Summary: "Because no matter what man does, life goes on." After the events of The Lost World, Ellie and Alan pay Ian a visit. He doesn't plan for them to discover how much of a mess he is. One-shot. Set after JP2.
A/N: After recently watching Dominion, I did a rewatch of the original trilogy. And started writing this in the middle of the first film.
Every Whisper Of Every Waking Hour
They keep in contact after Isla Nublar. Alan, Ellie, and Ian. They'd handed around phone numbers on the helicopter ride away, promising to talk once or twice a week. Of course, what with the nightmares and all, it'd ended up nearly every day- after he finally got out of the hospital, that is.
But as time had gone on and they'd recovered, it gradually cut back. To once a week. To once a month. Until they were only talking once every six or so months. Because no matter what man does, life goes on.
And then Isla Sorna happened. He was faced with two more rexes, their baby, and a handful of velociraptors. And then one of the rexes got loose in San Diego.
The only good that came from any of it? The restoration of his academic reputation, despite the press's many questions.
The morning after, Dr. Grant had called Ian himself- because why wouldn't a live, loose T. rex catch the attention of the news? Much of the car chase is up and around, though rewatching it on television will never compare to going through it in real time.
Not that Ian would ever rewatch it- he's not that stupid, he knows what little good it'll do him.
The nightmares plague him for weeks. Calling Sattler and Grant doesn't help like it used to, and talking to Sarah and Kelly somehow isn't as effective. They experienced Sorna and San Diego, too, but…
It's just not the same. He might be closer to them, but they just don't get it the same way that those from Nublar do.
Ian knows that he's pushing them away, and he hates it. Hates that he can't help it, hates that it's his fault Sarah's out more often than not, that he can feel the end growing near.
Not that he ever expected it to last; it never does. Not that knowing so makes him feel any better about it.
He doesn't know how they find his apartment. Sattler and Grant. All he knows is that someone's knocking on the door, and he can see the pair of them beyond the peephole when he peers through it. He's so down on sleep that he almost forgets to answer.
Ellie Sattler pulls him into a hug as soon as he's opened the door. His unruly beard scratches against her shoulder; he's been neglecting trimming it.
"Oh, hello." He wheezes, because she hugs tight. But she doesn't let up, and he has to tell her that he can't breathe to get her to let go.
Alan Grant gives a curt nod and a sympathetic smile as he reaches out to shake his hand, and Ian has no doubt that the man has been through plenty of those hugs himself. "How you doing?"
"I'm okay." He lies, rubbing at the dark bags under his eyes, hoping they don't mention his rugged appearance.
And then they just stand there, out in the middle of the hallway. No one moves, no one says anything. It feels strange, looking at the others. They haven't met up in a couple of years. He can't help but wonder why they left their digsite.
The building creaks and he winces, remembering his manners.
"You, uh, you wanna come in?" He offers, moving aside so they can pass him.
The apartment is empty today, but Ian doesn't mind the visitors; he doesn't like being alone anymore, not after Nublar, and definitely not after Sorna and San Diego.
Because he can hear the trumpeting roar of the tyrannosaur when it's too quiet.
It's ridiculous, and he knows it is, but…But nothing he does helps.
He's tried.
He's tried everything, and he still flinches whenever his footsteps shake the ground enough to affect the furniture and make the surface of his drink ripple, whenever the clacking of silverware is too similar to the tapping of a velociraptor's claws, whenever the whirring of the kitchen and laundry room appliances is just like their screeching.
And he flinches at Grant's unusual show of support when the man pats his arm before he follows Ellie through the doorway.
Nonetheless, he tries to force a smile in return. Tries to pretend that he's fine, even as he lets his eyes drift once more over the dark corners of the hallway, half-expecting a raptor to leap out at him.
But the hallway is silent, empty, and he quietly closes the door after himself. He never used to have lights on at all times, but…
Some things just can't be forgotten.
The sun glares through the blinds covering the windows. He really is glad that they chose to visit him on a sunny day; they don't know it, but he can't even move when it storms, and not just because of his leg.
"Nice place." Grant grunts, glancing at the couch that Ellie's admiring in the living room. Ian really doubts he means it; the place is a mess.
"Heh, and I would've cleaned up if I'd known you were coming." He says, blinking slowly to let his head catch up to his eyes. They're really here. Huh. "What- what brings you here?"
"Ellie insisted." The man grunts, moving over to a table to get a look at the papers spread across the top of it.
"We couldn't just leave you on your own after what happened in San Diego." Ellie explains, touching him with her compassion. She really is one of a kind. "I'm just sorry it took so long to drag Alan from his digsite."
Grant fires back something in protest, and Ian's lips twist into a smirk as he snorts. Because they really are just the same as he remembers.
Ian honestly hadn't realized that he'd missed them this much, hadn't realized how close that they had all become. Rarely do any of his connections work out. Friends? Not a common thing for him.
Well, I guess running for your life from dinosaurs will do that.
It feels good.
"Really, though, I don't- don't remember giving either of you my address." He points out, leaving out the fact that Texas is a long way from Montana; they already know that, and they've come for him. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful.
Ellie tries to hide her amusement as she sits herself on the couch. She doesn't do a great job of it. "You said a lot of things when we were in the hospital after Nublar."
"Oh. And I was ready to blame Hammond." He frowns, suddenly unnerved. "What- what else did I say?"
Her smile grows soft, and she doesn't tell him. Ian is far too tired to fixate on what happened four years ago, anyway. He'll worry about it later, swindle one of them into telling him the things he'd said while he was jacked up to cloud nine. Grant won't be difficult to trick.
"God Creates Dinosaurs?" Grant mutters from across the room, capturing his attention as he gestures to the various papers scattered across the table he's looking at. "What's all this?"
"Don't touch that." Ian finally moves away from the door to cross the room. He knows that the paleontologist isn't any good with technology, and he really doesn't want to find out what he can do to anything less.
And those pages, yeah, they're pretty important.
His leg aches, and he ignores it, up until the point that his foot gets caught on a stool and nearly drags him down with it. He groans, rights the stool and steadies himself, then limps the rest of the way to Dr. Grant, taking a moment to tidy up the papers before he makes to relocate them.
Kelly must've moved everything from his desk while she was doing her homework a couple of nights ago. She tends to do that.
"I'm writing a book." He finally says, throwing the stack of pages onto the desk behind the couch. He hopes that no one else decides to move them.
"A book?" Ellie asks, at the same time that Grant asks him if he's okay.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm good." Ian waves it off. "There was a lot of running- because tyrannosaurs and raptors'll make you do that- and, you know, ended up rolling down a hill." He shrugs in response to their grim expressions. "It really wasn't that bad. I mean, it's not like I broke it again.
"Couldn't be bothered to get a cane, though. They remind me of Hammond." His lips curl in distaste at the thought of the man. "Naïve son of a bitch."
"Didn't they make you do physical therapy?" Ellie wonders.
"No, no. It- it wasn't that bad." He says again, quick to reassure her. "Still had enough in me to run through some warehouses and jump off a cargo ship, so..."
There's a scary amount of anger in Grant's eyes, and Ian knows he's suppressing most of it. "You talk to Hammond after all that?"
"God, no. You have any idea how hard it was to get him to pay the hospital bills?" He shakes his head, changes the subject. "Actually, I thought you'd wanna know- I, uh, I saw his grandkids, before-"
"Lex and Tim?" Ellie cuts him off, her face lighting up at the mention of the kids. "God, it's been so long since we've seen them, right, Alan?"
"Yeah." Grant gives a nod, though it's clear that his thoughts are elsewhere. "Long time."
"Hey, we should have a five-year reunion." Ian jests, though part of him really does mean it; Lex and Tim, they're good kids. And Alan and Ellie? He's not sure that he could make it without them, not after everything. Given that they've not gotten together since leaving Costa Rica…
Gee, I have a big family, he thinks. Because, sometimes, family is the people a man runs for his life beside.
Ellie's smile is warm at the idea. She's definitely going to arrange something, there's no question about it. "How are they?"
"They- they're good." He really does wish that he'd had a moment longer with the siblings before he'd dashed off after Sarah. John's fault. "Four years, and they've gotten pretty big. I, uh, I almost didn't recognize them.
"She's at my shoulder." A thought hits him, then, and he blinks hard. "I can't believe Kelly's gonna get that big…"
Grant sits down on the couch beside his old dig partner as she says,"Your daughter?"
"Uh-huh. I have another, and, uh- and a son. Twins." Ian tells them, wondering if he had mentioned Kelly at the hospital or if Grant had told her of their conversation in the tour car.
He wouldn't put it past the man. Or past his high self.
He circles around the back of the couch to stand beside the television, letting himself lean on it in the gap between it and the door. His leg appreciates the gesture, despite how much he hates the open space where the bed is behind him; he likes having his back to something solid, these days- makes him feel safer.
"Don't see them often enough."
"Why not?" Grant asks, his frown more perplexed than anything. And Ian almost laughs out loud, because, isn't it obvious?
"Tell me, Dr. Grant, does this,"he waves a hand over his haggard self,"scream…reliable to you?"
"What the hell, Ian, we've known each other for four years." The man- Alan scowls, clearly disappointed at the formality. Then, in answer to the question, he adds,"You look like a walking corpse."
He does laugh, then, something that starts almost genuine and ends sounding of his own suffering. "There it is." Ian nods ruefully to himself, and his gaze flicks away from the others with his next words. "Yeah...I, uh, I haven't slept in a few days."
They look alarmed, and he raises a hand to defend himself. "It's fine. I'm fine." He clears his throat, tries not to meet their eyes. They're worried enough as it is. "It's, uh, it's kind of normal now."
"Ian?" Ellie says, and doesn't continue until he looks at her. "That's not normal. You need to take care of yourself, get a ther-"
"No. I don't- I don't want a therapist, thank you." He sighs, his chest shuddering with the weight of his burdens. God, he's tired.
Ian rubs a hand over his face, and then tries for a smile. "You guys have been here for, what, ten- fifteen minutes already? You want anything to drink?" He takes his weight from the television and starts for the kitchen, one of the few rooms down the hall. "I'm having coffee."
Ellie calls after him, and he throws a few words over his shoulder in hopes of drowning out her protests and concluding the matter. "I'll sleep when I pass out."
He's certainly not far from it; there's little chance that he'll last the night. Unfortunately, coffee grows less effective the longer he's awake. If only he could have conscious control over his energy levels. That would be great. He'd never be tired again.
It turns out that the woman is as persistent as he remembers- albeit more irritatingly so- and his name bounces off the walls behind him in pursuit. "Ian!"
"Ellie!" Alan sighs, left behind on the couch in the main room. "Ellie, I told you not to push him..."
Ian hates that they'd talked about him before coming, hates that it feels like the aftermath of Nublar all over again; they'd refused him any time to himself in the Costa Rican hospital- even in the hotel. Of course, it was as much for them as it was for him that time around, but he'd gotten quite a bit of extra treatment because of his leg.
He wishes that they wouldn't fuss over him so much. He's never truly deserved it- kindness, that is. His last wife had made that clear. Their divorce had been a messy thing. Hence why he rarely sees the twins.
Being looked after feels strange, and he really isn't fond of it. He likes his space as much as he used to like his fame.
Not that he can deny his desperate need for outside help, which he is reminded of when the tremble in his hands is so bad that he pours water down the sides of the coffeemaker. He curses, but can't even bring himself to clean it up, because it'll evaporate soon enough- even if it does leave hard water stains behind.
But his eyes catch on the droplets, and the longer he looks, the more Ian sees rainwater flowing down a muddy slope, the more he hears sheets of water hammering against the car roof, and the closer- the louder- the worse-
Something bursts, and there's a shattering crash.
He's on the floor, wielding the remains of the coffee pot in front of his soaked shirtfront like a weapon, when Alan and Ellie rush into the kitchen to see what's happened.
He doesn't even fully register any of it. All he knows is that he can't move, he can't breathe- every part of him has frozen in fear. Because his ears are ringing, the room smells strongly of copper, and he's coming to just after Gennaro-
"Ellie, he's bleeding." Someone says, clearly concerned.
Bleeding.
His leg.
Oh, no. No, no, no…
Need to stem the blood flow, he thinks, even as glass digs into his waist as he works to get his belt off with a hand that isn't empty, to wrap it around his thigh, to-
His hands are shaking too bad, can't get a grip- he isn't going to make it-
"Ian. Ian, breathe." There's a gentle hand on his wrist, holding it still.
He shakes his head, blinks through the haziness of his vision, and he's in his kitchen again, Ellie Sattler and Alan Grant crouching in front of him. He has to fight not to throw up, lightheaded and twisted with nausea.
"Breathe." Ellie urges again.
He realizes that he's hyperventilating, quickly nods, tries to take a deep breath-
Something scratches at his face, and he jumps so bad that the back of his head hits the cabinet behind him and makes the world a little spottier than before. He groans and stares at the jagged scarlet edge of the glass that hangs off the handle of the coffee pot, still tightly clasped in his fist.
"Can I have that?" Alan asks, voice softer than Ian's ever heard it, the palm of one hand turned up just beyond his knee.
He nods and almost throws it at him when he thrusts it forward. He doesn't want it.
Hands grab his leg, easy, gently, and help him draw it up to his chest- it's okay, it's not bleeding, it doesn't hurt- and then his head is being eased down to rest between his knees. "Ian, do you have a first aid kit?"
"Why?" He hears himself mumble between breaths, vaguely aware of the red droplets collecting on the floor beneath him.
His voice isn't loud enough for them to decipher, apparently, because Ellie tells Alan to go look for the first aid kit anyway. He feels the familiar heat of irritation, realizes that it's probably a good thing- he's coming back to himself.
And just as he begins to wonder why they even need the first aid kit, he registers the throbbing of his right arm, his sleeve sticky and warm. Oh.
He supposes he should be glad that it's one of his older shirts, one already near its end. Nothing has really been lost- well, nothing other than some of his own blood and whatever rag he cleans it from the floor with. God, he'd better not need stitches; Hammond's given him a fear of hospitals.
His chest isn't heaving as much anymore, and air comes to him easier. The pain increases, too, the more the fog clears. He does his best to ignore it, because he's still not quite ready to move about and do much of anything. What little energy he'd had is seeping out with the blood.
Maybe he should sleep. He can't even handle making coffee. And isn't that sobering?
Ellie tells him that he's doing good, and Ian nearly laughs at the morning's absurdity. Oh, yes, he's definitely putting himself to bed after this, nightmares be damned.
It's only when his breathing finally levels out that he realizes how long Alan's been gone, how much he must be struggling to find that first aid kit. There's quite a bit of blood on the tile beneath him, now. It's almost funny.
He finally lifts his head up. Ellie is still sitting on the floor nearby, clearly having decided to look after him instead of to help Alan, and she offers him a tentative smile.
It's behind you, Ian tries to stay, because it is in the cabinets across from him. But instead, what comes out is,"I- I need help."
He suspects that both are true.
