Author's note: Thanks for the feedback and for your patience, guys! :D

(No, YOU are counting the days till Jurassic World 2! ... 1043)

"Owen," Claire breathed out wishing she had something to grab on to, or to lean on. Also, if the ground just opened under her feet and swallowed her, she wouldn't have really minded either. Sadly, she seemed to have run out of luck a long time ago.

Sticking together after the incident didn't work out as well as either of them expected. Not even close.

After their return from Isla Nublar, things got bad. And then they got worse. Every goddamn reporter in a hundred mile radius made it their personal mission to corner her someplace or another and try to get a 'statement' from her, or, as Claire suspected, provoke an outburst of any kind so that they could turn it into a bigger scandal.

She knew it wasn't personal.

She knew they were just doing their job.

She hated every single one of them with a burning passion.

Dealing with the press used to be her forte – steady voice, lined-up facts and figures, an air of confidence that had them eating out of her hand. But she'd never been under this kind of attack before, never had to defend every single word coming out of her mouth. Not since Ian Malcolm made it his crusade to open their eyes to the idea of going through with the park all those years ago and she foolishly threw herself under the bus, metaphorically speaking, whishing she'd done it for real by the time the press conference was over. She actually contemplated demanding a raise just for having to deal with that man. Well, now that unfortunate day seemed like a trip to Disney World.

And it wasn't even that bad while she was still riding high on adrenaline and shock, which lasted for about a week. When it wore off, however, Claire found herself in a whole different kind of hell. After the first few nights when her mind would simply shut off sending her into deep, dreamless sleep, she couldn't even close her eyes without seeing rows and rows of blood-stained teeth, without feeling her lungs burn from the lack of oxygen while her legs refused to carry her body to safety. She'd open her mouth to scream but no sound would come out.

It was like someone pulled the plug on her sanity. She'd stay up all night lying in bed and watching the digital clock on her bedside table blink away one agonizingly long second after another while her brain went over and over through a hundred-thousand-million things waiting for her to take care of them until she'd begin to feel like she was losing her mind.

And that was even before the court hearings started and she had to sit through hours of people talking about the park and about her like she wasn't even there. She'd be labeled as a hero and as a murderer (usually in a span of 10 minutes - rinse, recycle, repeat). Before she had to start making phone calls to the families of the diseased to express her 'sincere condolences', which made her sick to her stomach because what could she possibly tell those people to make them feel better?! Murderer, murderer, murderer. Hero? Not so much

Claire spent the first two months after the incident either unable to leave the house because there was too much space and too much noise outside for her mind to cope with, or feeling trapped-scared-suffocating in her apartment, except there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

And Owen…

Owen was there.

He planned to stay with her for a few days – Until I find something else, I swear – which turned into weeks, and then into months. Claire didn't mind one bit. She knew she needed him to be her anchor just as much as he needed her to be his because the only thing worse than dealing with the mess they found themselves in was dealing with it alone.

She'd watch him play video games when he couldn't sleep, and he'd sit on the other side of the bathroom door when it was the only place in the world that made her feel safe, talking to her about nothing in particular just so she'd know he was there. She'd pick up his favourite food for dinner("Are you trying to eat your weight in tacos, Grady?"), and he'd teach her how to cheat in poker ("Hey, you shouldn't do it, but it doesn't hurt to know the tricks"). By unspoken agreement, they never mentioned the park, or the Indominus-Rex, but they didn't need to. Not really. They just needed to know that there was someone else who understood.

And then Claire woke up one night to the sound of Owen watching the midnight reruns of Seinfeld in the living room, and nearly had a heart attack. Not because of Seinfeld of course, but because it had finally hit her how much she wanted him to be there, how much she needed him not to just be there but to stay there, how okay she was with hearing Jerry Seinfeld's voice in her apartment at 3 in the morning, and this simply wasn't okay.

She'd always been the strong one, the independent one, the one that went and got things done. And now she was the broken one, the damaged one, the one that couldn't get her life together. How was that possible? And more importantly, what would she do when he was gone? And he would be, eventually. It wasn't like they had a relationship to speak of. Which meant that she needed to take the situation under control.

Claire returned to work the next day, against her better judgement and ignoring the protests of the Masrani Global lawyers that were swimming through heaps and piles of lawsuits and preferred to have her on the other side of the line for the time being. She started avoiding Owen in her own goddamn house, would dodge his questions, wouldn't so much as look at him when he was in the room. She all but moved into her office pulling one all-nighter after another. She did what she knew how to do best – she shut him out, locked the door, and threw out the key. It hurt so bad she thought she would die, but what else could she do, really?

He wasn't an idiot. He knew where this was going.

Easter rolled around and Karen asked her to come visit them because Claire had promised not to fall off the face of the Earth again, and Claire wasn't in a position to start breaking her word. They weren't having it easy either, what with Karen and Scott's divorce being in full swing and the boys being caught between a rock and a hard place. When she announced her decision to go to Madison for the holidays to Owen, he asked if maybe it was time for him to get his own place. She didn't protest, didn't bother hiding her relief at not having to actually ask him to do it. When she came back from Wisconsin a week later, her condo was Owen-free.

He tried calling at first, but she wouldn't pick up most of the time. Not because she didn't want to talk to him but because she did, desperately so. And then he stopped - who wouldn't? They'd run into each other now and then – in the Masrani Corp corridors, or the coffee shop nearby, or (Claire's favourite) the court house – nod a brief hello to one another and be on their way without breaking a stride. She'd see him sometimes at the cafeteria having lunch with Kristen something-or-another from accounting and hurry out before he had a chance to see her, forgetting about the food.

She'd never felt more miserable in her life, but at least she was in control again. And so what if it didn't feel like living?

And now he was standing before her, tall, and solid, and as approachable as a wild animal. And just as guarded too, making Claire wonder if she'd finally lost it.

"You're not supposed to be here," she blurted out. "They told me you weren't coming."

He scoffed. "Yeah, otherwise you wouldn't be caught dead on this island. No need to spell it out, really."

Oh, he was there alright. Claire sucked in an unsteady breath, willed herself to keep it together as the shock of her initial surprise began to wear off giving way to what she could only describe as panic.

"Isn't it the only way to be caught on this island?" She stepped off the dock and onto the soft grass, only now noticing another car with the park's logo on the hood mostly hidden behind the overgrown ferns, and kicked herself mentally for not spotting it straight away. "Wait, shouldn't you be halfway to Florida or something?"

Owen arched his eyebrows, amused. "New York, actually. I'm transferring, not retiring." And as an afterthought, "Thanks for keeping tabs on me. I'm flattered."

"I wasn't—" She clamped her mouth shut and pursed her lips for good measure. There was no way she'd give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand. No way!

"Why are you here, Claire?"

"Same reason as you, I believe. Doing the right thing by the dinosaurs—"

"No, what are you doing here?" He swept the clearing and his bungalow with a glance.

"Making you feel uncomfortable." She deadpanned – because two could play this game – which made his mouth twitch and his gaze soften, but only for a moment. She folded her arms on her chest, gave him a measured look. "No one told me about the change of plans."

Owen shrugged, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I don't know anything about that. My job was not to miss my flight. You might have to take everything else to Human Resources." He turned and strode back to the car and pulled another box from the backseat. "One of the guys couldn't make it because of some family emergency. They were desperate." He set it next to the first one. "For what it's worth, I didn't think you'd make it here either. I mean we both know how much you like changing your mind last minute."

Which was a cheap shot, and they both knew it. A part of her saw it coming, but it still felt like a sucker punch.

"That's not fair."

"You shouldn't be here on your own. It's not safe."

She tipped her chin up. "I have a tranq rifle."

Owen glanced briefly over his shoulders and at her car, barely visible behind the trees from his spot. "You'd die ten times before you'd get to it."

She noticed his own rifle then, lying between the boxes on the table, close at hand as per usual. He also had a gun – a real one, with the bullets and all that – in a holster on his hip, as well as a walkie-talkie strapped to his waist belt. Owen Grady was anything but unprepared.

Claire walked up to him until there was not more than half a foot between them, taking notice of the fact that he actually sucked in his breath when she approached. He kept his ground though. She didn't budge either, invading his personal space just for the hell of it, ignoring the narrowing of his eyes, the stiffened line of his shoulders. He looked about as trapped as she felt, which was a relief – at least she wasn't alone in this weird limbo.

"And wouldn't that be a win-win for both of us?" She tilted her head slightly to the side, held his gaze daring him to… to do anything, period. Owen didn't move, didn't so much as blink, keeping his face blank. "There will be a staff meeting tomorrow at 9 to discuss... well, everything. Do us all a favour, Mr. Grady, and try to show up on time, will you?"

She strode off without looking back, and then spent 5 minutes trying to start her car because her hands were shaking and she couldn't get the key into the ignition. If Owen wondered what was taking her so long to leave his little corner of the world, he didn't bother to come and ask.

xoox

There were exactly two times in Owen Grady's life when he felt the ground slip from beneath his feet – when he saw his first dinosaur (a herd of Triceratops actually, on his ride from the ferry terminal to the Henry Wu's lab on his first day on the island). And when he found Claire Dearing, of all people, on his doorstep. And damn, she looked good in those casual slacks and sensible sandals and with her hair that was now falling past her shoulders in soft waves. She still looked like she just fell out of a corporate meeting, but he couldn't help noticing that without those ridiculous heels of hers she was more than half a foot shorter than him, and if he put his arms around her, her head would fit just under his chin…

Owen shook his head, chasing this image away.

He did not come to this godforsaken place for Claire Dearing. He had a plan – a mission, if you please – and at this point, he'd very much prefer not to have to deal with anything related to her.

Except it was too much to ask for, wasn't it?

He ran his hand through his hair, then slammed his fist on the table, making the whole thing shudder and some of the stuff piled on top of it roll off onto the grass.

This place was a mess. He had already took notice of the fact that the roof of the bungalow was leaking, and that one of the tropical storms that tended to roll across the island as they pleased managed to rip the solar batteries off the roof of the trailer, which was a huge thing he desperately didn't want to deal with. It was a miracle everything was still standing, the elements and the dinosaurs considered. And right now he needed his generator to start running again, whatever the hell was wrong with it, if only for the sake of the frozen food he planned to live off in the foreseeable future. He did not have time to stew over his unresolved issues with the woman who made it fucking clear she didn't want to have anything to do with him.

Owen ignored the sound of the approaching vehicle, didn't so much as turn when the engine died and the door was pushed open and then slammed shut – the only things he was concerned about in this park were the ones that didn't drive.

"Can I help you with something else?" He asked over his shoulder, certain that it was Claire who came back to remind him about the dress code or something else equally exciting, and God help them all—

"Thought you might need those."

Owen snapped his head up.

It wasn't Claire. It was Barry, and not just Barry, but Barry carrying a six-pack of Bud, which right now was Owen's favourite combination.

He dropped the screwdriver back into the toolbox and wiped his hands on the oil-stained rag, grinning. "Please tell me those are actually scotch."

xoox

Back at home, Claire took to running in the surf in the morning. She'd start before dawn, catching a glimpse of occasional surfers paddling into the waves, and sprint right into the sunrise, pushing herself forward until her lungs began to burn and her knees were moments away from buckling. There was something powerfully liberating in the simplicity of it – just the movement of the muscles beneath her skin, the rhythmic pattern of her breathing, the salty taste of the ocean in the air, the way the sand gave in so easily under her feet. It was only when the howl of the wind filled her ears that she'd stop hearing the roars of the Indominus-Rex in her head.

It was so easy not to think, to pretend that maybe if she put some physical distance between herself and her life, she would be able to look at it from a different angle and see something she wasn't noticing all along. It was the only thing that made her feel in control when her whole life was nothing but chaos.

And so she was doing it again – racing against the wind in the early hours of the day, cutting through the mist and scaring hell out of the crabs that scurried back into the water at her approach, and hoping she wouldn't end up being someone's breakfast before she had a chance to have hers. Now, wouldn't that be ironic?

When she arrived at the hotel the previous night, Lowery was sitting in the bar – now empty and service-free – playing Angry Birds on his tablet and humming something unrecognizable under his breath.

"You knew, didn't you?" She stomped over towards him.

He raised his hands up. "Only as of this morning, I swear." Good. At least they weren't playing dumb and dumber. He eyed her somewhat warily for a few moments. "Is it going to be a problem?"

Was it?

Claire pushed harder, increasing her speed until she started to feel like she was going to spread her wings and take off any moment. It wasn't even 7 in the morning, but the air already felt thick, the temperature climbing up fast. Soon, she knew, even walking would feel like too much effort, but now she marveled in the occasional spray of water on her calves and the emptiness all around her – something she wasn't used to anymore.

At last, she skidded to a halt and bent forward, resting her hands on her knees and hungrily gulping humid air with her mouth, waiting for her heartbeat to go back to normal.

It didn't change anything – with or without Owen, they had a task at hand. The two of them could be professional about it, right? She knew she could. If there was anything she was good at, that was it. Why would this situation be any different?

Claire straightened up and wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her gaze swept across the water and fierce waves crushing against the sand at her feet before finally pausing on a dark, heavy cloud creeping in on the island from the west. If they were lucky, the wind would steer it into the sea and keep the storm off the coast.

But she didn't have much hope for that.

xoox

"Hey, I thought we were going to check the plain west of the golf course," Owen's brows drew together when Barry pulled their Jeep Safari to a stop in the shade of two palm trees on the Main Street plaza. From their spot, he could see a couple of construction workers in bright yellow hardhats demolishing the skeletal remains of what used to be an ice-cream parlour and a Starbucks while the third one kept to the side, talking on the phone.

"We are," Barry nodded.

"Then what—" Owen cut off when the doors to the Hilton slid open, spitting Claire into the blazing afternoon sun. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered under his breath. "What is she doing here?"

Claire strode to the vehicle and climbed into the back seat, nodding a hi to Barry. "Nice to see you, too, Mr. Grady." She buckled her seatbelt. "You might need to work on your indoor voice."

"We're not ind—" He slumped against the back of his seat and shot a glare at Barry. Seriously?! "Whatever."

"She's the boss," Barry shook his head not even trying to conceal his amusement before making a u-turn and starting to maneuver their way out of the resort and towards the enclosures.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Grady?"

He snickered, "No problem at all, Claire." He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "You just caught me by surprise. I didn't know you owned shorts. I almost didn't recognize you."

She did not dignify that with any kind of response.

Because of course he did – he knew everything. Because back in San Diego, they had Lululemon days when they raced each other on the beach. And then there were sweatpants days spent on the couch – those usually involved Chinese food and a lot of bad movies. And then there were court days when she'd pull on the dress pants or a pencil skirt, and Owen would cringe his way into a suit and allow her to take care of his tie pointedly calling it a noose in the process. He knew exactly what the inside of her goddamn closet looked like. Hell, he probably knew what she kept in her underwear drawer, for that matter. She was not inclined to discuss it.

So she turned to Barry instead. "What's the plan?"

"If you want to bring up the invisible fences again, we might have to redefine the boundaries of the enclosures. Hold on." And Claire promptly grabbed the metal frame just as the jeep jumped up hitting a bump in the road. Barry went on, "We needed the biggest one for the Apatosauarus herd."

"But there're only two of them now," Claire mused, scanning the field that opened before them.

"Triceratops, on the other hand, could use some extra space to migrate from pasture to pasture," Owen suggested, all business.

She nodded. Okay, they were talking. About the dinosaurs. But they were being civil about it. In 12 words or less. She held tighter on to whatever she could reach for when Barry took a sharp turn and pushed her hair out of her face.

"And what about…" Claire began just as her phone started to ring, cutting her off. "Excuse me. Lowery? ... No, we just left the resort." She looked back at the Innovation Center disappearing behind the palms. "Where? …. Did anything happen? … Yes, okay. Of course."

"Everything alright?" Barry asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine." She stuffed the phone into the pocket of her shorts and leaned closer to the front seats, speaking over the wind. "Could we make a stop in the valley? There's a group of vets working there, and they seem to need – and I quote here – some extra firepower."

"Sure." Barry took another turn, speeding up towards a cluster of trees to the right from them.

It was a grey leathery heap that Claire noticed first when he parked the car five minutes later only realizing that it was actually a Stegosaurus lying on its side when she climbed out of the jeep. She stopped short in her tracks, her mind flashing back to that horrible day all those months ago when she and Owen witnessed an Apatosaurus die after the Indominus attack, her throat closing up and her world zooming in on the giant form on the grass in front of her.

She knew damn well that they were alive – back then as well as now. She just sometimes wished she didn't.

"Claire?"

She turned to the sound of Owen's voice to find him looking at her quizzically, waiting. She swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to climb into the car and start driving and never stop until she reached Alaska or something.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and started walking to where Barry was standing by the animal, trying oh so hard not to think of how her name sounded in Owen's mouth moments ago without the usual snide of the past couple of days.

"What happened here?" Claire asked in a hollow voice as the dinosaur grew bigger the closer she came to it.

She didn't see so much as feel Owen join her, the skin of her neck prickling at his proximity in a familiar, almost comfortable way.

"Nothing much." Someone who wasn't Barry's told her, and it was only then that Claire noticed Dr. Maxwell kneeling by the Stegosaurus. "Ms. Dearing." He straightened up when she climbed the last few feet up the low hill and pulled off white medical gloves covered with what Claire was certain was blood before tossing them into a black garbage bag at his feet. "Her implant was turning on and off, so we had to sedate her and have a look at it, but she's going to be okay in-" he glanced at his watch, "—forty to sixty minutes."

Claire's eyes fixed on the gauze patch on the animal's back near its neck and felt her shoulders sag in relief. Yeah, okay, that would explain the presence of one of Lowery's guys – Evens, wasn't it? – standing slightly to the side and looking five shades of green. She wondered absently if he knew that he would have to participate in the dinosaur surgeries when he signed up for what was probably supposed to look cool on his resume.

Behind them stood two InGen men, dressed in black like Barry and Owen, with the tranq rifles slung over their shoulders. They nodded to Barry and shook hands with Owen. "There're some toothy guys lurking in the trees," one of them pointed at the grove on the other side of the valley with a jerk of his head.

"Metriacanthosaurus," Dr. Maxwell added helpfully.

"We didn't want to be outnumbered."

"Good call," Barry shifted his own rifle to another shoulder and knelt by the Stegosaurus, placing his hand on her side that kept rising and falling with her slow breathing.

"I want to stay with her until she comes to, to make sure that everything went fine," Maxwell explained in an almost apologetic voice. His gaze darted towards the trees for a moment. "And that she's not eaten in her sleep."

"Of course," Claire mustered a small smile, her heart still doing somersaults in her chest. Honestly, if she never saw a dead dinosaur again, it would still be too soon. She took in a shaky breath and raked her fingers through her hair – a nervous gesture she'd long given up on trying to control. "You can never be too safe here."

"I'll stay," Barry stood up. He tossed the car keys to Owen. "You can go."

"You sure?" Owen caught them without even looking.

"Yeah, we've got it. I'll see you later."

Owen nodded curtly and started towards the car, only noticing Claire when she caught up with him beating him to the jeep and pulling the passenger door open. He watched her climb in with a frown creasing his forehead.

"You can stay with them if you want."

Which sounded more like Why the hell wouldn't you? Which Claire chose to ignore.

"No one is going anywhere on this island alone." She kept her voice even and business-like as she struggled with her seatbelt – at least it gave her an excuse not to look at him. "It's not safe, you said it yourself."

"I don't need a babysitter." He slammed his door and started the jeep again.

"Since when?" Claire muttered, keeping her eyes on the bumpy trail ahead.

They rode in silence for a while, neither one of them knowing how to fill it, their shoulders stiff and their mouths set stubbornly as the wind whipped their hair.

Well, her hair mostly. Claire curled her fingers into tight fists until she could feel her nails leave half-moon-shaped marks on her palms and kept her gaze straight ahead.

"I didn't come here for you, Claire," Owen said all of a sudden without looking at her.

"Didn't think you would."

"I just wanted to make sure Blue was okay."

"I thought as much."

"She's never been on her own for this long before." A pause. He wasn't even sure if her was still talking to her or simply thinking out loud. "Raptors are pack animals, this whole thing must be odd and confusing for her."

"Has anyone seen her yet?"

"No," Owen shook his head. "The raptors never had tracking implants because they were a science project, not the park's attraction." And then, "But if she's here, I'll find her."

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. It was odd not to know what to say to her, to have to walk on eggshells around everything he couldn't even put into words. What seemed as natural as breathing only a while ago – talking to her, being around her, not feeling like a complete idiot – was awkward and painful now, and he hated the fact that they were here, in this weird place where they were nothing but strangers and the carefully choreographed dance they used to do around one another was no longer working.

Owen took in a breath. Small talk. They could do small talk, right? Because if they fell into one of those heavy silences again, he might as well just throw himself out of the car.

"So… how've you, you know, been?"

"Good. Pretty good actually," Claire said quickly, cringing a little at how fake it came out. "You?"

"Just as good, I guess."

"Not so much then."

"Not really," he echoed with a small wistful half-smile. "Have you been seeing anyone?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"I was talking about a therapist."

"Oh." Right. Of course. "Not since I figured out that I don't have to pay $150 an hour to relive the worst thing that happened to me when I can do it for free."

He shot her a quick look, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. "And about… that other thing?"

"Owen…"

"What? Too soon?"

"No. Look."

There was something behind the trees, something odd and out of place.

Owen hit the brakes, his hand already reaching for the rifle.

"Stay here."

Which might've been a good idea, but Claire's hand was already pushing the door open, her legs carrying her to what she initially mistook for a giant boulder as her heart began to hammer against her ribcage.

"I told you to stay in the car," Owen threw over his shoulder at the sound of her footsteps – the gravel crunching under the soles of her boots and the leaves brushing against her calves and hips as she tried to keep up with him without tripping over the tree roots protruding from the ground.

"And I didn't. It doesn't even have a roof, for heaven's sake. What good would it—Oh, my god!" She stopped short and pressed her hands to her mouth.

It wasn't a boulder, of course. She stepped around Owen to take in an animal carcass covered in thick brown fur slashed to shreds and spattered with blood. A deer. A very dead one. It was currently staring at her with its unblinking brown eye with what Claire could only interpret as accusation. She took an involuntary step back, dizzy and nauseated.

Owen crouched down beside the deer, looking very much a predator himself as his gaze scanned the marks on the dead animal. "Still warm. It couldn't have happened more than 10 minutes ago."

"You think it could be… a raptor?"

Claire swallowed uneasily and looked around at the forest listening so hard for anything that could be lurking behind the trees that her head started to hurt. It seemed quiet and still – as quiet and still as it could be, but it didn't mean anything. She knew that it could be deceiving – the survival of most of the animals inhabiting this place depended on their ability to move without a sound and stay undetected until it was too late for their prey to try to escape. And right now she and Owen were all but screaming Dinner served!

"No," he tilted his head. "You see those bite marks?" She did, but she really wished she wouldn't have to. "They're too big to be raptor's. Too wide, too. Might be the Metriacanthosaurus the guys saw in the valley."

He stood up slowly and got a better grip on his rifle, his whole body rigid and his eyes narrowed as he took in their surroundings.

"But why would they kill something and leave it?" Claire murmured.

"They wouldn't. Not unless they were chased off by something else." Owen turned to her slowly. "We need to get out of here. Now."

The ground shuddered under their feet as a deafening roar rolled over the trees, scaring a flock of birds that took off with panicky shrieks disappearing in the sky before the echo of the roar died down.

Oh, hell no!

Owen's fingers flexed on the gun as they both whirled around to face the source of the sound, still hidden from their sight by the lush overgrowth. He moved back – carefully, slowly, making sure to avoid stepping on anything that could crunch under his feet – steering Claire to the side, keeping himself between her and whatever was coming for them. Instinctively, she grabbed onto his arm, her fingers and nails digging into his skin, which would probably be painful under different circumstances, but right now, he could barely feel it.

Right after the Indominus-Rex incident, InGen sent him – and every single employee that was in the park that day – to a shrink. To talk it over, they said, to start putting it behind the, blah-blah-blah. It was pointless. As Claire mentioned, he didn't need help remembering that horrid day in every gruesome detail, so he was mostly zoning in and out as a balding guy in a tweed suit kept on droning about the nature of the emotional trauma and its impact on a human mind. Owen contemplated telling him that his time on the Navy wasn't a summer camp either, but chose not to bother – he came here to get InGen off his back, not to spill his heart and soul to a stranger he was not going to see again in life.

What he did remember the man mentioning though was that the kind of incident that happened in Jurassic World fell under the category of 'Lightening never strikes twice in the same place'. Yes, it was awful. Yes, it was traumatizing. But unlike, say, a car accident, it was not something that the employees or the guests of the park would ever have to experience again because, unlike cars, the dinosaurs weren't exactly running around. And so on, and so forth.

Well, funny story-

"Is that—" Claire began in a choked voice.

"The T-Rex."

A/N: As always, comments are appreciated :) In totally unrelated news, Clawen rocks!