Author's note: I had this idea that I needed to get out of my system and I also have a ton of prompts in my inbox, so I'll try to maybe incorporate one or two of them into this story. It'll be 2-3 chapters long, nothing crazy - I'm still figuring out some details.

Also, I'm not sure how to add a warning without giving away the main plot point of the story, so... It might get emotional. Or maybe it's just me.

Enjoy!

"Thought you might want this."

Karen put a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Claire who was curled up on the couch.

"Thanks," Claire nodded, offering her sister a weak, grateful smile, but made no attempt to reach for the drink. She looked away instead, her gaze sliding unseeingly past Karen.

"Scooch over," Karen instructed, and then plopped down when Claire drew her knees closer to her chest. She pulled a blanket over both of them and placed a reassuring hand on Claire's ankle. "You doing okay?"

Her arm folded under her head like a pillow, Claire peered at her sister across endless expanse of cozy plaid stretching between them. "I'm fine," she said without much conviction. "You don't have to… babysit me."

Karen snorted. "Please! Babysitting implies screaming and a mess in the kitchen. This is a piece of cake."

Above them, the pipes rumbled to life, spewing waves of warm air through the vents. They both glanced up at the same time.

"I'm good, really. I'll just… it's like a cold, right? In a couple of days I won't even remember it happened." Claire's voice cracked a little and she trailed off.

"But it's not a cold. It's-"

"Let's just watch something, okay?" She picked up the remote and flicked the TV on before Karen could protest, choosing to ignore a heavy sigh that followed.

She flipped through a few channels, not sure what she was looking for, until an old James Stewart film popped up on the screen, all faded colours and excessive makeup. Comfort in familiarity, as her mother used to say.

After a few minutes, Karen sank deeper into the cushions and pulled Claire's legs over her lap, her eyes fixed on Grace Kelly's character who was wearing a poodle skirt and flirting shamelessly. It wasn't until the credits started to roll an hour later that she noticed that Claire fell asleep somewhere along the way, and that the movie had been running on mute this whole time.

xoox

December in Wisconsin turned out to be exactly the way Owen imagined it – chilly winds trying to sneak under his clothes no matter how many layers he was wearing, bright sunny days with the sky so blue over his head it hurt to look at it, cold air nipping at his cheeks and nose, making his eyes water. He had never seen this much snow in his life – didn't even know there could be this much snow in one place. Mountains of it. Sometimes he thought that his house was a fortress surrounded by tall and endless walls of white.

It felt a little bit like survival, but in a good way. The kind of way when he was more worried about starting his car in the morning instead of thinking he might not make it through the day alive. After the scorching heat, the cold hit him hard, knocking the air out of him in a heartbeat, making him realize he'd been on the run for so long he no longer knew how to stop. And maybe it was time to learn.

Owen shook the snow off his heavy boots and stepped into Smiley Pancake diner, his skin starting to burn from being in the warmth after a 10-minute walk that, under less fortunate circumstances, could've left him with frost-bitten fingers and toes.

The heat in his house had been acting up since last night, and this morning, instead of calling about having it checked and after failing to find a proper sweater in the boxes piled up in the living room, he jogged here, certain that there was a plate of waffles with his name on it somewhere in this town and determined to find it. That, and the fact that his fridge was empty.

The place was only half-full after the breakfast crowd had thinned out and lunch was still a couple of hours away. And it took him a half a minute to realize that the first thing his eyes went to was the menu board above the counter with specials written in chalk and not the back door – after the park, Owen developed a habit of checking every room he'd step into for a safe escape route. One that was hard to break.

Although he had to admit that not going into a full combat mode whenever someone would drop a fork or laugh loudly was his biggest accomplishment. And it felt good. Almost as good as knowing that even though this newly acquired sense of safety didn't protect him from still having nightmares at least twice a week, it somehow helped keep them at bay.

"Owen!"

Someone barreled into him, nearly knocking him down and instantly sending his heart into a wild race – from 0 to 120 in under a second.

His arms closed instinctively around a much smaller body, and the next moment his lips stretched into a wide grin when he recognized a familiar sandy mop of Gray Mitchell's hair – nearly reaching his chin already. The relief that washed over him was so strong he couldn't help but let out a bark of a laugh, genuinely delighted to see the boy.

"Hey, buddy," Owen greeted him, slapping Gray on the shoulder and stepping back to give him a proper look.

It had been a while since the last time they met, and Gray had changed – not significantly, but also not just in size. Owen couldn't quite put his finger on what was new, though. Not that it needed to be defined, he thought. It was good to know that Gray's ever-present excitement was still intact, threatening to spill over the edge and drown them both. He was practically bouncing with glee, and the familiar comfort of it shifted something in Owen, making him feel like some loose parts inside of him finally clicked into place.

"You're back!"

"I sure am," Owen confirmed. It shouldn't have been such a shock, logically speaking. Madison wasn't exactly New York City. He didn't live here long enough to know for a fact that everyone in this place knew everyone else, but he wouldn't be surprised to find out it was true. In fact, it was a miracle he didn't run into the ten people he was acquainted with sooner. "You here with your mom?" His eyes took in the occupants of the vinyl booths lining the windows to his left, but didn't spot Karen.

"No," Gray shook his head and turned to the counter. "Aunt Claire. She's buying us hot chocolate. "

Owen's heart made a flip in his ribcage as he followed Gray's gaze, his chest tightening.

He saw her a moment before she saw him – dressed in jeans and light-pink sweater that was a couple of sizes too big, with a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, Claire was standing in line, waiting to pay for her order. Her hair was longer than he remembered and she was wearing it in a sloppy braid today, with a cloud is curling wisps framing her face.

She nodded and smiled at the cashier before handing him her credit card, and then she turned, her eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on Gray. And then on Owen. Her small smile, light and easy just a second ago, froze on her face. She might have as well seen a ghost – a feeling that resonated deeply with Owen.

"Aunt Claire, look who's here!" Gray announced as she approached them with two cups of – supposedly – hot chocolate, a coat draped over her arm. "Owen!"

"I… can see that," she said in a thin voice and handed the boy his drink, avoiding looking at Owen for as long as she could – who knew that putting a credit card back into a wallet could be such a long and complicated process? At last, she looked up at him, her eyes bright and lively, the singularity of her sea green gaze steadying him. "You're back."

"As of 38 hours ago," Owen confirmed, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, if only for the sake of not reaching out to brush her hair from her face, see if her skin was as smooth and soft as he remembered. "Still unpacking."

She nodded, not quite sure what to say next. Was there a protocol or something for this kind of situations? She added some wattage to her smile that felt plastic and fake and like it was going to split her face in half when Gray's brows knitted together ever so slightly at the sight of their awkward interaction. Damn kid was too smart for his own good.

"We're going to the movies," Gray said to Owen when a few moments passed and no one said anything. "Want to come with us?" And then, "Can he, Aunt Claire?"

Claire's hand landed on his shoulder. "You heard Owen, honey. He's busy. With… boxes and all. He's probably jetlagged, too."

Gray whipped his head around, clearly disappointed but not willing to let it go just yet. "Maybe we could help with that?" He offered hopefully, his face lighting up.

"But we have tickets," she reasoned with him. "And you wanted to see this Stars Battle movie for so long, remember?"

"It's Star Wars," he corrects her automatically, not at all perplexed by her lack of knowledge of the present-day pop culture.

"Tell you what," Owen said quickly, giving Gray that look like they were two conspirators speaking some secret guy language, suddenly aware of not being able to look directly at Claire as well, "I'll call your mom and we'll figure something out. Sounds good?"

Relieved, Gray nodded enthusiastically. Owen smirked and ruffled his hair, and this was set.

It did rub him the wrong way that Claire was so blatantly against his company she didn't even bother hiding it, and for a moment, he was oh so tempted to say yes just for the hell of it. Just so he could see her face when he confirmed that he was free and more than happy to join them, even though she was right and he was so jetlagged that his brain hurt. The problem was, Owen wasn't sure who he would be punishing by agreeing to go.

As Claire pulled on her coat, a whiff of her perfume reaching him from a few feet away and wrapping around him like a cloud, Gray talked a mile a minute, dumping six-months' worth of news on Owen as if his life depended on it and making him promise once again that they would hang out soon. And then Owen watched them file out of the door and into the freezing Saturday morning, the wind instantly picking up Claire's hair and whipping it in her face.

She paused on the sidewalk and pulled Gray's hat lower over his ears in that habitual, comfortable manner that implied that the two were spending quite a lot of time together. Her glance darted quickly toward the window, locking with Owen's on the other side of the glass for a split second, and in this surreal moment it almost felt like he imagined it, but then Gray turned to him as well and gave him a quick wave before they started toward parking lot.

No longer hungry and feeling slightly nauseated, Owen stayed inside long enough to make sure they drove off before pulling the door open and walking out of the diner to head back home, his stomach churning. It hadn't even been two days yet, and he already had no idea how he was going to make it through the next week-month-year, knowing that bumping into Claire was more probable than not, and not quite sure how he was supposed to deal with it.

xoox

"And you said yes?!"

"What was I supposed to do, Claire?" Karen exclaimed defensively. "Scott hasn't exactly been a father of the year, and I'm not stupid. I know I'm not enough sometimes." Her voice softened. "The boys adore Owen. And after everything they've been through, I couldn't deny them this small indulgence."

Claire huffed with exasperation. Trust her sister to leave no room for argument. It wasn't like she was wrong, too. Zach and Gray worshiped Owen, and even though Karen insisted they attend a few therapy sessions after the incident to talk through the worst of their experiences, Claire was also well aware that if there were some unresolved issues left, Owen was the person they could share them with if they needed someone to talk to. Someone who really understood. Someone who wasn't their mother, or their aunt who was about as in control of her life as a tiny boat was in control of a stormy sea.

It would be ridiculous and selfish to not let the boys see him, and what right did Claire have to decide this, anyway?

And yet…

In the five days since they ran into each other, she managed to calm down (So what if he was back? It wasn't like they'd have to see each other every day!) and then work herself up into a jittery nervousness again (Because she did NOT see it coming, and now her stomach was in knots at the very thought of him living somewhere in this city and maybe buying coffee in her favourite coffee shop and picking up groceries at the same store she always went to), until she ended up in her sister's kitchen only to find out that she just missed Owen who took Zach and Gray to see a game. Frankly, she didn't even think he'd actually call Karen. Certainly not this soon, and now she was having a really hard time processing this situation.

"It's not like you have to be involved," Karen pointed out after a few moments of silence, and added meaningfully, "Unless you want to."

"I don't," Claire blurted out quickly, her hands clasping tightly around the coffee mug. "Honestly, Karen. It's not like I don't have a life to speak of…"

"Watching reruns of The Dick van Dyke Show every night does not qualify as having a life," her sister snorted.

"It's a good show," Claire protested. "And it's…" She cleared her throat. It's the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes. But she knew better than to say it out loud. Karen finally dropped the therapy subject after a few months of bugging her about setting up an appointment, and Claire wasn't sure it was smart to jump back into this shit-storm again. "It's none of my business, really. This whole Owen situation. You do what you think is the right thing to do."

Karen regarded her skeptically, but then she let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head. "Did you at least talk?"

"Of course, we talked. Hey, how are you? Bye. The whole shebang." She made a face.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Claire admitted. "And no. And we will not. I mean…"

"Seriously, Claire, what are you? Twelve?"

"If I were twelve, I'd throw a tantrum and lock myself in my room," she scoffed. "And that would be it."

"But he needs to-"

"Start a new life. Like I did," Claire cut her off.

"He moved here for you," Karen raised her hands up in surrender in case her sister decided to throw a saucer at her.

"And then he left."

"And then he came back."

"Probably because his lease isn't over," Claire countered.

It felt like they were playing ping-pong, but the game was impossible to follow, the words bouncing off the walls and echoing in the corners, and in the end, they both lost.

"I didn't ask him to do any of this, okay? Can we not talk about it? I get it that Owen's return is fresh news, but…" Claire ran her hand through her hair, then picked up their cups and carried them to the sink if only to have something to do when Karen's scrutiny grew too unbearable. Restless and antsy, she was a stone's throw away from pacing, or better yet – running a marathon or something. "I don't know how I feel about it." She turned around and leaned against the counter. "Happy?"

"Claire…"

"Or maybe I do know. I feel miserable, probably." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "To be honest, I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Not like this. So if we could just please discuss something else. Anything, really. Weather, politics, that horrible rug you bought for the living room. What were you thinking?"

"I like it," Karen insisted heatedly, and rolled her eyes as Claire snickered, incredulous. But then her face softened, her eyes studying Claire in that way that Claire always found unnerving. Like she was trying to see right through her, and it was working. "I just want you to know that you don't have to do that thing you always do when things get complicated."

Claire scowled at her. "What thing?"

"That thing when you push everyone away and then barricade yourself in your house, and the next thing we know, you're on the island and we don't see you for a decade."

That earned her a rueful chuckle. "Yeah, well, look how that worked out."

xoox

Claire's disillusionment about her ability to breeze through the Jurassic World incident with flying colours hit a brick wall two weeks after their return to the States when she found herself hyperventilating and on the verge of tears in the frozen food section in a supermarket three blocks away from her house. As she waited for Owen to come pick her up, it finally occurred to her that, perhaps, denial was not the best strategy as far as dealing with the trauma was concerned, and that maybe she needed a change.

If Karen was surprised to find out that Claire was coming to Madison, she didn't show it.

"I'm not coming back," Claire insisted, shivering in the jacket that was five layers too thin for the Wisconsin winter as they stepped through the airport doors and into the grey afternoon. "It's just for a few weeks."

Without a comment, Karen grabbed the handle of one of Claire's suitcases and steered her toward the car.

They hadn't talked much since that brief moment at the hangar on Isla Nublar – party because there hardly ever was any time for that, and partly because neither one of them knew what to say. The initial relief over finding her children alive and well, if a little spooked, was replaced by numerous mental images of what might have happened, or could have happened, or would have happened had it not been for small moments of sheer luck, and the way Karen would sometimes only half-look at her told Claire everything she needed to know.

Staying at the Mitchells' house was out of the question – not just because of her sister's watered down cold shoulder, but also because the whole point of coming home was to have some space, and being crammed in a small house with three other people, two of whom nearly got killed on her watch, was too much for Claire to handle.

Her parents' house was cold and looked abandoned, even though Claire knew that Karen was keeping an eye on it. She tried to remember the last time she was here, but after all the years she spent on the island, this other life felt unreal and out of reach. And she was so tired…

Owen showed up on her doorstep a couple of weeks later when it became clear that this was a bit more than just a break from the sunny California, and before she knew it, she was emptying a drawer for him and rearranging hangers in her closet to accommodate his stuff.

Oddly enough, their messy situation was somehow the only normal thing in her chaotic life at the time.

xoox

Claire stopped at the red light just as a dark SUV pulled up to a McDonald's across the street from her. It took her a moment to realize that the car looked familiar, and another one – to figure out whose it was.

From her spot, she saw Owen, Zach and Gray pile out of it, identical scarves hanging around their necks and a giant foam glove perched on Gray's hand. Her heart tripped over itself as her fingers squeezed the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. Another moment, and she would've probably left indentations on the plastic.

In the light spilling out through the large windows, she watched them step into the café and had to remind herself to breath – in, out, repeat. It was a weird feeling, both familiar and new at the same time. The one she didn't know what to make of – seeing Owen again was like picking up a book she'd started but never finished only to find out that someone ripped out the last pages and there was no way to know how it ended.

The light changed to green and a car behind hers honked impatiently, making Claire step quickly on the gas just as Owen paused in the doorway and turned to see what the commotion was about. She turned right before he spotted her, grateful for the cover of the darkness that fell over the city shortly after lunch – something she never appreciated before.

It wasn't until she got home that she finally understood what was wrong – before, Owen's proximity was justified either by their work or their relationship. Knowing that not only they existed in the same universe but also that he lived in the same city as she without being connected to her one way or another was unsettling and out of place. It threw her off and now she had no idea how to find the solid ground again.

xoox

It was easy to slip into a routine, comforting even.

Unsurprisingly, the job market in Madison, Wisconsin, wasn't tailored to accommodate people whose only solid skills, aside from wielding every type of known firearms, were limited to making dinosaurs jump on command and tracking animals in the wild.

As a result, Owen took to running in the morning, despite the subzero temperatures, to take the edge off the stress of the civilian life and divided the rest of his time between fixing up his house and working part-time at the local animal shelter until something better turned up. Usually, he would already be at home by the time Zach and Gray were out of school, and more often than not they would swing by his place on their way home to grab a grilled cheese sandwich and play a video game or two, adding small moments of normalcy to his life.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Owen asked when he came back home from his shift one day and Zach was already parked on the couch in the living room with a can of Coke and Call of Duty.

The boy shrugged dismissively. "There's only a week left until Christmas break," he noted without looking away from the TV, his fingers moving quickly on the controller. "Nothing's going on there anyway."

Owen shook off his parka and rubbed his hands together to get warm. "That wasn't the deal," he pointed out, his voice slightly less stern than he intended. Both Zach and Gray knew where he kept a spare key, but he made it perfectly clear they could only use it so they wouldn't freeze to death on his porch, not to skip school. And yet, there they were.

"It's just one day," Zach mumbled. "And I only missed history. I mean, it's not like it's going anywhere. It's, like, already done."

Owen scrubbed his chin, torn between giving him a lecture – which he had no idea how to do – and calling Karen, which would probably mean trouble. In the end, he went to the kitchen to grab root beer from the fridge before returning to the living room, still undecided about how to proceed.

And it was then that he saw it – a swelling bruise on Zach's right cheekbone, purple and nasty-looking, and probably painful.

Owen's eyebrows pulled together. "What happened?" He demanded, and this time Zach looked at him, if a little hesitantly.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just… Nothing."

Owen sat down next to him. "Wait, did they send you home?"

The boy's lips twitched humorlessly. "No, I left before they could do it. And before they called mom."

"Okay," Owen said slowly, running a hand down his face. They probably did all Karen by now. It did not sound good. "Spill."

Finally, Zach hit the pause and dropped the controller on the coffee table, his glance fixed on a stack of coasters sitting next to a few year-old magazines. "Some moron said something he shouldn't have said," he explained reluctantly. "He was basically asking for it, so..." Another shrug.

Owen leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and studied the boy's face. Maybe he needed to fetch a bag of frozen carrots for him or something. "It's not a reason to go around and hit people, Zach. If it were, we'd all be in real shit. All the time."

"Yeah, well, you would've done the same thing."

Owen's eyes narrowed, although he couldn't bring himself to disagree. So much for trying to be a decent role model. "So this guy… did he say something about you? Or someone else?" And then a metaphorical light bulb went on above his head. "Was that about a girl?"

"Ew, no!" Zach winced, visibly disgusted. He shook his head. "Well, sort of. But… not like that, okay? Can we drop it?"

Owen leaned back against the cushions and took a long swig of his root beer. "We can't, actually. If your mom comes pounding on my door anytime soon, I'd love to know why."

Zach huffed with frustration and linked his fingers together, staring down at his hands for a long moment. "It's Aunt Claire."

At that, Owen's stiffened momentarily, all the blood in his body rushing up to his head and starting to hammer in his temples, making him feel dizzy. He could count the number of times either of the Mitchell brothers mentioned Claire in front on him in the past few weeks on the fingers of one hand, and usually it was in passing. Each time they changed the subject fast, but Owen was too busy wallowing in his self-pity to be bothered by it.

Actually talking about her, on purpose, felt surreal.

"What about her?" He asked slowly, his throat tight and dry.

"I thought it was over already," Zach glanced at him, his expression weary. "The whole park crap. But it's been a year - I mean, it will be in a few days, and apparently some channel ran a program about it last night." He let out a long breath. "Have you seen it?"

"I don't really… I don't watch the news."

"Well, neither do it," the boy grimaced. "But other people do. Shocker, I know. So this one jerk walked up to me today and said something about how it was all Claire's fault it happened and asked how we sleep at night and some other crap." He pursed his lips together, visibly fuming now.

"Jesus…"

It was a torture to watch Claire go through this stuff a year ago, her eyes haunted and scared and so exhausted he wanted to start punching walls. But it never really occurred to Owen that on top of living through the I-Rex massacre, Zach and Gray also had to face the social consequences of it. Not only were they the survivors, but their aunt was directly involved with the park. Owen couldn't believe they never talked about this before, kicking himself mentally for not thinking of it sooner.

"Like, will they ever get tired of this shit?" Zach asked quietly.

"Eventually." Owen mumbled, not as convinced as he wanted to be. "And so you just punched him?"

Zach snorted dryly, his gaze dropped down to his reddened knuckles. "What choice did I have?"

Owen's lips curved into a small smile and he put his root beer on the coffee table, meeting Zach's eyes again. "For the record, it was a bad thing to do and you should never do it again. Whatever the reason." In the hallway, the doorknob turned with a soft creak, reminding him that he needed to oil it, and Gray tumbled in, announcing his arrival by calling out Owen's name. So Owen leaned closer to Zach, dropped his voice and added quickly before the younger Mitchell stormed into the living room, "But off the record, and I'll kill you if you tell your mom I said that – good job and yes, I would've done the same thing."

A grin spread across Zach's face. "Totally, right?"

"Whoa!" Gray's eyes widened at the sight of his brother's black eye. "Mom's gonna kill you."

Chuckling, Owen got up from the couch, ruffing Gray's hair on his way to the kitchen. "You guys hungry?"

He fixed some sandwiches and chips for them, allowing them to stay over half an hour longer than usual on a school night, all three of them taking turns in killing zombies and fighting for the world peace or whatever. He gave Zach an ice pack for his face and then busied himself with fixing the pipes under the kitchen sink that had been making some weird noises lately while the boys argued loudly over something or another in the living room.

He made a mental note to watch the 9 o'clock special tonight to see for himself how bad it was. The fact that the anniversary of the incident was looming before them somehow escaped him, what with trying to piece his life back together. But now it really hit him, and his mind was abuzz and wired.

His hands itched to pick up the phone and call Claire to see how she was doing. But theirs wasn't this kind of relationship, and he knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to say a word even if he found it in him to dial her number. What if she just needed to be left alone? What if she saw his name and chose not to pick up?

"You need a lift?" He asked when the boys shuffled into the hallway and reached for their coats sometime around 6.30.

"Nah," Zach said. "It's only four blocks."

"And Zach hopes that the cold will make this," Gray pointed at his brother's bruise, "look better."

"Well, maybe it will," Zach glowered at him and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"That's not how it works, genius."

"You be careful there," Owen interjected before the banter escalated into another fight. "It's slippery. And, um…" His gaze darted quickly toward Zach before wandering aimlessly around the hallway. He cleared his throat. "Take care of your aunt, okay?"

"She's fine," Gray assured him absently while trying to fix the scarf that seemed to be a mile long around his neck. "I mean, her job's great…"

"Hat," Zach told him.

"...and she comes over a lot and stuff," Gay continued without missing a beat. "Which is really cool. And she's no longer sad about the baby."

Until now, Owen didn't even know that a word could feel like a sucker punch. The blood drained form his face and his heart dropped into his stomach. For a long moment, he forgot how to breathe as Gray's response ran on an endless loop in his head till he couldn't bear it any longer.

"What baby?" He mouthed in a barely audible whisper, hoping as hell it wasn't what he really heard.

"Dude!" Zach hissed, smacking Gray on the arm.

Gray looked up slowly, horrified and guilty. "Oops."

The be continued...

A/N: Welp, hope you liked it! More to come soon :)

Don't leave without a review! And thanks for reading!