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"I never wanted to go back there," he admitted.
It was dark, in their little trailer, and the bed was just big enough for the three of them to squeeze together. It was the first place he had felt safe again, after the island. In the badlands, where everything seemed to be covered in at least three layers of dust, where lush forests that hid watching eyes were a mere memory, where the only dinosaurs had long since turned to rock and sand, the unexpected sound of a T-Rex's bugle rarely caught him unawares.
Or at least, it had. Before he'd gone back.
Here in their little trailer, a world away from that nightmare they'd all lived through, was the only place he felt safe enough to admit the truth. "I didn't want to go, but I had to—" Ellie and Alan's arms tightened around him. "I never wanted her to go through something like that." It had been bad enough seeing the three of them work through their recovery, let alone what Lex and Tim had gone through. Ian had never wished that on anyone, let alone his own children.
The Alan he had first met on the helicopter so long ago might have taunted him, something about whether he'd finally gotten his fill of chaos. Some days the shadows lifted and Alan came close to being that man again. But tonight, in the darkness, in their bed, there were no snappy comebacks, no cutting digs about mathematical research versus physical. Now they both just held him tightly as he poured out his heart and soul.
"I'm still figuring out how to live with myself after what we witnessed. How can I possibly help her?"
"Kids are surprisingly resilient," Ellie murmured into his neck, her hair tickling his cheek as she shifted. "We heard from Lex and Tim while you were gone, and they're doing much better. In time… in time I'm sure that Kelly will be fine."
They were silent for a long moment while Ian accepted that, drew her confidence into himself and tried to believe it. Outside the trailer, the quiet hum of the camp's generators made a wonderful white noise that sounded nothing like monstrous feet shaking the ground, or the cracking of glass beneath them.
"Tim said he might become a vegetarian, like Lex," Alan offered out of nowhere. Even after all this time, he still sounded bewildered when he spoke about the children who had all but adopted him.
"What prompted that?" Ian asked, feeling the corner of his lip curling up into the tiniest of smiles. Alan's interactions with the children would never not be funny. Ian had been looking forward to introducing Kelly to them when he had her for his three weeks this summer. That probably wouldn't happen now, given the choice words his ex had shared as she dragged Kelly away at the airport.
"I don't know," Alan grumbled.
Ellie laughed softly. "Lex has been trying to convince him that what happened was karma for his meat eating past."
Ian snorted. "Well that's one way to look at it." He didn't want to know what kind of bastard he'd been in a past life if almost being killed by several different T-rexes in as many years were his karma. Though Kelly would have several thoughts on that subject, he supposed.
Ellie yawned, her breath blowing hot against his skin, then snuggled in closer. "We missed you," she murmured. "I didn't sleep a wink until I got the call that you were back."
Ian hadn't slept well without them either, even before he'd met with John again. He never thought he'd see the day when a large hotel room and a king bed felt too open, too exposed, too far from strong arms and mismatched hands and soft breathing that reminded him that they were all here.
"Of course, that was before we heard what happened in San Diego," Alan added. "I can't believe they made it here. Not here here, obviously, but America. The mainland. Civilization."
Where we thought we were safe. None of them voiced the thought aloud, but Ian knew they were all thinking it.
"Yeah," Ian sighed. More damage, more destruction, more people scarred for life. He'd always loved chaos, but not like this. Not at such a high cost for so many people. Chaos had been clean, in a way. Predictable in its unpredictability. His equations didn't hurt people, his prediction models didn't stalk them from the undergrowth. Ian had reveled in the smaller bursts of chaos that came with life; kids, crowds, pets… there was a simplicity, a certainty to that kind of chaos, a containment that promised excitement without pain or fear. Chaos that would go only so far, and no further. John…
John had created a chaos made of terror and trauma and a kind of uncertainty that came from messing with things that never should have been pursued. It wasn't Ian's kind of chaos, and he had attempted to share that with the world. People needed to know that John had gone too far, that there were things out there that mankind was never supposed to touch. Things that went beyond chaos into something deeper… something eldritch and unknowable.
They needed to know before they tried to follow in his footsteps, to build on the shaky foundation that John hadn't earned, but was determined to market. Well, not John anymore, but InGen; even after San Diego, he feared that they weren't done.
"At least they'll have to believe you now," Ellie said sharply, breaking the quiet and Ian's circling thoughts. She and Alan had slotted back into their old life, into their digsite and their bones and their uncontroversial opinions. Ian had been the only one to rock the boat with InGen, so he was the only one being laughed out of academia by those who thought they were above consequences. Still, it was gratifying to hear Ellie complain on his behalf; she'd gone on more than one rant about his detractors, stomping back and forth in front of their trailer in her worn boots, her long legs stretching up to her jean shorts and making Ian long to drag her inside. She was so passionate about everything, bringing as much zeal to diagnosing a triceratops, as defending him from scummy lawyers, as making the most out of the small bed in their trailer.
Her hair tickled his cheek again — the good kind of chaos — as Ellie shifted to grab his hand in hers. "I know it isn't how you ever would have wanted to be vindicated," she continued. "But something good has to come out of that mess. And why can't that good include you rubbing it in everyone's face that you were right about what happened?"
"Other than the brand new shiny NDA?" Ian asked, half joking. He'd already found a way around that, when the press had tried to interview him in San Diego.
"Legally, I am not allowed to disclose whether or not the dinosaurs that were released in San Diego last night are related to, or created by the same people as the dinosaurs I attempted to speak about in the past, before being sued by lawyers for InGen for breaking my NDA."
He'd been very proud of his wording: Ian had stuck to the letter of his NDA 100% this time, while still managing to imply everything that needed to be said. Ludlow had already destroyed his career and taken his livelihood; what more could he do to Ian now? Especially once his lawyers got swamped trying to clean up the mess he'd created in San Diego. It was the closest to vindication that Ian might ever get.
"Your interview was very impressive," Alan admitted, his hand — rough from working in the sand and dust — curled against Ian's hip. "I'm sure it made Ludlow furious."
"That's al— always the highlight of my week," Ian joked.
Not that it mattered. He couldn't go back to that world of lecture halls and luncheons with board members and grading papers full of innocence and eagerness and the kind of brashness that time and experience was supposed to temper into humility. A lesson that had obviously bypassed certain people in the Hammond family.
But the thought of going back to that kind of life in academia now made Ian break out into a cold sweat. No, he'd much rather stay here, in this little trailer, with the dust and the rocks and the bones that had long since been conquered by time and nature, and not unnaturally Frankensteined back into some semblance of life by those too arrogant to understand the proportionate chaos that would soon crash back against them like a snapped rubber band.
The dinosaurs might have reached San Diego, but they couldn't reach Ian here: in this digsite, in this trailer, in this bed. In this warm embrace that chased away the screeching roars and shaking footsteps and primordial terror. This kind of soft, gentle chaos was enough for him right now; Ian didn't need anything more exciting than this. No matter what John said next time, or Ludlow, no matter who was drawn into their schemes, Ian was never going back to their misbegotten empire.
Never.