By morning, Ian had regained most of his senses – which he felt deserved some celebrating. A drink sounded great, and somebody to drink it with sounded just as enticing. He wondered if he would even receive any visitors. The rescued survivors were not exactly good friends of his – they were merely all caught in the same unfortunate system that led to their present circumstances. His thoughts did wander to Dr. Sattler and Hammond. It was difficult to discern facts from morphine-induced delusions, and he couldn't quite remember if the testy game warden had made the escape with them. He was therefore eager to speak with Alan Grant, or Dr. Sattler. He definitely had a mind to speak with Hammond, and was already selecting a choice of words to use with him.

Rojas informed him of his improving condition – the fact that he had been able to keep down food meant no infection had settled itself into the wound. His left leg was a white tree trunk, with the cast extending all the way up to his waist. By mid-morning Ian became restless, feeling the need to move. He'd discovered at a very young age that he needed to be moving for his mind to be at its most productive. His hands needed to be busy. By the time the nurse collected his breakfast tray, the leftovers had been constructed into Ian's best rendition of a Roman aqueduct.

No sooner after his construction was removed did Grant and Sattler arrive. They each feigned smiles and shook hands upon their reunion. The story of the rex was eventually regaled again.

"I guess she uh … found me a little more attractive than Grant." He chuckled, running his hand along the cast. "I don't blame her. Am I right Dr. Sattler?" She chuckled to herself, but her arms remained crossed. "Kids okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." Grant nodded, his face betraying signs of frustration and stress.

"The warden uh … guy in the shorts? Safari hat? Kind of serious?"

"Robert Muldoon." Dr. Sattler wasted no time in correcting him. She shook her head.

"That's … that's some shit … right there." He murmured, not meeting their eyes.

"You contact your family yet?" Grant asked.

"Yeah …" Ian sighed and it morphed into a weak laugh, "Rojas called one of 'em at least."

"How's your leg?" Ellie asked.

"Oh god … what leg?" He quipped. He couldn't even feel the damned thing. "Shouldn't be too bad though. I've woken up in stranger places with stranger injuries. This one's pretty high up on the list though …"

"We'll let you get some rest." Grant declared, taking Ellie's hand and leading her out.

"Hey let's get a drink sometime!" Ian called after them. His suggestion was met with insincere laughter, and Ian sensed Grant wasn't too fond of him.

Finding something else to occupy his never satisfied hands proved extremely challenging. All his implements had been taken from him and he was left twiddling his thumbs. A TV was eventually wheeled in for his 'enjoyment' but the nurses had neglected to realize the remote had no batteries inside. Thus, Malcolm was stuck with "Channel 13 telanovellas" plus all the very latest in Costa Rican weather and Spanish celebrity gossip.

The fidgeting grew worse and Ian became sure he would die here, if not of a gangrenous infection but of insanity.

Without warning, his door opened.

Hammond.

"From one hell … to another." Ian mumbled.

"Ian, Ian my dear Ian." The old man limped to his bedside, full of zeal as always. "You look good. Much, much better. Well rested are we?"

"Uh … yeah, yeah thanks a lot John." Ian said bitterly. "I'll uh … sleep much better knowing you'll uh … be paying off damages for the rest of your – life." He said. "And John, speaking of which, clock's winding down on that unless you can conjure up some … some new biological terror that extends human life."

Hammond just smiled and waved his hand back and forth as a parent would to a child. "Now, now Ian, don't work yourself into a fit. You'll be compensated fully of course as promised – "

"John, this isn't just about … compensation this is now a … a … "

"A bloody mess yes, yes I'm aware. The authorities should have a lot of fun with this one." He chuckled and rested both hands on the amber head of his walking stick.

"This isn't just a simple … uh lawsuit we're dealing with here John. People are dead – and you know who those families are going to turn on don't you?"

"Nedry and Arnolds. My dear boy Donald too. Very tragic of course but no immediate family to speak of. Poor Robert though. Had a wife and wee girl you know."

"John …"

"Yes, yes, luckily I've got a top of line team – penned me up a wee clause on the contract that prevents most lawsuits in case of accidental injury."

"Accidental injury?!" Ian cried incredulously. Had it not been for the enourmous cocoon wrapped around his leg he would have gotten up and shaken John by the shoulders. "Is that what you would call Gennaro being … being torn apart by one of your ...?" He couldn't find the words. "Or … or … or Robert Muldoon being disemboweled in some god forsaken jungle? Accidental injury John?"

"Tragic accidents the lot of them. I don't deny it, and I take full responsibility." The old man's face had whitened. "Of course their families will be given generous sums."

"Yeah, yeah that's great." He replied sarcastically, "I'm sure uh … Mrs. Muldoon will be happy that she can finally buy that yacht she's always wanted. And of course the important part it that you can't be touched. Isn't that right John?" He said poisonously.

Hammond's innocent smile returned to his face. "There it is." A silence fell on the room for a little while before Hammond spoke again, placing a slightly sunburnt arm on Ian's. "It's bad right now Ian. It'll improve. It'll get better I promise. And a year or two down the road, we can put this all behind us."

Ian had no more words for Hammond, only an expression of disbelief. "You'll get it one day John." He said icily.

The old man placed himself at the center of the earth, with everything else revolving outwards around him. A few years down the road and Hammond would be back on Isla Nublar, picking up the pieces of his model and painstakingly assembling them with superglue. That's all he was, a child – a child who couldn't seem to recognize a bad idea when it held a gun to his head. But Ian just couldn't figure out what was driving him – it certainly couldn't be money, the billionaire at lots of that.

Long after Hammond had left, Malcolm found himself still sitting upon the question.