Feedback: please, new fandoms make me wary ;)

Notes: I had said no new fandoms. Then Alan and Billy started running around and LOOKING at one another like they were and... sigh New fandom. Don't read it if you haven't seen JP3 and want to... You'll get spoiled.

Oh - there's a discussion and fic list for Alan and Billy too: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/JP3_Alan_and_Billy

Thanks & Dedication: To my XMen partner in crime, Nix (tho I still call her kry g) Who I pulled into this fandom kicking and screaming and is now shamelessly stuck on these characters and making me write them too ;) Oh, and betaing and offering title suggestions. However iffy ;)

Disclaimer: Billy, Alan, etc aren't mine. This doesn't shock me. If it does shock you, I'm sure someone is willing to offer you psych help. ;) So, moral of the story: no money, no sue me.

I have to admit, I don't remember much about the Marines finding me. One minute the Pteranodons were ripping me to pieces in the water, the next... It's all fuzzy still.

At the time all I could think of was Eric. That maybe if I could save him, I could save myself in Alan's eyes. It hurt like hell. And I'm not sure which hurt worse: being ripped to pieces or seeing the cold hate in Alan's gaze.

Even now, barely awake and bandaged up, I don't think there's a part of me that doesn't hurt. And it's not just from the Pteranodons. I sigh, trying to get more comfortable. I've learned, since realizing I was still alive and not dead, that comfort is something of a relative term right now.

I can barely hear the Marines talking over the roar of the chopper blades. Maybe that's a good thing. I'm not sure I want to hear what they're saying, because if I can't hear them say Alan and the others didn't make it, I can pretend a little while longer that they did.

What were the odds of any of this? Of coming to this damned island. After all the stories and rumors... After Alan refusing to talk to me about Isla Nublar even when I asked him point blank. Suddenly getting the chance to see this place myself was like some sort of dream come true. To match a living dinosaur to the fossil.

Dream. I'd laugh, but it'd hurt too much. It's more like a nightmare. How could so much go wrong so quick? Losing the others -- Nash right in front of our eyes -- that was hard. Constantly running and hiding and worrying about Alan after the stampede was more stress than I'd expected out of this trip.

But this... not knowing again if Alan is dead or alive. Wishing and yet not that they would tell me something. All I could tell them, after I woke up, was that they were headed for the coast. Alan would keep heading for the coast if he could.

If.

At least part of it is my fault. I just had to take those damn eggs. But are they left behind paying for my stupid impulse?

Pressing back into the damned uncomfortable cot, I close my eyes against a sudden glare of the sun. My nose itches, but it hurts too much to bother scratching it. It hurts to breathe at this point, so I'd stop doing that too, if I could. Besides, they have one of my arms pinned down and my other hand is full, so I can't.

Must have fallen asleep again, 'cause next thing I know everyone is rushing around like something's happened. Takes me a couple of minutes to realize they're setting the helicopter down on the beach. Wonder if that means...

I hear Eric yelling to be heard over the noise. My eyes fly open and my breath catches in my throat. Next is Paul, then Amanda. I don't hear Alan. My eyes slip closed and I have to remember to breathe.

No Alan.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Breathe, damn it, I berate myself.

"Is this guy with you?" The words shake something awake in me and I force myself to risk a look.

Relief tumbles over me like I'm standing in the surf outside, and I have to blink fast before I embarrass myself. One thought comes to mind, then, before all others.

He made it.

Seeing the look in his eyes -- not cold, not hard -- it's suddenly not a fight to breathe anymore.

We made it.

end

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