Sam Neill passed away, and I am absolutely heartbroken 💔
I'm sitting on my bed at 3am crying over his passing because Jurassic Park is one of the movies that is the most special to me in the world, and to lose him after he beat cancer is just unfair 💔
Fly high Dr. Grant, we will sorely sorely miss you 💔💔💔
Am I the only one who thinks Alan Grant from Jurassic park would make an absolutely merciless and evil ler? Like can’t you imagine him describing how raptors hunt, using just one finger to draw out a map on the character’s stomach while explaining, and occasionally asking if they’re listening?
It's such a small moment, but the fact that Mrs. Norris tries to get Tom to play cards by suggesting they will up the ante for him, but only against Dr. Grant, is such a complex and horrible thing
“My dear Tom,” cried his aunt soon afterwards, “as you are not dancing, I dare say you will have no objection to join us in a rubber; shall you?” Then leaving her seat, and coming to him to enforce the proposal, added in a whisper, “We want to make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you know. Your mother is quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare time to sit down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you and I and Dr. Grant will just do; and though we play but half-crowns, you know, you may bet half-guineas with him.”
Firstly, Mrs. Norris must be aware that Tom has a gambling problem, she was around when Sir Thomas sold the Mansfield living. In order to flatter Mrs. Rushworth with a game, she is tempting Tom with his principle vice. In fact, this even proves she knows because she's using it against him.
Second, she constantly talks about how Sir Thomas is in financial peril, Fanny cannot have a horse! But she sees nothing wrong with Tom gambling a significant amount of money for her own ends, which proves a good deal of her frugality is self-serving or pointedly cruel.
Third, much like she offered Henry's carriage to get scratched up on the way to Sotherton, she offers Dr. Grant's money against Tom's but indicates that she will still play for a lower amount. While she wants to tempt Tom to play, she will not spend her own money.
Fourth (speculation), Mrs. Norris hates Dr. Grant and is probably asking Tom to play so that she has a better chance to beat him. We know Sir Thomas doesn't want his wife as a partner in whist.
Mansfield Park is so amazing because this tiny, seemingly insignificant moments reveal so much about each character!
Summary: Several years after escaping the nightmares of Isla Sorna, Alan Grant finds himself face to face with the one person he swore would be better off without him. Turns out there’s a lot more catching up that needs to be done than he thought.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 3.4K
A/N: Here it is, the Alan Grant reader insert that no one but my subconscious asked for. This takes place somewhere between the events of Jurassic Park III and Jurassic World: Dominion so while the timeline in the story is vague, just know that this is definitely post-Isla Sorna. Also, no beta. We die like men.
“Dr. Grant?”
Alan pried himself away from the paperwork in front of him and turned around. His mouth had just begun to open and form around the question, “how can I help you”, when his jaw went slack and his heart stilled in his chest. His eyes widened.
“I’ll be damned…”
The last thing Alan Grant ever expected when he rolled out of bed to return to the dig that morning was to have you standing in the entryway of his work tent. And yet, there you were, body framed beautifully by the desert and a gentle smile painted across your face. It was so surreal, so unbelievable that, for the briefest moment, he considered the possibility that the blistering heat had finally gotten to him.
But the soft chuckle that came from your throat reassured him that this was no hallucination. The one person he had desperately tried to leave in the past without considering the damage it would inflict on his own heart had actually returned. The one that he let get away out of sheer doubt and fear had found their way back like salmon returning to their breeding grounds upstream.
“Surprised to see me?” You asked with a slight tilt of the head.
A huff of laughter escaped his throat. “Is it that obvious?”
“I’m sorry, I probably should have called or at least sent your team an email. Hell, I kind of just barged my way in here.”
“It’s fine, really. I just…”
He trailed off for a moment, soaking in the image and the sensation of seeing you standing before him again. It had been years since he last saw you and yet it looked as if time had barely grazed its fingers over your skin. You were just as gorgeous as the day he’d met you, your smile still as disarming as the first time he watched it grace your lips. If there was ever going to be a textbook image to accompany the phrase, “some things never change”, it would have to be you.
“I never thought I would be so lucky as to see you again,” he admitted.
Alan straightened as you crossed the space between you. Each step you took seemed to trigger a thrum in his chest. The closer you got, the harder his heart beat until suddenly your arms were around his torso and the silly little fist-sized organ behind his sternum ceased to function altogether. His breath caught in his throat.
“I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, breath tickling the skin above his collar.
His hands hovered behind your back for the briefest moment as he debated his right to touch. You were the most delicate and beloved thing in his life, more fragile and worthy of care than even the oldest of fossils. If he ever miscalculated the strength of his words or the placement of his hands and shattered the bone of your trust, he would never be able to forgive himself.
But this momentary embrace was something he couldn’t pass up just because he was afraid. He’d been thinking about you for years, wondering if he had done the wrong thing by swallowing his emotions and burying himself in his work. So much time had passed but still you lingered in his mind like the scent of a candle long since burnt down to the wick.
His hands found their place on your back, one between your shoulder blades and the other on the small of your back. With a soft exhale, he pulled you closer. Some nights he had dreamed of holding you and every single one of those dream had soothed the ache in his chest just enough to make it through another day. But this…this was so much more. This was like coming home.
***
That night, the two of you went out to dinner. Years of catch up were crammed into one evening and, by the end of the meal, it felt as if he had pieced together the entire puzzle that was the mystery of your life without him. And God was he proud of how far you’d come.
The last time he’d seen you, you were a bright eyed grad student determined to know everything there was to learn about theropods. You attended every one of his lectures at the local university, engaged in every discussion group he headed, and constantly made it a point to go out of your way to see him. Since then you had taken everything you learned from him and your studies and applied it to your own teaching. You were now a full-blown tenured professor teaching the ins and outs of theropod behaviors and biology just like your mentor had taught you. He had sworn back when you were exchanging theories in crowded college libraries that there was nothing that could make him adore you more. Hearing about your successes like this, however, he quickly realized he was dead wrong. You had only grown more perfect in your time apart.
“What’s that look for?”
Alan wasn’t even aware that he was staring until you spoke. He sat up tall in his chair, grip tightening around the beer bottle in his hand. He cleared his throat.
“What look?”
“The one where it seems like you have so much you want to say but you can’t find the words,” you replied. “Or maybe you just don’t want to find them.”
You could have stripped him down to his briefs and thrown him in the middle of Times Square on a Friday night and he would have felt less exposed than he did in that moment. Back then you always knew when something was off. You saw through his masks and forced him to admit when he was burnt out or struggling with the countless things on his plate. The fact that you still peered straight through the facade after all this time was both terrifying and impressive.
He lowered his head slightly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m that easy to read?”
“Only if you know which pages to flip to.”
A silence fell over the table. Part of him wanted to turn tail and run, to bury every last bit of his emotions in the sands he had been digging through for the last two weeks. It would be the safest choice. If he ran, he eliminated every risk of making the wrong move and crossing a line so thin it was barely legible.
But the other part of him that wanted to kick open the gate and roam free in the wilds of emotion roared just as loud. He knew better than to think he could just forget you or ignore the way you made him feel. That approach had already failed miserably. Why make the same mistake and push away the one person that made him feel so seen? Was the idea of being vulnerable really so terrifying?
Before the two beasts in his head could finish their battle, the waiter returned with the check and your focus was drawn away from his warring stare of mind. He sighed at the momentary relief but couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. Time never left any stone untouched.
***
After dinner, he drove you back to your hotel. You had taken time out of a busy convention schedule to take a taxi out to the bluffs and say hello; the least he could do was make sure you made it back to your temporary homestead safe and sound. And hey, if part of the reason he wanted to do so was because he just couldn’t say goodbye so quickly, how were you to know?
“I had a great time tonight,” you said with a smile when the two of you reached your room, “I almost didn’t make my way out to the site today but I’m so glad I did.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Why almost?”
For the first time that night, he watched you hesitate. He could see that you were calculating, debating not only what you wanted to say but the words you absolutely didn’t dare speak. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a mind at war.
“I don’t know. I just… I guess I was afraid to get in your way. I know how important these digs are to you and how exhausting it is after spending hours upon hours in the sun just to find a femur the size of tv remote.” You let out a small laugh that made his heart do a sloppy cartwheel in his chest before you continued, “The last thing I wanted was to bother you. Especially after everything you’ve been through. You deserve peace.”
He blinked at the statement. It caught him completely off guard, forcing his brain to run through a thousand different scenarios and questions before he even really understood what he was feeling. Of course he was happy to have returned to a reserved life where dinosaurs were just fragments of old bone rather than frightening monsters dead set on eating him for lunch. But did you truly believe that a life of peace was impossible with you in it? Had he actually made you think that he was better off without you?
“You could never be a bother,” he said quietly, “Hell, you could wake me up in the middle of the night just to tell me you’d hidden my toolbox somewhere in the desert and I’d probably be just fine with it.”
Another laugh slipped from your lips, drawing a soft smile to his face. Oh how he’d missed that laugh. If he could bottle up one sound and keep it on his shelf ‘til the end of time, it would have been just that. Nothing made him feel more special than being the one to draw even the briefest chuckle out of you.
For a moment, the two of you lingered there, soaking in the carefree sensation of sharing a laugh with one another again. Slowly that sensation dissipated and gave way to something else entirely. Alan watched as your smile faded. The cogs in your head were turning again, your eyes shifting away from him as you weighed the pros and cons of whatever decision had been placed at your feet. Finally, a daunting question broke the silence.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “Certainly.”
The pause that followed only made the tension worsen. He was terrified just being alone with you again. Knowing whatever was clawing at the back of your mind was complicated enough to tangle the webs of your own decision making skills made him consider whether or not he should have even made it back from Isla Sorna.
The grip you had on the strap of your messenger bag tightened as you searched for the words you had lost in the muddle of your thoughts.
“Did I do something wrong? Back in grad school, I mean. You and I were so close and you always seemed so happy to be around me. But before you left, before Isla Sorna, you just…” You let out a pained exhale. “Something changed that made you want to stay away from me and I never understood why. To this day, I still don’t. If I did something to hurt you, I really want to know.”
Alan’s breath caught in his throat. The agony behind your words and the sheer innocence in your eyes stung like a knife. You were hurting because of him and God did that make him want to drop to his knees and beg for your forgiveness.
“No, I promise you did nothing wrong. I…”
He hesitantly reached for you, fingers instinctively seeking the opportunity to touch you and bring you the reassurance you so desperately needed. But before they could even brush your arm, he forced his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“I did what I thought was best for you and stepped away.”
“‘Stepped away?’ How could cutting me off possibly be what was best for me?” You shook your head. “Alan, you were the person I trusted most. I wanted nothing more than to be there for you. I started to believe in myself because you saw the best in me. Watching you fade out of my life only to disappear entirely and never look back…I got lucky that I could see that the version of myself you showed me was still there.”
“It’s difficult to explain but believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to stay.”
The response that came was so quick, so pointed that felt like he’d been shoved into a corner with a hunting rifle aimed at the space between his eyes. “Then tell me why you couldn’t.”
Alan’s heart was racing at this point. Fear and adrenaline were coursing through his veins like a dangerous drug. He had spent his entire life trying to stay in control of his emotions. But after pushing you away and spending years regretting the pain he had inflicted upon, it became increasingly clear that Ellie Sattler was right about control: control was just an illusion.
“I left because I wanted more,” he blurted before his brain could stop him from giving in to the illusion of control.
Something inside of him ruptured. The cracked, worn-down dam holding back his feelings finally gave way and every little sensation he had kept inside came gushing out in a great flood. He wanted to cry and scream and go quiet all at once.
Lowering his head, he continued, his voice barely above a murmur. “I was terrified of being around you because I didn’t want you to see through me. I thought that if you pulled back that curtain the way you always did and saw how I really felt, then you would want nothing to do with me anymore. There’s a reason that men like me don’t get to be with someone like you.”
The last thing he expected was for you to get closer. In fact, he had been anticipating something along the lines of a slap to the face or a disgusted scoff. But neither of those instances found their footing in his reality. Instead, he found himself being warmed by the proximity of your body and felt a soothing hand curl around the side of his neck.
He slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze. Up close once again, he got lost in the beauty of your eyes. Even when they were flooded with emotion, even when he was crippled by fear and doubt, he was drawn to them like moths to a flame. If it had been physically possible to drown himself in them, there was a good chance that’s how he’d choose to go out.
“And what kind of person do you think I am, Dr. Grant?”
Your voice was low, soft yet sultry. It danced across the space between you and slipped into his ear in a way that was so enticing he nearly shivered. Like a siren’s song, your words drew him back in from the violent waves of his emotions and he found himself focusing solely on the way your lips formed around each end every syllable in the sentence.
“The kind of person that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about them,” he murmured, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, “Someone so incredibly beautiful and inspiring that you’d do anything to make them see you…Someone you’d never stop loving until the day you were laid to rest…”
His words faded out completely as he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours. Closing his eyes, he let himself melt into your touch. Words could never properly describe the way your kiss made him feel. It took his breath away and yet, at the same time, it was as if you were breathing life into his aching soul. He had spent so many years yearning for you and now that he had you in his grasp, he didn’t want to let go.
When he felt your mouth begin to move slowly against his, inviting him to go further and dig deeper into the hills of satisfaction, he brought one hand up to cup your cheek. The gentle movements of his mouth descended into something primal when your tongue brushed against his bottom lip. In an instant, his inhibitions broke free from their restraints and threw his body into a frenzy. He kissed you hard and deep, drawing a quiet moan from somewhere within your chest. The sound made his stomach twist with pleasure. What other noises could he procure from these lips? What ungodly sounds would he make himself if he continued to expel several years’ worth of yearning and regret?
“Alan…”
He swallowed his name like a starving animal and used his other hand to grapple at your waist and pull you in tighter. The weight and heat of your body pressed against his made him feel a sense of comfort he never thought possible. Here with you, he was safe. Here with you, he would never be afraid of the ancient demons that lurked in the forests of Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna. Here with you, he was home.
His hips instinctively ground against yours as he let himself drown in the taste of your lips. There was a desperation in his movements that he didn’t even know could exist. Too many years, too little touch. And now here you were giving him something he’d only ever dreamed of.
“Alan.”
The sternness of your voice drew him back to reality in an instant, his self-restraint kicking back into overdrive and forcing him to pull away. If his cheeks weren’t already flush from the heat of it all, there was no doubt that he was burning an embarrassing shade of red.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured breathlessly, “I shouldn’t have—“
You interjected immediately, hand holding his jaw in place so he couldn’t look away. “No. Don’t apologize. I want this. I want you,” you reassured him, “You really think I’d drive all the way out to the dunes just to see you if I didn’t want this?”
His brow raised slightly, eyes studying your face with the same scrutiny he placed into his work. When it came to fossils, he could read every crack and curve of bone like a book and piece together everything that ever happened to an animal that had died millions of years ago. If he could learn to read you the same way, he’d die a very happy man.
“I just don’t really need a hallway full of strangers to hear what we’re doing,” you added with a sheepish grin.
It was at that moment that his spacial awareness returned. While his enamored brain had convinced itself that the two of you were tucked away in your own little world, you were still standing outside the door to your hotel room with a seemingly endless line of identical doors stretching out in either direction.
“Oh.”
You chuckled and brought your other hand up to hold his scruffy jaw, pulling him down to give him a soft kiss. He accepted it without any hesitation.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
The question reignited a spark in his stomach. His eyes scanned your face some more, almost hurriedly trying to verify that your expression coincided with the words he was hearing. Sure enough, the two pieces matched perfectly and any doubt he had of your intentions was wiped out by a meteor of certainty.
He nodded, ghosting his lips over yours again as he muttered, “Of course.”
Your hands fell from his face as you stepped back. While he had no trouble waiting patiently for you to find your key card and unlock the door, there was no way he could ignore the pounding in his chest. His heart was beating unbearably fast, hopped up on adrenaline and a whole concoction of other emotions he didn’t yet have the strength to unpack. There was still a tiny voice in his head trying to convince him that he didn’t deserve this. It wanted him to remember his fears, to consider the fact that the world was populated by millions of people who were better suited to stand at your side.
But when your fingers laced between his to pull you forward and he heard the hotel door click shut behind him, that tiny voice fell silent. From then on, the only thing he wanted to hear was you.
Fie is back! I actually found a bunch of writing I never posted so even though my energy is down I think I'll be able to post a good amount over the holidays! Also unclear exactly when this is set.... I figured since it's unclear to Fie, it might as well be unclear to us. Is it a past event or recent? who knows??
In the arts and crafts room of Woodford Asylum sat a young man who did not know who he was. He didn’t know how long he had been there. But he knew he was bad. The doctors had told him he was bad. That he had done bad things and that he deserved to be here.
But he had been good enough to deserve this. So he clutched the paintbrush and sat in familiar silence as he worked on what he couldn’t get out of his head.
There was also a doctor in the room, standing by the door, carefully observing. The young man did not know this. After about twenty minutes, he put his hands in his white coat pockets and approached.
“Hello Alfred,” The older man greeted gently.
He was met with a raised head and a lost look as the patient tried to comprehend the new stimulus.
“How’s the painting going? I can tell you’ve been quite focused.”
It was painful to watch, that adrift look on patients’ faces when they struggled to grasp what was happening through their necessary sedatives. Remarkable though that he was still able to paint…
“May I see what you are working on?” He smiled and spoke slowly, hoping to be understood.
Alfie stared at him for a moment, sorting through the words before nodding.
The doctor smiled again and circled him to get a proper view.
His stomach plummeted at what he saw… There was a figure of a young man lying in a bed of flowers, little yellow ones- it could have looked like a bucolic late-impressionist scene in its tranquility… all except-
-The blood, dreadful stains of red covered the young man’s chest, and his hands and dripping out of his mouth hung ajar.
Dr. Grant put his hands on the young man’s shoulders and breathed out a sigh, “Oh, Alfred.”
Alfred flinched from the touch at first but didn’t move away.
“Can you tell me what this is?” He, at last, asked gently, so so very gently.
“My dream.”
Grant knew who this was of course- he had seen the crime scene photos. Stabbed and left on the kitchen floor. But the flowers- well… those weren’t a part of it. Did the boy even understand what he had painted?
“This is a dream? Do you know who it is?”
“Someone important- I th-think.” He whispered back.
Harris had been recording that Alfie no longer remembered Del, or what he had done…
“What happened to him?”
The young man’s lip trembled, “I don’t know.”
Grant moved to pull another chair up so he could sit next to the boy, “How often do you dream this?”
Alfie dropped his eyes, “Almost- almost every night.”
“That must be very painful.” This man didn’t relish the sentence like Harris would.
Alfie looked back up at him in quiet confusion, surprised by the sympathetic tone. It was painful. The worst part is that he didn’t know why- the pain had no beginning and no end, a swirling ball of unspeakable darkness because none of it had any explanation. Only that Alfie was bad, that surely it was happening only because he deserved it.
“Alfred, I think you should be done with painting today.” Grant held his hand out for the young man to hand him the brush, he did so obediently without a thought, used to being ordered.
Grant didn’t want Harris walking in and seeing what was coming from Alfred’s mind. He would say he was reliving his crime, maybe even reveling in it. Even if he had done it… which Grant wasn’t so convinced of- knowing Alfie the last few years, it was never something he would have meant to do. So there was no need to confuse him further.
He was so turned around he couldn't even remember the most traumatic moment of his life. Was that good or bad? Grant wasn't even sure...
"I'll make sure you get to paint tomorrow but for now, why don't you come to my office for a little bit?"
Alfie wilted a little at the word office. Terrifying conversations and forced sedation came swirling through his mind at the word.
"Don't worry, you don't even need to speak, we'll just have some tea. I can show you some of the paintings I have on the walls."
The boy swallowed and nodded in consent, even though somewhere far away he knew that he didn't have a choice. If someone asked him to do something, it was never a choice.
So he followed the kind man and hoped it wouldn't end in needles.
