Disclaimer: I do not own the Jurassic Park franchise or any of it's characters; I only own the characters and plots of my own mind.
Foreword: As a note, Gwyn would be 20 at this point in 2001.
12. The Isla Sorna Incident––2001
Fort Peck Lake, Montana
The eighty-plus degree weather, the cloudless sky, and the blazing sun all proved to be the subject complaint at Dr. Alan Grant's dig site. The heat made the paleontologists sweat, the cloudless sky meant there was no brief reprieve from the burning sun, and the only thing they could be thankful for was that the humidity wasn't god-awful. That, and there was a lake a jump, skip, and a hop away. Very few seemed to be complaining about the weather, and one of those people was Gwyn Grant, who was smiling as she wove her way through the work site. The sun was brutal, yes, but the warm glow of it against her––sun pinkened––skin was nice. There was sweat beading on her forehead and rolling down her back, but it was keeping her cool. The weather was harsh but it was perfect.
"Where're you off to, Gwyn?" asked Danny, a college student that she'd had class with the year before. He'd poked his head out of one of the dirt pits, his baseball cap sitting backwards atop his head. Gwyn lifted a rolled up bit of dirt smattered canvas and shook it.
"Gotta clean my brushes and tools, they're getting crusty. Anything you need from the trailer?" She quirked a brow over her sunglasses, which had started to slide down her nose. She used the edge of her tool kit to push them back up. Danny waggled a dirty hand at her and shook his head.
"Nah––I've got my water down here. But I might stop in in a bit to cool down."
"Alrighty then; keep working hard, you're doing great."
Danny chuckled and adjusted his cap, some hair sneaking out from under the edges. He waggled a brush at her with a grin. "With all the praise you've been giving everyone, one would think that you're the site manager!"
Gwyn held a finger up to her lips with a cheeky smirk. "Don't tell Billy I'm coming after his job."
"Your secret's safe with me."
No matter how much Gwyn could deal with the heat and smile through the discomfort of it, it was always a relief when she got into the air conditioning. That day was no exception, as a sigh of contentment left her lips upon stepping into the site's trailer. She grabbed the bottom of her tank top and pulled it up to wipe at her face, ridding it of sweat. Gwyn snagged a bottle of water from the communal fridge and then hoisted herself up onto the vaguely cluttered counter. After she chugged half the bottle, she started to work on cleaning her array of brushes and tools. The tool pouch was rolled out across her thighs, the dusty, dirty items begging to be cleaned. The sink was situated beside her left leg, so she turned on the tap and started to get to work.
The site at Fort Peck Lake was one that Alan had worked hard to maintain. Funding had become increasingly hard to come by, even more so than usual, in more recent years. A lot of potential investors were more interested in trying to figure out how to use their money to resurrect dinosaurs, not dig up their bones. So funding was tight and Alan was doing his absolute best to keep their dig going. It stressed him out to levels he'd rarely been stressed to before and made him grumpier when things got tight. But Gwyn was always there to help him through it, suggesting possible solutions or convincing him to take a step back and relax. The Fort Peck Lake site was being funded by the Museum of the Rockies, where Alan typically worked, and Montana State University, where Gwyn was attending school. But their funding would only get them so far, and everyone was quietly––tensely––aware of that.
The trailer shifted as someone stepped up into it, the door swinging shut behind them. Gwyn glanced over shoulder just in time to watch Billy Brennan make a beeline for the refrigerator. Billy was a handsome man with curled blonde locks, sunkissed skin, and an admirably ambitious attitude. He shot her a smile, too charming for its own good. Gwyn's lips quirked to the side as she continued to work on cleaning her tools. She set her brushes on a towel beside the sink, leaving them to air dry.
"How's it going out there?" she asked.
"It's hot," Billy stressed, reaching into the refrigerator to snag a water bottle. "But it's going well."
Billy was the site manager for the dig, currently in charge of running the whole show since Alan had flown out to Washington D.C. to visit Ellie and give a lecture at a local university. The responsibility was a lot, but he had handled it with an easy grace, though sometimes a vaguely overwhelmed look was shot Gwyn's way when she was in his sightline. But there was no one else better fitted to be in charge in Alan's absence; Gwyn was a close second, though she did not have the experience that Billy had in handling large groups of people. He was an associate professor at Montana State Univeristy's paleontology department, and Alan had become something of a mentor to him. Gwyn and Billy had known each other for a little over a year and a half, introduced when Alan had taken him under his wing; but seeing as they both operated within the same department at the same school, they had gotten to know each other each other quite well.
"Could really use your help, though; you always know what you're doing," Billy praised. He leaned up against the counter opposite to the one Gwyn was perched on. She smiled down at her hands as she ran a cloth over a dirt crusted dissection needle.
"And the other students don't?" She'd asked it with a laugh, her expression brightening with the sound. She listened to Billy chuckle across from her, the sound accompanied by the crinkling of thin plastic. Gwyn looked up as she slipped the needle into her tool pouch, a prompting smirk crawling across her face. Billy shrugged and laughed, screwing the cap off the water bottle.
"They do, they just… ask a lot of questions."
Gwyn hummed and her brows playfully crinkled together. She set her tool pouch aside and slipped off the counter, her dusty shoes meeting the cracked linoleum of the trailer floor. "Now, is it every student that asks questions––or is it the girls that ask questions? Because there's a distinct difference." One of her brows cocked skyward.
Billy laughed breathily, arms splayed out in playful indignance. Those arms then came to cross over his chest, the water bottle now nestled in the crook of his arm. "And what difference would that be?"
With a scoff, Gwyn folded her arms as well and fixed him with a look.
"The difference is that girls ask for your help to flirt with you," she pointed out in the infamous Grant deadpan. Billy rolled his eyes and shook his head, though he was smirking a little in acknowledgement. "Because you always answer oh-so charmingly, Mr. Brennan, and that gets the girls swooning at your feet." Gwyn placed a dramatic hand to her forehead before playfully slouching back against the counter she'd just slipped off of.
Billy narrowed his eyes at her, though the mildest of smirks was starting to play at the corner of his mouth. "How do you mean, Miss Grant?"
Gwyn put on a mildly pouty face and scrunched her brows in confusion. "'Oh, Billy, remind me how I can tell the difference between bone and rock?'" She straightened up a little, squared her shoulders, and reached out to take Billy's hand. "'Well, you can feel the difference, you see? Rock is rough, bone is smooth.'" She ran the pad of her pointer finger over one of his knuckles. "Rough." She then slipped her finger along one of the tendons, touch light. "Smooth. Rough. Smooth." She repeated the actions with the correlating words, a smile pulling across her face. "You see?"
Billy then narrowed his charming blue eyes at his mentor's daughter and pointed to her with his water bottle.
"You never ask me for help."
"You just said that's why you like having me assist you."
Billy pushed away from his counter, one eyebrow cocked inquiringly. "Oh, so you never flirt with me, then? You don't need me to teach you the difference between rock and bone?"
Gwyn smirked at this, head cocking to the side. "No––I think that you need me to teach you that." He beamed at her, flipping his hand around in her grasp so their fingers interlaced. Billy hummed gently, stepping closer till the toes of their equally dusty shoes touched. His forehead bumped against hers and their noses brushed together.
"Are you flirting with me, Gwyn Grant?" he murmured, still beaming. Gwyn grinned and tilted her face a little closer, her lips a hair's breadth away from his.
"Very perceptive, Billy Brennan."
Their lips met in a slow, draw-out kiss, a sweet pay-off to their playful bickering. It was a stolen moment that no one else was to know about. It was a moment to be savored by the two college students, and savor it they did. Billy deposited his water bottle on the counter before his now chilled fingers found purchase on the back of Gwyn's neck. She started a little at their coolness, and the slight damp of condensation that clung to them, but she allowed him to guide her head back a little, changing the angle of their kiss. Gwyn's free hand clung to the front of his t-shirt, which was damp with sweat caused by the Montana heat. She could feel his lips quirk into a cheeky smile against hers, his teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip. In retaliation, Gwyn pulled her hand from his, placed it on his hip, and curled her fingers through one of his belt loops. She gave a sharp tug, pulling him closer than he had previously been.
Now wrapped up in each other with their chests pressed flush together, with one of Billy's knees stuck between both of Gwyn's, they were playing with fire. Anyone could walk through the trailer door and find them. Everything about what they were doing was supposed to be secret, all for the purpose of keeping it away from Alan. They figured that he would flip, a presumption that they based on the fact that he had told Gwyn that Billy was 'too old' for her when he'd discovered her 'passing fancy' of the man. She had, of course, in her embarrassment, informed him the age gap wasn't shocking––because it wasn't––and then told him to shut up about it. And a crush it had been, initially, upon first meeting Billy; and it was one that she figured would pass, as most crushes do. But it didn't. Somehow, a couple months prior to their stolen moment in the on-site kitchen, both had admitted their apparent mutual attraction to the other. Gwyn couldn't exactly remember how it had come up, she just knew that it had resulted in both of them stupidly murmuring 'okay' for a moment, smiling equally as dumbly.
For a while, neither of them really knew how to proceed with the newly admitted information. It led to them going out to grab lunch for the dig site together, taking breaks at the same time, working a little closer than normal. That is until Gwyn dared to kiss him just before she left for the evening, which had opened the floodgate to brief, stolen moments when they could grab them. But there was a quiet thrill to potentially getting caught, one that they both pretended they didn't kind of enjoy. It was also something hard to keep at the forefront of their minds when they were so completely caught up in each other. Nevertheless, they still had to be careful––careful because if Alan found out, he'd do more than just freak out, and both of them would be in for it.
Billy had chuckled when she'd pulled him closer. He obliged the silent order by slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her hips away from the edge of the counter till they were flush with his own. It was time for Gwyn to smile against his lips, which parted and urged hers to do the same; she was only happy to do so. The hand that had so insistently tugged at his belt loop slipped into his back pocket. She hummed quietly and released the front of his shirt, only to let her fingers slip into his hair, fingers curling into the sun-bleached strands.
"Hey, Billy!"
The call from outside the door separated Billy and Gwyn with a masterful quickness. They had gotten so used to having to cut these moments short, that they almost expected it at that point. It at least made moments where they could be alone, just them, all the better. Billy had snagged his water bottle and Gwyn had jumped back up on the counter just as the door was shoved open. A man poked his head inside, leaning heavily on the door handle.
"I think you're gonna want to have a look at this––I got the prototyper working real nice," he said, a grin spread over his face.
"Really?" The breathlessness of his voice, which was a result of tearing out of the kiss and trying to act natural, came off as surprise. "I'll be over in a moment, Verne, just give me a sec." Verne ducked back out, door clicking shut once more. The two left inside the trailer were quiet for a moment, the sudden influx of tension caused by the opening door slipping away. Billy ruffled his fingers through his hair, exhaling gently. His lips quirked a little to the side, a quiet laugh tumbling from his mouth. "That was… a little too close."
Gwyn chuckled under her breath and quirked a brow. "Just a bit." She nodded to the door that Verne had just vacated. "You should, uh, go check out the prototyper."
"Do you wanna come?" Billy asked, twisting the label of his water bottle. Gwyn smiled a little dryly and nodded to her tool pouch and the drying brushes beside the sink.
"I've still got some cleaning to do. But let me know what's up with the prototyper; that thing could be a big help with being able to piece together incomplete skeletons."
Billy smiled and nodded, reaching out to take one of her hands and squeeze it before he left. Gwyn smiled a little to herself, flexing the fingers of the hand that he'd just squeezed. Logically, she knew that whatever she and Billy had wouldn't last long. That it was probably, as her father had been saying, 'a passing fancy' that they would both grow out of, no matter how much either of them said it wasn't. But her smile grew a little as she curled the fingers of her hand into a loose fist, like she was squeezing the fingers that were no longer there. And if that was what it all amounted to, than that's what it amounted to. But maybe, just maybe… it could be a little more.
OOOO
"You sure that you want to go straight to the site?" Gwyn asked as she climbed into the passenger's seat of Alan's truck. Alan, who was fresh off a flight in from D.C.––by way of both Billings International Airport and Glasgow Valley County Airport––fixed his daughter with a wry 'are you kidding me?' kind of look. She raised her eyebrows at him. "You get grumpy when you travel, it's a known fact."
Alan rolled his eyes and twisted the keys in the ignition; a sigh of contentment left his lips at the engine's familiar rumble. "Missed this truck; the rental car was too flimsy."
"Dad."
"Yes, I'm sure I want to go straight to the dig site," he relented. "If I wanted to rest, I would've just flown into Bozeman; and I'm sure as hell not gonna drive the five hours back home. Gotta make sure no one's screwed up all our hard work…"
Gwyn laughed and fiddled with the vents for the air conditioning on the passenger's side. The last person to sit in the seat had been Billy, who was a hair taller than her, so the vents were skewed a little too high. "Do you not trust me? Or Billy, the site manager that you appointed yourself?"
"I do trust him, and I do trust you… it's everyone else that I'm worried about," he deadpanned, maneuvering the truck out of the airport's small parking lot.
Gwyn rolled her eyes but laughed good naturedly at the comment. Despite what he had said, she knew that he trusted most of everyone at the site; some he trusted more than others, but that was just Alan's nature. It was entirely likely that he would end up circling the site with a critical eye, making critical comments, but he would mean well.
"So…" Gwyn drew out a little.
"'So,' what?"
"The lecture? The funding?"
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, in which Alan's lips twisted in a distasteful manner. "Let's… leave that lie till we get back to the site. I'm grumpy after I travel, remember? Best leave business talk until we're back."
Gwyn pursed her lips at the response, but nodded her assent. They were quiet for a while, awkwardly so. It was a twenty-or-so minute drive back to Fort Peck Lake, and she refused to have it spent in silence, staring out at flat grass land, lonesome farms, and thickets of trees.
"How's Ellie?" she asked, tone light.
"She's good, she's doing well," Alan informed, a slight sigh in his voice. Gwyn smiled a small, vaguely melancholy smile. It had been something close to three years since either Alan or Gwyn had seen her; she had moved out to Washington D.C. with Mark Degler, her now her husband. It was around that time she had also become a published children's author, putting her––still beloved––career in paleontology behind her. Her book had become popular,much to the pride of the Grants, and she was working on her third. "Got to meet Mark."
Gwyn hummed, brows rising over the tops of her sunglasses. "And what's your impression of Mr. State Department?"
Alan's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, a non-commital grunt rumbling in his chest. No matter how much her father might try to deny it when Gwyn asked, she knew that he still cared for Ellie very, very much. He, of course, was happy that she had found someone to settle down with, but Gwyn wondered if he ever regretted not being open to being that man. But it wasn't something that she would ever think to really ask him. It may have been a good handful of years since the two had ended their romantic relationship, but it was a subject that sometimes still seemed a little touchy.
"He's a good guy," he said, tone unconvincingly flat. "Really, he is. He's very considerate, was very welcoming, and easy to get along with. It's just…" He fought for the right words, pulling a face while scrambled thoughts ran rampantly through his head. When he still hadn't spoken after a moment, Gwyn decided to change the subject and put her father out of his misery.
"And the kids?"
An almost relieved sound flooded from his mouth in a whoosh. "They're both charmers. Charlie was a fan of the toy dinosaurs you picked out for him; was playing with them in the sandbox, just the way you used to… though Ellie nixed the, uh… graphic descriptions of their hunting habits. His sister, Sarah, is still in that smelly baby phase. Ellie was delighted with the pop-up book you got for her––so was Sarah, for that matter, her whole face lit up. Cute as they are, they're still too…"
"Small?" laughed Gwyn. Alan hummed in order to agree with her, and she laughed a second time. Despite Alan's realization that kids that weren't his own child weren't as bad as he'd made them out to be––Tim and Lex had a hand in that––he found that kids over the age of ten were easier to get along with.
"Ellie's a good mother," Alan said after a quiet beat.
Gwyn smiled and looked out of the passenger side window. "Don't have to tell me twice," she agreed softly.
"She wants to see you sometime soon; was thinking maybe we could make a trip out again, before school starts back up for you."
"I'd like that."
They were quiet for a while, both of them watching the flat grasslands speed towards and past them as they navigated their way back to the dig site.
"Jack is doing well, too."
"Aww, that's good!" Gwyn enthused, beaming at the mention of the macaw.
"Forgot my name, the damn thing… still whistles that song you taught him, though."
"I always knew he liked me better."
OOOO
By the time they had reached the dig site, the skies had become overcast, providing some welcomed relief from the previously uncomfortable heat. Alan had drove through the site slowly, eyes peering, chin lifting, head craning. A couple people noticed his return and raised a hand in greeting; Alan would lift his fingers off the steering wheel in response. He muttered something about everything 'looking in order,' before he put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition.
"See?" Gwyn teased with a crooked smile. She popped her door open and swept a hand out of it, gesturing to the site. "No fires, no rock slides––just paleontology at its best."
Alan rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, climbing out of the vehicle at the same time as his daughter. After Gwyn shut her door, she picked some spattered mud off of the logo for the Museum of the Rockies, which was painted onto the doors of the truck. She then wiped her hand off on her shorts and slipped her sunglasses atop her head, finding no use for them with the sun having disappeared behind the clouds. She leaned back against the door and stared down the rocky slope they'd parked atop. Alan walked to the edge of that slope and smiled down at the sight of all the paleontologists––aspiring and professional alike––were hard at work. One of those paleontologists lifted their head and looked up towards the truck.
"Dr. Grant!" called Billy, who had been lying stomach-down on the ground.
"Mr. Brennan," Alan replied coolly.
Billy pushed himself to his feet and started to jog towards the path that climbed the rocky slope. He was up it in no time, beaming at his mentor; the two exchanged pleasantries and shook hands. Billy then stepped around Gwyn, a friendly hand placed on her shoulder, and opened the truck's back door. "So, how did it go?" he asked, reaching in to grab Alan's bags. He passed the canvas one to Gwyn and kept a tight grip on the leather one. Alan nudged the door shut and his lips twisted downwards. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead and started to walk, prompting the other two to do the same.
"Well, it's not too late for either of you to change your major," Alan said under his breath. The words could be construed as joking, but his tone was anything but. Billy looked over at Gwyn, who shrugged silently to assure him she knew as much as he did.
"Not good, huh?"
"Worse. We're gonna have to pack up in four weeks."
"Three…" Billy croaked quietly, head falling a little. "I had to rent some equipment." But his hand then rose in order to slap Alan on the shoulder, his face brightening a little. "Come here, I gotta show you something. You like computers, right?"
Alan fixed him with a flat look. "I like the abacus, Billy," he deadpanned.
"Computers hate him," Gwyn added on. When Billy laughed, she fixed him with a look. "I'm dead-serious. He touches one and it shuts down, it's remarkable and it happens every time."
Billy ushered the Grants into a canvas tent, inside of which was an elaborate set-up of machines that almost boggled the mind. The curly haired man set down Alan's bag and smiled excitedly. On one computer was the image of a velociraptor skull, and a thin green line swept the length of it repeatedly, a specific part of the skull highlighting in bright green with each pass. Billy gestured for Gwyn and Alan to stand on one side of a machine at the center of the room. It was whirring away when they approached it.
"Meet the future of paleontology––it's a rapid prototyper," he explained, stepping around to the other side. He smiled across the machine at them. "I enter in the scan data from the raptor skull, the computer breaks it down into thousands of slices, then this thing sculpts it, one layer at a time." Just as he finished speaking, the machine finished working. With eager hands, Billy raised the top of the machine and extracted what had been created. He held it like it was something holy. "I give you the resonating chamber of a velociraptor." The replication was remarkable and finely detailed, and it caused both Alan and Gwyn to beam in amazement––beam at how quietly excited Billy was the machine had worked. "Listen to this."
Billy brought the resonating chamber to his lips, and blew into it, his eyes falling shut. A raspy sound started to fill the air, squeaking as the air rushed through the chamber. Gwyn's smile started to fall, the sound striking some nerve within her. Billy blew into the chamber a second time, the sound more clear. A thrill of instinctive fear rolled down Gwyn's spine. She cleared her throat quietly, a hand rising to massage the back of her neck. The sound hadn't exactly mimicked the sounds she'd heard eight––almost nine––years prior, but it was similar enough. The hand that had been at the back of her neck slipped lower to rest over her scar.
When Alan was handed the resonating chamber, he held it gingerly, twisting it around to look at it at every angle. "Wow… this is brilliant, Billy. Really, it is… sad to say, it's just a little bit late…"
"Dr. Grant?" The voice was unfamiliar and came from behind. Alan and Gwyn turned to see a mustached man standing at the opening of the tent, peering inside. He was dressed nicely in a sports jacket free of dust, dress shoes not meant for the terrain, and hair untousled by the wind. He stared at them through expensive looking sunglasses. "Paul Kirby, Kirby Enterprises," he introduced, offering one hand while extracting his card with the other. "Uh, my card." He offered it to Alan before he poked his head into the tent a little more. "How you doin', Billy?" Alan stepped out of the tent and Gwyn followed, only to be stopped by a hand being extended in an offered handshake. "You must be Gwyn, it's a pleasure."
Gwyn slipped her hand into his and nodded pleasantly. "Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Kirby."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Kirby?" Alan inquired, still walking, as he eyed the man's card. He stopped a couple feet away, Kirby on his heels. Gwyn hung back by the tent with Billy, who was watching the scene before them with interest. She crossed her arms and watched curiously. Something about the situation was strangely familiar, and for whatever reason, that was starting to unsettle her.
"Well, uh, first thing––I'm a great admirer of yours and, uh, I have a proposition I'd like to discuss with you. Would you have dinner with my wife and me this evening? It'll be our treat," Kirby offered, a light hopefulness in his voice.
"Well, that'd be great, but I'm tired, I've been traveling… maybe some other time," Alan gently declined. He did, indeed, sound tired, and maybe just a little discouraged. Before he could turn and leave the conversation at that, Paul Kirby was quick to plead his case.
"Believe me, this will be worth your while."
Billy took a step forward. "We'd love to," he answered. Kirby turned on his heel, smiling widely. Alan and Gwyn shared a look over the tops of their heads, both silently agreeing on the same thing––Billy's ambition was going to get him far.
"Oh, terrific! That's the spirit––good. This evening then."
There was a brief discussion between Billy and Kirby of where they were going to eat, and then the man in the sports jacket bid them farewell and slipped back towards his car. Gwyn watched him leave, the unsettled feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. The last time a well-dressed man with a business proposition had come to one of their sites, they'd ended up being chased by dinosaurs. But she shrugged the feeling off, dismissing it as paranoia. The anniversary of the event had just passed a few weeks prior and it had left her a little on edge. With any luck, Kirby––of Kirby Enterprises––would offer to help fund the dig. Heaven only knew how much that would lift Alan's spirit––how it would lift everyone's.
OOOO
By the time Alan and Billy returned from their dinner with the Kirbys, the sun had long since gone down. Tents at the site glowed with the lanterns that were turned on inside. Some of the paleontologists were sat under the canopy of the trailer, sharing one last drink before bed. Alan cut the engine of the truck but, unlike Billy, did not move to exit the vehicle. Instead, he stared through the windshield silently, his face somewhat solemn. Billy paused with one foot out the door, blinking over his shoulder at Alan.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Gwyn," was all Alan said. Billy followed the older man's gaze, only to find it locked on the aforementioned woman. She was sat outside her tent, bathed in the light of a pair of camping lanterns. Taking into account that she was hunched over in her chair, hair shoved up into half of a bun, he figured she was drawing. Or trying to with the light that she had. For a quiet moment, both men watched her work dutifully over her sketch pad.
"She isn't going to be happy," Billy murmured in warning.
A heavy sigh left Alan's mouth. "No, she isn't."
Billy reached over and clapped a hand atop Alan's shoulder. "She'll be mad, but she's not going to hate you forever." When his hand slipped away, his eyes slid back towards Gwyn. The slightest of frowns appeared at the corners of his mouth, drawing his lips downward. Wry chuckling accompanied the sound of the driver's side door opening.
"And she's not gonna hate you forever, either…" His brows rose and his mouth twisted into the wryest of smirks. "She likes you too much," Alan deadpanned while he hopped out of the vehicle. Billy blinked at the now empty driver's seat before he smiled to himself; but he wiped the smile from his face before slipping out of the truck, following Alan towards the tents.
Upon approaching the vicinity of the trailer, those gathered under the canopy looked up from the cards in their hands and beamed at the new arrivals.
"Evening, Alan," said one.
"Hope you had a good dinner, Dr. Grant. What'd that Kirby guy want?"
Alan sighed a little and lifted a hand in both greeting and farewell. He ignored the question when he responded. "Have a good night's rest, folks."
"Hey, Billy, we've got one last beer and room for another player. You want in?" The paleontologist who offered raised the cards fanned out in his hands, waggling them temptingly. Billy glanced over at Alan, who had started walking towards Gwyn's tent, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. Clearing his throat, Billy smiled and stepped into the pool of warm light that surrounded the trailer.
"Don't know about the drink, but I wouldn't be opposed to playing a hand."
The sound of approaching footsteps caused Gwyn to look up from her sketchpad. Alan was walking towards her slowly but surely, his footsteps crunching in the dusty and pebbly soil. The sketchpad was dropped to the ground, followed by her pencils. She tried to read how the evening had gone from Alan's expression, but the tilt of his head caused the brim of his hat to hide his eyes. All that she could see was the normal firm set of his mouth, and that didn't give much away.
"How'd it go?" she asked when he was close enough. As she had gotten older, Alan had been more prone to letting her in on business; more so now than when she was in highschool, and she supposed that that pattern would repeat itself again once she was out of college. He was far from dismissing her from the room when business was brought up, like he used to.
With a sigh, Alan sank into the chair that was situated opposite his daughters. He didn't respond, but instead swept the hat off his head and massaged his creased brows with his fingers. Gwyn's eyes danced across his face, trying to read his expression once more––the furrowed brows, tense jaw, and slight downturn of his lips didn't promise anything particularly good. Concern started to claw its way up Gwyn's throat and she shifted forward in her camper chair, forearms braced atop her knees.
"The Kirbys have offered to keep funding the dig," he informed slowly, concisely.
A grin immediately split across Gwyn's face. She pushed her arms off her knees, hands flying excitedly into the air. Those hands then dropped to the top of her head, where they sat in blissful disbelief. "Really? For how long? H-how much? Oh, my god, this is amazing––and just when we need it, too––"
"It's not so simple as a donation, sweetheart," Alan sighed flatly. Gwyn blinked at him, excited expression freezing. She blinked at him and then laughed a little, confusion buzzing to the forefront of her mind.
"What do you mean? Are you gonna have to like… work with them or something?"
"Yeah, 'or something'…"
The low grumble of his voice caused Gwyn's expression to start to fall. Her smile lessened, the bright excitement in her eyes dimmed to confusion, and her hands slipped away from her head. As per nervous habit, one hand rose to rub at the ribbon of scar tissue that cut across her chest.
"And what does 'or something' entail, exactly?" she asked cautiously. Alan's stint of silence was terrifying. His eyes scrunched shut while he pinched the bridge of his nose; he then sighed and slumped backwards in the canvas chair, hand falling away from his face. Gwyn shifted uncomfortably, fingers pressing harder at her scar. "Dad?"
Alan cleared his throat and met Gwyn's eyes with an ultra seriousness that scared her all the more. He was a very serious man, but he was rarely ever so quietly serious towards her. "The Kirbys are an adventurous sort of people. They've… traveled all over the world, seen a lot of stuff… and now they want to see and do the impossible. They want to fly over Isla Sorna, and they want me to be there with them, to point things out. And… I agreed to do that."
"You're going back!?" Gwyn exclaimed, voice pitched high. Her words sharply echoed across the dig site, and the playful banter at the trailer quieted down. Alan sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face; a muffled 'Gwyn' was spoken against his fingers. She gaped at her father, wide-eyed and disbelieving. She reared back in her seat, face scrunched up and hands waggling to display her current loss of words. "No! Why would you go back!?"
"Technically I'm not going back––"
"Oh, I'm sorry, let me freak out in a more suitable fashion," Gwyn bit out with a classic Grant drawl laden with sarcasm. "You are returning to an isolated island on which dinosaurs have been allowed to run rampant. An island that Ian Malcolm personally reported to us as being a death trap! One that the Costa Rican government has forbid tourism of any sort on! One that is part of the Muertes Archipelago and Las Cinco Muertes––and I'll translate that for you, if you like: it's Spanish for the five deaths. Is that technical enough, Dad!?"
Alan fixed her with a look of fatherly warning, his lips pursed and frowning, his eyes sharply trained on her. At some point during her rant, she had risen out of her chair and started to gesticulate wildly. All conversation at the trailer had stopped. A couple lights in the tents around camp had flicked on, and heads were poked outside in concern. Gwyn's voice hadn't been very quiet, but what her father had just said he was going to do was absurd. Alan glanced over his shoulder at the curious glances and worried faces and turned back to fix her with a look. Gwyn swore to every higher power there was that if Alan told her to quiet down, she would lose it.
"You seem to have missed the part where I said that we would be flying over the island. You and I both know there is no power on heaven or earth that could get me to set foot on that island ever again."
"They won't be able to see anything from a damn airplane!"
"They have special clearance to fly low. We won't be gone for long––two days at the most, I'm sure of it," Alan tried to reassure, his voice low and placating.
It was Gwyn's turn to go quiet for a moment. She blinked at him and wetted her dry lips. The word 'we' kept repeating at the forefront of her mind as it tried to work through who 'we' was. We could've meant himself and the Kirbys. It could have also meant himself and Gwyn, but he knew that it would be near impossible to get her back near those islands. Then her eyes rose a couple inches and found Billy standing under the canopy of the trailer. He was facing them with a concerned expression, eyes flickering between father and daughter––'we' could have meant Alan and Billy.
"And by 'we' you mean…?" she asked slowly. Her tone was almost reprimanding. Feeling concerned had gone straight out the window at that point––she was scared, plain and simple. Alan sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time since he'd sat down.
"Billy and I."
Gwyn nodded, slowly at first, but the motion became more erratic. Tears pricked at her eyes and her nose started to sting. The nod gradually turned into a shake of her head, her expression crumpling into something sad and terrified. "Dad, please don't go…"
Alan rose from his chair and held out his hands, splaying them out in the air like he was trying to physically smooth out the situation. "Listen, sweetheart… if I don't go, we don't get the money, and the dig––"
"Then screw the money! W-we can find it somewhere else, do something else to get it! Something that doesn't involve going back to that damnable place!"
There was a beat. Alan braced his hands on his hips and stared down at his feet for a long moment. Gwyn stared at him with intent, tear-blurred eyes. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, he shook his head.
"I have to go."
Gwyn felt her face crumple in exasperation, frustration, and fear. She turned on her heel and marched towards the lake, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Behind her, Alan sighed and watched her storm off, her bare feet tromping into the rocky soil as she went. The discussion turned argument went as well as it could have; there was no way that it could have ended well when Isla Sorna was involved.
"Gwyn!" Alan called after her. She kept marching. "At least bring a sweatshirt and put on some shoes!" Again, she did nothing but keep on walking. "Dammit…"
There was the heavy sound of footsteps followed by Billy appearing at Alan's side. "Should someone go after her?" he asked quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Alan sighed and rubbed his eyes, the simple gesture managing to look defeated.
"You should. She's not gonna talk to me, not for tonight at least." Alan slapped a hand onto Billy's shoulder before he turned and walked away.
Gwyn had somehow managed, through her tears and the general darkness, to end up at the edge of Fort Peck Lake. She sat herself down on a large rock with a huff, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm. The bottoms of her feet felt a little numb, though there were a few spots where she could feel pebbles pressed into her skin. The air was cool and the breeze was cooler as it swept off the lake. Gwyn frustratedly glared out at the inky waters, drawing her knees up to her chest before curling her arms around them. Distantly, she could hear the tell-tale sounds of someone approaching her, but she didn't give them the satisfaction of turning around to see who it was. Whoever it was got closer and closer till they stopped a few feet behind the put-out paleontology student.
"Mind if I sit?" asked Billy softly.
"I'm mad at you, too," Gwyn drawed sharply, not deigning to look his way.
Billy sighed and lowered himself down to sit on the rock beside her. "I know," he exhaled. She damned how gentle his voice sounded because she was mad. She damned it because the sound of it actually calmed her down a little. From the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw Billy sit forward and brace his elbows on his knees. He worried his hands together––he rubbed them, laced his fingers together, flexed them, and then repeated the process. They were quiet for a good long while. Minutes passed without them speaking. The air was tense and anticipatory, waiting for someone to break the silence.
"You know damn well that my father still has nightmares about Isla Nublar––and you think it's a good idea to let him visit its sister island?" she asked disbelievingly. She turned her head to look at Billy, who had been staring down at the rocks around his feet. He was not prepared for the look she had leveled him with when he looked up. It was pained and confused and almost betrayed. He swallowed thickly, frozen under her gaze for a moment.
"We're just doing a fly-over," Billy tried to reassure. Gwyn arched her eyebrows and gaped at him. His brows rose as well, but in a much gentler, prompting manner. "What is it that you're worried is going to happen?"
Quietly, Gwyn rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms and sighed tiredly into the air. She no longer felt overwhelmed by the confusion of her father agreeing to go, or the anger towards both Billy and Alan for thinking it was a good idea––she just felt tired. Tired of how those damn islands kept coming back to haunt her family. They may have escaped the island, but they had never truly left; Alan's lectures were always rife with questions about the incident. Teachers sometimes called out Gwyn to comment on what real life behaviors she had seen way-back-when. Any time Isla Nublar or Isla Sorna popped up in the news, they braced themselves for someone to call for comment. All that Gwyn wanted was for the damn place to leave them alone.
"I know that my dad tries to hide the severity of his nightmares from me––he always has. But… I've seen the way that he jumps when he's startled out of sleep. O-or when he wakes up in a cold sweat, looking like he's just stepped off the island for the first time. I'm worried, that if he goes back––even if it's just flying over––things will get worse. I'm worried that it will… unlock or dig up memories that he's worked so hard to bury. I don't want things to get worse for him… I know what it's like to be worse… he doesn't deserve that." Gwyn turned her face into her shoulder and rubbed her cheek against the fabric of her t-shirt sleeve, wiping away a stray tear.
No sooner did she finish speaking than did Billy's arm wrap itself around her shoulders. She let him both scooch closer and pull her into his side. His hand danced a repeated, comforting path up and down her arm, the warmth of his palm skimming against the coolness of her air-chilled skin.
"I don't think that Alan would've agreed to do this if he thought it would be a detriment to himself––or you," he said. Gwyn snorted and allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder.
"Have you met the Grants?" she deadpanned. "We don't exactly have the best history with realizing that seemingly harmless trips can end up being a detriment." She felt Billy shift a little, and caught him turning and dipping his head to look at her in her periphery.
"The Grants also happen to be a couple of the strongest people that I've ever met. It's just a fly-over––we'll be back before you know it."
"You don't know those islands, Billy… they breed trouble."
The gentle pressure of lips brushed against the top of her head as Billy pressed a kiss to it. The corner of her mouth quirked up a little and her eyes fell shut. "We'll be okay, Gwyn. We'll be back before you know it."
"Better be…" she sighed. Her eyes slowly reopened and her head rose from his shoulder. She looked over at him with a gentler gaze; she still felt frustrated, but she knew that there would be no more arguing about the situation. Alan, like herself, was stubborn––and if he thought that going on this fly-over would be beneficial for the dig, he would do it. "Are you excited you get to go?"
He laughed a little, a smile stretching across his face. "Yeah, I am. It's… one thing to see those fuzzy pictures that someone in InGen leaked. But to finally get to see them in real life?"
A small smile appeared on Gwyn's face, recalling the handful of good memories that Jurassic Park had left her with. She remembered the thrill of unadulterated joy she'd felt upon seeing that brachiosaurus for the first time. "The first time you see one… it'll never leave you. The… awe, the splendor, the excitement. Even years later, despite all the horrible things that happened at Jurassic Park… I'll never forget seeing a dinosaur for the first time; it's still one of the best things I've ever seen," she admitted softly. Billy smiled just as softly, his eyes roaming over the gentle look of remembrance on her face––one untainted by the fear and horror the rest of that day had brought her. He squeezed her shoulder and pressed her into his side a little.
"And when I get back, I'll tell you all about it. Tell you what I saw, show you pictures if I can get any… over dinner or something," Billy offered. The last part of his sentence had been said with some degree of caution, the words light but the meaning heavier. Gwyn blinked at him, expression deadpan.
"Over dinner?" she asked slowly.
Billy nodded. "Yeah."
"Like… just us?"
"Just us––no Alan, no co-workers."
Gwyn's heart fluttered a little and she laughed a little breathily. She fought to not look so terribly excited at the prospect, but judging on the grin that Billy sent her way, she wasn't doing the best job. "Yeah, okay. That'd be nice."
Billy squeezed her closer again and leaned forward to briefly press his lips against hers. "I think so, too." He rose to his feet and bent over at the waist, hands braced on his knees. He gestured to his back with a hand before it returned to his knee. "C'mon, hop on, I'll carry you back to camp. You could cut your foot a rock."
With a roll of her eyes, Gwyn got off the rock and hopped onto Billy's back. Her arms were curled around his neck gently, and her knees were held over his hips by his calloused hands. He carried her back towards camp, telling her the logistics of the trip he and Alan were to take. But as Billy talked, Gwyn felt herself starting to space out a little. The gentle sway of her step had lulled her into a thoughtful state of mind, in which she couldn't help but frown. Despite both Billy and Alan's assurances, she couldn't help but feel like something would go wrong. That fear ran up and down her spine in a chill, and she pressed herself closer to Billy to ward it off. But with a shake of her head, Gwyn tried to tell herself that she was just being paranoid, and that she should focus on the positives. Positives such as the fact that they would only be flying––albeit they'd be flying low, but it was just flying. And, she thought with a smile, the fact that she and Billy would be going out to dinner when he got back.
OOOO
Something was wrong.
Something was wrong, and Gwyn knew it.
She was pacing the length of her living room, one hand rubbing at the back of her neck while the other gripped the house phone in the other. Alan and Billy were supposed to be back from their expedition with the Kirbys at six-thirty. When neither of them showed up at the Grant residence in Bozeman within a reasonable amount of time, Gwyn started to worry. It was shortly after that worry struck her that she'd called the airport to inquire whether or not the flight had arrived. It hadn't. In a panic, she called the airport they were supposed to refuel at in Florida; they reported they had landed on schedule, fueled up, and headed for Isla Sorna. They were scheduled for a refuel before flying back to Montana, but they hadn't shown up. Gwyn was assured that they were likely just behind schedule; but the way her stomach had dropped terrified her. It was like an instinctive kick to warn her that something was wrong.
In the face of a full-on panic attack, Gwyn stopped pacing, braced her hands on the back of the couch, and exhaled slowly. There wasn't much she could do but wait for someone to call her. She had left the dig site so she could stay at home while Alan and Billy were away, hoping that would assuage her anxiety. It would seem that that hope was effectively squashed.
"Shit…" she hissed under her breath. She groaned and thwacked the phone against the couch repeatedly. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Gwyn pushed away from the piece of furniture and raised the phone so she could cradle it in her hands. Her thumbs flew over the buttons to press a familiar sequence of numbers. The phone then flew up to ear and the pacing resumed as Gwyn waited for the other end of the line to pick up.
"Hello?" asked a kind, familiar voice.
"Ellie," Gwyn said in a relieved rush of breath. A surprised, but delighted 'oh!' sounded from the other end.
"Gwyn, what a lovely surprise!" Ellie laughed. "What's up, sweetheart?"
"I-it's Dad, I think something's wrong," Gwyn stuttered out. Her other hand migrated to the back of her neck again, her finger tips digging into the sun-pinkened flesh.
"What do you mean?" Her voice lacked the delightness it held before, and was now laced with worry.
"He… he was convinced to to a fly over of Isla Sorna by some rich people. He's been gone for longer than he said he'd be, and I just have this… feeling that something isn't right."
"Alan went where? I don't––why did he––has he gone insane!?" Ellie exclaimed in a hushed tone. Gwyn suspected that this was so she wouldn't alarm the kids. Gwyn placed a hand over her eyes and furrowed brows, and sighed into the receiver.
"I tried to tell him not to go, but the people who convinced him to do the fly-over are going to fund our dig," she explained, trying to keep her voice flat. Unfortunately, it was shaky and it was dreadfully clear what kind of state she was in. From Ellie's end of the line there was a stretch of silence.
"Just like Hammond did?" she inquired worriedly.
"Just like Hammond did. They were supposed to be back this evening, and I've spent the last two hours jumping through hoops to get airlines to talk to me. Ellie, the airport in Florida says they haven't heard from the plane since they departed for the island. I-I don't know what to do––I don't think there's anything I can do! I'm alone and I… what if he's hurt? What if the plane crashed? What if––"
"Sweetheart, you need to breathe. Please, breathe," Ellie instructed in a gentle, motherly tone. Gwyn nodded like the woman on the other end could see it and inhaled deeply. She let out the breath slowly. "Maybe their communications system is just offline; or maybe they had to fly around a storm. I'm glad that you've called me… But I think, unfortunately, the only thing that we can do is wait." Hearing the word 'we' comforted Gwyn––it made her feel like, despite being the length of a country apart, they were in this together. "But if you hear anything––anything at all––from anyone, I want you to call and let me know, okay?"
"Okay…" Gwyn agreed. "Thank you, Ellie."
"Of course, sweetheart. I'm here if you need anything; and if I have to fly out there, I'll tell my editor I need a weekend off," Ellie promised, her tone dead serious.
Gwyn smiled at the floor. Ellie was the best mother that anyone could ask for, and she was proving it by making that promise. "Love you, Ellie."
"Love you too, Gwyn."
OOOO
It was nine o'clock in the evening when Gwyn arrived in Washington D.C.. Her reunion with Ellie was quick and bittersweet; it consisted of a tight hug in baggage claim, both women hiding their concerned expressions over the other's shoulder. Ellie had called Gwyn earlier than day to inform her that she had received a call from Alan. He had said a couple of panicked words that confirmed Gwyn's worst fear––he was on the ground on Isla Sorna. Before Gwyn had had the chance to panic, Ellie informed her that a rescue effort––courtesy of her husband's privileges from working in the state department––was on the way to get to him. Instead of suffering alone in Montana till Alan was back on American soil, both women agreed that Gwyn should fly out Washington and wait with the Deglers.
When Gwyn was reunited with her father outside the Degler household, she had to restrain herself from launching herself at him. There were a series of cuts on his face––one over his eyebrow, one beside his right eye, one under his left cheekbone––and there was a nasty bruise forming along his hairline. A bandage poked out from under the sleeve of a grey t-shirt. His hat looked a little beat up, but it still sat atop his head like it had when he'd left. But Alan seemed a little less worried about harming himself further, and he immediately wrapped Gwyn in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and sniffled, tears of relief falling from her eyes. One of his hands cradled the back of her head lovingly, and his other arm was wrapped around her as tightly as he dared hold her.
"You can say 'I told you so,'" he murmured. Gwyn shook her head against his shoulder.
"I don't want to…" she replied, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Alan chuckled tiredly and then sniffed; he kissed the top of her head twice, sighing into her hair shakily. Gwyn choked out a sob and curled her fingers into the back of Alan's shirt. "I was so scared, Dad… I thought I was gonna lose you…" She shook against him as she cried tears of relief, the weight of the past handful of day finally fully crashing around her. Alan's arms tightened around her, squeezing her closer, and Gwyn felt the warm wetness of tears saturate her hair.
"I'm okay. I promise," Alan whispered.
When Gwyn––and Alan––had cried their fill, she took a step back and wiped the dampness from her cheeks. The crease between her brows had not disappeared, worry still plainly written across her face. "Is everyone else okay? Is Billy okay?"
Alan settled his hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
"Billy's in the hospital. He… was attacked by a pterodactyl and that left him pretty roughed up. But he'll pull through it perfectly fine," Alan reassured. Gwyn let out a little sigh of relief. "We should've listened to you, sweetheart. You said it didn't feel right and—"
Gwyn shook her head vigorously, face scrunching up. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're back and that you're alive." She wrapped an arm around Alan's waist and turned him towards Ellie's house. The blonde haired woman stood waiting in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her mouth, nervously shifting her weight from foot-to-foot. "Let's go inside," Gwyn urged. "You need to rest."
The tension in Alan's body seemed to relax at the mention of getting to rest. He draped an arm around her shoulder and kept a firm grip on her shoulder. When they got to the threshold of the house, they stopped in front of Ellie, whose eyes were dutifully locked on Alan with a teary gaze. He inclined his head to her, the brim of his hat dipping with the motion.
"Ellie," Alan greeted simply.
With something caught between a laugh and choked sob, Ellie reached out and wrapped Alan in her arms. He returned the embrace, his posture relaxing just a little more. "Don't you ever do that to us again," Ellie whispered hoarsely over his shoulder. "Never again…"
Alan nodded over her shoulder, eyes falling shut. He inhaled slowly, lips pressing into a tight line to fight off the frown that wanted to tempt it downwards. Gwyn watched from the edge of the front porch, smiling a little sadly. It was funny to see them together again, but it was also a comfort. Right now, this is what Alan needed––he needed familiarity. He needed comfort. He needed love.
"Never again," Alan agreed gruffly. "Never again."
OOOO
"Y'know… when I said I wanted to have dinner just you and I, I didn't picture us having it in a hospital," croaked Billy, who still managed to wear a charming smirk.
Gwyn, who was seated at his bedside, laughed softly and glanced down at the sandwich in her hands. It was wrapped in wax paper and the bread was a little stale; but that was to be expected from a sandwich that had been sitting out all day at a hospital kiosk. A tray with a pasta, green beans, and a cup of jello sat on the table that hovered over Billy's lap. His right hand and forearm––which was wrapped up neatly in a bandage––rested beside the tray, a fork lazily clutched in his fingers. She smiled over at him and arched an eyebrow.
"Can't say I pictured it like this either," she deadpanned lightly. "Once we get back to Bozeman, we can go to that Mexican place downtown."
Billy smiled at the suggestion. "It's a date."
He tried to readjust himself in his bed, but grimaced when he shifted his left shoulder a little too much. When Alan had said that he had been a little worse for wear, he hadn't been lying. There were a number of small cuts littering his face and neck––and chest and back, apparently––the result of being pecked mercilessly and viciously by a pterodactyl. A bandage encircled his head like a white sweatband, protecting a small number of wounds that littered his hairline. There was also bandaging around his chest and left shoulder; his left arm was also in a sling, as not to disturb his shoulder wound. A thick wad of gauze was taped to the right side of his neck, a couple of bloody spots soaking through it. Billy had made it off of Isla Sorna alive, but not unscathed, not in the least bit.
Gwyn had been told that the circumstance of his injuries had not been as simple as a pterodactyl attack. It turned out that the Kirbys were not rich––they were two concerned parents searching for their young son, who had gone missing while parasailing near the island. After they had all gone through the trials of being tricked into aiding them in the Kirbys' search, Alan had found Erik Kirby. And in their attempts to escape the island, they'd ended up in an aviary, in which Erik had been separated from them again; Billy had stepped in to save him, which had resulted in being viciously targeted by the flying dinosaurs. He had been separated and believed to be dead. But when the detachment of the United States Navy and Marine Corps had arrived to whisk them off the island, Billy had been waiting, bandaged and bruised, in one of the helicopters.
A frown twisted at the corners of Gwyn's mouth and she eyed him with worry. "How're you feeling?"
Billy sighed and stared the bandaging around his forearm. "Sore. I think that the pain medication is starting to wear off… I feel like I can barely move my fingers" he mused. He was quiet for a moment while he methodically tapped the fingers of his right hand on the cafeteria tray. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Recover."
The question hung heavily in the air and it caught Gwyn off guard. She lifted a hand to her chest and traced the length of the scar. It served as a constant reminder of the day and the incident that had very nearly taken her life. She was sure that Billy would have a couple of those––probably on the shoulder, maybe on his neck or forehead, too. But he wasn't just talking about the physical recovery, and Gwyn understood that. So she answered truthfully. "Slowly. The physical healing process is gonna be uncomfortable and long, and it's just… it's really gonna suck," she informed bluntly. It coaxed a little laugh out of him, his tired eyes fixed on her. "And with the help of my loved ones. My recovery period would've been a lot longer if I hadn't had Ellie and my Dad. You need people there to help you when things get tough, people who won't give up on you. People who understand."
Billy's smile widened a little, his dimples appearing charmingly.
"Well, I'm in good hands, then, aren't I?" he playfully inquired. Gwyn rolled her eyes good naturedly and smiled fondly. Billy, whose eyes were starting to drift shut tiredly, laughed under his breath. "Speaking of hands… can I hold yous?"
Gwyn wanted to blame the cheesiness of the question on what was left of the pain medication. But the question was a serious request; one for a closeness and a comfort that came with just having someone there. She couldn't imagine her time in the hospital post Jurassic Park being spent alone. Billy had already spent the majority of the day with only the doctors for company; and he had been so happy when Alan and Gwyn had come to visit, and just as happy when Gwyn decided to stay with him. So she got up out of her chair and moved it to the other side of his bed.
Once she sat back down, Gwyn helped him move his right arm back onto the bed and threaded her fingers through his. Billy's eyes had fallen shut, but the corners of his mouth lifted. His fingers curled loosely between hers, and he murmured something that she couldn't quite make out. It might've been 'thank you' or something similar. Gwyn watched as the muscles in his face relaxed and as his breathing evened out. With Billy having succumb to the tender embrace of sleep, Gwyn let herself frown. It was hard to see him––and Alan––so beat up; not only did it dredge up painful memories, but it was also just difficult to see those she cared for in pain. And in pain because of something that shouldn't have been allowed to hurt anyone ever again. There was nothing that Gwyn wanted more than to make sure that InGen and their islands never hurt anyone again; she just wished that she had a viable chance to do just that.
With a quiet sigh, Gwyn kept held of Billy's hand and dutifully kept watch at his bedside. But it wasn't long before she, too, started to fall asleep, dreams of dinosaurs––gentle and giant, vicious and small––tromping mercilessly through her head.
Afterword: That was longer than expected, but I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I didn't know what quite to do with this chapter till I hashed out how Billy and Gwyn would've been around each other, and then everything just sort of fell into place. And then it fell out of place, 'cause I second guessed the idea of them having a little bit of a thing, but no matter which-way I looked at this chapter afterwards, the idea wouldn't leave. And thus, the chapter was written.
Review Replies!
monkeybaby: Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter!
Gage the Hedgehog: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, and hope that you enjoy this one just as much! Thanks again!
NicoleR85: I very nearly didn't do Lost World, simply because there wasn't much of the movie to go off of for the Grants. I had initially toyed with the idea, long ago, that Gwyn had been in San Diego when the t-rex appeared, but scrapped that idea pretty quickly. And as you can tell, when I have more movie to go off of, I go off the rails and write a twenty page long chapter. I had a lot of fun writing Billy. And I still love writing Alan. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
PhAnToM 1212: I thought that it was important to write about how Alan and Gwyn handle their traumas. It not only shows how close they've grown, but I think it's just an important subject in general. Because their lives are gonna be forever changed in the light of what happened at Jurassic Park; and they have to live them differently because of that. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Faron Oakenshield: Thank you! Last chapter was interesting to try and organize, as opposed to this one where there was a definite timeline for events. I think that if Gwyn had ended up going with Billy and Alan, she never would have set foot on Isla Nublar or Isla Sorna again in her life; though I did have idea of what she would've been like on the island if she had gone with them. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Gyromice89: I almost included Ian getting a phone call from Gwyn, but I thought it would make the chapter a little too long. It is possible, after the story is officially wrapped up, I might have a bonus chapter or two of ideas that almost made it in that didn't. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
supboyyyyy93: I definitely think that everyone who ever sets foot on Isla Nublar or Sorna and has an experience like the events of JP is gonna have lingering trauma. Like, I definitely think that Lex and Tim are probably dealing with similar problems as Gwyn. And while I truly believe that Tim probably went into paleontology or archeology, I don't think that he'd ever go back to the island. I also think that Ian has similar difficulties as well. And I'm sure that a lot of the characters from JW are just the same. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
And thank you to those that have added this to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!
And that's that for now! Next chapter we get the true mini prequel to This Damnable Place with Gwyn in her thirties, a short while before she returns to Isla Nublar. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
~Mary
