Author's note: A while back, one of my favourite people, aka birdmacklin, asked me if I'd be willing to write something based off this mood board. There was no way I'd say no, so here we are! Honestly, just give me any excuse to write about the winter and snow, and I'm in :) This story was meant to be a one-shot, but before I knew it, it was 12k long, so I'll post it in 2 instalments because it's easier to edit it that way. The second part will be coming up sometime next weekend.

"You want me to do what?" Owen's eyebrow quirked like he wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

Claire gave him an even look. "You don't have to make it sound like I asked you to shoot a puppy."

He winced a little, but didn't break the eye contact, studying her from across the table, his coffee getting cold, untouched and forgotten.

They were sitting on an open patio outside a French café near Claire's office, and she knew that if he was the one to summon her for lunch after several months of complete radio silence, she'd have questions as well. Quite a few of them actually. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure she'd answer his phone call at all, and the fact that Owen definitely was a bigger person in this situation was rubbing her the wrong way right now.

Not that she could back out of having this conversation. He showed up, after all. She might as well used it to her advantage even though it didn't make it any less weird. At least he wasn't laughing at her. Yet. It was a start, all things considered.

"You're asking me to go to Madison with you," he said slowly as if needing to taste each syllable separately in his mouth in order to truly comprehend her request. Come to think of it, it would have been less surprising if she asked him to shoot a puppy. "To hang out with your family."

"Gray's science project won an award at the state Science Fair-" Claire started.

"Yeah, on bacterial transformation efficiency," Owen nodded.

She cleared her throat. "Yes, and Karen is taking the boys to a ski resort before Christmas. Zach's girlfriend is coming, too. And the guy Karen is seeing."

"And you want me to come with?" Owen repeated, the corners of his mouth curved with amusement.

Claire pursed her lips into a thin stubborn line, hating the idea that he was having an upper hand in this situation. It wasn't needing him that bothered her so much as his knowing that she did, which made her feel more vulnerable than she did in months and making her bite back the words she knew she would regret later. And did he have to rub it in her face?

Then again, she'd probably do exactly the same, so she couldn't really blame him.

She wondered sometimes if the Universe would actually implode if one of them stepped back just once. The problem was, they couldn't both be right, or in control, or the best at everything at all times. Someone had to give. And each thought that that someone should be someone else, even in the situation when it made no sense whatsoever.

Claire let out a slow breath and reminded herself that this was nothing but a business arrangement of sorts, and business arrangements she was good at. Hell, she was excellent. She was the best! And just because Owen Grady was involved didn't mean it was that much different from the contract she's signed yesterday with the stationery supplier. Except she sort of needed the paper clips more.

"Gray asked if you were coming," she said if a little unwillingly. "I promised to bring it up with you."

His smile fell, a mask he was hiding behind slipping momentarily. "Why haven't you told them?" He drummed his fingers against the saucer, still his ignoring his cappuccino. "It's been almost four months."

"Why haven't you?" She inquired, and the status quo shifted, she was gaining a momentum again, except instead of the anticipated triumph she expected to feel she was suddenly overcome with such deep wistfulness it was making it hard to breathe. Oddly enough, poking at each other with every chance they got stopped being entertaining and stated to feel like a cement block pressing down on her. "You know what his science project was about. It seems like you talk to them more than I do."

"They're your family, Claire," he reminded her and looked away, studying a steady flow of the office workers streaming past them on the way to or from their lunch breaks, all crisp shirts and pressed pants, jackets hanging from their elbows because even December in San Diego could feel like summer now and then, and this past week was treating them with the most gorgeous weather, undoubtedly the calm before the storm, aka the rain season that every Californian dreaded more than anything else in the world. Except traffic. And carbs. "It didn't seem appropriate."

Which actually was one hell of cop-out, but who was she to judge?

"It's not about us now, it's about Gray, and I don't want to upset him," she clasped her hands around her cup of latte, not sure what else to do with them and a bit too aware of the fact that her fingers were trembling. "It's only for a few days. If you have any Christmas plans, I'll make sure you come back here before then."

His mouth curled into a rueful half-smile that didn't touch his eyes, and Claire had to make an effort not to look away. It had been four months – almost – and she couldn't believe that they felt both like only a few days and a decade at once. He looked the same, but different, and her mind struggled with the notion that the man who used to be everything to her not so long ago was barely a stranger now, the one she couldn't even talk without choosing every word like her life depended on it.

She was not used to feeling that way about Owen, of all people, and it was wrong in every way imaginable, awkward and weird and unnatural.

"So, you want me to go with you to Wisconsin and pretend we're still together?" Owen asked, and just like that, the wistfulness inside her was replaced with irritation. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I just kinda figured that you'd come up with some bullshit excuse and be done with it." He shrugged.

Her frown deepened, jaw clenching in frustration. "I did," she admitted flatly. "For Thanksgiving. Karen would come after me if I skipped this as well, and believe it or not, but it's easier to take you there than come clean and unleash the wrath of my family."

"Wow, this is the nicest thing you said to me since-"

"Will you do it or not?" She cut him off.

His eyes narrowed. "What's in it for me?"

Claire glowered at him. "Jesus Christ, Owen, I'm asking you for a favour, not to give me your kidney!"

"Like that time with that other favour?" He snorted.

"I wouldn't call a divorce a favour," she pointed out.

Owen conceded her words with a nod. "I wouldn't call it asking, either."

And that was something Claire could agree with. The first thing in quite a while. A screaming demand was far more accurate, and she was being generous here. It was also the last time they actually spoke, which, in all honesty, didn't end that well anyway.

"Forget it," she muttered, digging into her purse in search for the wallet. She knew it was a waste of time, and making that goddamned phone call two days ago left her drained like she'd run a marathon. By the time she hung up the phone with Owen's promise to meet her in her pocket, she was shaking, her chest constricting painfully with every breath.

He had no right to still make her feel like this.

"Claire," Owen said when she put a $20 bill on the table, covering the check, and was about the leave. It wasn't even his voice so much as the way her name sounded in his mouth that made her look up. "When do we go?"

She studied his expression, uncertain of what she was looking for, half-convinced that he was joking. Wouldn't past it past him, truth be told. Yet, he looked earnest, and if a little weary around the edges, the lines around his eyes deeper than she remembered, like he wasn't sleeping well. He needed a haircut, too, she noted absently, hating herself for noticing, for knowing that he wasn't comfortable with his hair being much longer than now.

It was unfair that people could so easily walk out of your life, but the smallest details about them would stay behind forever to haunt you.

Claire paused, then nodded. "I'll have my assistant send you the tickets," she said at last, all business. This was something she could do in her sleep. If she was lucky, they'd be able to breeze right through this whole affair without even noticing it happened.

xoox

Clearly, she didn't think it through.

Focused on the bigger picture and more concerned about keeping the appearances, Claire – in a very un-Claire-like manner – overlooked a detail or two. Like the king-sized bed that was staring right back at her in the guest room in Karen's house that she and Owen were supposed to share. Because they were supposed to be together. The plan was to drive to the cabin that was located some 50 miles outside of Madison and that actually belonged to Karen's ex-husband, Scott, in the morning, and so when Karen waved off Claire's suggestion to crash at some bed and breakfast for one night, the ramifications of said arrangement didn't hit her until it was too late.

When they arrived an hours ago, Gray barreled into her with the force and enthusiasm only a 12-year-old whose excitement of a puppy hadn't quite worn off yet would have, and it struck Claire how quickly he was growing. They talked a lot, trying to mend a long-broken relationship, but she'd only seen him a couple of times since the incident – for Zach's sophomore graduation, and when Karen brought both boys to California for Grays birthday in July, but the change didn't feel quite as drastic back then. He was almost as tall as she now, and before she knew it, he would be towering over her.

As of now, though, he was chatting a mile a minute, seemingly thinking that if he didn't fit the past few months in one sentence, they would disappear without a trace, and even Zach dropped his 'too cool for this world' attitude and pulled her into a bear hug. Right before both of them abandoned her to attach themselves to Owen – Claire suspected he'd have to surgically remove them. And then Karen was hugging them and thanking them for coming, and introducing Jeff, a man almost as tall as Owen, although slightly less buff who worked as a high-profile database administrator and who she'd met a few months ago at a corporate party. He had an open face and infectious laughter, and Claire could easily see what her sister found in him.

And it was all fun until Karen sent them to unpack, and the enormity of her glaring miscalculation slammed into Claire like a high-speed train.

"Cozy," Owen commented from over her shoulder, peeking into the room that featured cheery curtains on the window and an overall honeymoon-y feel to it.

She stifled a sigh, her mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Owen squeezed past her inside, seemingly filling what little space there was left there that wasn't occupied by the bed and dropped his bag on the floor by the chest of drawers before jumping up, twisting in midair, and flopping down on the mattress like he was 12 and on a sugar rush. He bounced a couple of times for good measure and then patted the spot beside him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Claire sighed with pointed exasperation and stepped into the room, ignoring his sleazy proposition entirely – for the sake of her sanity, if nothing else. She set her small suitcase on the floor by the window and glanced outside at the backyard covered with snow. After the years she'd spent in a place where people didn't know what the snow looked like, being welcomed by the white blanket that stretched before her as far as her eyes could see was alien and odd, and surprisingly in-tune with what was starting to feel like the dumbest idea she'd ever had.

"You're enjoying this too much," she commented, turning to Owen who was still sprawled on her mother's patched quilt, looking like he was having the vacation of his life.

"Who wouldn't?" He inquired.

Claire folded her arms over her chest and regarded him grimly. "You know you're not sleeping here, right?"

He rolled onto his side and then sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "And where am I sleeping, pray tell?" Her eyes darted toward a loveseat tucked in the corner. He followed Claire's gaze and let out a bark of a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"The floor is all yours, too," she offered generously, her voice uncompromising.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor in a place known for its sub-zero temperature," he pointed out. Cocked his head to his shoulder, his expression amused. "Are you really that worried you wouldn't be able to contain yourself around me?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself."

"So what's the problem then? We shared a bed – and some other places," he made a dramatic pause, "for over six months. Doncha think we could handle it for one more night?" He was baiting her, and Claire knew that she was swallowing it, but it was too late. "What do you think I could possibly do?"

Well, that wasn't the issue.

Their breakup was ugly, and the fact that they hadn't said a word to one another since he tossed roughly a hundred pairs of socks and an impressive collection of sportswear into a duffel bag and slammed the door on his way out, making the windows rattle in their frames spoke volumes. Claire was not in any way concerned about him so much as touching her. However, it was more about the shift of power than anything else. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of being right, and for petty reasons, too.

It was not what he could do that bothered her so much as the memories his presence was going to bring up to the surface – all the things she was pushing out of her mind as best she could, filling the void with her job, and gym, and talking to her nephews on Skype, and a million tiny things in-between that added up to something big. As if he could somehow know that she was still sleeping in his shirt even though the sensible sweatpants and a top she brought on this trip suggested nothing of the kind.

"Alternatively," Owen continued when she didn't respond, misreading her silence for hesitation, "you could sleep on that thing." He pointed at the loveseat. "Or you could ask your sister for a different arrangement, and if you do that – can I come with?"

Claire let out a slow breath. "What are you, 12?"

"Is that a yes?" He perked up.

"Stick to your side," she warned him in a voice that allowed no further arguments.

"You don't have to worry about that, Claire," he promised.

She hummed. "Why would I be worried?"

Claire expected a comeback – they never seemed to be in a short supply, as far as Owen was concerned. At times it felt like the world would never be complete unless he had a final say in every matter. Which led to some interesting debates in the past.

Instead, Owen hooked his index fingers through the belt loops of her jeans and yanked her to him, and before Claire knew what was happening, he was kissing her, his hands on her waist, holding her between his parted knees. Even sitting on the bed, he was almost as tall as she was standing up – granted, the bed had an elevated frame, but in all honesty, she didn't particularly care.

As a person with curious mind, Claire couldn't help but wonder sometimes about the intricate works of a human mind and why certain notions made more sense and stuck around while the others were dismissed and forgotten before they even had chance. Like what was the deal with comparing all the good things to sliced bread? Was it really that hard to cut a loaf of bread in consumable pieces? Frankly, she could think of about a thousand other things the invention of which was far more beneficial to the humankind. Or why did riding a bike become a universal equivalent to the skills that couldn't be forgotten once obtained? Was it possible to unlearn to drive a car or swim?

Alas, she knew that some of those things were meant to remain a mystery regardless of her opinion on the matter.

However, if she were to come up with something in her own life that was so firmly engrained in her mind she'd need several lifetimes to erase it, it would undoubtedly be kissing Owen Grady. He was her goddamned bicycle, and there was nothing she could do to change it whatsoever.

The moment Owen's mouth crashed against hers, Claire's mind stepped back and let her instincts run the show. The way someone who tripped would try to regain their balance, her body responded to his touch in the only way that made sense to it, and before she had a chance to process the whys and the hows, she was kissing him back. Owen pulled her closer to him, his hands roaming over her back and her shoulders, and she buried her fingers in his hair, eliciting a low growl of approval from him. He tasted the same, felt the same, and the mere memory of having his mouth everywhere else on her body sent a jolt of electric shock from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her lips parted, deepening the kiss—

Someone cleared their throat right behind them, and they jerked away from one another, both panting and bleary-eyed.

"Dinner's ready," Karen announced, struggling to bite back a smile, one eyebrow arched meaningfully, and it all suddenly made sense. Wrapped up in their exchange of insults, she completely missed her sister's footsteps on the stairs.

"Right," Claire muttered, feeling her cheeks grow hot for more reasons than she could count. "Be right over."

"I think we're selling it," Owen murmured as he followed her down the stairs a minute later, her lipstick still smudged over his mouth.

She cleared her throat. "Good call."

xoox

Claire thought she would not be able to fall asleep that night, what with all the adrenaline coursing through her system that was enough to power a small town and Owen sprawled over half of the bed while she scooted all the way to the very edge on her side, trying to keep as much space between them without actually falling to the floor. If her proximity bothered him as his did her, he certainly wed no sign of it, which she admired and envied and maybe hated just a tiny bit.

She turned her back to him, fluffed her pillow and tried to tune out the shifting of the mattress beneath her as Owen settled in his spot and a long breath he let out when the mission was accomplished. Squeezed her eyes tight for good measure, too, ignoring the burning sensation on her lips from the goddamned kiss and the way her fingers were still tingling from when he was playing with them over the dinner while having an effortless conversation with Jeff about fishing Gray about comic books. Except his presence felt more comforting than she anticipated, and despite her fears, it lulled her to sleep in no time.

Claire woke up to a single ray of sun that wedged itself into the room through the crack between the curtains beaning straight in her face, so bright it almost felt like it was trying to burn right through her retinae. She groaned in protest and buried her face in the pillow. It was still early. She had no idea what time it was, but it felt like she'd only closed her eyes five minutes ago, and so she snuggled deeper into the blankets, set on staying cocooned for another hour, or five.

Something moved behind her – something big, and warm, and decidedly male, if Claire's memory of waking up to one was any indication. Am arm flexed around her, a face nuzzled into her neck with a short, distinctive snore. She stilled, alarmed, and suddenly the memories of the precious day came rushing back in – the flight to Madison, a relatively uneventful dinner, and Owen in his Navy shirt and checked boxers emerging from their bathroom last night, smelling of toothpaste, his hair ruffled from changing. And now his whole body was wrapped around her as he snoozed away, or at least some parts of him did.

Her eyes snapped open as she nearly leaped into the air in her hasty attempt to move away from him, hitting Owen in the chin with her shoulder in the process. He fell on his back with a surprised Ow!

"What the hell, Claire?" He muttered with accusation, rubbing his eyes and then checking his jaw for any damage, which it sustained none.

"You… you were supposed to stay on your side," she hissed quickly, figuring out that it was the only way to address, ahem, the issue without actually spelling it out.

Not that he needed her to. He glanced down and the looked up at her with a grimace. "I can't exactly control what's happening to me when I'm asleep."

"Not the point."

"So were you, by the way," he added.

She frowned, confused. "What?"

"You were supposed to stay on your side, too." His gaze darted toward the spot she'd vacated not a minute ago – stark in the middle of the bed, and try as she might, Claire couldn't argue with the glaring breach of their agreement.

She was still struggling with the response when the door swung open all of a sudden, startling them both, and Gray burst inside, buzzing with nervous energy.

"Aunt Claire! Owen!"

"Jesus, Gray…" Claire pressed a hand to her chest. "What happened to knocking? What if we were…" She faltered. What if they were what? There was no way in hell they could be doing anything PG13, let alone something R-rated. "What if we were sleeping?" She finished, a bit more aware of Owen's curiosity about where she might go with this.

He chuckled under his breath and pretended to cover it with a cough. However, the boy ignored her flustered face and a slight tremor in her voice in his own agitated state.

"We have to go!" He announced.

Owen covered his face with his hands and collapsed back on the pillows. "Where?"

"There's a storm coming and we have to get to the cabin before it hits the town," Gray explained.

Claire glanced outside the window where the sun was shining high up in the bright blue sky, streaked with a few wispy clouds that in no way indicated any possibility of a bad weather. "I think we're good," she said, trying to smooth down her tousled hair.

"But they said so," the boy insisted.

"Okay, okay, we're up," Owen groaned. "Ten minutes to get dressed, deal?"

"This is ridiculous," Claire breathed out when the door closed behind Gray and rubbed her eyes.

"You really want to go down that road?" He inquired.

No, she did not. Arguing with Gray once he got something in his head was useless, fruitless, and a waste of time. It was like trying to stop a place that was about to take off by jumping in front of it – there was no way to avoid the casualties.

"Getting dressed it is," she agreed. "Dibs on the shower!"

xoox

The breakfast was a ridiculously fun affair, with a foot-tall stack of toast and pancakes that Owen was flipping by throwing them up in the air and catching them with admirable precision, bowing theatrically every time someone clapped, and someone always did. There was syrup everywhere, and jars of jam, and half-hearted bickering over cutlery and who took whose plate and why was the coffee pot empty again?

Claire was watching them from her spot near the counter as she sipped her coffee and not even trying to follow roughly a dozen conversations happening at the same time, the words tossed around and then forgotten instantly, the chatter filling every nook and corner of the house. And if she pretended hard enough, she could almost feel the normalcy of this morning seep into her very bones, the lies stitched into her words no tasting as bitter as before.

"There you are," Owen appeared by her side with two plates of pancakes. His – Claire presumed – also sported a healthy helping of crispy bacon and a scoop of scrambles eggs. A growing boy through and through. Hers was drowning in syrup with a handful of berries sprinkled on top.

"I'm good," she shook her head, watching Zach and Gray fight over something or the other. "Not really hungry."

"Come on," he leaned against the counter next to her and put the plate down. "You never said no to the infamous Grady pancakes before."

Claire opened her mouth to protest, her stomach still in knots over their earlier confrontation, and even more so over the rest of the trip that hadn't even started yet, technically speaking. Yet, this was certainly not the kind of argument that was worthy of her time, and he was right – Owen Grady was nothing but not a good cook. She was still processing this discovery, truth be told. So she nodded her thank you and picked up the plate, taking note of him remembering that she preferred blueberries over cherries (ad hated whipped cream). And they were some damn good pancakes, too, melting on her tongue exactly the way Claire remembered.

They ate standing side by side while Gray explained his science project to them for probably the 11th time since last night, which wasn't a bad thing because she only understood maybe half of the words he was saying. The kid was probably smarter than all of them combined, and the thought filled her with fierce, overwhelming pride. He flashed a grin at her, and Claire found herself winking in response, happier to be here than she expected.

"Hey, you have something…" Owen started, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to him and he jerked his chin, pointed at something on her face. "Here, let me."

Claire thought he was going to brush a crumb off her cheek. Instead, he lifted her chin and leaned in to brush a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth, his breath warm on her face. She went still, nearly holding her breath, and knowing that all this was for the benefit of the audience didn't make it any less… well, real. Somehow.

"Syrup," he murmured, catching her gaze, his face still just a breath away from hers.

"Get a room," Zach snorted from the table.

"Zach!" Karen gasped, then gave her sister and Owen a once-over and rolled her eyes. "Get a room."

And Gray might have been crazy smart, but his attempt to hide behind his mug of hot chocolate while shaking with silent laughter was as lousy as it could be.

And then they were loading in the cars, and Claire was slammed in the face with the flashbacks to every trip she and Karen went on with their parents in the first 16 or so years of her life, listening to the same bloody arguments over what goes where and could someone please check if the oven was off.

She hoped that maybe one of the boys would join her and Owen and maybe help dilute the tension between them, but Zach announced that he was not sharing a car with his brother, and he and his girlfriend – Stacey? Gracie? – climbed into Jeff's SUV which was the roomiest. Karen then claimed that Gray was riding with her because she was not driving 50 miles by herself, which ultimately left Claire and Owen alone, albeit with their food supplies, crammed into the back seat.

This was going to be a fun ride.

The cabin was sitting hallway up one of the mountains north of the city, a few miles away from one of the ski resorts the area was known for. Roughly an hour or so away, depending on the weather and road conditions, and by the time they finished the breakfast and piled into their respective vehicles after roughly fifteen fights over nothing, the wind picked up and heavy clouds started to creep in on them from the east, and Gray was ushering everyone like spending the weekend in the mountains was a matter of life and death.

With a wistful sigh, she waved at him a moment before he climbed into Karen's car and then finally slipped in the passenger seat of her and Owen's, still trying to shake off the cold hand of panic that was holding her in its grip.

The first ten minutes were almost tolerable. The traffic was distracting enough to keep Claire's mind occupied as she guided Owen toward the outskirts of town, following the roads only a native would know to think of at all, and then she spent ten minutes more fiddling with the radio, which she didn't care about at all, but at least it gave her something to focus on. Something that wasn't the proximity to the man who was a human equivalent of a freight train that ran over her a few times in the past couple of days.

She tried to stay focused on the conference call she was having right after the holidays, going through her mental to-do list because it was something that kept her grounded and focused, in control of the reality that seemed to be slipping right through her fingers ever since they boarded the plane heading north last afternoon. And the most important thing was that her work matters had nothing to do with Owen, which was a welcome relief. However, her mind kept going back to the last trip to Madison they made together, a couple of months before the shit hit the fan in that spectacular way from which there was no coming back from.

Back then, Claire mused, their silences weren't quite as thick, if possible at all, and she was content to watch the town go by without the overwhelming need to jump out of the moving vehicle for so many reasons that she didn't even know where they began. Back then, the air was always filled with the words that didn't have to have any meaning at all, Owen's fingers perpetually laced through hers, his thumb running over the back of her hand in the mindless, absent circles that made her heart feel too full for her chest.

The radio coughed and crackled with static, fading in and out of the coverage zone, and after trying to find a station that worked better than the rest of them, Claire gave up and turned it off. She could have – and should have – swapped places with Gray, she was thinking now, tell Karen she needed a sister catch-up time and stick the boy with Owen, which would probably make all of them much happier than their current arrangement. She wouldn't even mind her sister's invasive questions because after roughly two decades of practice, she most definitely mastered the art of deflecting each and every single one of them while making it look like she'd actually answered.

"You didn't tell them about us," Owen said after a few minutes, and the suddenness of his words didn't even register with her for a moment or two.

"Pardon me?" She looked at him, confused.

Owen glanced at her, his shoulders rolling in a half-shrug. "They don't know."

Claire arched an eyebrow. "I thought we already covered that," she reminded him.

"Not that. That we were married."

She bit her lip and turned away. "We were not married, Owen. We got drunk in Vegas, and if memory serves me right, it was either that, or getting matching tattoos. As luck would have it, we found that pseudo-chapel first. There's nothing more to it."

"There was nothing pseudo about it," he countered.

There wasn't indeed, although for a solid two hours the next morning she mentally begged and prayed that there was, studying the marriage certificate that they were issued and trying to find something reassuring, maybe a footnote in small print claiming that it was a joke and please don't get so hammered in the future. She'd barely touched anything stronger than lemonade since, which in retrospect wasn't that thing at all, but still!

"Which is the problem," she pointed out. "How is it even legal to offer this service to the people who clearly have no idea what they are doing? Jesus, if it wasn't for that goddamned certificate, we wouldn't even know it happened the next morning."

He shot her an amused look out of the corner of his eye. "Give me some credit, Claire."

"Please, like you even remember how it happened."

"I do actually."

She whipped her head around, skeptical. That weekend in Vegas was an impromptu thing, and even though the decision was made while they were both sober, she couldn't for the life of her remember how they settled on it. What she did remember was a long ride and the glimmering lights of the hotels and casinos on the Strip, and it felt like magic because once the investigation of the incident was over, everything felt that way – brand new and unreal.

They spend most of the Saturday roaming around and debating the pros and cos of actually trying the casinos. Owen insisted that the beginners' luck was on their side while she remained unconvinced, no longer considering herself lucky in any way whatsoever. It was hard to think of the world that way after she'd inadvertently caused something close to a thousand deaths.

They settled on stopping by a bar and maybe going back to that conversation later.

The rest of the night was a huge grey smudge in her memory, until Claire woke up the next day around noon with her head pounding and her mouth tasting like someone died in it, and Owen snoring by her side. The first thing she saw on the bedside table when she reached for her phone to check the time was a piece of A4 paper stating that Mr. Owen Grady and Ms. Claire Dearing…

Her vision blurred, and she bolted for the bathroom, barely making it there on time before she threw up, which, in all honesty, was most definitely a result of having roughly a gallon more of tequila than she should have had, ever. It took her the rest of the day and several handfuls of Tylenol to piece together random bits and pieces of the previous night in her head, and even then, the only thing Claire was certain of was that they didn't end up with empty bank accounts so at some point, the casino must have been taken off the table altogether.

"You do not," she scoffed.

He smirked. "I do, too. You have a very funny way of… um, signing things."

"You've seen my signature a million times before," she countered.

"It's more about the way your hand moves…" He trailed off, his eyes on the road and a small smile playing across his lips. "You wanted to dance in the fountain afterwards."

Claire opened her mouth and closed it again. It was not a memory so much as a sensation she couldn't quite place. She couldn't see herself do it, couldn't imagine climbing into the fountain and… what? Shaking her hips? Jesus… But she could quite easily assume that she might want to. Besides, if he wasn't actively thinking about it for the past few hours, Claire couldn't imagine him saying that just off the top of his head.

"Did we? I mean… dance in the fountain?" She asked with resignation, mentally preparing herself for the idea that somewhere in the depths of the Internet there might be a photo of her doing just that because some tourist couldn't help but pull out his camera when a crazy drunk lady climbed manically into a street decoration.

Owen chuckled. "No, we didn't, I don't think so."

Claire wrapped her jacket tighter around herself even though the heater was blasting the waves of hot air right in her face, having a hard time wrapping her head around the person she was that day. The one who decidedly wasn't her.

"For what it's worth," Owen added as an afterthought, "I'm glad to be here." He darted a quick glance at her, reading the confusion on Claire's face. "Glad you brought me along," he explained, even though the words still had some trouble registering with her. Like he was speaking another language, the one she couldn't understand.

Claire nodded, still searching for a response that didn't go along the lines of Are you out of your mind? when her phone exploded with a series of persistent chimes. Saved by the bell, she thought. Or something like that.

"Hey, Karen," Claire breathed out into the receiver, grateful for the interruption. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're just…." Her answer was swallowed by the sounds of a video game or something of that kind. "Gray, please. Sorry," this one was for Claire. "No, we're fine, but Gray forgot something at home." Gray's voice cut through for a second but Claire failed to catch what he was saying. "We're going back, it shouldn't take long. Just a heads up. And Jeff will stop by the supermarket."

Claire glanced over her shoulder at the bags and boxes that were taking up most of the car, pushing against the backs of their seats. To a side observer, it would probably look like they were moving into that cabin until spring, not going there for three days.

"I thought we had all the food we needed," she said, puzzled.

"I know, I know, but Zach decided they wanted snacks or some specific brand of cereal, or whatever. Trust me, it's easier to just get it than deal with the sulking for god knows how long."

"Okay." Claire turned to Owen who was throwing curious glances in her direction. "Do you want us to pull over and wait for you?"

"What? No, of course not. Go ahead, we'll be maybe half an hour behind. Gray, take your feet off the dashboard!" More mumbling. "Seriously." Karen huffed. "Anyway, the place is probably freezing, but there should be wood on the back porch, and if you could get the fire started…"

"Sure," Claire nodded even though her sister couldn't see her. "See you soon."

She hung up and passed the message to Owen who acknowledged it with a quirk of his eyebrows as he turned off the freeway and into one of the roads heading toward the resorts scattered all over the steep slopes. And it was only then that Claire noticed that it started to snow, pale snowflakes swirling in the wind and melting on the windshield of their rented Honda. The sky grew grey and heavy, the clouds hanging low and brushing against the treetops.

By the time they turned onto the side road again, it was snowing in earnest – so much so that when Owen rolled to a stop at last, the GPS finally announcing that they reached their destination, Claire could barely see past the hood of the car.

"Looks like Gray was onto something," Owen commented more to himself than to her and pushed the door open.

"He usually is," Claire echoed, following him into the world made entirely of white.

The cabin was just that – a cabin. Four walls with a bedroom and a kitchen tucked in the back, the rest of the space taken by the living room with two skylights in the ceiling that had been added not so long ago when Scott decided to renovate the place to use it more frequently. There was no heating here, of course, but the fireplace and a power generator provided comfortable enough conditions for winter visits, and one of the ski resort was a stone's throw away with their chair lifts, overpriced hot chocolate and impeccable slopes.

The last time Claire came here was nearly a decade ago, if she was not mistaken, and she was surprised to see how little the place had changed. Sure, the window frames were replaced and some other minor adjustments were made, like a fresh coat of paint on the cabinets in the kitchen, but it looked strikingly unchanged although in all honesty, Claire completely forgot about this place until Karen mentioned it a few weeks ago.

It was freezing, like her sister suggested, and Claire shivered in her puffed jacket, her breath coming out in white clouds even in the living room.

Barely speaking, they left the food piled on the kitchen counter and Owen busied himself with the fireplace, poking and prodding at the logs until the spark caught on, the wood glowing bright orange in the darkened room, while Claire turned on the power generator, bringing the overhead lights to life. It was barely past midday, but the weather that kept getting progressively worse made it feel like it was the late afternoon already, dark and gloomy.

Owen rubbed his hands together, then held them close to the glowing fire to keep the blood circulation going before standing up and taking in the place properly. Claire watched him scan the faded couch and a half empty bookshelf housing some novels, magazines and – oh, horror! – VHS tapes that were left behind over the years because they were nowhere near interesting enough for anyone to care to grab them on the way back home, his gaze skimming over the dining table and the kitchen counters and cupboards visible from his spot. There was an old rug on the floor between the couch and the fireplace and several more mismatched ones covering seemingly random spots of the hardwood floor here and there.

He caught her looking at him, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly in acknowledgement. The fridge sputtered and coughed in the kitchen, startling them both for a moment before it settled into a low hum, and it was that sound that set them in motion again.

The curtains were pulled open and the food was arranged in the fridge and on the shelves. Claire grabbed her suitcase that was sitting by the door and found a pair of wool socks, uncertain of where to leave the rest of her stuff. The place was small and the general plan was to put Karen and Jeff in the bedroom, Claire and Owen on the pullout couch, and the kids in sleeping bags on the floor. Which basically allowed for no wardrobe space, she figured. Still, she found her toiletries and left them in the bathroom while Owen fiddled with the TV and the VHS player seeing at how no one ever bothered to get cable for this place.

So far, she noted, the tension was thick enough to cut it with the knife and their seemingly joking conversation in the car amounted to nothing in the end. She wondered if he even noticed that both of them were trying to keep as much distance from one another as humanly possible, taking several extra steps here and there so as not to pass too close to each other.

Claire was in the middle of looking for extra blankets in the built-in closet in the hallway in case they needed them later when her phone went off, Karen's face flashing on the screen.

"Hey, where are you?" Claire asked in lieu of a greeting, noticing that her frozen toes started to thaw.

"Where are we? Where are you?" Karen demanded.

Blankets forgotten, Claire took a step back, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Is this a joke?"

"Did they let you through?"

"Did who let us through? What's going on, Karen?"

"The roadblock. They closed the roads because of the storm. No one is allowed in or out until the weather improves."

Claire waited for the punchline. And then waited some more. And then she started to hope that she would wake up and all of this would go away.

She glanced across the room and found Owen looking at her. He was standing completely still, his eyebrows knitted together as if he could hear both sides of the conversation, or maybe even hear the panic rising inside her in tidal waves. Although the latter he could have easily picked up from her expression, perhaps.

"What do you mean, no in or out?"

To be continued...

A/N: Please let me know what you think! :)