Title: Third Time Under
Author: Cori Lannam (CoriLannam@aol.com)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes to list archive and elfin
Also at http://members.aol.com/CoriLannam/fanfiction.html
Warnings and Spoilers: Big spoilers for the end of JP3.
Disclaimers: JP3 and these characters don't belong to me. I wouldn't know what to do with them if they did. Although I suspect I would find something.
Notes: Thanks to kaly for pestering me until I got it done, Nicole for her patience while I angsted over writer's block, Lanning for the images of Alan, the T-Rex and the cherrypicker, and Ruth for everything, plus eleven showings of JP3. Oh, and to all of them for the beta, too. :-)

Billy went under for the third time. Talons scraped his neck and back, pushing him deeper, pushing the air out of his lungs. He twisted against the claws and fought the urge to inhale, to scream. Third time under. Everyone knew that meant you were done. He didn't care. At least it would be over. At least Alan would run.

Please, Alan, run, run, don't come back....

The water jolted with the impact of heavy bodies smacking against the surface above him. This time the talons did not reach him, and what was left of his survival instinct proved stronger than he had thought. His arms jerked through the water in front of him, pulling him in the direction he hoped was down. The rapid current slammed him into rock after rock, gashing open his head, but his desperation kept propelling him downward. He would have cried, if he could have, when his fingers dug into the rocky bottom and he still felt no claws in his back. Drowning suddenly seemed like a much nicer way to go, compared to being ripped to pieces and fed to baby pteranodons. If they wanted to eat him so badly, let them fish for his waterlogged corpse.

One hand in front of the other, he dragged himself along the bottom of the river into calmer waters. The world was a narrow tunnel of cold murky water around his face, slime and silt under his hands, and pain in his body. His lungs burned, and his eyes burned, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. He was going to die, but at least there were no claws or beaks or teeth.

Then, amazingly, he was not dead, but breathing again. His head broke the surface, and the need for air overtook the need to stay hidden. Big, gulping breaths took all his concentration until his body stopped screaming for oxygen. Then he remembered where he was. He flipped onto his back, floundering in the shallow water and fully expecting to find a hideous beaked face staring back at him. But there was nothing in front of him except the water rushing over and around the jagged rocks.

He heaved himself backward with a splash until he could scuttle up onto the riverbank. The wet stones cut his palms as he pulled himself out of the water, but they could have been razor-sharp glass shards and he would not have complained. Solid ground, finally. The last time he had been on solid ground, he had not even known that pteranodons existed. He had not known about the pteranodons, and Alan had not known about the eggs. Life had been much better, then.

A shrill cry rang out in the distance, then became a cacophony of feral shrieks. He cried out in an unconscious echo, scrambling to put his back against a rock. The rush of terror eased when he scanned his surroundings and saw nothing but mist. He had ended up at the far end of the aviary; the boat, where Alan would be, was down the river and outside the great cage. Shame burned through his chest. He had deprived the pteranodons of their easy prey, and now they were hunting Alan and the others again, making his attempt at sacrifice moot. For the first time, he drew comfort from the clamor down river. If the beasts were screaming, they were probably not feeding yet.

Unless they were fighting over portions.

No way could he think about that. He struggled to get to his feet, but only managed an awkward kneeling position before his rubbery muscles refused to support him and his head tried to swim off again without him. The numbing effect of the water was beginning to wear off, leaving him all too aware that the pain he had thought he was in had only been a preview of the real thing. He squinted, trying to see even a hint of what was happening across the river, but pain and exhaustion conspired to blur his vision. All he could see was the green of the trees, the dark streak of the river--and Alan?

Alan, wading towards him, no more than a vague outline topped by that damn hat wedged firmly on his head as though he had superglued it there. Alan, who should be far away from here by now. Alan, who should have run. "No," Billy croaked with a hoarse sob, despair trickling through the back of his mind for the first time. "Why didn't you run?"

The clamor rose to a climactic pitch, then stopped abruptly, leaving behind an eerie quiet. Even the noise of the river became muted as Billy felt himself listing severely to the right. "Run," he whispered again as the riverbank gravel scraped across his face. His thoughts whirled, then stalled for good on the single question of why Alan had not run, when Alan always, always ran. Especially from Billy.

***

"I love you."

"No, you don't." Alan's smile was kind, but his face bore the pained expression usually evoked by students who quoted Ian Malcolm in class or journalists who wanted to talk about Isla Nublar. Billy was too smart to do either of those things, but he had his own methods for annoying Alan, and he considered it his sworn duty to employ those methods as needed until he got his way. Then he planned to put a very different expression on Alan's face.

"I'm pretty sure you're wrong." He grinned. Today had been a sneak attack in Alan's office, mostly for the surprise of the setting. He bent over the front of Alan's desk until their noses almost touched.

Alan started to lean back, then frowned and held his ground. "Billy...."

"You're being very difficult. And I know it isn't because you're not interested." He tilted his head downward for a slow, deliberate look at Alan's lap. "I've noticed your interest on a number of occasions."

He looked back up in time to see Alan blush crimson beneath his sunburn, turning his entire head the unflattering red of a Christmas tree bulb. "Dammit, Billy," he started, then stood up so fast Billy had to jerk back or get slammed in the face.

Alan headed to the door and was halfway into the hallway before he turned around and came back for his briefcase. Billy waited in silence; he had pushed hard enough for one day. He expected Alan to flee the encounter without another word, and felt a jolt of surprise when Alan hesitated beside him.

"Billy, you're a brilliant young man," Alan said at last. "And you have a brilliant future ahead of you. Don't throw it away."

He waited a little longer, watching Alan until the other man had to meet his gaze. "Don't worry. I have no intention of throwing away my future. Not any of it."

Alan stayed still, examining his face for a long moment. Then he gave a single nod and turned away.

Billy followed him to the door. "I still love you, you know," he called loudly down the hall, not caring who might hear. He laughed as Alan's retreating figure jumped, then accelerated almost to a run.

When he disappeared into the stairwell, Billy went back into the office. He would clean off Alan's desk, and all would be forgiven. Still grinning to himself, he picked up Alan's lucky raptor claw, tossed it in the air and caught it one-handed. He was making progress; he was wearing Alan down. Alan's head could be as hard as the rock they dug in, but age and stubbornness were no match for youth and determination. Not even close.

He just had to wait for Alan to succumb to his fate.

***

The first thing in his conscious mind when he woke was pain. There was not a square inch on his body that did not burn, ache, or at least itch. He lifted his head and scraped the embedded gravel off his face, then haltingly stretched his stiff muscles until he could force himself to sit up and look around.

The second thing in his conscious mind was fear, but at least it was the low-grade, constant, numbing kind of fear that had settled into his bones the first time he heard the Spinosaurus roar. Darkness had fallen while he lay unconscious, deepening the unnerving quiet in the cage. He forced himself not to wonder where the pteranodons had gone. They were not there trying to eat him at that exact moment, and that was all he had the strength to worry about. The others would be all right. Alan was the best there was.

Alan! His head snapped to the left, then the right, as his adrenal gland proved it had some kick left in it after all. Alan. The last thing he had seen before he passed out had been Alan coming toward him through the river, but he saw no sign of him now as he peered into the gloom. Had Alan come, and then left, thinking Billy was dead? Or had something else, something unthinkable, befallen him? Billy took as deep a breath as he could, calming himself. More than likely, he had hallucinated Alan's presence entirely, and Alan had fled to safety with the Kirbys. But whatever the case, Billy could not stay here and contemplate it any longer, not if he had any hopes for his own survival--and he found he was not as ready to surrender his life as he had been before.

Heart still pounding, he pushed himself to his feet, but when he tried to straighten, a bolt of agony shot through his back. He clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle his scream, doubling over and almost falling back to his knees. "Oh, God," he groaned through his fingers as he fought the pain enough to stand upright. "This can't be good."

He needed a new plan, and thinking of that distracted him from the physical discomfort. Their old plan was still the best bet. Alan and the Kirbys would have a considerable head start by now, especially if they had managed to get that boat working. They might not even need to stop again for rest if they were traveling by water, but he could still catch up with them at the coast. It would take some time for them to flag down someone to rescue them. At least he hoped it would. He took a step in the direction the others had gone, but hesitated. The pteranodons had quieted. Perhaps they were sleeping, but he had last heard them from that direction, and the thought of going that way unnerved him. The edge of the cage was closer in this direction; it would make more sense to exit from here anyway.

Something in the river caught his eye as he turned, and his heart jumped again. He dashed into the river until he was in knee-deep water and squinted into the darkness. An amorphous shadow teased his vision, only a little darker than its surroundings, but topped with a familiar shape. Alan's hat. But not Alan, not out there in the river.... He waded out until the current threatened to pull him off his feet.

No, not Alan, thank God, but Alan's hat, snagged on one of the sharp boulders in the middle of the river. It was only a few yards away, but he should conserve his strength. Still, Alan loved that hat. If Billy got back to him, if they all got off the island, Alan would want it.

He could almost hear Alan's chiding voice in his head. 'Priorities, Billy.'

"Not the stupidest thing I've ever done," he argued back. "Not even the stupidest thing I've done this week." He laughed as he moved forward again. Even Alan could hardly argue the last point.

His body ached from the cold and the effort of fighting the current. His feet slipped a dozen times on the slick rocks of the riverbed. When he got close enough, he made a final lunge for the rock and staggered against it, hands clutching at the slimy surface and the hat just inches from his face. He grabbed at it, but his foot slipped again, and he fell backwards, holding the hat over his head to keep it above water. Sputtering, he got back to his feet and shook the water out of his face and hair. "Still pretty stupid," he muttered, brushing a few loose drops from his prize. Stupid, maybe, but it was all he had left of Alan. He was not sorry.

Going the rest of the way across the river seemed as easy as returning the way he had come, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks when he reached the other side. Ahead of him, a tunnel of steel wire ran along the cliff face. He stumbled down it, then clung to the gate at the end for a few seconds before he strained to push the bar up and the door open. Relief weakened his knees, and it was mostly his body weight that pushed the door closed again. He made sure the bar fit snugly back into its place; the last thing he needed was another surprise visit from InGen's flying elite.

It took him a moment to orient himself. He set off in the same direction they had been heading all along, parallel with the river that should eventually bring him to the same part of the coast as Alan. The brush seemed thicker and more stubborn as he pushed through it. "Or else I've just lost my mojo," he told the hat ruefully.

As time and distance blurred, he had to admit that his mojo had just about run out. He had to stop, panting, after each short burst of travel, but he did not dare lie down. Finally, he slumped against a sturdy tree and let it support him as he closed his eyes and let himself drift. The hat stayed tucked beneath his chin, a comforting softness in contrast to the rough bark against his forehead.

A gust of moist heat across his face stirred him from his light doze. He licked his dry lips and forced his heavy eyes to open-and froze. The hot air had come from between two nasty rows of teeth that snapped less than a foot from his face, and his gaze found a set of angry yellow eyes directly above them. A hiss came from the other side of the tree trunk, just out of his peripheral vision. The raptors had finally found him.

He took a slow step back until he could see the other raptor. They both glared at him, but did not move; encouraged, he took another step, then froze when they hissed in simultaneous warning. The second one, the female, gave a piercing cry, and he dropped to his knees, submitting to her challenge. A pain in his hand caused him to look down to where he was clutching Alan's hat like a lifeline. Cold reality sank in; this was death. He was going to die, and Alan would never know about it.

Breathing deeply to calm his racing pulse, he sneaked a glance at the raptors. The male took a step toward him and shrieked like the female had. Billy ducked his head again. Slowly, he raised the hat to his face one last time. Please, God, take care of Alan. Then he threw it as hard as he could away from him, and away from the raptors. It was too much to hope that it would distract them, but he had brought it too far to have it ripped to pieces along with him.

The hat bounced off a low-hanging branch and landed upside down beneath a tree. The raptors exchanged sharp vocalizations; the male went to the hat while the female kept her baleful gaze locked on Billy. As the male sniffed and poked at the hat, Billy bit his lip to suppress both a curse and the urge to throw rocks at the raptor until it left the hat alone. Finally, it finished and called to the female. She responded, and the male left the hat to return to Billy.

Leaves and sticks crunched beneath the raptor's claws as it approached. Billy held still, not lifting his head until the raptor bumped him with its snout and began knocking his head around roughly. The snuffling noises it made as it sniffed him sounded much louder this close. Bile rose in his throat, and the fear intensified until a hoarse sob escaped from behind his gritted teeth. The raptor shrieked again, and the female joined him to sniff at Billy's head. He looked up her, unable to break away from her gaze. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She snorted, almost derisively, then snapped her teeth at him. Both raptors lifted their heads to listen to something Billy could not hear. Then the male let out a warbling cry, and before Billy could blink, they were both gone.

He stared at the foliage where the raptors had disappeared, not quite believing that he was still alive. "Oh God," he croaked. "Oh, God."

Slowly, he fell forward onto his hands and lowered himself onto the damp ground, the last bit of strength draining from his limbs. Darkness preyed at the corners of his vision, and he dragged himself forward until he collapsed on top of Alan's hat. He curled up around it and tried to remember how it had felt to curl around Alan. Then he stopped fighting the blackness.

***

He was still laughing, harder than the alcohol alone could account for, as he closed the door behind last of his guests amid a final flurry of happy birthdays and congratulations. Almost the last--Alan was shoving the last pile of frosting-encrusted paper plates into a trash bag, looking up with an indulgent smile when he felt Billy's gaze.

"ABD, baby!" Billy leaned his head back against the door and crowed, unable to keep it inside another second. "I never have to take another class again."

"No, now you just have to teach them for the rest of your life." Alan tied off the trash bag and looked around, either for more garbage or his own wall to lean on. Finding neither, he crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, not entirely steady. He had drunk less than Billy, but not by much. "Trust me, that's much worse."

Billy laughed again. He had known for months that the last class of his graduate career would fall on his birthday, and he had never looked forward to a day more. "I'll take my chances. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the feeling."

Alan laughed, too, as Billy pushed himself off the door. The apartment was only a studio, small enough that he could cross the entire living area to Alan in just a few steps. "Best birthday present you could get, huh?" Alan said, slinging an arm around Billy's shoulders.

"Not quite," Billy said mildly. "But I'll take it."

"I still don't know how you fit all those people in here." Alan leaned over and snagged his half-finished beer from the coffee table wedged between the couch and bookcase, not releasing his hold on Billy.

"Don't ask me. They were already in here by the time I got here." Although Alan never missed a chance to bitch about the size of Billy's apartment, a larger place would have been a waste of money. Even when they were not in the field, Billy spent most of his time at school, with his friends, or with Alan. When he was home, he found the trade-off of luxury for privacy more than worth the cramped quarters. He knew Alan understood that.

Alan smiled, amusement glittering in his eyes and confirming Billy's suspicions as to who had gotten most of those people here in the first place. Not that it was a surprise; Alan was almost as popular and at ease among Billy's friends as Billy was. "I haven't given you your present yet."

"Yeah, I'd noticed that." So had most of his friends. Billy had caught the significant glances when he had finished opening his gifts and nothing from Alan had been among them. As usual when it came to his relationship with Alan, they were probably making some flattering, but unwarranted assumptions. "So what did you get me?"

There was nowhere to conceal a package, so he was not surprised when Alan released him to dig into his pocket. The surprise came when he felt the shape of the object Alan pressed into his hand. "I tried to wrap it," Alan said. "But I think you can see the problem with that."

Billy held it up to the light. "Your raptor claw," he breathed. Alan had tied a red ribbon around it, which looked ridiculous. Billy pulled it off and turned the fossil over in his fingers. "You can't give me this."

"Why can't I?" Alan stepped back to prop himself on the arm of the couch, folding his arms again.

"Because it's your raptor claw!" Despite his protests, Billy could not stop running his fingertips over the claw, even after he meant to hand it back to Alan. "You had this on Isla Nublar."

"No, I didn't."

Billy finally tore his eyes off the fossil to look at Alan, who looked away. "What? I thought--"

"I ... lost the one on the island. Ellie gave me this one a while after we got back. To restore my faith in my work, she said. And she did." When Alan's eyes met his again, the expression in them sent Billy's insides into a slow flip-flop. "And so did you."

"Alan...."

"I want you to have it."

He looked down at the gift, then back up at Alan. "Thank you. I love it."

They held each other's gaze as a long moment passed; finally, Alan broke away with an embarrassed smile. "She never told me where she got it. I've always suspected one of the raptors in storage at the museum is missing a digit, but I've never had the heart to go and look."

"Maybe I'll ask her, if I ever get to meet her."

"She'd love you," Alan said, and Billy smiled, hearing the unspoken addendum.

He put the claw into his own pocket, took Alan's hands and pulled him back to his feet. "I love you, too."

The beer bottle fell and bounced on the carpet. Billy pushed it aside with his foot as he leaned in to kiss Alan's mouth, a soft caress of lips against lips, slow and safe. When his breathing started to quicken, he pulled away, nuzzling Alan's temple to put off seeing his expression.

"You're drunk," Alan whispered against his cheek.

"Not as drunk as you think I am," Billy whispered back. He put his hands on Alan's hips, relished the shiver in the other man's body as Billy's breath touched his ear, breathed lightly again to repeat the effect before returning to Alan's mouth for another kiss.

He was bracing himself, waiting for Alan to shove him away. But Alan's arms came up to hold him; one hand slid into Billy's hair while the other arm wrapped around his waist. Billy groaned his relief into Alan's mouth and pressed closer. He tasted beer, cake, then something more, deeper, something that made him ache.

His fingers stroked either side of Alan's waist, seeking the heat beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. He wandered lower and fumbled with Alan's belt. Alan broke the kiss to make an inarticulate protest, but Billy gave his belt loops a sharp tug, bringing their hips together, and Alan simply sighed and kissed him again. Billy finished pulling off the belt and tossed it aside. Then he stepped back, turning and backing toward the bed in the corner. "Come here," he said, holding out his arms until Alan came back into his embrace. He lowered them onto the edge of the bed, kicked his shoes off, then grinned as he curled his toes around Alan's heels to pull his shoes off as well. "Might as well get comfortable."

"Not too comfortable," Alan said with a dazed look, but he did not fight when Billy pushed him onto his back and worked open the buttons of his shirt with a kiss for each inch of exposed chest. "Billy...."

Billy ignored the weak admonition as he slid to the floor between Alan's knees. His tongue dipped into Alan's navel, then he was pulling open Alan's jeans. Alan said his name again, sharper, and tried to sit up, but then Billy had Alan's cock in his mouth, and Alan flopped back onto the bed with a groan.

Panting around the hardening flesh in his mouth, Billy ran his hands along Alan's still denim-clad thighs. Frustrated, he straightened up long enough to yank Alan's jeans and briefs the rest of the way down his legs until he could pull them off. Alan had a beautiful body, lean and pale where the sun never hit it. Billy wanted to savor this chance to see it uncovered, but he wanted to touch and taste it more, and one part in particular. He bent over Alan and took him in his mouth again.

He wanted to make it last. He wanted to learn every inch of Alan and every response the man had, and he wanted the first time to never end. But his own cock strained against his fly; he rubbed at it, knowing he only had enough control to make it good for Alan. All the touches and sweet words would wait until the next time.

"Oh, God," Alan cried as Billy kneaded his ass and let the full length of him slide down his throat. "Oh, God, yes, Billy, please."

Alan bucked up one more time, and Billy felt him spilling down his throat. He swallowed until the spasms stopped, then let Alan's cock slip from his lips with a last gentle kiss. Alan lay motionless, eyes squeezed shut and legs still dangling over the foot of the bed, breathing heavily.

Billy stripped off his clothes and threw himself onto the bed above Alan. He closed his eyes and took himself in hand with a groan of relief, sure that another minute would have killed him. After a few blissful strokes, he felt the bed shift and dip next to him. He opened his eyes to find that Alan had moved up to lie beside him and was watching him with an expression Billy could not read. Silently, Alan reached out to draw him close, and Billy moved into his arms. He let Alan's hand replace his on his cock, then buried his face in Alan's neck to muffle his cries as Alan gently took him to his release.

He laughed as his heart calmed, and he dabbed his tongue in the hollow of Alan's throat. "I love you," he whispered. He helped Alan clean off his hand, then kissed him with easy languor. "I love you so much."

Alan stroked his hair with a soothing murmur as Billy wrapped himself around Alan's warm body and smiled against his shoulder. He had a claw, he almost had his doctorate, and he had Alan. Life could not get much better. He smiled. "I love you," he said again, and felt Alan's arms tighten around him.

The light had been turned off when he awoke. He stretched, realized he was naked under the covers, and grinned with the memory of how he had fallen asleep. When he reached over to the other side of the bed, his grin faded. Alan was not there.

He sat up and knelt on the mattress, squinting until his eyes started to adjust to the dark. "Alan?"

Footsteps sounded from across the room, along with a rustle. He pushed himself to his knees and sat back on his heels. After a moment, he could make out Alan's shadowy form, and after another moment, he could see that Alan was putting on his belt. "Go back to sleep, Billy."

"No. Where are you going?" He tried to keep the fear out of his voice.

"Home." Alan's voice was subdued, and Billy recognized the tone.

"You're running again. Alan--"

"Don't start this, Billy." Alan came over to stand by the bed. Dim light from the window illuminated him, and Billy suddenly felt vulnerable and foolish, kneeling there naked while Alan was fully clothed. He pulled the sheets up around his waist and looked away as Alan knelt down on the mattress in front of him and took his face between his hands. "Billy, it has to be this way."

"No, it doesn't."

Alan stroked the hair at Billy's temples with his thumbs. "Billy, this can't happen. It's not right for you, and it's not right for me. It wasn't fair of me to let it get this far, and I'm sorry."

"I can't believe this," Billy said, feeling his voice rasp past the lump in his throat.

He held rigidly still as Alan kissed him on the forehead. "Get some sleep, Billy. We leave early for Fort Peck."

"Dig season begins," he answered dully, and kept his head down until he heard Alan's footsteps recede, and the door open and close.

Then he got up, locked the door behind Alan, and returned to sit on the bed. His foot landed on his discarded jeans, and something sharp dug into his toe through the denim. He fished out the raptor claw and looked at it for a minute. His feelings were just starting to rise up through the numbness of shock, and he knew he would never be able to look at his perfect gift again without reliving this night.

With a flash of anger, he hurled it across the room. It bounced off the far wall and skittered across the coffee table. "Fuck!" he yelled, then grabbed a shoe and sent it flying in the same direction. It hit the halogen lamp, which wobbled and toppled to the floor with a satisfying crash. "Fuck," he said again, but his voice caught and faltered. He scooted back on the bed until the icy wall touched his back. Then he rested his arms and head on his bent knees and tried very hard not to cry.

***

"Well, fuck me, I think this one's still alive."

"You think? Huh. He's breathing. Get the medivac in here."

Someone prodded him, tried to turn him over. He wanted to tell them that was a bad idea. He dimly heard a roaring noise that was getting closer. If it was a T-Rex, they needed to stay very still. Like he was doing.

"What's he got there?"

"Looks like a hat. Damned if he's not clutching it like a teddy bear."

A new voice entered. "Well, get it away from him. There could be wounds under there. Probably are, by the looks of the rest of him."

Someone, maybe the same someone who had been prodding him before, now pried at his hands and started to pull the hat away. Fear and anger shot through him, bringing him further into consciousness, and he tried to pull away.

"Whoa! We've got some lifesigns here. Hey, buddy, can you hear me? Come on, wake up now."

Billy cracked his eyes open. He blinked a few times before he could focus on the men leaning over him. Military. One was a medic. The roaring was a helicopter he could hear nearby. Rescue. Relief made his mouth curl into a weak smile. Rescue. Maybe Alan was already safe, and had sent them back to look for Billy. But no, Alan thought he was dead....

The medic tried to take the hat again. "Here, let me hold this for a minute so we can check you out."

He shook his head a little and tried to dampen his dry mouth enough to be heard. "No... Alan...."

"Alan? Alan Grant?" one of the Marines--at least, he was pretty sure they were Marines--said sharply. "Are you him?"

"No." Billy shook his head again in annoyance. Of course he was not Alan. Did he look like Alan? And if the Marine did not know that, it meant that Alan was not safe yet after all. "He's still out there."

"You know where he is? Tell me where he is, and we'll go get him while these guys get you patched up."

Billy's hands were cramped around the brim of the hat, but he managed to lift one and point in what he hoped was the direction he had been going when the raptors waylaid him. "The river." He had to lick his lips a few times to get any more out. "Follow the river to the coast."

"Got it." The Marine straightened up and walked off, already barking orders into his wrist radio. Billy readjusted his grip on the hat and closed his eyes, feeling the welcome tug of unconsciousness again.

"No, no, come on," the medic said above him. "No sleepy time yet. Stay with me, buddy."

From far away he heard the clatter of a stretcher hitting the ground, then more hands were grasping and lifting him. It hurt, but by the time he opened his eyes and mouth again to protest, he was already on the stretcher. He had to admit, it felt better than the ground.

"That's it, pal," the medic said. Or at least one of the medics did. There were a lot of them around now, and he could not tell which one was his. "Okay, I need to move your hat off your chest now. No, it's okay, you don't have to let go. You hang onto it, just move your hand so I can check you out. That's it. Jesus, look at you. No wonder you're grumpy. Don't worry, we're going to give you a little something that's going to make you feel a hell of a lot better."

That little something seemed a hell of a long time coming. First they cut his shirt away and poked him where it hurt the most, then swabbed stuff onto him that make it hurt even worse. He drifted into another daze by the time they got the bandages on and the pain began to ease. Someone gently moved his left hand, still clutching Alan's hat, back onto his chest, before the stretcher lurched into motion. The jolt of being loaded onto a helicopter roused him for a moment, but then he started to fade again.

"Come on, stay with us, buddy." The medic's now-familiar voice itched in the back of his head. He was supposed to do something. He was supposed to stay awake, but he was not sure he could. He was going under-the third time, he realized with a twinge of fatalistic amusement. How ironic, in a pop music kind of way, to go through all of that and then die in the middle of being rescued. But that was what was going to happen. He hoped they would know to give Alan the hat.

As if reading his mind, the medic shook his shoulder. "Hey, come on, don't go anywhere. I bet they've found your friends by now, and we're going to go pick them up. Don't you want to make sure they're all right?"

Damn him. It would have been so easy just to let go, to assume Alan would be fine, but not to have to face him again. But this guy was right, he needed to see Alan with his own eyes. With a start, he remembered the velociraptors. They had sniffed Alan's hat, gotten his scent, then run off, leaving their helpless prey behind untouched. They knew Alan had the eggs. They were after him.

"That's more like it. You're getting some color back." The medic's upbeat tone grated on what nerves Billy had left.

"Fuck you," he rasped and turned his head toward the window.

"That's the spirit." The medic kept talking, but Billy tuned him out. He would not go under. He would stay awake and stay alive, and he would see Alan again. And then he would make Alan understand, no matter how angry the other man still was with him, that no matter how far or fast or often Alan ran, Billy was not going to let go.

"Okay, they found 'em!" someone shouted, and Billy's stomach lurched. Names, he needed to hear names. "Make sure our guest is strapped in, and let's go."

He turned his head back to see his friendly medic checking the straps holding the stretcher down. "Who made it?"

"I don't know. We'll be there in two minutes, tops." The man caught himself on one of the wall harnesses as the chopper jerked into the air. "It sounded like a group of them, though. Maybe everyone made it. How bad is it out there, anyway?"

Billy just laughed silently and closed his eyes again. No words could possibly describe how bad it was out there, not to someone who had only seen it from a helicopter. His physical pain had faded, but the thought of Alan still out there was becoming unbearable. The more he thought about it, the surer he was that the raptors had found Alan, and this time, the cavalry would come too late. But he was too tired to think, too tired to fear, and his mind locked into a single, wordless prayer that left him unaware of anything else.

The next thing he knew, the medic was bending over him, checking the bandage on his head. He started to ask where they were, when he saw a familiar, beloved figure crouching by his side. "Hey," he croaked, a glow of sheer joy spreading through him. "You made it."

"Yeah," Alan said, his voice almost as rough. He was looking at Billy with the same expression Billy had seen just before Alan made love to him.

Billy recognized it now--awe, love, and a deep weariness. He wanted to reach out to Alan, comfort and reassure him as he should have done then. After everything he had put Alan through, he had a duty to make him happy. "I rescued your hat."

Alan's look changed to disbelief, but he took the hat, holding it like a fossil he thought was going to crumble in his hands. Then his lips and eyes quirked into the wry smile that always made Billy want to kiss him senseless, except that this time the smile was barely holding back Alan's tears. "Well, that's the important thing."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Billy felt almost content, being with Alan and knowing things would be right between them again. Someone called for Alan from the back of chopper, telling him to sit down and strap in. Billy wanted to protest and keep Alan where he could see and touch him, to salve his urgent need to know that they were both really here. But he could not argue with the point that the sooner they got off this island, the better.

Alan stood, with a last hooded look at Billy, and started to his seat. Billy craned his neck to keep him in sight as long as he could. Then the need to finish what they had started overwhelmed him; he reached up, heedless of his injured arm, and caught Alan's thigh. "Alan, wait."

His voice was still weak. Alan leaned over him again, this time close enough that Billy could feel his breath on his face. "I have to go over there. Just for a few minutes."

"I know." Billy focused all his will on getting out the right words and making sure Alan understood. "But after that, I want you to know, I'm not letting you go again. No matter what you do or what you say."

Alan smiled and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they gleamed with wetness. "I know." He bent down and kissed Billy's cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth. "It's okay, Billy. I'm done. I'm not running anymore."

"Good," Billy said. He turned his head back toward the window. Alan's fingers brushed over his face; then he was gone, but Billy could still feel him close by. The cool darkness tugged at him again, but he was not afraid of drowning in it anymore.

The chopper lifted off Isla Sorna for good. Over the roar of the engine and the rotor, he could hear his companions exclaiming in wonder over something they saw out the window, but he closed his eyes to watch Alan's face again as he bent to kiss him. That was all the marvel he needed for one lifetime.

*** END

EMail the Author | Fan Fiction