Okay. Got my laptop charger. Can write fanfics again. Time for happy dances. Anyway...I realized that I've been doing a whole lot of pure ANGST for Jurassic Park lately, even though half of the angst isn't finished yet, and figured it was about time that I took a stab on the lighter--yet still dark--side of things. Ready? 'Kay let's go. D: Oh, also...anyone else noticed that I like Muldoon? Anyone pick up on that? Reviews and Criticism appreciated, as always! Also, watch as I make them suffer from cases of light-mediocre cases of OOCness, for the sake of delving into their characters more when they aren't faced with the mortal peril of being eaten by dinosaurs. Excuse me for brightening your day with 'Oh, it's okay, they nearly got killed in the book and film, but this fanfic will be light and fluffy!' Oh, just you wait... For the first half, I have no musical recommendations, but at the end, I strongly recommend you have The Cranberries 'No Need To Argue' playing, if only because its such a hauntingly excellent tune. I'll let you read now.

Disclaimer: I do not in any way shape or form claim ownership of any copy-righted material in this fanfic.

Jurassic Park was an interesting place to work. Not just because of the dinosaurs--had he mentioned the dinosaurs yet?--but because of the staff. Everyone was so high-strung sometimes. There had been several times when he had gathered in the break room with Wu and Muldoon around a flimsy little card table, saturating his liver in alcohol. Arnold would stand off to the side, leaning up against the wall, his face shadowed, but the ember of his cigarette clearly burning in the dark. During times like these, no one would say a word. The quiet said everything. From 'The next man who touches my whisky will no longer have a hand', to 'I hate this game'. Every unspoken word was heard. Sometimes Nedry dropped in. Rarely Hammond. But never Regis. Regis seemed to resent every living soul in the building. No one liked him either. He was a cold, stingy man, who chose to assemble a completely different persona when he was on the job. But, that was what he did. He was the 'God damn publicist' as someone had once put it. Luckily, he didn't have to be at Isla Nublar all the time. The one good memory held within of poor old Ed Regis was the time that Muldoon had managed to get them all so drunk, that they could barely stand. Regis, having forgotten the code to open the break room door, pounded heavily on the cold metal, the thumps resounding in the homely little room. Wu leaned against the nearest wall for support, laughing so very hard, and in such an uncharacteristic manner that he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Muldoon and Arnold had pressed themselves shoulder to shoulder against the entrance, snickering like school girls, as they taunted the man.

"What's the password?" Arnold asked again, his voice under the strain of liquor.

"I don't fucking know!" Regis barked, clearly very angry at this point, "I'm asking you for a reason!"

"We-...We can't let you in without the password," Muldoon countered, giggling again.

"Is it dinosaur?"

"Noooo...we aren't that increative. ...Increative?" Arnold burst out laughing at his mistake.

"...You guys are drunk."

"As a skunk!" Wu hollered from his own little wall.

After a while, the game with Ed Regis got old, and they simply stopped responding. Or, more accurately, Wu couldn't hold his liquor, passed out, and Arnold and Muldoon joined him of their own volition. Regis eventually caught wind of what had happened and left.

The morning after these events, all the Tylenol had mysteriously disappeared. Muldoon trudged off to work out in the park, dragging over-sized guns with him, grumbling irritably. Later on, it was noted that the Velociraptors had been losing control of their bowels left and right. It was soon discovered that the 'Cattle Prod' as it was referred to--a clear understatement--had gone missing. It had returned when the Park Warden returned. Wu had dragged himself off to the labs again, spending the better half of a day scribbling unreadable print on papers and barking at others, all the while trying to support his face with a single ill-matched hand. Every now and then he would peer into a microscope, or prod at a vial, but otherwise, he was nearly motionless. Arnold, on the other hand, plopped down into his worn chair, fingers moving in an easy, methodical manner, and got a fair amount of work done, all the while downing cigarettes like they were candy. When break came around, it was clearly noted that all three sat into the folding chairs at the card table, hands supporting their faces, and didn't say a single word. The atmosphere was understood though.

'I pity the poor bastard who speaks.'

Another memory he could plainly remember about his time at Jurassic Park had been at the very beginning. He had recently been hired on, and it was perhaps his second day working with Muldoon and Wu. He had decided to visit the 'Velociraptor Play-Pen'--Muldoon had a penchant for giving the most dark and terrifying things cute little names--and evaluate the raptors there. It had been thought that the raptors were deadly at nine months. Muldoon stepped in, and he trailed close behind, as Wu stayed on the other side, peering through a--hopefully--very strong window. Muldoon had begun his rather rough inspection, when the oldest of the bunch had lunged for him. Miraculously, he dodged the lunge, and darted for the door, slamming it behind him.

"Eight months!" He barked, "Lethal at eight months!"

Luckily, no more unconvential methods were used to test things such as that anymore after that incident. Muldoon had nearly lost his ear, after all. (And the majority of his face)

Another time, Wu had walked into the staff room at midnight, his dark hair mussed up, and his labcoat stained wiSoth splotches of things he really wasn't sure even Wu wanted to touch. Frustrated, the Asian man set his hands heavily onto the table top, sighing loudly.

"That is the LAST time I'm messing with the genetic sequence of a Dilophosaurus," He hissed.

"Isn't that you job?"

"Shut up Gerry. I had to re-arrange entire sequences--do you know how long that takes? A very long time. I had to--"

"What did you do today Henry?" Arnold butt in, taking another drag. Wu cast a glare around at all of us. He could have left. But he didn't. Gerry never figured out why.

Yet another time, Arnold had just been finishing the last of a days very long, stressful work, fingers gliding over the keys, as his eyes drooped farther and farther, until he could barely see. Muldoon, bothered at the absence of his chain-smoking friend, had dragged them both to see what was up. Arnold didn't seem happy to see them in the least. It would him up though.

"What do you three want?" The man murmured, pausing in his typing to extinguish another cigarette.

"You're late."

"I'm working. I have to finish this or--"

"It's not important."

"It IS important."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"You two are my favorite gay married coup--OW!" He couldn't help but snicker at the scientists pain. But he had had that one coming.

"I can't leave."

"Yes you can."

Arnold sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, staring at the warden with a look that read 'You're impossible', before turning back to the computer screen, much to Muldoon's displeasure. No matter how much the warden tried to talk him out of it--literally jabbering without end--Arnold tapped on for fifteen more minutes, before pushing out from his desk, nearly running over Wu's feet in the process. Arnold didn't give a damn.

"There," He stated, a twinge of anger hinted in his voice, "I'm finished. Are you happy now?"

"Yes," Muldoon stated, smirking a tad, "Now come have a drink."

Perhaps the fondest memory of Muldoon he had, came shortly before the horrible incident at the park.

It had been closed to seven 'o clock, and Lex Murphy had been getting a little tired out, finally. Muldoon, noticing this, pulled her from Nedry's unwanted care, and took her about, letting her talk with Arnold, who seemed to enjoy the company, for a while he stood in front of the expansive window, glancing perpetually at his watch until it read 6:57. He called for the little girl, who had eagerly arrived at his side after hastily excusing herself from Arnold. She looked up at him with her beautiful large eyes, darkened beneath the shade of her baseball cap. She still wore her baseball glove, one small hand curled into a small fist inside the mitt. With a genuine smile, Muldoon nodded out the window, and spoke.

"This is my favorite time of day. I think you'll enjoy it,"

"I can't see."

"Here," He stated, in a much more placid tone than usual. He stooped down, picking up the young girl and setting her on his shoulders so she could have a better view, "Is that better now?"

"Yup!" Lex nodded. She waited as best an impatient girl her age could. Only two minutes later though, she began to sink into boredom, resting her elbows on top of Muldoons head-- for he had removed his hat a long while ago. Muldoon, sensing her evident boredom, smiled again.

"It won't be long now." He was right.

Less than a minute later, the park, which had begun to sink into darkness, flooded with the blinding quartz light. It was artificial. It was one of the most beautiful things Muldoon had ever seen. Lex leaned forward, curious.

"...What happens now?"

"That's it. Shows over," Muldoon said, removing the young girl from his shoulders, and resorting to simply carrying her, "You need to get to bed."

"Aw..." Lex had been about to say more. Arnold however, cleared his throat in time to prevent her. The girl caught on after a while.

"I'll tuck you in."

It wasn't long after the pair left that he himself left the room, saying a good night to Arnold and heading for his own room. As he passed by to get there, he could have sworn he heard the warden say 'Goodnight, sweetheart.'

It's hard to remember that Muldoon had a wife and kids of his own. At one point, he had questioned how this man could possibly be allowed to raise children. But he found out something about his co-worker that day. And he would never forget it.

The best memory of Wu and Arnold had lingered for a long time, haunting him in and out of his dreams, their visions tormenting him wherever he went. He couldn't stop picturing Wu's mangled body for a long, long time. He couldn't stop imagining what happened to Arnold for a very long, long time. Worst of all, he couldn't help feeling that somehow, their misfortunes had been his fault. Therapist after therapist told him it wasn't his fault. But they didn't understand. They didn't understand because they didn't know about the dinosaurs. They didn't know about the dinosaurs because they weren't there. They weren't there because someone was looking out for them up there. No one was looking after him. He had just been lucky getting away. For sometimes, he was out of work, unable to do anything but sit with the visions dancing in his head, taunting him.

Wu and Arnold were dead.

He, Gerry Harding, was alive.

It just didn't make sense.

It was on a warm Summers night that Gerry sat with Robert at a flimsy card table, a two flickering candles to their left and right, illuminating their solemn faces. A bottle lay in the middle of the table. Untouched. Two extra shot glasses had been put out, as though they were expecting two more to join them, and the place on the left had a carton of cigarettes sitting next to its glass. Harding tried his best not to look to either side, focusing intently on his hands. Robert seemed to be having sinus problems. The apartment was silent. No music in the background. No one talking. But it was clear that both could hear two familiar voices, chattering eagerly about their daily events. He was almost tempted to ask one of them about their work recently. But every time, he began to open his mouth to do so, and tears flooded to his eyes.

"Sorry I don't have a better place for us." Muldoon shrugged.

"Doesn't matter."

Silence overcame them again. There families already knew. They were hurting too. But they weren't hurting this much. The two men had lost their best friends. Their only friends for eight years filled with nutjobs, and prehistoric creatures that wanted to eat them. And they were gone. There was no one to talk to on quiet evenings, when the sun had just begun to set on the small veranda in Arnold's room. There was no one to laugh with when some big, unimportant event covered the news for months at a time while they were at Isla Nublar. Making history. Making jokes. Making memories. Making friends for life. It was high school. It wasn't college. It was Jurassic Park. It had given him three friends--the first true friends he had had in so very long--and taken two of them away. A hole ripped in his very being. Wu's laughter rippled through the air. The smoke from Arnold's cigarette, far fouler than that of candles, still lingered, wrapping around Harding's throat, trying to throttle him. In truth, the ventilation had kicked on, and a wisp of paper had begun burning in the candle, where it had landed. But as he realized this, he also realized that he didn't care how fake it had been. For a moment there, he had gotten them back.

The sharp clink of glass on glass and rustling khaki drew his attention slowly up to where Muldoon filled all four glasses with some alcohol or other. It never mattered. They had downed it anyway, in the past.

Muldoon did not raise his glass, but simply pushed it along the table, expecting Harding to do the same.

"To Henry Wu and John Arnold," He stated simply, his voice strained in effort to keep his emotions from leaking out. Harding slid his glass forward, till it clinked sharply on Muldoons. Both downed their shots without flinching.

"...You got their favorite."

"I figured they'd appreciate it."

"Good call."

Harding cracked as big a smile he could muster, and Muldoon did his best to return one.

"...Did you see that game yesterday?"

"I don't have television, Robert."

"Right." Muldoon paused a long moment. "...You know, if they win the World Series, Wu owes me fifty dollars."

"No shit?"

Muldoon nodded. Harding reached for Wu's glass, downing it too.

"I don't think he'll give it to you."

They both laughed slightly, leaving some allowance for the Asian scientist to butt in with a remark. When the remark never came, both fell silent again, staring at empty hands. Muldoon downed Arnold's glass in courtesy. Four empty glasses. Two men. No conversation. No laughter. No happiness. It was hard to imagine ever being happy again. Two people in this world who he would honestly say--not out loud--that he had 'loved' were dead. They weren't coming back. He would never hear there voice, their laughter.

Everyone always said the pain faded with time. Old friends images blotted out, until no longer could they picture their faces.

But Gerald Harding and Robert Muldoon never stopped remembering. They couldn't stop remembering. The torment they had gone through when they died...Never would they forget. It was their curse.

Gerald Harding and Robert Muldoon couldn't stop remembering. They couldn't forget any of the details. Their deaths remained a violent stain in their mind. They would never let go. They never did let go.

Everyday, Harding drove to the cemetery at three-thirty in the morning, rain, snow, sleet, hail or medical emergency, parked his car on the side of the road, and met the man of fifty at the gate of the cemetery. The two walked up the hill together, never talking, and went to the same two graves, which had been positioned next to each other, everyday, staring down at the headstones in remorse. They never put flowers on the grave to the right, because Arnold had specifically said to them before, 'Never put flowers on my grave'. Wu hadn't wanted flowers either. So instead of flowers, they seemed to carry out conversations with the two. Sometimes in their minds. Sometimes not. A little bit crazy. But it was a habit he couldn't break.

They couldn't forget. They couldn't stop remembering. Trapped in some infernal limbo, all they could ever say at the end of their visit was;

"I'll see you tomorrow."