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And Atlas Shrugged
By Mango
Disclaimer: I do not own Jurassic Park, any of its characters or its plots. They belong to Michael Crichton and whoever else.
This is my first post on this site, so be nice! However, I’ve posted on other sites before, so I’m not inexperienced. This is rated PG for now, will be PG-13 in later chapters. Just to let you know, there will be no MarySues in this fic (original characters that fall in love with someone or another from the actual storyline. Ex: MarySue x Malcolm). Enjoy!
Ian glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes to go. He sighed restlessly and leaned back slightly in his chair, fingering a little box in the pocket of his jacket. Its velvety, smooth feel sent another wave of butterflies into his stomach and tore him once again between wanting to go and wanting to desperately stay in the boring meeting.
The meeting didn’t bother him much. In the old days, he would fidget and wait anxiously to get back to his real work. Hadn’t liked sitting down and listening attentively to details that had been gone over time and time again. Hadn’t liked quiet. Chaos had always been welcoming.
But those were the old days. He liked sitting down now, being able to relax and sip coffee, even if it did taste like mud. He could bring his own coffee anyway. Yes, quiet was a good thing, he decided. Chaos wasn’t so great anymore. Chaos was when you were chased by dinosaurs, watching people scream as they were lifted into the air by powerful, clamping jaws; or walking, breathing, alive one minute, and dead the next with raptors tearing at your throat. Ian had seen enough chaos. Enough to keep him waking up in a cold sweat for the rest of his life.
Today, though, was going to be his first day ever voluntarily venturing into the familiar zone of chaos. Not under the lethal jaws of death, but rather the gut-wrenching uncertainty of a single finger.
A single finger that may or may not decide to wear a ring. For the rest of her life.
The minutes sped by and before he knew it, the meeting was over. He got up from his seat and moved to the door. He had been so occupied with his watch that he didn’t even remember what the meeting was about.
“Hey—Ian—hey, helloooo?” A hand waved in front of his face. Ian looked up to see Bob, his co-worker.
“What?” he mumbled distractedly. Bob jerked his thumb toward the rear of the building, where several trucks were noisily pulling in their cargo.
“Dart wants to see you,” the other answered. Ian nodded and started for the office. Bob stopped him. “Hey, you all right?” he asked concernedly. Ian opened his mouth for a moment, to tell him no, he was not all right, his very happiness lay upon a single answer of a single woman who could very well slap him in the face.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly. Bob shrugged and turned away. Ian looked after him for a second, then headed for the office.
The common hums of the busy machines around him comforted him some. Fresh air blew in from a large, open doorway and seemed magnificently cool, despite the building strongly simulating an everyday factory, with its strong smells and loud noises. Ian threaded and weaved his way through workers and fellow scientists all going about their business. Echoes of the sounds rang sharply against the concrete floor. He reached the office, a simple, small room that had been converted from a large storage room. The only window was covered by blinds.
Ian cautiously rapped on the hard metal door, and a voice inside replied, “Come in, Ian.”
He stepped inside and twisted his mouth into a lopsided smile. “I might’ve been the delivery boy.”
A couple people in the room laughed, and Ian started as he noticed the others standing on the side of the office. Jasper Dart, a forty-some-year-old man with a pin-striped shirt, bald head, and a more-than-generous belly, boomed his great laugh and stood up from his seat at his desk. “Malcolm, these are some representatives of Scallor—you know who they are, right?—and, oh yes, Mr. James Hunter.” Ian nearly tripped.
He looked disbelievingly at Dart, who chuckled and said, “Yes, the James Hunter. Won’t you have a seat?” Ian slowly sat down in one of the hard chairs lining the room without taking his eyes off Dart. Dart clasped his hands together and looked hard and seriously at Ian, all merriment wiped from his face. “I suppose you’ll want to know what this is about,” he mused.
“If you could be so kind.” Something stank. Scallor was a highly reputable company, traditionally following in the same type of work as InGen, and twice as aggressively. They were known rivals and competed for the investor’s attention, though Scallor had been temporarily outdone when InGen developed Jurassic Park. Ian had never been particularly fond of either.
Dart turned to Hunter. “If you may?”
“Of course,” Hunter replied graciously. He had the look of an elderly English gentleman, with swept-back gray hair and beetle-black eyebrows and moustache. He cleared his throat and rose with the dignity of a man who knew his worth in life. “Dr. Malcolm,” he began in a refined accent, “I have been observing your work for quite some time now and comparing it to the other top scientists in your field, and have come to the definite, undeniable conclusion that you are by far the best.” He paused for a moment to look at Ian.
Ian’s first thought was that this was some fancy way of getting him out of that promised pay raise, but he didn’t say anything. And something else…Hunter did not give his praise with any excessive flattery or pride, or even envy. Instead he merely stated them, simply saying what was true—Ian didn’t get a lot of that, of people being completely honest. He looked back at the man with a level gaze and complete stoicism.
Hunter seemed satisfied with the scientist’s reaction. “I deeply regret to have to put this bluntly, but I really must make haste, so do forgive my abruptness—“ Here, the others in the room drew in their breaths, anticipating—“I have a proposition for you. I cannot discuss it now, but if you would join me tonight for a private business dinner, I would be most willing to go over the details.”
The gathered let out a nearly inaudible collective sigh of disappointment, clearly having wished to hear what the man’s proposal was. Ian furrowed his brow slightly and looked meaningfully at Hunter, who nodded his head discreetly. Ian understood. The other Scallor members did not know anything—they were only escort. Whatever Hunter’s proposal was, he evidently wished for it to be heard by Ian’s ears alone.
Ian almost opened his mouth to say yes then stopped suddenly. Tonight? “Uh…I can’t make it tonight…maybe tomorrow?”
The silence in the room was deafening. Ian had the feeling that maybe no one had ever said ‘no’ to James Hunter. Several Scallor employees glared at the scientist, along with Jasper Dart. Ian spread his hands. “Tonight’s been planned in advance…reserved table at Jąquelle. There’s been a month-long waiting list, I can’t blow this off.” Jąquelle was the most prominent restaurant within several hundred miles, its fine delicacies a favorite for anyone lucky enough—or rich enough—to actually get a table.
James Hunter bowed his head. “I do beg your pardon, of course that is a fine thing, to go to such an exquisite restaurant—quite fond of the goulash myself—but I’m afraid I must insist; this can’t wait.” Ian narrowed his eyes, ready to tell the man just what he thought of him, barging in and demanding an audience, especially on the night, of all nights. Before he could say anything, however, Hunter added, “As compensation if you comply, I will be happy to provide you with a reservation at Píony…”
Ian stared at him. “But that’s in…in Bermuda, right?”
“It is indeed. I understand that it might be a long trip for such a short time, so I shall also present reservations—free, of course—for a luxury suite at Halahinti for a week or so…” he trailed off as Ian gaped at him, no longer trying to even keep up a pretense of cool. Halahinti was one of the most acclaimed hotels in the world, featuring lush tropical gardens, beautiful white-sand beaches, gourmet restaurants, ideal service, and so much more. To even consider going there was outrageous—apart from being one of the best, it was also one of the most expensive…
He must be desperate, thought Ian. Even if he’s very good at hiding it. Indeed, Hunter looked tense, as though nervous that Ian might still turn down the offer.
He considered, and something occurred to him…if she said yes, Bermuda…Bermuda would be the honeymoon, or wedding, or both. Ian’s mind swam he briefly saw himself striding the beach, with her hand in his…
“I’ll accept.”
“Sarah, I’m sorry—this sounds really important—“
“Everything’s important, then. Am I?”
“Sarah, of course; I tried to explain to him, but he wouldn’t have any of it—“
“So, like normal, you trot off like the obedient little slave you always are.” Sarah Harding’s eyes were narrowed dangerously and burned holes through Ian, who had his hands spread out in defense.
“Listen, please…”
“I’m sick and tired of your excuses, Ian. This was supposed to be a special night between you and me, not you and your boss. I can’t believe you would think anything would be more important—“
“I don’t know if it is or not, Sarah,” Ian pleaded. His mellow face contrasted sharply with his girlfriend’s angry features. Seeing her about to reply with a scathing retort, he added, “All I know is that Scallor’s got something up their sleeve, and I’d bet it has to do with InGen…”
Some of the anger melted away in Sarah’s face, to be replaced by suspicion. “What makes you think that?”
Ian considered a minute, trying to phrase it carefully. “He said he’d observed my work before, and that I was the most qualified in my field. If…” he paused here, hesitating, not even sure himself of his suspicions, “you take into account Jurassic Park, he would be right. By default, I am—being the only scientist to have returned…” He leveled his gaze unblinkingly upon Sarah. “Believe me. If I thought it had been anything else, I would have rather been fired than pass up tonight. I swear.”
Sarah didn’t look quite convinced. “Why wouldn’t he talk to you in the office?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t want the others in the office to know about his offer. Scallor’s going to profit most from InGen’s failures,” he said hastily seeing Sarah’s face begin to darken in anger again. “Succeeding where InGen failed would further them in the market. You have to believe me.”
Sarah hesitated and looked straight into Ian’s eyes. She didn’t know why, but somewhere in there she looked for an answer and found earnest truth. She nodded slowly and allowed a small forgiving smile creep up upon her lips. “I suppose you want me to give you a hug and forgive you?”
Ian smiled guiltily. “With all my heart.” He walked up to his girlfriend and she allowed him to kiss her gently on the cheek. “Hunter said he would compensate for the loss of the reservation,” he promised. “I’ll file a lawsuit if he doesn’t.” He didn’t tell her about the deal for a week at Halahinti, he wanted it to be a surprise, if she said yes…
Sarah laughed softly and wrapped her arms around Ian’s neck. “All right. See me tomorrow after work, mmkay?” She kissed him back and lingered for a moment before pulling away and heading to her car with a little wave. Ian gave a goofy little smile as he watched her head out from his driveway. She always did that to him, made him feel like a school boy with his first crush. He was careful never to let that show to anyone—the public still held their image of him as a “rock star”, and those who knew him closer knew him as the now-shockingly mellow father forever battling custody suits for his step-daughter Kelly against her alcoholic mother.
He glanced at the clock on his living room wall. The slowly rotating hands told him it was five-thirty. Kelly was over at a friend’s for the night. Ian changed quickly into something presentable for the dinner—black turtleneck, khaki slacks, and a nice jacket were as dressy as he was willing to get, even for a big businessman. He paused for a moment trying to work out his hair right and gave up when it looked half-way decent. These days he was so preoccupied that he hardly paid attention to his looks anymore. So much for the better, he guessed. Sarah said he looked handsome with a roguish air.
After fumbling with the buttons he went out into the cold, crisp air to his car, reflecting that he really needed to get a new one as he fumbled with his key, trying to force it into the car. Rusty hinges protested when he managed to get the door open.
He pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant that Hunter told him to meet at and noted with some surprised that it was somewhat shabby for the taste of a man of Hunter’s stature. It seemed Mexican in style with bright gaudy colors lining the door and windows. Loud, raucous music drifted from inside.
He stepped into the dingy establishment. It was suitably dark, and so pickin’ loud that no-one would be able to eavesdrop even if they were only a foot away. Overwhelming odors of steaks and French fries washed over him and he fought the urge to gag. He looked around the place and didn’t see Hunter anywhere, only a mass of people jabbering in Spanish at the bar, a toothy waitress smiling flirtatiously, and a nervous-looking attendant hovering in uncertainty if he should ask the American if he could help him.
“Hey, is there a ‘Hunter’ anywhere here?” he called to the nervous man, who looked even more frightened after being addressed.
“No—I do not think so. Sir,” he added. “Poaching is not legal in America.” He then looked positively shocked then, for he had just lectured an American on his own laws. “Forgive me,” he said, bowing low.
“No, not a hunter, a man named Hunter.”
The attendant’s face turned bright red in embarrassment. “Of course,” he apologized. “Just a little funny, America likes funnies, right?”
“Sure, if you’re not Tom Green.”
The server looked very relieved and bowed again. “Oh, I am not a ‘Tom Green’, I am Antonio! I make good funny sayings. Let me show you to Mr. Hunter.” He quickly grabbed a menu and beckoned for Ian to follow. Antonio led him to the back of the restaurant where Hunter sat at a corner table, completely unperturbed by his surroundings as he read a book by the light of a candle lamp on the table. He looked up as Ian and Antonio approached.
“Ah, Ian, good to see you made it here,” he said in his deep, beautiful voice, sounding like he hadn’t doubted at all that Ian would drop his earlier plans and come. Ian felt a small measure of anger at that, but swallowed it and sat down.
“Can I get you anything, good sirs?” asked Antonio, obviously more confident now that he had braved the typical temperamental American and still had all his important limbs.
“A tequila,” Hunter said easily. “And a hamburger.”
“Uh…I’m fine, thanks,” said Ian. “I had a big lunch.” Antonio looked at the man indignantly.
Hunter gestured with his hand at the menu. “Really Dr. Malcolm, I insist.”
Ian shifted uneasily in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Uh, in that case, I’ll have a hamburger too.” Antonio left looking happier.
“I can see why you picked this place,” muttered Ian. “Loud. If they can hear you, they don’t understand, and if they can understand you, they can’t get close enough to hear.”
“You see the genius in my choice.”
Ian fixed Hunter with a long, measuring Look. Kelly always called it the Hockey-Is-On-And-You’re-Watching-Seinfeld Look, and it was a patented lethal gaze that he used whenever intimidation was in order. Unfortunately, it never worked on Kelly or Sarah—they said he was too big of a teddy bear to get macho, which he thought was distinctly wrong. It seemed to work on Hunter a bit though; he didn’t look quite as intimidating himself.
Ian worked that Look for a full thirty seconds before he spoke. “I’ve never been very diplomatic, and it’s a load of crap anyway, so I’ll just say this: You’re here, I’m here, no-one else is. I’m not going to go ‘yes sir, no siring’ tonight. Just tell me what you want.”
Hunter looked surprised for a split second, then his stoic mask slipped back so quickly Ian thought he only imagined it. “Do you know what this is about?” he asked.
“I have my hunch.”
Hunter nodded approvingly. “Good. I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” Antonio came up to their table with their orders, handing the tequila and two hamburgers to the customers. “Thank you Antonio.” The waiter bowed low and retreated from sight. Hunter sighed and lifted the glass to his lips, and grimaced when he tasted the contents. “A little spicy for me,” he said putting it down. “Very well, I shall fill you in.
“You see, to put it simply, InGen has failed.” It wasn’t a question, so Ian didn’t say anything. “They had such a bright future with that technology they developed, and they ruined it all in the blink of an eye.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Their company’s profits have been decreasing astronomically since the last incident with the Tyrannosaur in San Diego, a mess; dozens of deaths, and several lawsuits regarding damaged property. And not to say the least, severe doubts of the company’s credibility.”
He leaned forward and looked at Ian, eyes glittering. “It is time for someone else to step up to the plate.”
Ian felt his mouth go dry.
“The technology used in creating Jurassic Park was ahead of its time, too far ahead, it seemed. I read your book, Dr. Malcolm. And while others who read it also may have thought it to be too ethical, not enough blood and gore and grotesque detail such as in Dr. Grant’s book, I appreciated the sheer brilliance of your words.
“I understood the nature of your mind behind those pages, and there is only one word to describe it in perfect detail: ruthless. I do not mean ruthless as in cruel, but as in comprehending the danger and rules of manipulation of the most brutal degree. You grasped the elements of the technology that InGen missed. You understood the science and the theories, but more importantly, you knew how it would all go wrong.
“You cognize the mind of a creature, you know how far something can be pushed. You know how far it will go, and most importantly, you know what will happen if it snaps.”
Throughout Hunter’s little speech, Ian had said nothing. Now he spoke up, wanting to see where this was going. “But why is all this important?”
Hunter looked at him with somber black eyes. “Jurassic Park is being given a second chance.”
For a full minute, Ian could not speak. Something had lodged itself in his throat and stubbornly refused to come out. “What?” he managed to gasp.
“The government has decided to try again to establish Jurassic Park in a different location,” said Hunter.
“They’re legalizing a fresh new hell, that’s what they’re doing,” snapped Ian.
The Scallor head folded his hands patiently. “Dr. Malcolm, do you think it’s really fair to with hold an amazing experience that the uneducated public deserves to witness?”
“Do you think it’s fair to with hold alcohol from minors who would love to get wasted?” retorted Ian. “This is insane.”
Hunter looked pained. “Really, try to see it as a chance for redemption of past mistakes. This time, it will be perfect. InGen certainly did make some mistakes, but we are not InGen. We do not hold foolish naïve notions of grandeur, only the realistic views that the world is lacking today.”
Ian stared into space. He couldn’t believe it. A new Jurassic Park. New dinosaurs. New threats. His head started to pound and he rubbed his temples to ease the ache. “And you want me to help you,” he said slowly. Hunter nodded and sipped his drink. “Why?”
“Because you’re the best,” Hunter said simply.
“I’m sure there’s plenty better.”
“No, there’s not,” Hunter said firmly. He leaned over again, and as his voice dropped to a whisper, a hungry passion flared hotly in his eyes. “As I said, Dr. Malcolm, I read your book. And when I first did, one thing you wrote remained in my mind, forever conscious in my thoughts as I went about the project. You wrote that you had told Hammond one thing before the first deaths: ‘You wield your genetics like a kid who finds his father’s gun.’ You said that they attained their advanced skills without any discipline. They didn’t understand what that meant, but I do.
“You meant that everything they had accomplished had been done without mistakes, and only through failures can anything be learned. You feared that when something finally went wrong, it would be so shocking that no-one would know how to react, and you were right.”
“And how I love being right.”
“My point is; you saw what they didn’t. You saw the bright, clear line where they would fail.”
“And is that what you want me to do for you?” Ian asked. “I’ve already got a few things lined up.”
“No, no. I want you to be in charge,” stated Hunter. As Ian began to cough slightly, the man went on: “Please, let me finish—the reasons I want you for this are the ones I’ve already listed. This opportunity is one we cannot afford to pass up—“His hand clenched into a fist—“and I have no intention of doing so. You’re the best man for the job; you see the loopholes where it can go wrong.”
“And if it does go wrong, it’s my head.”
“Precisely.” The elderly man took a last bite of his hamburger and dotted delicately at his mouth with a napkin that was certainly too clean to have come from the grimy restaurant. “However, Dr. Malcolm,” said Hunter firmly, “you are not so entirely impotent that we cannot survive without you, and I have had several offers from qualified professionals begging to head the operation. With or without you, the project will persist. But without you, there will be more accidents.”
Ian stiffened.
“You see my dilemma,” continued Hunter. “And yours. I will allow you to consider this proposal until six o’clock to-morrow. If you accept you will depart immediately. I will provide transportation. If you refuse, then we shall never speak of this again and you can read about any unfortunate incidents in the tabloids. Good day, Dr. Malcolm.” He nodded his head in an irritatingly gracious manner, stood up, placed money on the table and strode with dignity out of the bar, leaving a speechless Ian in his wake.
The rest of the night he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, sweating under the covers as images of open, greedy jaws and ripping claws floated through his mind. He shook as he watched again and again as his daughter screamed in terror and he stood by, helpless. Writhing in his sheets, he cried silently as he saw Sarah narrowly avoid the piercing tail of a Stegosaurus, and the terrible claw on the foot of the raptors strike their prey.
With a final start, he sat straight up in his sweat-soaked bed breathing hard. Still being haunted with the ghostly images in his dreams, he quickly ran his hands over his arms and legs in panic and was immensely relieved when he saw that he still had the normal number of limbs, with no gashes or scars spider-webbing across his flushed skin.
Ian glanced at the clock next to his bed. It read 1:52 in glowing blue numbers. He didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of his nightmares, so he quietly slipped out of his sheets and stepped onto the hardwood floor. He shivered, even though he had pajama pants and a tee shirt on and it wasn’t cold. He pulled on a bathrobe and headed for the kitchen thinking that a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream was just the thing he needed that moment. He opened the freezer door and pulled out a tub of ice cream. It was mint chocolate chip, Kelly’s favorite. Ian thought it was okay.
Ian dipped a spoon into the tub without bothering to grab a bowl. He was too tired to care right then.
He reflected on the offer from the previous night and vaguely wondered if he should take it. No. He barely had to think about it. No. He was never going to face that again. Someone else could do it, some naïve fool that still believed in fairy tales. But who would do it? Who in the world was stupid enough to think that they could actually control dinosaurs?
Briefly he considered calling Sarah and asking her. His mind quickly turned away from that thought. It was the middle of the night where she was too. Plus, if he called her, she would go if he didn’t. Ian didn’t want a repeat of the last time she went off without him.
But he needed to call someone. He felt that his head would explode if he kept it all to himself; that he needed to tell somebody now.
What was Alan doing now?
Ian smirked slightly. No, Alan would not be asleep right now. He picked up the phone and dialed a number that was strange to his fingers, but familiar to his memory. He had never needed to call Grant, but there was a first time for everything. He held the phone up to his ear as a ring tone sounded over the phone. It rang six times before Alan picked it up. He always waited six rings to answer, Ian knew. If it rang more than six, then Alan always figured it was either a co-worker or Pizza Hut calling to say they couldn’t find his house.
“Hello,” said a voice on the other line. Ian looked at the phone in surprise. Either that was a girl on the line or Alan had undergone some very weird changes. “Dr. Grant’s office.” Most likely his office was in the middle of the desert.
“Um, I’d like to talk to Dr. Grant.”
“He’s busy right now. Can I take a message, or would you like for him to call you back?” The girl’s voice was sweet and child-like.
“It’s important. Tell him that the ‘rock star’ is on the phone. He’ll come.”
The girl said obediently, “Okay. Just a minute please.” She sounded confused. Ian heard rustling as the girl put down the phone and headed out of what sounded like a tent flap. Moments later, footsteps sounded and the phone was picked up again.
“Malcolm?” came an annoyed voice. “Is that you?” Ian grinned slightly.
“Last time I checked—though I think I’ve gone from a U2 faze to a calmer Barry Manilow state. Is he considered a rock star?”
“Only in France,” said Grant. “Why are you calling me at 2:00 in the morning?” The sounds of shuffling filtered through the phone as Grant pawed around in a leaflet. “I’m busy.”
“Then I’ll be quick. Have you ever heard of Scallor?”
“Kitchen appliances company?”
“Uh, no. They used to be a rival of InGen in the science department—genetics field. James Hunter came to talk to me today.” Ian heard Grant’s sharp intake of breath as his full attention was given to the other.
“What about?” Suspicion was practically dripping from Grant’s voice.
“I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” Ian said grimly. “We’re in trouble.”
Grant was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was layered with heavy concern. “You have got to be pulling my leg.”
Ian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not an appealing idea, Grant.”
“Sugar-coat it for me.”
Ian blew out his breath and inhaled again. “Scallor has gotten legal permission to give a second attempt at building a Jurassic Park somewhere else in the world, they want me to head it, and I’ve got a really bad feeling that after the ‘ooohs’ and ‘ahhhs’ I’m going to end up running and screaming.” He thought for a moment and scratched his chin. “So, anything new with the cactuses? Or the cacti? I can’t remember which. Have you finally been able to give Pizza Hut understandable directions to your dig site?”
“Who taught you how to sugar-coat?”
“Hammond. Now are you happy to hear from me?”
“Considering the news, not really,” muttered Grant. “What do you want me to do?”
Ian twisted the phone cord, a habit that he never really noticed he had. “They smell.”
“Um.”
“No, not like that.” Ian wrinkled his nose. “I mean something smells fishy. They’re willing to pay me an expensive price for overseeing their project, and I don’t think it’s because of my experience. Hunter was trying to butter me up—some of what he said to me was probably true, but the rest was extra frosting. His company’s gone down in popularity, Grant, ever since people have started to distrust genetics corporations. He’s willing to say anything and do anything to be loved again.”
“You think he won’t pay you the money?”
“I think he’ll find a reason not to.”
On the other end of the line, Grant was clutching the phone hard, and the plastic shook in his hand. “Don’t do this, Malcolm,” he said. “You’re right. This stinks. You go and offer your help; they’ll turn you into a pet monkey. This is bad.”
“Except for the fact that Hunter not-so-subtly hinted that there would be accidents if I wasn’t in charge. He said I’d read about them in the newspaper.”
“He’s willing to kill off his own workers to get what he wants?!” hissed Grant angrily. He was always fair to his dig site workers. “That’s sick. That’s just sick.” He exhaled deeply and took another breath, realizing that he had been holding it. “What are you going to do? You can’t just go alone, if you do go.”
“I won’t be alone.”
“Then who—“ his voice trailed off as he caught the meaning. He sighed. “Ian, ever since the first time, I said I was never doing it again.”
“And you know how I love proving you wrong.”
“You’re a jerk, Ian.”
“Yeah, I love you too.”
3/9/2002 7:49:41 AM
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