Camp Cretaceous,finding home(au)

Proluge

Roxie was dreaming. Her sleep was fitful, and brimming with thoughts. Thoughts about dinosaurs and idiot corporate men in suits and ties; thoughts about the six kids they were forced to leave behind. Kids who were — now — more then likely dead. A relentless, unending guilt that had been plaguing her for almost three years pooled in her gut like liquid steel. And with a short gasp of air, the Brit shot up with a start. Her heart fluttered against the back of her ribs like a bird in a cage, and she dropped her face into cupped palms with a shaky exhale.

(Three years)

It was weird to think it had been that long already, since it often felt just like yesterday. Roxie hadn't stopped trying to launch a rescue since they landed in Costa Rica; hadn't stopped trying since returning to the states. She'd tried everything, and contacted everyone and anyone who would listen. She kickstarted fundraisers and organized protests. Yet it had still been three tedious years, and her dream of rescuing six innocent kids was now more of a fantasy.

Glancing up as there was a gentle knock on the door, Dave's familiar worked jaw was haloed in the hall light as he poked his head in. He smiled wryly at her, though it didn't quite reach his eyes like it used to.

"Hey. Sorry if I woke you,"

"You didn't," Roxie admitted, "what's up?"

"A letter for you," Dave spoke, holding up a familiar sized white envelope. There was another hot bubble of disappointment in her chest. She'd become quite familiar with how the Government of Costa Rica sent letters. Staring at her smooth, unblemished palms, Dave made a noise in his throat and flicked on the bedroom light. Roxie squinted slightly, glancing up at her boyfriend who's weight dipped the mattress as he sat down beside her, "maybe this is the one," Dave urged her, extending the letter with two fingers, "you never know."

"It won't be," Roxie sneered, taking the envelope and resisting her urge to tear it up, "it'll be like all the rest. Dear Mrs. Jamil, we regret to inform you that your request for an expedition to the red zoned island of Isle Nublar in Costa Rica has been denied...again."

"Well, you won't know till you open it," Dave chuckled dryly, "I'll sit right here. We'll share the disappointment,"

Rolling her eyes at the statement, Roxie stared down at the letter again. Dave was an optimist in the worst of times. On the island, during the evacuation, during the three years they'd been rallying to return to the Island. But even he had his doubts. He wouldn't ever voice them aloud to her, he loved her after all, but she could see it written across his face. Pity, worry, unease. Maybe...maybe it was really time to let it rest?

Slipping a thumb under the pristine white flap, Roxie tore into the letter. It felt like an agonizingly slow process, pulling the familiar sheet of printer paper out from its protective sleeve and unfolding it. Her heart stuttered, like an electric shock had gone through it. The pattern of words from the past three years was practically tattooed on the back of her brain. Every word, every line and space. She had every inch of those letters memorized. This one was different.

'Dear Ms. Jamil,

The three year red zone status of the island of Isle Nublar has been downgraded to a level Orange status: approved and restricted visitation only. The Office of Land Management and Affairs has looked over your case, and approved visitation in the month of July of this year, 2018.

Please respond to our office (the Visitation Office) via email with concise travel plans, so they may be approved in a timely and orderly fashion by this coming Tuesday. Please note level Orange status restricts the landing or mooring of air and water vehicles. If you have any questions, please direct them to our team in the OOV.

We hope this letter finds you well.

Office of Visitation,

Costa Rica'

Roxie felt her jaw drop to the floor.

"Rox?" Dave asked worriedly, taking her shoulder in a boxy hand and jostling it, "Roxanne, you ok?"

Still unable to speak, Roxie passed over the letter as Dave scanned it. His face didn't say much, other then a small tug of the lips.

"We can go," Roxie croaked out, running a quivering palm across her auburn curls, "we...we can find them, Dave."

"Rox..."

"I know, I know," she cut him off, "don't get my hopes up. But we could...we could try and find things? To give back to the families. To give them some sort of closure."

"To give you some closure?" Dave inquired gently, tugging Roxie into his lap as hot tears boiled in her eyes. Three years of fighting had finally led to this letter, even if it was three years to late. At least she'd be able to say she had gone. That she had truly given it her everything.

"I just...I want to know. I need to know how long they..." trailing off, a chin came to sit on the crest of her head, as a hand tangled in her ponytail.

"I know Rox," Dave consoled quietly as she finally let herself cry, "and I know I haven't been...the most supportive, the last year. But you know I'll come with you."

"That means a lot," Roxie nodded with a weak sniffle, wiping at her nose as she clenched her firsts, "what am I doing! I don't have time to sit here blubbering. I have plans to make..."

"We have plans to make," Dave insisted, taking her small hand in his and giving it a sturdy squeeze, "I'm in this too. Camp Councilors for the win, right?"

Giving the man a watery smile, Roxie nodded and stood determinedly.

"Right. So let's get to it then. I haven't been trying for three years just to slip up now."

Placing both hands on her hips, Dave laughed lightly and stood as well.

"That's my girl,"