Extinct Symmetry by alyse [ - ]
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Category: Jurassic Park III
Characters: Alan Grant
Rating: PG
Genres: Angst
Warnings: None

Summary: Two drabbles, set in the same universe at the same time. The first is Billy POV and 500 words, the second Alan and 100 words, not including titles. Angst. Set post movie.

Notes: Written for 8th multimprov challenge to write either fics or drabbles using four words - fold, underground, pure, classic. Details of the challenge can be found here.

The first drabble uses fold, underground and pure. The second uses the remaining word, classic.



Some days he wonders what it would be like to be buried underground like the bones he digs up every day, with everything that made him who he was leached out of him and replaced with hard, unfeeling stone. What it would be like to be weighed down by the layers above him until he was twisted out of shape by time, barely recognisable as something that once lived and breathed and hoped and loved. Lost, until some twist of fate, some quirk of the planet he lives on dictates that continents rise and fall, collide and buckle, revealing his remains to an uncaring world, cradled in the fold of a new mountain.

Some days he already feels like that. Lost. Twisted out of shape, out of his time. Those are the days when he can feel Alan's eyes on him, bowing him down, pressing him into the earth he stretches out on until he feels that he'll be sucked down into its depths. Days when he feels like he's been buried under continents and will never see the light again. He believes, on those odd occasions when he can actually meet Alan's gaze, that there's a deep disapproval in their blue depths. His rational mind, the one that makes him want to be the best, most dispassionate scientist that he can be for his own sake as well as Alan's, tells him differently, that he's imagining things, that Alan is not one to hold grudges once he's said his piece.

But then he remembers how Alan feels about Malcolm even now, after all this time, and he suffocates again.

You're no better than the people who built this place.

And so he lowers his head, avoids Alan's eyes. Tries to lose himself in the pristine, pure lines of whatever ancient beast he's excavating, in the rough and smooth of the different rock textures under his finger tips while the weight of Alan's expectations buries him more successfully than any amount of dirt.

Those are the days when part of him - a very small, quiet part that's no less powerful for all its quietude - thinks that it would be better had he died on Isla Sorna. Better for both of them because maybe Alan could have forgiven a corpse. But those thoughts don't last long. Above all else, he's a survivor, the living proof of Alan's theory of reverse Darwinism, survival of the most idiotic. It's not in his nature to give up, which might explain why he's still here under Alan's watchful gaze, judged and obviously found wanting. It would explain why, in spite of everything, part of him still hopes that one day Alan will look at him and see more than a failure. Really look at him, the way that Alan looks at a dig site, and spot something worth digging for.

Some days he wonders what it would be like to be buried underground like the bones he digs up every day.

Some days he knows.



There are days when Billy's silence worries him. It's so unlike the Billy of old. There's none of the laughter or sharp, infectious humour that he thinks of as classic Billy behaviour. No flirting, no teasing, no joy in his work, just this pale, exhausted wraith.

He tells himself that all Billy needs is the time and space to lay his demons to rest, but how can he here, surrounded by the past?

All Alan can do is worry and watch, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as Billy sinks further into the dirt and fails to meet his eyes.

The End