Author's note: I've been playing with this idea in my mind for a while now. Let's see how it's going to unfold, shall we? (I'm sorry for everything!)
The first time he kissed her – the real kiss, not the hasty spur-of-a-moment-thanks-for-not-letting-my-face-get-eaten-by-a-prehistoric-beast-in-the-middle-of-a-terrified-crowd kind – her lips were painted bright red. He had spent hours staring at them and debating the pros and cons of going for it, well aware that, in given circumstances, it could be either the best or the worst decision if not of his life, then at least of the past decade. And maybe of the on to come.
It wasn't the leap that unnerved him, but the fact that once he jumped, there was no way to scramble back up and walk away as if nothing happened.
Then again, those lips…
She smelled faintly of her citrus shampoo and that goddamn vanilla lotion that seemed to be etched into his own skin by now, the one that kept driving him insane for months on end already, and he might have as well stopped pretending it wasn't true. It made him feel lightheaded even before her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer, and a low moan formed in the back of her throat as her lips parted against his - whether as an invitation or demand, however, he couldn't tell.
She tasted like fear, and need, and Thank God, and finally! And the world kept on spinning, spinning, spinning, although in which direction, he had no idea …
xoox
Present day
Owen awoke lying on his back to the sound of the thunder rolling over his head and the heavy rain pounding down on him, each droplet feeling like a sharp needle digging into his skin. The water was everywhere, ice-cold and heavy, pressing him down into the ground, the pebbles digging into his calves and shoulder blades.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the raindrops streaming down his face, and peered into the inky black sky above, straining to hear something beyond the rustle of the rain but coming up blank. He tried to remember how he ended up in what he supposed was a ditch in the forest, but there was a pounding ache pooling in the back of his skull and behind his eyes and echoing in every cell of his body, and it was all he could focus on at the moment.
He rolled over and hissed through his teeth when searing pain shot through his upper arm and into his back, stealing all air from his lungs. A dislocated shoulder, if he was lucky.
He took a slow breath, waiting for the throbbing to abide, and stopped mid-inhale when his ribs protested against it, his muscles tightening instantly in response. He flinched and clenched his teeth, then pushed himself up and into a sitting position, careful not to disturb anything that could be broken and hoping he wouldn't pass out again because this time he'd surely drown, and dying that way after surviving a dinosaur attack was pathetic, to say the least.
Helping himself with his good hand and digging the heels of his boots into the mud, he scooted backwards until his back was pressed again the rough bark of a tree. By this time, dark spots were dancing before his eyes, but he was no longer in danger of finding his death in a puddle of rainwater, and it was something.
Owen reached automatically for his belt, hoping to find a gun strapped to it, but the holster was empty, and the only thing he came up with was a handful of broken plastic that used to be his radio. Now that was just terrific.
He leaned heavily against the trunk, taking small shallow breaths, mindful of the dull ache resonating in his ribs with his every move, and closed his eyes. It was cold, so cold he was shaking all over, his teeth chattering unevenly.
The reality felt hazy and blurred at the edges, like an old photograph that started to fray and lose its colors with age, zooming in and out of his focus. He was back on the island, that much he was certain of, although the details of landing kept lurking in the back of his mind and slipping out of his reach whenever he got too close. And if this headache wasn't going to kill him, some monster with more teeth than he could count would probably take care of that long before sunrise.
xoox
4 weeks earlier
"Is this your final word, Ms. Dearing?"
Frank Caldwell, current COO of Masrani Global Corporation appointed by the Board of Directors to step into Simon Masrani's shoes after the Indominus incident, folded his arms on his redwood desk and looked at Claire evenly, his fingers laced together, the cufflinks that quite possibly cost more than everything she owned glinting in the sunlight.
"I believe I made myself perfectly clear the first seven times you asked, Mr. Caldwell." Claire responded in a frosty voice, holding his gaze, keeping her chin high, and hoping she wouldn't lose it in the next 15 seconds as the pristine white walls of his office kept creeping in on her, making it hard to breathe.
On the bright side, she could throw herself out of one of his expansive windows in case it got worse.
Caldwell arched an eyebrow at her. "You understand that it's not necessarily a question, right?"
At that, Claire almost snickered, allowing her lips to quirk into a grimace of a cold smile. "Let's pretend it's not." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "What are you going to do, exactly? Slaughter another few hundred people and drag me through more court hearings? Make me a scapegoat for some other mistake you can't pin on anyone else?"
He cleared his throat. "What's not—"
"Then my answer is still no." She cut him off. "I am not going back to Jurassic World, and if you had an ounce of common sense, you'd make sure that no one else is either."
"Ms. Dearing…" There was impatience bordering on irritation in his voice now – a familiar sound from about a dozen other conversations like this one.
"Because everyone who goes back there is going to die."
xoox
Present day
Historically speaking, humans were known to be a rather adaptable species, capable of getting used to living in blistering heat as well as extreme cold – an evolution's way of ensuring their survival.
As a rule, Claire wouldn't necessarily disagree with it, and who was she to argue with science, two hundred thousand years of evidence, and, let's face it, no proof of the contrary? Which, ironically, did not make her particularly accustomed to the chilly Wisconsin weather despite the fact that she had years and years to make peace with it.
She didn't.
Not when she was younger, and certainly not when she was sitting on the windowsill in the guest room of her sister's house in Madison now, staring unseeingly out the fogged up window at the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, promising more rain later in the day, or maybe even snow – nature's last Screw you! before it would finally give in to the slow approach of spring.
Claire swiveled the wine in a glass she was holding and took a small sip, waiting for it to land in her stomach and for the warmth to spread over her body and knowing it wouldn't happen. She couldn't recall feeling warm ever since that day in the park, not even under the blazing Californian sun upon her return from Costa Rica. It was as if the island took something from her and replaced it with blood-chilling fear that made her feel cold to her bones even as the time and distance grew between her and the worst day of her life.
Not that she expected to just shake it off and walk away as if nothing happened. But, if she were completely honest with herself, she didn't expect to come out of it this broken. She didn't expect to keep waking up day after day waiting for this nightmare to end and knowing it was her life now.
It's over, she told herself on the boat from Isla Nublar to Costa Rica. It's over, she repeated when she stepped into her condo in San Diego 48 hours later. It's over, she kept on saying in her mind time and time again as she lay in her bed at night, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling of her room, unable to close her eyes without seeing all those bloodstained teeth.
It wasn't, and, deep inside, she knew it never would be.
"It's not the end of the world," Karen told her when Claire showed up on her doorstep a few days ago – a decision she was starting to regret because it didn't seem fair to drag her sister into her own drama just because she didn't know how to find her footing yet. Oddly enough, it was the exact same thing Karen said to her sons after breaking the divorce news to them. Or maybe it was her answer to everything these days.
It might not have been the end of the world, but it was the end of the world as Claire knew it, and right now, she didn't know the difference.
She knew better than to argue, though.
Karen was kind enough not to want to rip out Claire's spine for nearly getting her kids killed, but Claire doubted she'd be able to see the Jurassic World disaster through her eyes – something that was her biggest accomplishment only a few months ago turned into the shame of a lifetime overnight.
One day, she would wake up and it wouldn't feel like surviving anymore. One day, she would wake up and start living again. But right now, that day seemed so impossible and so far in the future she couldn't catch even a glimpse of it yet.
Claire knew she shouldn't have come. It was selfish and stupid, and something she hadn't thought through. But she needed a break from the lawyers, and the walls of her office that were pressing down on her, and the deafening silence of her empty condo that was making her want to scream, and she didn't have anywhere else to go.
Except now, surrounded by her sister who kept watching her like she was about to fall apart and her nephews who flinched at every loud noise, she found herself looking for the reasons to cut her visit short and retreat to some deep dark hole where she could hide for the rest of her life. Or maybe set something on fire – she hadn't decided yet. For the most part, their voices were a comfort sound that saved her from going insane, but they all were skittish and jumpy, and she couldn't forget the fact that it was her fault.
A soft knock on the door gave her a start.
"Claire?"
She put the glass down and wiped an unbidden wetness from her cheek before calling out, "Come in!" Voice chipper, a smile plastered on her face – no wonder she had the investors eating out of her palm.
A soft creak of hinges followed, and Karen's head poked in. "Dinner's ready."
Claire's stomach turned at the thought, but she followed Karen downstairs and into the kitchen where Gray sat at the table putting together a realistic-looking model of an airplane. Despite everything, or because of it, she yearned for a piece of normalcy, or at least what passed for it these days, before she had to go back to her unanswered emails and never-ending letters to the families of the deceased expressing her sincerest condolences to the point of feeling sick.
She ruffled Gray's hair as she passed, and he offered her a small smile in return.
They hadn't asked any questions yet – not about the lawsuits, although Claire knew for a fact that Karen was following whatever she could catch on the news, or about her current position in the company, or about Owen – choosing to give her some space to gather her bearings. She could see those questions in their eyes, rolling on the tips of their tongues. The questions she had no answers to. And how could she? Her life was broken into more pieces than she ever imagined possible, and Claire was afraid that if she started putting it back together, some of the parts would go missing, leaving her with something misshaped and inconsistent in the end.
She might need to have a lie or two ready for the future, she thought.
Everything's fine, it's not as bad as they show it. I'm fine.
If she was lucky, she'd be convincing enough to sell it. They didn't need to know about her crazy office hours that left her so exhausted she was practically passing out at her desk more often than not – the only thing that allowed her to sleep without seeing blood and teeth and hearing the sound of the crushing bones. They certainly didn't need to know about how she threw up after the first press conference the company shoved her into, ending up crying in the bathroom stall for almost an hour because she couldn't find enough strength to drag herself home, so spent on every level it hurt.
They didn't need to know about Owen, period.
"We're going for some groceries afterwards," Karen told her.
"And some of us don't have a choice," Zach informed her grimly, shuffling into the kitchen and looking about as bright as the storm rolling toward the town.
"You eat most of them," Karen pointed out, unfazed. "It wouldn't kill you to help me carry the bags."
To that, he had no response.
She'd given them enough slack, what with the psychological trauma that left both Zach and Gray suspended somewhere between here and there, but Claire knew they all longed for the things to go back to the way they were, or at least the way that didn't border on a bad sitcom about dysfunctional families. She also knew that if she brought up that comparison, Karen would agree. They were still testing the ground in this new reality, all three of them unsure of their roles or the steps they needed to make to get through one day after another.
Karen turned to her," Want to tag along?"
Tough call!
Claire turned away, pretending to busy herself with picking out the plates for… whatever they were eating, wondering just how much interest could one show in cutlery before it got suspicious.
Staying alone in the house where she could hear herself think, or going to a place packed to the brim with people, huh?
The last time she went to get her own groceries, she ended up hyperventilating in the frozen food aisle because there were voices and noise and so many people she needed to save, but she wasn't fast enough… She ran out without buying anything and spent the next forty minutes trying to talk herself into starting her car, hot tears streaming down her cheeks and blurring the world outside the windshield.
Real world – 1. Claire Dearing – 0.
If Karen witnessed that, she'd cancel Gray's appointment with the therapist and stick Claire into the slot instead.
Not that Claire didn't think of it herself.
Not that she wanted her sister to bring it up.
She turned around, a stack of plates in her hands, "I think I'll pass." Face open, voice steady, a smile that threated to crack her head in place. "Maybe I'll get to finish that book at last. And do the dishes."
Her party line was weak, and Claire cringed inwardly at the absurdity of it, but no one told her that the dishwashing machine could do the job just fine, or that she hadn't touched the book she picked up from Karen's stack on the first night since it landed on her nightstand and started collecting layer after layer of dust. It wasn't like they didn't understand.
"This—" Karen pointed at Gray's half-assembled model, "-out."
And he obediently put everything in the box and carried it to the window seat before pulling a carton of orange juice out of the fridge without having to be told.
He caught Claire's eye over the table as she arranged the napkins, obsessively trying to get them straight, but they simply wouldn't-
"Did they find the helicopter yet?"
Claire froze, her fingers closing around the soft cloth, and looked up.
"The helicopter?" She asked.
Gray shrugged. "The one that went missing—" his eyes darted quickly toward Karen, as if assessing how much trouble he would be in if he proceeded, but the curiosity won in the end. "Over the island."
None of them needed him to spell out which island he was talking about.
Karen glanced quickly at Claire, then bore her gaze into her son. "Where did you hear that?"
"They said it on the news. A helicopter went missing last night, they were still searching for it. And the pilot. I just thought you…" He trailed off, his blue eyes pinning Claire to her spot.
"Since when are you watching the news?" Zach snickered, but his voice was no longer a bored, lazy droll.
"Who was the pilot?" She asked at the same time.
Another shrug. "They didn't say."
xoox
Claire didn't watch the news.
She couldn't stand seeing the Jurassic World reports crowding every channel without a fail, feeling sick to her stomach at the sight of the grainy surveillance videos from the island and the sound of her own name in the mouths of the people who didn't and couldn't understand what an experience like that would turn a person into. It used to annoy her at first, but now she was envious of their ignorance and naiveté.
Masrani Global's PR department supplied her with the official statements on the off chance she'd run into one reporter or the other (unlike Owen, she didn't have the luxury of flipping them off as she pleased), but otherwise, she avoided the speculations the press was buzzing with, for the sake of her own sanity, if nothing else.
Especially after Ian Malcolm made a grand appearance on the national television with an elaborate speech that basically came down to I told you so, and she ended up sitting on the floor in her shower, choking on her sobs. It took Owen almost two hours to get her out of there.
At least, she had Owen then.
They couldn't fire her – primarily because they'd never find anyone to replace her, but also because it would be the worst publicity move in the history of public relations, and it was the one thing they couldn't afford. She wanted to quit, and she wanted to, badly. But with the media still uncertain of whether she was a hero who saved the day or a monster who could've stopped the incident from happening but didn't, it didn't seem like the best idea either. Not when her family was still in the spotlight, and, as one of the lawyers noted casually, an innocent person wouldn't start running. She almost punched him right there and then.
So no, she did not hear anything about any helicopters, but she should've known that the normalcy of the past few days, however evasive it was, was deceiving.
It took her five minutes to track down Lowery, her fingers trembling as she punched one number into her phone after another. He agreed to join the clean-up crew almost instantly, and although Claire had no goddamn right to question anyone else's motives, she still felt betrayed at how easily he went along with it. She knew why they wanted him – he was the only person familiar with the system operating the park and its facilities who didn't file a lawsuit against them, and in their eyes it was a goddamn miracle.
"It's not like I'm helping them build another hybrid," he said with a small apologetic shrug, but it felt all the same to her.
When he picked up five or six rings after, his voice sounded soft and distant, like coming from another planet instead of another time zone. "Claire?"
If he was surprised to see her caller ID, she couldn't tell.
"What's going on?" Claire asked, her mouth dry, as she tried to ignore the practically palpable looks of Zach, Gray and Karen, fighting the urge to run into her room and lock herself in. For all she knew, they'd stand on the other side of it with their ears pressed to the wall anyway, so what was the point?
Lowery seemed to understand what she was talking about, if the lack of the follow-up questions was any indication.
"I'm not on the island yet," he said, which explained nothing, really. "They still haven't secured the facilities—"
Claire hung up then.
He didn't know anything that could help, and she didn't have time for pleasantries right now.
"What? What is it?" Gray piped up impatiently beside her, but Karen waved him off, her eyes never leaving Claire's face.
Her finger hovered over the familiar name for maybe a heartbeat longer than necessary, before she continued to scroll until she reached Barry's number.
He picked up at once, and if Lowery probably, maybe expected her to call, which Claire wasn't sure of, Barry obviously knew she would and dreaded it, just like she dreaded to hear what he had to say, while knowing exactly what it would be at the same time. Just her luck…
A few months ago, she'd laugh at the notion of any such thing. Claire Dearing didn't believe in luck – she believed in hard work and professionalism and getting the well-earned results. But if luck was a thing after all, she must have used up all of hers when she got out of that goddamn island in one piece.
Or so she thought, listening to Barry, her fingers clutching her phone so tight it hurt, her heart sinking deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until it was beating somewhere in her stomach.
No. God, no. Please…
The first team flew into the island to assess the situation and figure out if it was safe for the civilians – like Lowery and other support personnel. It wasn't, not quite. The InGen people, however, felt fine with living there while securing the territory of the resort and flying whoever they needed in and out every day.
It wasn't Owen's job, per se, but the last night their main pilot ended up being caught up in something else, and so, a man of many talents that he was, Owen offered to drop a couple of guys off on the mainland when they finished their work for the day. It wouldn't be a big deal under normal circumstances, but he got caught up in a storm on the way back. They'd last heard from his when he was approaching the island, but then the radio went silent and his helicopter never made it to the landing platform.
xoox
"You have got to be kidding me!" Karen snapped, watching Claire shove her clothes into her suitcase without bothering to fold them properly as she dashed around like a small tornado, ignoring Zach and Gray lingering in the doorway – Karen's persistent request to leave her and Claire alone had no effect on them, their eyes darting from one to the other as if they were watching a ping-pong match.
"Karen—"
"You promised it was over." She insisted.
"It is." Claire swiped her toiletries into a bag, then reconsidered and left the whole thing on the dresser altogether – it was too much trouble and they wouldn't let her through the airport security with half of it anyway. "It's not like I'm going back."
"It's exactly what you're doing! I just heard you book a flight to San Jose. Using my credit card."
"It was closer," Claire mumbled - as if it made any difference. "I couldn't remember where I left my wallet."
"That's not the point. You nearly died on that island. You can't go back there, Claire."
"I'm not, I…" She tailed off.
She – what? What was she doing, exactly? And for Owen Grady, of all people, too. That was, so far, a question of a century.
Her fingers unclenched, dropping a crumpled skirt on top of a pair of beige pumps she didn't remember bringing with her in the first place.
"Look, I know you have unresolved issues, and I get it. Trust me, I do, but—"
"I don't have any… issues." Claire heaved a sigh, looking anywhere but at her sister. Good thing the room was a mess and she had plenty of points of interest. "It's an emergency."
"And it's also no longer your responsibility." Karen said firmly. "Not this park, not anyone." She made a pointed stress on anyone, forcing Claire to turn to her at last.
"It's not… that. It's not about…" Okay, she needed to start thinking straight. "I'd do it for anybody." Voice calm, tone professional – Claire Dearing, Operations Manager was back in the game. It almost frightened her how easily she stepped into the old shoes, except she had other pressing issue to think of. Then again, it wasn't likely she'd shed the skin she wore for almost a decade that soon.
Karen didn't respond at once, looking at her for a little while as if Claire had just said the cutest and the most stupid thing. Which she quite possibly did.
"No," she said with resignation as Claire zipped her suitcase shut and a cab she'd called for half an hour earlier pulled up to the house, its yellow shape the only bright thing in the fog gathering outside the window. "You wouldn't."
xoox
Barry promised Claire to arrange for someone to pick her up and accompany her to Isla Nublar, but when the customs and the passport control finally spat her out into the sunny morning, it was Lowery who was waiting for her by the rental car, arms folded over his chest, covering what she supposed was another shirt that wouldn't pass for a dress code.
And even though she was still bitter about his recent choices, it was such a relief to see a familiar face she almost sagged down to the ground, her chest suddenly tight.
If the island was secure enough for InGen, it was secure enough for him as well, he told her once they stepped onto the ferry and the strong, salty wind all but knocked them off their feet. It smelled familiar and almost comforting, even after everything she'd been through, and Claire hated herself a little for feeling that way, for being glad to escape the mind-numbing chill of Wisconsin.
On the horizon, the island loomed like a giant sleeping in the ocean, its form dark and ominous, and she was overcome with an inexplicable desire to turn around and start running and not stop until there were continents and thousands of miles between them. Instead, she griped the railing tight and started it down as though it could make a difference.
"It's been over a day now," Lowery said pausing beside her, his eyes squinting behind his gasses in the sunlight that felt odd and off in a situation that hung over them like a black cloud.
Claire didn't respond.
She was well aware that Owen could already be dead.
To be continued...
A/N: Phew! Here we go again...
There will most likely be an actual plot this time, with plot twists and all that. Or so I hope!
It'll probably be angsty, and I'll make some of the deleted scenes canon for the sake of exploring the characters deeper as well as maybe tapping into Owen's past a little?
Anyway, comments and stuff are welcome!