Work Text:
Ellie,
This is a ridiculous idea
You probably think I’m hiding from the students again, or attempting to brew another appalling flask of coffee to keep you going until sundown. But no, I’m writing a letter to you on the back of an old site map, while I recover from what was probably a mild panic attack.
Not that you’ll ever read this to answer me, but Foster thinks it’ll be a good way for me to get out some feelings and if I have to write this down to get Hammond’s hired shrink off my back then that’s what I’ll do.
She says I’ll be better off putting down how I feel about the park and what happened but honestly, what else is there to write, or say, or process?
I was terrified.
Of the kids. For the kids. For you. Hell, maybe even Malcolm.
Not for Hammond though. Never him.
I’m normally not resentful, you know that, but I can't forgive him for putting us all in danger, even unwittingly. For putting you and his own damn grandkids in danger.
How many people lost their lives because of him? How many nightmares do you and I and Lex and Tim have to suffer through before we’re able to move past this? And for what purpose? To allow Hammond to show the world his science project? I never should have agreed, but hindsight, as they say, is a wonderful thing. (Damn it, Malcolm was right, just because they could have, doesn't mean that they should have.)
I know with you next to me I’ll stand a chance of surviving through it all; you’ve always been stronger than I. If I can stop jumping at the sound of the kettle boiling, it might be a start.
I can see you heading back up the hill, probably to tell me that we're low on plaster, or that Kevin has broken another brush, or something equally, blessedly, mundane. How can you look so carefree after all this? How are the memories of that place not breaking you as much as me? I wish we could go back to how it was.
I’ll sign off now, maybe even talk to you about some of this.
Yours,
Alan
Ellie,
I’m sorry I let you go. I hope the trip out to your parents was easy and trouble free. Take care - Penn State are lucky to have you.
I miss you.
Love,
Alan
Ian rang me yesterday - had poor Billy traipsing across the dig site for half an hour trying to find me... (we found an Edmontosaurus last month, a great specimen, you'd love it...) He's suffering with the nightmares again after his stint on Site B. He laughed when I told him to see a shrink - said he'd married one once and it hadn't worked out.
He's a fool, and I had a great delight in telling him so. He told me the same, told me I should have held onto you, that I should head out to Pennsylvania and try some ridiculous romantic gesture to, in his words, "win you back."
You're not a prize to be won though, and I'd be a bigger fool than Ian thinks I am if I thought for a moment that you'd come back. What life can I offer? A dusty dig site and an old trailer that's seen better days (I'm not replacing it, Hammond can shove his blood money where the sun doesn't shine.) I wasn't strong enough, good enough, sound enough for you after the park - I'd never be deserving of a second chance.
I'm getting there though; I can't remember the last time I jumped at the kettle. Maybe one day I'll be free of the weight that weekend put upon me, upon us all.
I hope you're recovering too.
I wish I could turn back time however, and tell Hammond to take his money, and his park, and to leave us the Hell alone.
We might have made it if not for him...
Ellie,
Got an invitation to Lex's graduation yesterday with a note to say that you're coming too, with your fiance as your plus one.
Congratulations.
I'm happy for you.
I wish you'd told me first.
Congratulations.
FAO: Dr Ellie Sattler PhD, Pennsylvania State University, Palaeontology Dept.
Dear Ellie Dr Sattler Ellie,
Sorry, I can’t come to your wedding.
I can’t face seeing you with someone else.
I still haven’t forgiven myself for letting you go.
Further to our conversation last week, I am afraid I will be unable to attend the wedding between yourself and Mark Degler due to a prior work commitment.
Please accept my apologies and I hope that you can find time in the near future to catch up with an old friend.
All the best,
Alan
Billy tried to set me up on a date last week with a lovely woman who had a real an interest in my work, in the digs and the thrill of a new find, but without the emotional turmoil of having witnessed the carnage of the 'real thing.'
I couldn't go through with it.
She wasn't you...
Ellie,
I’m scrawling this on the back of another scrap piece of paper; this damn Costa Rican hospital won’t provide me with anything else and Billy is still in surgery so I can’t ask him to get me any decent letter supplies.
God knows where the Kirby’s have disappeared to. Probably somewhere else so I don’t throttle them.
I You It was good to
Thank you.
Thank you for saving us. Saving me.
Thank you for being level headed in a crisis situation. Again.
Thank you for marrying someone who doesn’t get himself tricked into travelling to an island inhabited by carnivorous dinosaurs. Again.
It may be the morphine making me feel nostalgic and melancholy, but I haven’t felt the need to write to you for years; especially since you got married, but now I've started I'll see where the pen takes me. Not that I'll post this; I'll just shove it in the drawer with the rest of these damn things...
Christ, you have kids now Ellie.
I don’t begrudge you them. Not Charlie, nor Grace. You deserve the world, and more. You deserve to be happy and I couldn't give that to you; not with the nightmares and my complete inability to communicate about anything before it was too late. I should never have cut you off, never tried to pretend that I was okay - I never should have tried to hide from you.
And now it feels like I've lost you all over again, seeing you again before this latest nightmare, seeing you with your kids, with Mark. You live in a different world now.
I’m just sorry I couldn’t be a part of that - I wasn’t ready then, and by the time I was, you were long gone, on the arm of someone else and too far away for me to pull you back.
I probably should have tried harder, but I think we both knew then, after the park, that we were on borrowed time; too much trauma, too many nightmares, too much time stuck in our own damn heads.
I’m sorry Ellie, for everything.
I think I need to say goodbye...
I’m not one for words, at least ones you’ll ever see, but I can feel myself drifting again, further from you and Mark and your kids, and I’m hurting myself trying to find a place where I belong.
I hope you can forgive me,
Yours, always,
Alan
Ellie,
Did you see there are plans for a new park? Those bastards at InGen finally got to have their cake and eat it too.
If Masrani even thinks about contacting me to endorse it, I’ll...
Ellie,
I read your article about climate affected soil in Southern Utah in the latest journal and I can only commend you for your work. I’m glad to see that you continue to succeed in your new field. I can think of no one more deserving.
Maybe I’ll call next week and we can catch up - I saw that your next research project brings you out my way; my latest dig is underway, although it’s proving less fruitful than the last.
It’d be nice to see an old friend.
Speaking of old friends (a term I’ll use loosely) - Malcolm called last week - I let it go to voicemail, and I haven't felt the need to ring him back. It’s 25 years since the park, did you know that? He wanted to congratulate me on over two decades of survival.
I feel less like I’ve survived and more like I’ve simply been existing. The money’s drying up and I feel even more of a dinosaur than I did all those years ago. No one wants to dig up bones when Jurassic World brings them the ‘real’ thing.
It’s pretty lonely out here.
I wished I’d tried to stay in touch more.
Alan
Ellie,
A pair of pterosaurs have attempted to roost just north of the dig site, high up on one of the northern ridges that overlooks the spot we found a partial triceratops skull last year. Davids, the security guard at the site, spotted them a couple of days ago, and he’s been keeping track of them since.
They look magnificent in flight, but I’m not sure whether they’ll stay for long; the Montana air seems too arid, too dry, for them to make this a permanent resting site - the lack of prey probably factors into it too.
It’s easy to get carried away with the majesty of such creatures, so much so that I occasionally forget that dinosaurs have actually made it to the mainland. What a terrifying notion.
I hope you, Mark and the kids are safe - the world has changed again, and not for the better.
Thinking of you, as always,
Alan