeks Mycroft Holmes was occupied with international crises involving North Korea, several terrorist threats that needed to be neutralised, and a possible scandal involving the royal family – again. He could only spare a sliver of his attention for the things happening at the ARC, leaving it to Anthea to keep him informed about anything of importance.

It was fortunate to have a personal assistant with and advanced computer chip in her cranium; an implant that enabled her to store huge amounts of information, without having it interfere with her daily job. Having an eidetic memory himself, it took Mycroft Holmes a lot of time and effort to compartmentalise information that Anthea simply stored away in her implant until it was needed.

So when she came into his office and handed him a memory stick with the newest feed from the ARC, he knew something must have happened. She usually provided him with already processed information about the less urgent cases, so that he could focus on whatever crisis was happening at any given time.

The last time she made him watch an unedited feed from the ARC had been Matt Anderson's speech upon taking over leadership of the new team – a speech his behaviour analysts were still working on.

"Any new developments?" he asked, inserting the stick into his laptop.

"Several, actually," she answered. "For starters, Miss Maitland and Connor Temple are back."

"How?

"They simply reappeared one day; at least that is the official version. Miss Parker has put them up in her own flat, partly because they had nowhere to go and partly to keep an eye on them. She thinks that Temple had somehow got his hands on the device Helen Cutter used to open up anomalies, and that's how they found their way back after a whole year spent in the Cretaceous."

"Has he brought the device with him?"

"Yes, but it got eaten by a Spinosaurus that followed them through the anomaly. Apparently, Temple used it to make the anomaly implode and send the creature back to the Cretaceous in one fell sweep."

"Ingenious," Holmes admitted. "That young man has got a highly creative mind that works well in a crisis."

"Unfortunately, he's also a trouble magnet without any common sense – or the basic understanding of discipline," Anthea replied. "Ninety per cent of the crises he's helped to solve were caused by his inability – or unwillingness – to follow orders. We should keep a close eye on him, sir; he's a menace."

"We cannot invest any more of our resources in the ARC," Holmes reminded him. "They are stretched thin enough as it is, since Mr Green, in his eternal wisdom, decided that we needed a budget cut," he shook his head. "One has to wonder how a man of such obvious short-sightedness has managed to get elected as Prime Minister."

"Short-sightedness is infectious," Anthea said darkly. "So is stupidity, unfortunately."

"True," he allowed; then he returned his attention to the task at his hands. "Anything else of importance?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you should pay special attention to the discussions between Mr Philip Burton and Temple at 12.6.4bvand 14.2.7."

Holmes fast-forwarded the tape to the aforementioned time stamps and watched the scenes. Twice. Then he stopped the play with a scowl.

"Make me an appointment with James Lester at the first opening in my schedule," he said. "It seems to be beyond time that we talked."

"In the Diogenes Club, sir?"

"No, in the main office. One wants to make an impression, after all. And Anthea… send him the Wildfire code. He ought to realise the importance of the matter."

~TBC~