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All Alan Grant had ever wanted was to live a quiet life doing what he loved. He’d never wanted the adventures he’d been blessed (or rather, cursed) with. Two life threatening experiences in which he’d had brushes with death in the span of eight years was much too much excitement for him.
He’d at least had Ellie last time around. This time he had no one.
Billy had pulled through despite the odds, but Alan hadn’t wanted to barge into his life so quickly after being sure he’d seen the young man get killed by creatures that should have been extinct.
Instead, Alan had kept to himself, not returning to the dig just yet. He’d spend the last two weeks cooped up in his apartment, not leaving it for absolutely no reason at all. Not even for her.
He closed his eyes and tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere. The dig, the load of interviews, the raptors even. Anything to keep him from allowing himself to go down a road full of bittersweet memories. But Alan’s willpower was half-gone, and despite himself, he let his mind wander on what could’ve been, had he had the guts to not doubt himself for once.
He’d have her company at the moment. She’d lay next to him and would wrap her arms around him. She’d whisper soft words and would pepper him with gentle kisses and calming caresses.
She’d chew him out first, but he wouldn’t mind.
Not if it meant she was there with him.
He thought about the ring he’d bought her. The ring he kept in its box in his top drawer whenever he was home (as if his apartment could even be called that) or buried under a hundred letters in his filing cabinet.
She’d make him laugh while teasing him, her blue eyes sparkling in amusement. Her laugh would fill his ears with the most beautiful music.
Her laugh, her voice, the little sounds she’d make when they’d make love. The way she’d look at him with so much love that he could scarcely believe it was real. The way she’d say his name in the morning, in the midst of ecstasy, teasing him, coaxing him into the shower, when she’d get excited over something, when she…
He turned in bed, gingerly touching his patched up temple. He was going to get a massive headache, he could feel it behind his eyes, and yet…
You should’ve asked her to marry you.
He shut his eyes, attempting to shut down his thoughts.
You should’ve asked her-
He could imagine it clearly: In a perfect world, one in which things weren’t going to shit as constantly as they did, he’d had gotten on one knee. Instead of her saying “I do” to Mark Degler, she would’ve been saying it to him, and he would’ve said it back. Instead of running from her, he would’ve taken her into his arms and would’ve asked her to forgive him for being such an ass.
In a perfect world, he would’ve become a father. She was an amazing mother. Maybe he’d be half as amazing a parent as she was. He would have held their son or their daughter in his arms for the first time and he knew he’d feel as if he were holding half the world in his arms, the other half being Ellie.
He imaged a little boy with her blue eyes and his light brown hair, a little girl with his eyes and her blonde hair.
A house with a white picket fence and maybe a dog and a perfectly cut lawn and-
He didn’t know when he’d started to cry. But suddenly he was very aware of the tears that streamed down his face.
He took a shaky breath before turning on his back to stare at the ceiling.
Reality was here and now. There were no white picket fences, no laughing children, no wedding bells. All there was was cuts and bruises, dried up funds, and dreams of what could’ve been.
He was half tempted to pick up the phone and dial her number. He knew it by heart. But the possibility of someone else answering for her quickly dissipated the thought.
Besides, she had a life of her own now. A husband she loved. Two children she positively adored. A job, a book deal, the white picket fence.
He chuckled sadly to himself. He’d been such a fool to let her go. To end it all because he thought he wasn’t able to provide what she dreamed of. He’d let her become the one that got away against his wishes.
All he could hang on to was the ring, the picture and the memories. Things that hurt as much as they did in the beginning.
He’d wished he’d said something, anything during the short visit he’d paid to her house. But seeing her so happy had made him rethink his plan of action, and he’d pushed his feelings back down the drain, as if they’d never always been present in the first place.
She would probably never know it, but she’d saved his life on more than one occasion, and not just with the entire US military.
The thought of her kept him going on Isla Nublar. Her comfort after the night terrors had kept him from doing something rash. Her quiet assurances kept him away from the bottle. Her soft kisses kept him from spiraling into madness. Her smile had brightened even the darkest of days. Her voice had kept him anchored when he’d been on the verge of breaking down.
Time and time again she’d held onto him like her world depended on it. And he’d held onto her. Until he’d let it all go down the drain.
He draped his arm over his eyes in frustration as he tried his best to fall asleep, willing his thoughts to go silent.
They did fall silent, eventually.
But never enough to shut down his good dreams that were always filled with laughter, her voice and white picket fences.