Sticking together…for survival
[Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to the creation of any characters/situations/plot points developed by Universal and the creative team behind Jurassic Park and/or World.]
**Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal with the aftermath of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World...together.**
Quit Being So Nice
The second warning bell signaled the impending departure of the ferry back to Costa Rica, and Claire Dearing felt a little something lurch in her stomach as she turned to her sister and two nephews. She opened her mouth to utter what would have been another grossly inadequate apology, but Karen stopped her and drew her into a fierce hug. "I love you," she whispered. Claire wisely kept her mouth shut and squeezed back.
"Thank you again, for keeping my boys safe," she heard Scott saying behind her and both women turned to see Karen's husband shaking Owen's hand.
Owen shifted, looking a tad uncomfortable, but graciously nodded and then smiled at both boys. "You got some brave kids there. They made it easy. Besides, your sister-in-law did most of the work." He turned and gave Claire a sideways smirk which she pointedly dismissed.
Gray, who looked so much older and a little less innocent than he had when he'd barreled after her with a hug a few days ago, stepped forward, gripping tightly to the straps of his backpack. "You're not riding back with us?"
Owen glanced down again. "Uhm…"
"No, Gray," Claire reached forward and ran her hand through his hair. She'd been doing that a lot the past few days. "'Fraid not. We have," she looked up at Owen and sighed. "We have a lot to clean up here."
Karen's hands went to her hips. "They're not gonna make you stay here?"
"Until all the assets…" she paused and checked herself, "animals are accounted for, we can't risk letting any of them out into the wild. Plus there's still a few search and rescues underway – the ACU was only just able to contain the T-Rex—"
Karen looked pained. "Oh Claire…"
"We'll be fine," she assured her older sister.
"But why does it have to be you?" asked Zach whose recent adventure (and emancipation from his cell phone) had brought to life a quite caring, intelligent, and family-conscious teenager.
Claire gulped and stared at the floor, unable to look her nephew in the eye. "Because I'm the one who's—"
"She's the lady in charge, kid," said Owen, cutting her off. Claire shot him a look but he shot back and she stayed silent.
"Are you staying with her?" Gray asked Owen in a softer voice, and no one there could mistake his meaning.
Owen looked down. "Yeah Gray—" he stole another glance at JW's frazzled operations director, but she kept her blushing gaze upon the floor— "course I am. Besides," he gave the kid's arm a friendly swat, "still got one of my raptors out there."
Gray's eyes lit up. "Blue?"
He smiled and nodded, "Blue."
Scott cleared his throat. "You…named them?"
"Ok!" Claire clapped her hands together and snapped them to attention. "I'm sure Zach and Gray don't want to spend another second on this island so…" she trailed off, ushering them away from Owen and toward the on-ramp of the ferry where the last of this latest load was anxiously waiting to retreat and never return to the theme park that almost killed them. They were almost aboard when Gray rushed back and threw his arms around her waist. Claire, just as stunned as last time, stood awkwardly with her hands suspended midair.
"Thanks Aunt Claire," Gray whispered fiercely, and then she did return the embrace.
"Yeah," came Zach's voice, suddenly right beside them. "I don't think I'll ever forget you running in with that T-Rex."
Claire managed a smile as Karen pried her kids away from their aunt. "All right, come on boys." She paused and placed her hands on Claire's shoulders, mouthed another thank you, then boarded the ferry with the rest of the family.
Claire waved then, relieved to see them go but also sad and a little empty at the same time. As they receded in the distance, she felt him approach. "Me either, by the way," Owen murmured behind her.
She didn't turn around. "What?" she asked, hugging herself round the middle.
"You outrunning a T-Rex?"
Claire heaved a heavy sigh then finally turned. "Quit being so nice."
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Back there with Zach? She's the lady in charge, kid?"
"Hey," Owen started after her as she hastily made her way through the ferry depot, trying hard to ignore the stares of hundreds more guests still waiting their turn. "Hey, it's better than what you were gonna say."
"Oh yeah, and what's that?"
He caught up and stopped her. "That you're the one responsible."
She started to protest –for a split second resenting that he so easily read her mind — then shook her head in defeat. "It's true."
"No, it's not. And even if it was, do you really want your nephews dragged into court and have to testify that they heard you say something like that when all this shit hits the fan?"
She stared at him, dumbfounded. She hadn't even thought of that. This whole week had been full of a colossal number of things she just hadn't thought of. "No," was the only reply she could manage.
"Hey," he softened his tone, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me." She didn't want to, but was too tired not to comply. "This isn't your fault."
"Then whose is it?"
"Nobody's," he shrugged. " And everybody's. Look, no one could've predicted—"
"Couldn't they? You did," she shrugged away. "I should've listened to you in the first place. You saw it. Youknew the second you saw her feeding crane."
"Knew what? That she was dangerous? Sure I knew that. She's a dinosaur."
"You knew we'd lose that ACU team. That using the raptors wouldn't—"
"All right, stop," Owen shook his head and reclaimed her shoulder, dragging her further away from the crowd of dazed tourists. "Claire. Bright side. You're alive," he gave her a little shake as if doing so would remind her of it. "You saved your nephews' lives ok? Not to mention mine and about 20,000 other people."
At that she had to scoff. He'd tried to remind her of that for a few days now. Him and Lowery both, actually, retelling the whole flare-chasing T-Rex insanity like it was some kind of glorified war story. But she didn't feel like a hero. Everywhere she looked, even the bruises on Owen's face, looked to her like failure.
Owen frowned, glanced up and down the ferry depot's generous shopping mart, then grabbed her hand. "Come on," he said.
"What're you—"
"C'mon c'mon c'mon," he yanked her down the walkway, turning down one corridor of the market currently shut down. Like a kid chasing an ice cream truck, he tugged her along, dragging her at last in front of a bright buzzing neon sign that read Dig-site Pit Stop – a fully stocked bar kiosk barred with a chain gate. "Gimme your key card."
Claire rolled her eyes, "Owen…"
"Hey," he quipped. "You should've listened to me in the first place, remember? C'mon, give it up." He held out his hand with a wide grin.
She gave him a pointed look – one he was actually glad she still had in her – and finally dug it out of her back pocket.
"Atta girl," he smiled, took it, then swiped and lifted the gate.
"You know, I really don't—"
"Drink?" he said as he ducked then reappeared behind the bar, rummaging through its inventory as if he'd worked there his whole life. "I know. Don't worry, this isn't drinking."
"Oh really?" she snorted, but found herself settling into a tacky reddish-gold stool shaped to look the amber top of old Hammond's cane. "What do you call it then?"
"Therapy," he said, plopping a shot glass of clear liquid in front of her. "The best kind."
She looked down, doubtful, but the twinkle in his eye was relentlessly convincing and before she could think too much, she took the shot and downed it in one gulp. Smugly, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched as her eyes bulged out of their sockets and the drink burned her throat, stinging her sinuses with blistering sensation. "Blech!" she shuddered, smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Oh, how do you drink this stuff? Tastes like…." she pulled another sour face, "…like propane."
"More?" he smiled, holding up the open bottle.
She thought for a moment then held the glass forward, "Please."
He laughed and poured her another shot, one for himself, then toppered it off and set it back under the bar. "Cheers," he said, clinking their glasses together.
The second one went down smoother than the first, but still she had to throw her head back and brace both hands on the bar in the aftermath. He, of course, seemed unfazed by the drink. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "How come you're always trying to get me drunk?"
Owen held up a finger in protest. "Not drunk. Relaxed. You needed it then," he clarified, alluding to their disastrous first (and only) date, "and you definitely need it now."
Claire shook her head. "What I neednow is to get back to the control room and salvage what's left of this company."
"No, what you need now is to sit…and drink…and breathe." She sighed and started rolling the empty shot glass between her palms. "Claire," he said, reaching forward and clasping her wrist. At his touch, she tensed, skin tingling, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Trust me. You've been through more than you can mentally process right now. And if you don't at least take a minute for yourself, it's gonna gnaw at you."
She eyed, incredulous. "You learn all that from working with raptors?"
Owen glanced down then withdrew his hand. "No…from combat."
Claire started – she'd almost forgotten where Masrani found Owen Grady in the first place. "Did you…" she chewed her bottom lip, hoping to maintain at least a semblance of tact, "Did you see a lot? When you were a SEAL?"
"I saw enough."
He sighed, looking past her – distant. And the sudden vulnerability in his voice lent her a little more courage. She thought back a moment, then offered a gentle smile, "I thought you…didn't like talking about the navy."
His gaze darted back, surprised. Then he too smiled. She remembers, he thought, knowing now they were both thinking on that first date the same way – 65 million years wiser. "I don't. But I know what it's like when that adrenaline kicks in. When just...pure…gut takes over and you have to do things you never imagined yourself doing. Never thought possible." She nodded as he continued. "At the time it's a rush – like a…uh, some sorta high. It's only after the fact that…" he trailed off, searching for the words.
"That what?" she asked almost too quickly – enthralled, as if he were about to give her answers to questions she didn't know she had.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "It starts to haunt you."
Claire shuddered. That was not what she wanted to hear. "You're saying I'm gonna have nightmares," she muttered, staring again at her empty glass.
"I'm saying you're gonna have to deal," he explained, plucking the glass away and taking her hands in his own. "But you won't have to deal alone."
"No," she said quietly. "I'll be dealing along with 20,000 other people."
He gave her a squeeze, forcing her to look up as he caressed the back of one hand with the pad of his thumb, "And me."
...