Title: "You Wanna Freak Out"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Owen, Owen/Claire
Spoiler: none
Length: one-shot
Summary: Claire runs and Owen gives chase. (Or four times Owen breaks down Claire's walls and one time she breaks down his)
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: Not a sequel, but a companion piece to "What the Snowman Learned About Love." I apologize in advance for getting any minor details wrong – saw the film once over a week ago and I'm writing from memory. Please forgive any mistakes. Title and cut courtesy of My Morning Jacket. Enjoy.
I. Play it safe, play it cool.
Owen doesn't have a memory of saying goodbye.
One minute he's staring into the jungle, squinting so hard he's pretty sure his vision will never recover, and the next, Gray is tugging on his hand.
He blinks and glances down, finds himself looking into familiar blue eyes. "Are you okay?"
Owen forces a smile, forces himself not to glance back at the overgrown greenery, forces himself to focus on the worried child in front of him. He clasps the kid's shoulder and squeezes gently. "Sure thing."
Gray smiles uncertainly, but takes Owen's hand. "We should find Zach and Aunt Claire." Owen's never been good with kids, especially little kids, and he can't get over how tiny Gray's hand feels in his own. He glances down again and the kid's looking at him with complete trust in the eyes he shares with Claire. He likes the way it feels; he liked how it felt with her too. He still doesn't think he's great with kids, but he doesn't let go of Gray's hand, walks with him across the swaying dock to where his brother and aunt are waiting.
Visible relief sags through Zach, his entire body relaxing when he spots Owen, and he smiles as Gray throws himself against his chest. They mumble to each other in one of those languages Owen's never really understood, all words and meanings that only brothers can understand. Owen's an only child. He's always been more comfortable with empty silences than ambient noise.
Claire nods at him, just a tiny quirk of her chin, and he comes to stand beside her, watches the water froth as the ferry pulls up to the pier. They aren't touching but he can feel her next to him, and he leans a little closer so his sleeve brushes her bare arm. She might think it's the wind, or not notice at all, but she doesn't back away and he settles in beside her, rests his elbows on the railing while the world melts away. He doesn't hear the dull hum of the crowd or the roar of the ferry's engine. He doesn't notice the cheers that erupt around them as the first passengers are loaded onto the boat.
He feels the heat of Claire's skin and smell of her hair, still fresh and clean despite the sweat and blood and leftover adrenaline making her heart beat painfully fast. He can't hear it, but he knows it all the same, feels the same irregular rhythm in his chest. He wonders if he'll ever breathe easy again.
They don't leave until the last of the resort's passengers are safely loaded on the ferry, and even then it takes him a minute to realize this is the end, that whatever he was building on the island is gone and he's never getting it back. Somewhere in the distance, he hears a hollow roar. It makes him shiver, even in the 100°+ heat.
"Owen," Claire says sternly. She tries again when he doesn't move, grasps his shoulder and turns him to face her. "Owen," she says more gently. He's both embarrassed and terrified by the expression on his face, but she doesn't mock him. "It's time to go," she adds and cocks her head towards the boat where two hundred pairs of eyes are staring straight at him, two hundred people left stranded on this island because he can't put one foot in front of the other.
He blinks and the foliage disappears and all he can see is white and red, the paleness of her skin and all that hair lighting up like fire in the late afternoon sun. Like a beacon; like a flare to guide him home. He swallows hard and looks back one last time, at this place he thought could be a home, and everything is lush and green and overgrown and torn. He thinks she'll be there, but Blue has slipped her bonds – severed them completely – and she doesn't owe him anything more.
"Yeah, okay," he says and watches the long line of her back ascend up the gangway, mirrors her steps with each boot he lifts off the ground.
The boys have saved them seats and he nearly collapses into his, legs sprawled in front of him as he sits down for the first time in over a day. Across the aisle, Claire is checking Gray's head for wounds, pushing back all that thick hair and pressing tenderly at his scalp. Owen runs his fingers through his own hair and closes his eyes. Whatever scars he carries, they're not the kind anyone can see.
"Hey Owen?" He opens his eyes and Gray's standing in front of him, watching him again with those enormous blue eyes.
"Yeah buddy?" His head is pounding in the hot sun but he does his best not to grimace.
"I think you should sit with Aunt Claire."
Claire's head snaps up and she starts protesting, murmurs something about never leaving his side, but Zach and Gray share a look that Owen knows too well, the same conspiratorial look that Charlie and Delta shared right before they stole Echo's food, and he doesn't argue what he knows will be a losing battle.
"Why not?"
She scoots away from him as he slips into the seat next to hers, crosses her arms and glares daggers at her nephews. They're whispering again, that fraternal language only they share, and Owen's glad they have each other. He's lost his job and his home and something he suspects is akin to family. He's surrounded by people and never felt more lonely in his life.
"I don't need a babysitter," Claire insists, but her arms are crossed a little too tightly across her chest and her knee won't stop jiggling.
He forces a weary laugh. "I know you can take care of yourself." He remembers laughing when she whipped off that shirt, stood ready to face down dinosaurs in a tank top and high heels, but he also remembers hot breath and stinging claws, his rifle in her hands as his only link to survival. He underestimated Miss Priss the way he underestimated Blue. It makes him smile inwardly, remembering when he thought a charming smile would be enough to win her over. He was wrong about their date and he was wrong about Blue but he doesn't want to be wrong about this. "I was there, remember?"
She nods slowly, her chin drooping almost to her chest. "I'm just so tired."
"You can lean on me," he whispers, gives her shoulder a nudge so she stops bouncing her knee. "I won't even tell anyone."
Claire's laugh is even wearier than his. "Promise?"
He makes a motion with his hands. "Cross my heart, hope to die…" He trails off as he realizes his choice of words.
"Not this time," she says and pats his arm to let him know that it's okay, that no matter what he says or thinks, it's over. They're alive and whole and together. Words won't change that.
"Close your eyes," he whispers and brushes her hair from her face. It's tangled and matted, but so, so soft against his skin and he can't stop touching it. Her cheek comes to rest against the curve of his shoulder and it's not particularly comfortable, but he doesn't push her away. She saved his life. His eyes sweep the deck, take in all the grateful faces. She saved all of them. He can give her this.
The ferry swerves as it nears the mainland but Owen resists the urge to sneak one last look. The island is in the past. He wraps his arm tighter around Claire, so she falls into him and he holds her up, looks straight ahead and into the future.
II. If you ever emote, you're playing the fool.
It's another twelve hours before Owen has time to rest his head.
Claire had immediately put them to work when they arrived on the mainland – food and water distribution for the boys, first aid application for him – and then her sister and brother-in-law arrived and introductions were made and a stern lecture delivered by the head of Masrani's PR team and finally, finally, there's no one left to need anything.
He and Claire had agreed to stick together or whatever, so he loyally follows her to the hotel and waits with her at the front desk. They have a room for her, but they don't have a room for him, and she's suddenly irate.
"Do you know who this is?" she hisses at the clerk. "Find him a room." Owen tries to intervene – money feels increasingly insignificant after watching his life flash before his eyes – but a quick check of his pockets reveals a missing wallet and Claire won't stand for it anyway. "This is unacceptable," she starts, cuts herself off and smiles tightly. "It's not your fault. I'll sort this out myself."
Owen starts an apology but Claire's shoving the spare keycard into his hand, heels clacking loudly against the tile as she starts for the elevator, and he has no choice but to follow. It's a pattern of behavior that's beginning to feel increasingly familiar.
The room is nice. It has a living area and small kitchen, a balcony and a large bathroom and one king-sized bed. Owen can't decide if he's appreciative or annoyed, because it means she'll have all the mattress space she wants, but means there's no excuse for accidentally brushing up against her.
He tries to offer her the first shower but she's already on her phone, talking furiously as she steps out on the balcony. He applauds his efforts and practically sprints into the bathroom, leaves what's left of his clothes in a filthy pile on the floor. It takes three scrubs to get the stench of gasoline off his skin, but he can still catch a thin film in the air when he combs his hair. He tries to ignore it, files it away as another part of the island he can't quite shake.
He feels even better after brushing his teeth and wrapping a towel around his waist before he goes in search of something to wear. Maybe a robe? There weren't any in the bathroom, but he might have better luck in the closet.
Claire glances up when he walks into the living room, and her face remains impassive but she can't hide how she swallows thickly when he steps into the light. "I saved you some hot water," he tells her, bites his lip to keep from smirking at her. He can see the strain around her eyes, the effort it's taking her to keep them fixed on his face. He's currently homeless and penniless– insulting her into kicking him out isn't an option right now.
She looks a little dazed as she puts down her phone. "Feel better?"
He nods enthusiastically and plops down next to her on the couch, careful to keep the goods covered. He's really looking forward to sleeping in that bed. "You want me to check out your feet?" She stares blankly and he gestures down; she's still wearing those ridiculous shoes. "They must be covered in blisters. Let me take a look."
"Okay," she says softly, lets him gingerly remove the shoes and tuck her dirty feet into his lap. It leaves a black smear on the stark white fabric.
"I ruined your towel."
He shrugs and holds up her right foot so he can better inspect the damage. "Good thing it isn't mine." He said it to distract her, but she winces anyway as his fingers probe the wounds. "They're gonna hurt like a bitch the minute the water touches them, but nothing looks infected." He drops her feet back to his lap. "You're good to go."
It's a little while before she moves, feet in his lap and blue eyes staring into his, only a thin layer of cotton separating their skin. "I'd better take that shower."
Owen nods, afraid to trust his voice, and helps her to her feet. Her steps are slow but steady as she makes her way to the bathroom, and he gets up when he hears the water turn on, fruitlessly locating something to wear. The door opens and Claire sticks her head out, hair frizzing around her face from the cloud of steam surrounding her, and all he can see is her face and the hint of one shoulder, but it's enough to make him regret walking around wearing nothing but a towel.
"The gift shop sent some things up." Her arm slips out from behind the door to point at the kitchen counter and he quickly turns around to examine the stack of clothes.
"Appreciate it." The bathroom door closes and he lets out a pained breath. "Fuuuuuuck." He hears the splish-splash of water hitting skin and it makes his muscles feel uncomfortably tight. He needs a distraction but the cold shower is currently occupied and jerking off while she's ten feet away is gross. Instead, he blasts the air conditioning and busies himself with choosing a t-shirt and underwear and pummeling his pillow into a comfortable position. He plans a nap, just a quick rest of his eyes before Claire emerges from the bathroom and wants to organize something.
Time ticks by and Owen doesn't sleep. He closes his eyes and he hears Charlie's screams, feels Delta's breath on his face, sees the look in Blue's eyes right before she lunged for his throat.
His phone is no better. Every news outlet in the world is covering the dinosaur disaster, and every story paints Claire in a different light. That photo of her with the flare has already gone viral – he's surprised she hasn't already been inundated with interview offers. Or maybe he's wrong. Across the room, her phone is vibrating so hard it's practically crawling across the couch. There's also no splish-splash noise from the bathroom. The shower's running, but it doesn't sound like anyone's standing beneath it.
He knocks softly on the door. "Claire?" No answer. He tries again, louder this time. Still no response. "Claire, I'm coming in." He takes a breath, a big one, and opens the door.
She's curled in the corner of the shower, head between her knees, bawling as the water pours down around her. He takes a moment to appreciate the view but it's only a few seconds before he's in the shower with her. She looks up as he kneels at her feet, blinking back water and tears and all that red hair plastered to her face. He doesn't touch her though, doesn't want to make it hurt worse than it already does.
"It's all my fault."
He shakes his head. "It's everyone's fault." Her mouth trembles and he takes a chance, cups her wet cheeks in his hands. "It's my fault as much as yours." It's no lie. She knew about the I-Rex and didn't do a thing to stop it, encouraged it even, but he let InGen pay him to train velociraptors. Some people are more to blame than others, but none of them are innocent.
They stay under the spray until the water cools and Claire's eyes are clear. He brushes her bangs back from her face. "Let's get out of here." She lets him help her to her feet and wrap her in a towel, watches him silently as he puts toothpaste on her brush and combs out her hair. "Spit," he reminds her. She rolls her eyes and it loosens the knot of worry that took up residence in his chest. This is the Claire he remembers, the Claire he can handle, not that broken thing he saw in the shower. He even smiles when she asks him to turn around so she can get dressed.
The bed dips when she slides between the sheets, and it's wide enough for three of her, but he can still feel her next to him, all warm skin and damp hair and oh fuck, she's not wearing any pants. "Owen," she breathes and that bare leg brushes against his.
He can remember with pinpoint accuracy what happens next, her mouth on his and her skin beneath his hands, long legs wrapping around his waist and the soft weight of her breasts crushed against his chest. He can remember sliding inside her, hot, slick heat and the way she gasped his name. He remembers trying to make it last, trying to hold onto it forever, but then the angle changes and he's in deeper, wetter, and all he can think is mine each time she falls back against him.
The bed is empty when he wakes the next morning but there's no note. He doesn't think she's the love 'em and leave 'em type, so it's no surprise to find her on the balcony, dressed and made up for the day. Her hair is pulled back from her face and she's wearing loose gray pants and some kind of silky shirt, the same shade as the stripe running the length of Blue's back, and it takes him a minute to remember where he is.
"Hey," he says softly and she looks up from her phone, mouth pinched at the corners as she takes in his bare chest and bed head.
"Good morning," she responds, and her tone is so clipped he's surprised she didn't add a Mr. Grady to the end of her sentence.
He swallows down a sigh and sits in a lounge chair, watches the dawn break over the Atlantic. Blue's still on the island and it makes his chest tight thinking about her alone out there. He turns his attention to the woman trying to put as much distance between them as humanly possible. "Are we gonna talk about it?"
Claire sets down her phone and crosses her arms, posture ramrod straight. A familiar ache settles behind Owen's eyes. He already knows he's going to hate this conversation. "While I enjoyed your…company last night, it was a mistake." She takes a breath and her arms tighten around her abdomen. "People make all kinds of poor decisions in the wake of a traumatic incident – "
"I know what trauma looks like." He didn't mean for the words to come out so harsh, but he's pissed. Whatever last night was, a mistake isn't the right word for it. Misguided or rushed, maybe, but not a mistake. The feelings between them were been building long before they killed dinosaurs together.
Her head snaps up and for a moment, she almost looks apologetic. "I forgot you were in the military. I'm sure it was awful, what you saw over there."
Owen's not getting into that right now, the sleepless nights and ringing in his ears, how crowds and loud noises set him off, the painful breakup with his college girlfriend when she realized he'd come back as someone else. He's not getting into that, but he is going to deal with what's happening now. "I know what I feel, Claire. Last night didn't happen because you chased a T-Rex in high heels."
Her jaw tightens. "It did for me. I apologize if your feelings were hurt, but I don't want more. Please respect my decision."
He stares at her for a long minute that she spends staring at the space to the left of his face. She's lying, he knows it, and not just because she won't meet his eyes. He could push, force her hand, but the Navy, the island, they've taught him that good things take time. Instead, he smiles and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you need."
Through the glass door, he sees her flinch as he retreats into the hotel, but his footsteps are light as he pads to his phone, prepares to build a new life for himself. He learned something all those years with Blue and her sisters. He's nothing if not a patient man.
III. One day you're in, the next one you're out.
The press conference is three days later.
By then, Masrani has given Owen his own hotel room and corporate card, but they hold him in Costa Rica until the media is fully briefed. It's a long wait but too good a story to pass up, so the press patiently camp out while the guests are shipped home free of charge and the lawyers and PR people confirm that the Masrani survivors are sane enough to talk to people with smartphones and tape recorders.
They send him a suit that's a little tight through the shoulders but otherwise fits well, and new shoes and underwear too. He looks nothing like himself but they want him to put up a presentable front so he consents to a haircut and shave as well.
It's the first time he's seen Claire since that awful morning and she blinks when he walks into the waiting room, mouth caught in small, perfect circle. He doesn't know what it means: she no longer hates him? He cleans up well? She believes he won't fuck it up? He stares back and gives her a small smile that says he's cool with her ice queen routine. She frowns in return and resumes her conversation with the new CEO while he focuses on how well her skirt cups her butt.
She doesn't look at him for the entire hour they wait for the conference to start, but when a frazzled PA directs him to his seat, he's sitting next to her. He half expects her to shift away from him, but she clasps her hands and rests them on the table. Long, pale fingers with pink nails that match her mouth. It makes him smile again, happy she's taken some time for herself between meetings and briefings and depositions. His is scheduled for the next morning and then he flies home. Just thinking about it makes his head ache.
"Almost there," Elle, the PR VP croons, and actually licks her fingers before smoothing down his hair. "Perfect."
Owen grimaces and looks over the notes Elle's assistant prepared for him, lots of talking points and scripted statements, and he mostly plans as saying very little and letting the pros do the heavy lifting.
"Good luck," Claire whispers under her breath, blows a thin layer of powder off her face. The makeup team will probably be furious, but he's proud of her for that tiny bit of rebellion.
"You too," he whispers back, wants to say more about how she'll do great, but then the bright lights are blasting in his face and it's on.
For the most part, he sticks to the plan. He answers a couple questions about the raptors and their training, praises Blue's role in bringing down the I-Rex. He says little about why they were there in the first place. "I was their alpha," he confirms, squints into the lights to keep from glaring at the offending reporter. "I cared for them and respected them but I never thought I could control them." A member of the PR team breaks in before he can say more, but out of the corner of his eye, he swears Claire is trying to hide a grin.
She becomes the focus next. They ask about her career history and her role at the park, about Wu's lab and the investors she brought in to sponsor the I-Rex. Owen can hear the accusation in their voices: the lives that were risked to make more money, the lives that were lost so InGen could play god. Underneath the table, Claire's leg starts to shake. The tablecloth is long but he can feel it, the ground vibrating beneath him like they're back on the island and there's blood in the air and monsters on the loose, and she had to do the work then but he can help her now.
He slides a hand across her lap, aiming for her knee but ending up in the crease between her thighs. She shifts in surprise but the shaking stops, so mission partially accomplished? He'll apologize later, but for now, he runs his palm over the smooth fabric of her skirt until his fingers lock around her knee. He massages the pulse point until her heartbeat is slow and steady beneath his thumb. The questions turn to liability and potential lawsuits and he can feel the tension radiating throughout her entire body but he never lets go.
When the conference ends she straightens her skirt and pushes her hair behind her ears. It's stick straight today and he resists the urge to run his fingers through it and give it some life. He misses the waves and curls she had on the island. He misses that version of her.
"Owen –" she starts.
"I wasn't trying to cop a feel," he interrupts. Her cheeks burn bright red and a couple heads turn, but she doesn't walk away.
"I know," she says, her voice dropping several decibels. "I was going to say thank you. I needed that."
"Oh. Well, you're welcome." His ears are hot, likely turning red, but he doesn't duck his head to hide his embarrassment. This might be the last time he gets to be around her. He's not wasting a second of it.
"You're doing well?" Her question is harmless but he doesn't like the forced casualness of their conversation. They've been on a date, seen each other naked. They saved lives together. They're well past small talk.
He tries to ask her for coffee or ice cream, some place fully clothed so they can interact without too much distraction. He just wants to talk to her. Hear her laugh. Learn more about who Claire Dearing is. The other stuff can wait. "Claire, I – " he starts, but Elle is dragging her away and the handlers are trying to clear the room and she disappears into the crowd before he can finish his thought.
He's halfway to his car when his phone vibrates, and when he pulls it from his pocket, there's a new text on the screen. I miss you too.
Owen's glad he's alone in the parking garage because he's grinning like a complete idiot, but it doesn't stop the laugh from bubbling through his chest. He thought he might never see her again and just like that he's back in the game.
IV. How you react is what you'll get back.
Owen moves to San Diego after his deposition.
Or rather, he stays in San Diego after his deposition. There's more to deal with once the FBI and Costa Rican authorities and Amnesty International and PETA and a horde of other organizations he's never heard of step in. Masrani puts him up in corporate housing and gives him a car and tells him to stay close. He'd taken their bribes without comment. Everything he owned and cared about is still on that island. He has nowhere to go.
The boys text constantly. They saw a therapist after the island but it had little affect. "They know there aren't dinosaurs in the real world," Claire explained. "It's not T-Rexes and raptors keeping them up night." It's their parents' divorce that haunts them and he tries to be supportive with hundreds of miles between them. Tells them to come visit, talks about surfing in the Pacific. His own parents are dead but they were still together when their car went off the road. He doesn't know what to say to make it better for Zach and Gray.
But he has Claire and she helps, helps the boys but helps him too. She makes sure he eats and that his clothes are clean and sends reminders so he arrives at his appointments on time. She's basically managing him the way she managed 20,000 people on the island and it's not ideal but it means he gets to spend time with her so he isn't complaining. He'd like to spend a different kind of time with her, but beneath that tough exterior she's soft and brittle and he doesn't want to break her. Sometimes he'll look at her and she'll remind him of Blue the morning she was born, how her egg cracked and shook and they were all terrified of what might emerge. Owen remembers Claire in the shower – he won't be responsible for letting that thing out again.
They get dinner and go for runs and keep busy so they don't have to think about what happened on the island. She works all the time and there's always another briefing with InGen, but they're both alive. They're moving forward. They're taking it one day at a time.
There are no nightmares this time but he's still nervous in crowds. People get too close and he feels like he's on Main Street again, claws and teeth digging into his back and screams filling his head. He grits his teeth and pushes his cart through the grocery store. He won't let the island define him. Instead, he spends a lot of time at the zoo, watching the animals in their paddocks. The species are different but the effect is the same: wary gazes, sad eyes, lackadaisical behavior. No matter how much he respected them, he can't believe he ever thought it was okay to put wild animals in cages.
He tells Masrani as much during his latest briefing and the suits make notes on their laptops but don't actually listen to what he has to say. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It's only been four weeks but it's longer and shaggier, and he's starting to feel more like himself. His new bike is parked outside and there's beer in his fridge and someone will deliver a pizza to his apartment and it's exactly what he wants. Simple. Easy. Without complications. He needs those things after the month he's had.
"Mr. Grady?" An intern sprints across the lobby, bends at the waist and tries to catch his breath.
"Did you run down twenty flights of stairs?"
"Just eight. I needed to catch you before you left the building."
"Everything okay?" Owen has email and text service on his cell phone. Whatever Masrani needs, it can't be good.
"It's Ms. Dearing," the intern says and Owen's jaw tightens. He really doesn't like the sound of this.
"What about her?"
"She hasn't been at work for two days and she isn't answering her phone or emails. We sent someone by her house, but there was no answer. We were hoping you'd know where she is." Owen stares blankly, still processing the news. "You know, because you're her boyfriend."
"What?"
The kid wheezes and starts typing away at his phone, pulls up a photo of Claire and Owen kissing beneath a cloud of pterosaurs. It makes his fingers ball into a fist, that familiar knot of annoyance tightening in his chest. People were under attack – dying all around them – and someone still took the time to snap a picture of two strangers kissing. It makes Owen remember why he left the military and hooked up with the raptors. They're not his own kind, but he's never made much sense of people.
"Well?"
Owen closes his eyes briefly and focuses on the important information. This conversation is wildly inappropriate but Claire's in trouble. It doesn't matter how he learned about it – he needs to make sure she's okay. "I'll find her," he promises.
He's feeling better by the time he arrives at her house. The fresh air felt good on his face and went along way in clearing his head. It's hard picturing Claire playing hooky but he won't consider another possibility (that she hurt herself, that someone hurt her). The door is locked and he rings the bell a few times. No response. He stomps through her bushes and peers in through the window and that knot of anxiety explodes into full-blown panic. Claire's lying on her couch, fast asleep, but that's not the part that worries him. It's the bottle of wine on the coffee table and containers of pills and the way she won't wake up even when he bangs on the window.
She does scream when he bursts through her door, his chest heaving and shoulder sore from impact, clutches a woven blanket to her chest and stares at him with wild eyes. "You scared me half to death!"
It's a long minute before he can speak, before he can catch his breath and his heart stops feeling like it will beat its way out of his chest. She's fine. She's here. She's alive.
"I thought you were dead!"
"Why would you think that?" She sits on the couch and carefully folds the blanket. She's wearing a t-shirt but no pants, and he concentrates on the long, slim length of her legs to keep from saying something he'll regret.
"No one's seen you for two days and then…" He gestures at the various bottles strewn around her living room.
She lifts her chin. "Just because I'm behind on my housekeeping – " Her eyes sweep the room and she finally sees what he sees, not the shoes piled by the front door or the thin layer of dust on her end table but the open bottle of wine and sleeping pills spilling across her coffee table. "Owen. I'm fine." He stares at her, hands on his hips, still breathing more heavily than he'd like, and she nods her head until he believes her. "I had a glass of wine and took a sleeping pill and I guess it really knocked me out." She frowns when she realizes how poorly she followed the pharmacist's instructions. "I made a mistake drinking and taking Ambien, but I wasn't trying to kill myself."
His legs kind of give out in relief and he slumps down beside her, rests his pounding head on the back of her couch. "That's a relief."
Claire takes his hand and strokes her thumb over the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. "I'm fine, really. Why are you here?"
"InGen asked me to check on you – "
"No, why are you here?"
She's close, her bare leg pressed against his pants and his hand clasped between hers, but mostly her mouth, wide and lush and pink and only a hair's breath from his own. She makes it hard to concentrate. "I was worried about you," he manages to say. "The thought of something happening to you…" He breaks off, clears his throat. "We're supposed to stick together for survival. I intend to hold up my end of the deal."
"I'm sorry I dropped off the map. It was meeting after meeting and no one would say sorry let alone take the blame and I just couldn't do it anymore." Tears pool in her eyes. "I don't want to do any of it anymore."
"We'll figure it out," he says, twists their hands so their fingers twine together. "Whatever you want to do, I'm here for you." The last of the tension slips from his chest and something soft and warm takes its place. He's felt it before, when he joined the Navy or held a raptor in his hands, but he hasn't felt it since he watched Blue disappear into the jungle. It's hard being a man without a pack, but then he looks into Claire's eyes and he feels so much less alone. From the way her lips part and her cheeks flush, he thinks she sees the same in him.
"I'm gonna take a quick shower. Can you order something for dinner?"
He nods absently, already picturing all that sleek, pale skin standing under the spray, and she laughs all the way up the stairs. He's still checking Yelp reviews when she comes down fifteen minutes later wearing leggings and a t-shirt, her hair damp and curly the way he likes it.
"What's for dinner?" she asks and curls up next to him, peers over his shoulder to look at his phone. "You haven't ordered yet?"
"It's not so easy finding decent vegan pizza." He doesn't understand the point when it isn't loaded down with cheese and pepperoni, but he's not rocking the boat just yet. Pepperoni pizza isn't going anywhere but opportunities with Claire have been few and far between.
"Vegan pizza?"
He nods. "You know, because of your diet?" His board shorts had been a poor fashion choice, but her itinerary and dietary restrictions had landed the final blow to what was already a terrible date.
Suddenly she's launching herself across the couch, hands pressed to his cheeks as her mouth smashes against his. The angle is terrible and their noses bump almost painfully, but as kisses go, it's probably the best he's ever had, and he pulls her closer and groans.
"You're not what I thought you'd be," she says when they take a minute to remember how to breathe.
"How's that?" He brushes a loose curl off her face.
"Steady. Present." Her face breaks out into the sweetest smile. "You make me want to be brave."
"I saw you with that flare. You are brave."
"That's because I have you."
Her face is serious – Masrani executive serious – and a different kind of tension fills his chest. He faced down a pack of raptors, a genetically-engineered T-Rex, and this is still the most terrifying moment of his life. "Is that what this is?"
She kisses him again, gentler this time, and smiles against his mouth. "Yeah, it is." She climbs into his lap and slips her hands under his t-shirt, long fingers sliding over the bare skin of his chest.
They forget about dinner, about the island, about everything but their bodies moving against each other. Owen focuses on the softness of her skin and the smell of her hair and her soft moan as she sinks down around him.
Whatever happens outside this little house, the world will still be waiting for them.
V. That's the way we really see. I am you're and you're is me.
The package arrives six months after the island, stamped overnight mail and bearing a Masrani return address.
Owen's staring at the disk when Claire comes home and he practically jumps out of his skin when she wraps her arms around him from behind. "Care package from our evil overlords?"
He shakes his head. "It's from the island. They think they found Blue."
"This is good news, right?" She comes around and sits next to him on the couch.
"They said they found her." He swallows hard and closes his eyes. "They didn't say if she's dead or alive." His voice trembles and he feels very much on the verge of tears. He was wrong before. Blue and Claire, it's the same pack. The same love and loyalty and respect. He can't bear to think he betrayed one to have the other.
Claire's quiet for a minute and then she's moving, crouching in the small space between the couch and coffee table, hands cradling his scratchy jaw. "Whatever happens, we're in this together. We find out together." She kisses him gently. "We handle it together."
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