Robert Muldoon lay in a white hospital bed, the hunter for once looking small and fragile despite his height of 6'2 and muscular build.
John Hammond didn't know what to say to him, it didn't help that the man was awake and glaring at him. Tension permeated the air, heavy like the humidity. John felt nervous.
Muldoon had, fortunately, only received minor injuries for a raptor attack. His left forearm was broken (a clean break he was assured), teeth marks and gouges on his left shoulder and upper left arm. He also had two broken fingers on his left arm, he had pin prick scratches which occasionally lengthened to slashes on his face; his right thigh had a thick cloak of bandages on it, hiding a deep furrow into the muscle from the raptors retractable claw. It was the worst injury from the survivors, Hammond didn't want to think about Arnold, Gennaro or even Nedry.
Muldoon would recover fully, physically.
Hammond wasn't naive enough to believe the man who was a trusted and loyal employee would recover from the mental scars left behind. Robert was tough, physically and mentally, hardened by his work and witnessing the mauling to death of several colleagues. Hammond had seen the security tapes, he'd seen Muldoon grasp onto the construction worker with all his considerable might. The marks on his mind could even be permanent, Hammond could see it in the morphine clouded blue eyed; this was personal, too close a shave.
"Dr Sattler did it then?" Muldoon asked pointlessly, the answer was obvious. His usually clear, strong voice strangely muggy.
"What? Oh yes, dear boy, she did." Hammond startled at the unexpected question.
"I suppose you're going to tell me 'I told you so'" Hammond sighed bitterly but Muldoon merely blinked.
"Actually I was going to ask for my old job in Kenya back."
It was Hammond's turn to blink, he was surprised. Why would Muldoon still want to work with him? He nodded though, happy to comply.
Muldoon doesn't smile but he's no longer glaring and Hammond is grateful because it's distracting to be stared at as though every problem in the world is your fault.
They should put Muldoon on the charity appeal advertisements, him laying out the facts; he'd pressure you into handing over your life's savings.
Hammond stood up, out of the plastic chairs which were damn uncomfortable. He kept a strong grip on his custom, amber topped cane.
"Goodbye, dear boy. I'll visit soon, get you on the plane to Kenya as soon as possible, first class." Hammond babbled and started moving out of the room, Muldoon watched him go in silence.
Hammond hopes his next trip will be less solemn and guilt-filled.