Chapter Summary

...He couldn't deny that it was a good opportunity to mingle with the academic crowd but, really, he knew the main reason for accepting. The image of Elizaveta at a desk or in a chair, writing notes and sketching in her notebook tugged at the back of his mind. Attending meant he would see Elizaveta in her natural habitat, so to speak. Would she be different? More severe or professor-like, as she had been on that first day when she'd scolded him and Barry for their snide remarks about InGen? Or would she be just as kind and engaging as she'd been on the island? Would she treat him differently, knowing that they weren't on 'company' time but on their own? Technically, they were only co-workers on Isla Sorna after all. Even though Barry was right – there was no policy against fraternising – he figured Elizaveta would still be wary, unwilling to jeopardise their research for an 'office' fling. Still, the temptation remained...

Chapter Seven
Academic Adventures

'Look, Barry, I'm sick of discussing this with you,' Owen said, resisting the urge to flap and flail his arm in exasperation, lest he hit an unfortunate passer-by with his grocery bag. 'Besides, I think it's best if I keep it professional.'

'But Owen, there is no clause in our contracts against fraternising; we may fraternise with whomever we choose,' Barry said, speaking clearly as the line crackled for a moment with static. 'I saw 'ow she looked at you when you asked her out for coffee. She is interested as you are, I am sure of it!'

'And when am I going to ask her out for coffee? When am I ever going to be in the neighbourhood? We don't even live in the same state!'

'Ah yes, you're in Ohio. She's in, what, Massachusetts? What's a few 'undred miles for love?'

Owen bit back a few choice words, instead saying, 'you are so French sometimes it hurts.'

'I take that as a compliment.'

'Of course. You would.'

'And you don't deny it.'

'That's because there is nothing to deny. Do I like her? Yes. She's clever and she's interesting to talk to. Is she pretty?–'

'You said–'

'Yes, she is pretty,' he said, talking over the man before Barry could bring up that conversation again. 'Any straight male probably thinks so too. Don't start reading into something that isn't there.'

'Fine, fine. But if I steal her, you can't blame me.'

'I can't see you doing that. It'd make Alexis jealous.'

Owen smirked when he heard only the faintest crackle of static, his friend falling silent at the mention of the older Murphy sibling. Yeah, he thought as the silence dragged on, that's right. I still have that card up my sleeve.

'Much as I love going around and around in circles with you like this – on my dime, by the way, because you insisted I call you – I'm almost home and I do actually have things to do.'

'Well, I 'ave many things to do also, I'll 'ave you know,' Barry said, recovering from his momentary – blessed – silence. 'One of them is named Chantelle.'

The line went dead. Owen chuckled as he tucked his phone back into his pocket in time to free his hand and find his security card for the entrance to his building. He nodded to the lone security guard at the desk and wandered over to the row of letter boxes. The moment he opened his box, something caught his eye; a letter, clad in a crisp white envelope seemed to shimmer amidst the bent bills and advertisements. He reached in, tucking the other mail and leaflets under his arm, and as he made his way towards the elevator he turned the envelope around in his hand, finding it sealed with an emblazoned with an embossed sticker – a crest of some sort.

He resisted the urge to shuffle his burdens and try to tear it open lest he drop his groceries. The moment he reached his apartment, however, he abandoned the bag on the kitchen table, laying the usual mail beside it as he turned his attention to the curious letter. The last intriguing piece of mail he'd received had been from Timothy Murphy, an initial point of contact which – although rather unwelcome at the time – proved to be a fantastic opportunity. If not for the crest, he'd have assumed it was another letter from InGen. So, who had sent this one?

He leant against the counter, rather more gentle with this letter than his usual mail. The moment he unfolded it, his brows shot up.

Garret McIntyre
Head of Palaeontology
Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences, Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 02138
Tel: (617) 495-2352

Dear Mr Grady–

Garret McIntyre. Owen stared at the name, hearing it uttered in his mind as if from Elizaveta's lips; she'd mentioned the man more than once. McIntyre was the head honcho of Harvard's palaeontology department. Elizaveta's boss. Why in the world, Owen wondered, has he sent a letter to me? How does he even know who I am?

Owen didn't have to read far to get his answers.

Dear Mr Grady,

I spoke with my colleague Elizaveta Volkov recently regarding some research conducted on the Jurassic island designated Isla Sorna in partnership with InGen. She spoke highly of you and your expertise regarding velociraptors. I would like to say that I appreciate your contribution to the project; should the island become a permanent research facility, many students and academics will benefit from your work.

Elizaveta today informed me that your co-authored article, "Social Hunting: A New Study on Advanced Hunting Strategies of the Dilophosauridae" (2016), has been accepted without revisions and is due to be published in the next edition of Palaeontology. Having been granted the honour of reading the final draft, I am delighted to say that this article is a fantastic contribution to current research about dilophosauridae.

To celebrate your article's publication, I would like to invite you to visit Harvard for a tour of the department followed by a gathering of colleagues for lunch on 22 August, starting at 11 AM. Please let me know if this time would suit you, otherwise, we can arrange a better time. I understand you would be travelling from Columbus, so I am happy to organise a refund for any travel and accommodation expenses – just forward your receipts by email to the department administrator, Katherine Dobbs, whose contact information is attached. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me or Mrs Dobbs.

Kind regards,
Garret McIntyre
BSc(Hons) MSc (Princeton) DSc (MIT) DSc (Stanford)

A grin crossed Owen's lips. A few weeks back, Elizaveta had let him know that she'd submitted the article shortly after mailing off their final reports to InGen. Then, a week ago, Elizaveta had told him they were heading back to Isla Sorna at the beginning of September to continue the preparation program. Now this. Never in his wildest thoughts or dreams had he believed he'd be published – well, not in an academic journal. He'd had plenty of people try and buy his story after the disaster at Jurassic World, but he had no interest in indulging them, no matter how many zeros appeared on the cheque.

Owen flipped over the page, finding contact information for the department manager as promised. He was already pulling out his cell and starting to tap in the digits to the office phone number before he paused, wondering if he was acting a little impulsively. He should check out flights, he thought, and accommodation. Plan, rather than forge ahead without a second thought. But the truth was that he had no plans apart from the next trip the Isla Sorna. Money wasn't a factor either, especially knowing that the largest expenses would subsequently be covered by the department. Was he just eager? Excited to have a plan, rather than to while away the days as he had been lately? Perhaps.

He couldn't deny that it was a good opportunity to mingle with the academic crowd but, really, he knew the main reason for accepting. The image of Elizaveta at a desk or in a chair, writing notes and sketching in her notebook tugged at the back of his mind. Attending meant he would see Elizaveta in her natural habitat, so to speak. Would she be different? More severe or professor-like, as she had been on that first day when she'd scolded him and Barry for their snide remarks about InGen? Or would she be just as kind and engaging as she'd been on the island? Would she treat him differently, knowing that they weren't on 'company' time but on their own? Technically, they were only co-workers on Isla Sorna after all. Even though Barry was right – there was no policy against fraternising – he figured Elizaveta would still be wary, unwilling to jeopardise their research for an 'office' fling. Still, the temptation remained.

If ever there was a chance to be in the neighbourhood, he thought, this is it.

He almost called Barry back first, but realised he'd have listen to more of the man's jibes, so he typed the final digits.

The call was picked up within a few rings, and Mrs Dobbs greeted him brightly. 'Hello, you've reached the Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences. This is Katherine speaking. How may I help you?'

'Hi, Katherine. My name is Owen Grady. I just received a letter from Professor McIntyre inviting me to a function with your department, and I'd like to accept the invitation...'

Owen tugged at his shirt this way and that, trying to get it to sit comfortably. He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn the garment, one that had been long tucked in storage while he'd been living on Isla Nublar, but he was sure that it hadn't been quite so tight around his chest. As he waited, he wished again that Barry could have come, but with their impending return to the island, his friend had chosen to remain at home for an extra two weeks.

As he'd said, I'd love to see you make a fool of yourself in front of the Professor but I spent enough years away from my mother and her cooking for that when I joined you at Jurassic World.

Owen looked up when he heard footsteps and glanced down the hallway. An older man, in his late fifties at a guess, wandered towards him. He wasn't wearing a stereotypical tweed jacket, as Owen admittedly had expected of the renowned professor, but was dressed very much like Owen in a button down shirt, tidy blue jeans, and boots which were much more polished than Owen's battered pair.

'Mr Grady, so nice to finally meet you,' the Professor said, words laced with an old Scottish accent that had been worn away by the years. An inviting smile peeked from beneath his silver-grey, perfectly coiffed imperial-style moustache and he held out his hand, his grip firm and sure. 'Garret McIntyre. I hope you've not waited long.'

'No, not at all.'

'Good lad. Come. I'll take you on a tour of our department, and then introduce you to my colleagues.'

Owen fell into step with McIntyre, listening intently as the professor talked about the facilities and the researchers. They even stopped in to talk to some of the graduate students, who seemed to have pre-planned a diversion; the moment he and the Professor entered the room one student quickly pulled McIntyre aside, allowing the others to crowd around Owen. They grilled him for a solid ten minutes about Isla Sorna before McIntyre came to the rescue, insisting they head on to lunch, much to Owen's relief. He enjoyed talking to the eager students, but he'd come directly to campus after the flight and hadn't had a bite to eat, as his stomach promptly reminded him with a low growl.

They made their way through more corridors, eventually coming upon a meeting room buzzing with chatter. Owen began to look for Elizaveta in the crowd as he picked up a glass of champagne from a table and snatched up an hors d'oeuvre to quiet his grumbling stomach. Before he had a chance to spot her, individuals who were close enough to notice Owen's arrival with Professor McIntyre began to break off from their small groups to introduce themselves. He hadn't been sure what to expect when it came to meeting these academics but, as he'd quickly learned with Elizaveta, he had to toss his assumptions of what a typical academic looked like aside.

Far, far aside.

The first person he met was Tara, a palaeobiologist with the brightest pink hair he'd ever seen, and more piercings in her ears than he could count. Next he met Marcus, a senior lecturer in invertebrate palaeontology who, at 6'5" and 250 pounds, looked like he could – and often did – lift trucks for fun. Then, just as he was recovering from having to crane his neck to look Marcus in the eyes, he met Geoff the archaeologist. Geoff appeared plain enough wearing black framed glasses and a black long-sleeve top, appeared being the key word.

Part way through their conversation, as Owen was explaining the setup of the remote monitoring stations, Geoff pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows to reveal forearms completely covered in vibrant tattoos. Owen managed to keep his gaze up, even though he was seized by the desire to examine the intricate designs more closely.

A melodic clink clink clink of a knife on a glass sounded in the room, and he was forced to turn away from Geoff. All eyes turned to Professor McIntyre, who smiled jovially at the crowd.

'Welcome, welcome all. As you know, you're not just here for a free meal–' chuckles filtered through the room– 'we are here to celebrate our colleagues, one you know very well, and one who I believe you shall come to know well.'

Owen tried to look around as casually as possible, still trying to catch sight of Elizaveta, but the crowd had condensed to hear McIntyre's speech.

'Though we are all jealous, I'm sure, that we are not the ones to be laying the foundations for this new research facility, the work Elizaveta and Owen are doing will establish an unparalleled opportunity for students and teachers alike. Before we enjoy lunch, drinks, and a rare opportunity to spend time with our colleagues from all areas in our department and beyond, I hope you will join me in wishing them all the best for their future endeavours on Isla Sorna. Let us all raise a glass and congratulate Elizaveta and Owen on their first-class research and their upcoming paper in Palaeontology.'

Clapping resounded. Marcus thumped Owen on the shoulder in a playful gesture of congratulations, though Owen had to plant his feet to stay standing due to the sheer weight behind the man. Geoff, who was still beside Owen, pretended not to notice Owen sway forward, politely keeping his eyes on McIntyre before he offered Owen a fist bump.

'Impressive work,' Geoff said, gesturing for Owen to follow him to the buffet table as they talked, 'getting published that fast.'

'Elizaveta certainly has some serious clout in academia.'

'Hey, she's earned it. Most people spend their whole lives building the resume she had by the time she hit thirty last year. We celebrated her birthday and her latest monograph simultaneously. Can you imagine? Three monographs by the age of thirty.' He shook his head, though he grinned from ear to ear. 'I turned thirty-nine a few months back and I'm still working on my third!'

He laughed heartily as he began to help himself to a selection of dishes, giving Owen a moment to try and process the enormity of such a task, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen her list of published works. Long was an understatement.

Owen gathered a plate, pleased to finally dig into a meal. Geoff walked him around, introducing him to people as they went. The atmosphere buzzed with chatter and laughter, each new person as curious as the last about Isla Sorna, though in their own way. Geologists wanted to know about the landscape and the rock formations, while biologists were interested in how the ecosystem had adapted to the presence of the dinosaurs that now roamed the land. He answered each question as best as he could, and though he felt much of it was beyond his ability to answer adequately, each scholar seemed happy with the information he could provide. He began to feel like he was stuck in a polite whirlwind; Geoff led him around the room, new faces greeting him with every turn of his head.

He was wondering just how many people were at this function when, as Geoff became engrossed in conversation with the archaeologists he'd recently introduced Owen to, Owen finally caught sight of Elizaveta milling among the academics. He'd grown so used to seeing her dressed in khaki and with her hair in a high, artfully messy bun that he almost didn't recognise her.

Her dark hair curled freely over her shoulders, concealing her features from this angle until she swept a few strands over her ear, revealing her sharp jawline and her scarred right cheek. And she definitely wasn't wearing khaki today, oh no. She wore a vibrant purple blouse, the silken fabric appearing to shimmer under the lights. Before he could stop himself his eyes dropped down to the high-waisted pencil skirt that hugged her curves, his gaze tracing the outline of her thigh, then her bare calves, toned and tanned from hours upon hours of working at digs.

It wasn't until Geoff nudged his elbow politely that he realised the archaeologist – was it Emily? – had asked him something.

'Sorry, do you mind if we chat a bit later?' He tried to look as regretful as he could manage. 'I've just spotted my co-author; I only got into town this morning and I haven't had a chance to say hi.'

'Oh, of course not!' she said, waving him on, 'lovely to meet you, Mr Grady.'

'And you,' he said, offering a smile before he turned on his heel and bailed in the opposite direction. He squeezed his way through the mingling academics, keeping his eyes locked on Elizaveta in the hopes that no one would stop him. Much as he appreciated the interest in the research facility, he'd spent the better part of two hours being quizzed by strangers; it would be nice to talk to a friend.

'Owen, there you are,' she said when she spotted him, honeyed eyes lighting up with her smiled. 'I'd hoped we would run into each other eventually. Garret didn't tell me so many people would be coming.'

'It's quite the crowd,' he said, resisting the urge to tug at his too-tight collar as she stepped closer to allow someone to squeeze past at her back. 'How have you been?'

'Fantastic, though it's been a bit of a madhouse around here, making sure everything is in order before our next trip to Isla Sorna. We'll be gone for almost two months, after all. And you?'

'Good, good. Not as busy as you, that's for sure. I did start thinking about writing that article like you suggested.'

'Wonderful. You should bring your materials; Barry should too. I can show you both how to structure and write a paper.' She smiled, honeyed eyes bright. 'Oh, speaking of articles, you've just reminded me,' she said, taking a final hasty sip of her champagne and setting the glass aside, 'I've got something to show you. Come to my office.'

He glanced around the crowded room. 'Shouldn't we wait until the party finishes?'

'There's free food and drinks; no one will be leaving until they run out. I'm sure we can sneak away,' she said, beckoning him to follow, a sly smile on her lips. His legs started to move before he'd consciously decided to take a step, the lure of her mischievousness ensnaring him. Soon they were winding their way through corridors into the depths of the department until they reached a door emblazoned with her name. She paused just before she turned the knob, glancing over her shoulder and saying, 'I hope you can excuse the mess. I'm afraid I ran out of shelf space some time ago.'

Entering Elizaveta's office was like entering another world. He felt almost as he had the first time he'd stepped on Isla Nublar, knowing he was soon to encounter a living, breathing dinosaur for the first time. The book shelves overflowed with thick volumes – some old, some new, some bound in pristine leather, others falling apart at the seams – but no matter the state, he suspected she'd read every single one. Documents were stacked in impossible piles around a plain but sturdy wooden desk that was decked with two monitors and another stack of papers. Even the walls were covered; framed copies of her degrees hung between detailed anatomical photos of predatorial species. Perhaps the most striking thing in the room, though, stood on the filing cabinet behind her chair as if it was watching over her.

'Is that… is that a compy?' he asked, pointing at the to-scale model skeleton.

She glanced up from her desk. 'Compsognathus longipes, yes.' She smiled fondly. 'They've been my favourite dinosaur since I was a child. I'd say I probably wouldn't be where I am today if not for my interest in them.'

The sentence seemed innocent enough. Owen was even on the verge of meeting her smile, but the expression slipped away, and she seemed to shake herself before she looked down at her desk again.

'Ah,' she shuffled a couple pages aside, 'here it is.' She picked up a paper-clipped document and moved around her desk to approach him. 'It arrived this morning. Normally, I would have announced this at the gathering we just had, but I wanted you to know before anyone else.'

He arched an eyebrow at her as he accepted the document. Before he could ask what it was, she said, 'it's the final proof. I know that it's probably not that exciting considering we already know it will be published, but–'

'It's awesome,' he said, smoothing his hand across the page, tracing his fingertip over his name. When he glanced up again her smile had returned and he felt his heart stutter out a samba.

'Elizaveta.' He was pleased at how her name rolled off his tongue, despite how leaden it felt as he contemplated the question he was about to ask. He pulled on his most charming smile, gathering every ounce of confidence. 'Since I'm in the neighbourhood… how about we go get that coffee?'

'Well…' she glanced over her shoulder, appearing to survey her desk. He again had to resist the urge to tug at his collar as the moment stretched his nerves, a barrage of thoughts popping into his mind: she's probably too busy. Way too busy. Or not interested. She didn't exactly jump at the offer in the airport. The noncommittal answer was probably a subtle 'stop' sign that I've just flown through. Barry was full of s–

'It's your lucky day,' she said, her eyes lighting up like liquid gold, 'it just so happens that my afternoon is free.'