AN: This chapter will be a bit of a break from all the action. Enjoy! :)

Chapter Nine

A dislocated shoulder.

Owen had gotten by with a dislocated shoulder while Tom barely made it out with a severe concussion and a fractured tibia. They were both lucky to be alive, Tom more so than Owen. The Head Vet was whisked off in another direction while a medic tended to Owen's shoulder. The injury had began to swell in the hour of time between the enclosure and the clinic, making popping the joint back into place all the more painful.

He sat still, his left hand gripping the padded edge of the exam table, his teeth gritting in pain as the doctor tried for a third time to move the arm bone back into the socket. Owen's stomach churned at the sickening 'pop', stars dotting in his vision for a moment at the pain; he began to feel slight relief as the initial discomfort began to decrease. It was short lived though; just as one pain ended, another had taken its place. Focusing on the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to help minimally, functioning as a momentary distraction from the shooting pain he felt as his arm was placed in a blue Jurassic World sling.

The doctor's words became lost on Owen, his mind only being able to focus on the throbbing pain in his shoulder. The only words he was actually able to make out of the inane babble were, "rest," "ice," and "rehabilitation." The doctor left, a nurse coming in shortly after, handing Owen an ice pack for the pain. He thanked the nurse before gingerly placing the cold compress on his injury. The nurse smiled, jotting a few notes down onto a tablet before closing the door shut on her way out.

Owen sat on the padded exam table, his left hand growing numb from the cold of the ice pack. The doctor had said to keep it in place for twenty to thirty minutes, but after ten, the frosty sensation began to cause another pain. He startled upon hearing the clicking of the door, quickly returning the cold object to his shoulder, expecting the doctor to have returned, only to remove it once again as he saw who it was. He was honestly surprised when the person entering the room wasn't medical personnel.

Claire paused at the entrance, her calculating eyes roaming over Owen as if she were inspecting the damage. She clicked the door shut behind her, moving fully into the examination room. He noticed her stare lingering on the blue sling. "Dislocated shoulder," He said, answering her unasked question. He shrugged slightly, the movement causing him to wince, as she looked up from the sling. "How's Tom?"

She folded her arms to her chest, neither in defense nor in self-consciousness. "He's…" She struggled to find the right word for it. The man was far from fine, but he wasn't knocking at death's door either. "Alive," she concluded, briefly glancing down at her toes. "He's doing as well as he can with a concussion and broken leg."

Owen nodded in understanding, pursing his lips slightly.

"He's resting now," Claire had taken a careful step toward Owen. "The doctor won't give him any morphine for his leg because of the concussion, so he's only been given acetaminophen, which doesn't really help much at all... but he's pulling through."

There was a beat of silence before Claire spoke again. "I wanted to thank you," she said, her tone stoic and professional, while also possessing the faintest edge of weakness. "For saving Tom."

Owen could see right through the business-like front, the raw emotion still present in her eyes. He could hear the slight catch in her voice as she spoke. In all honesty, he didn't know what to say to that. No words could adequately follow up what Claire's expression of gratitude, and any attempt would surely come off as pretentious.

It turned out that she didn't need a response. "I can't thank you enough for what you did. Tom is very important to me."

Owen felt his heart sink, once again finding himself fighting back the burning sensation in his eyes. There had been that small, naive glimmer of hope that Claire would come back to him after this. It happened in all of the cliche stories, so why not now? But it was foolish of him to even think that. He had already accepted what was going on; there was no going back. He swallowed, attempting to match the weak grin on her lips. "I can tell." He finally said, his own voice catching slightly.

Her brow furrowed in concern, but only for a moment, before she leaned in. Owen froze, unsure of what her next step would be, not daring to move himself in fear of scaring her away. She planted a light kiss on Owen's stubbled cheek, lingering for a moment. She pulled away, placing her hand where her lips had been. Her concern was replaced by a sad, far-away expression at his silence. She sighed, stepping out of his personal space.

He watched as she turned to the door, passing him another glance before stepping out of the examination room. His cheek felt warm, almost burning from where her lips had touched. He had wanted so badly to grab her and kiss her properly at that moment, to show her how he felt, but he had controlled the urge. His whole body felt numb, either from shock, the pain, or the medication, he didn't know. Perhaps it was a mix of all three. Tom's jumbled words from earlier still echoed in Owen's mind. He knew better than to believe them though. Claire had moved on; this was a fact he had struggled to grasp and was only now fully understanding it. It had in no way come easy to Owen; it came with pain. It was still a fresh wound, not healing as it should.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he gripped the ice pack in his hand, placing it back on to his aching shoulder.

As it was said before, Tom was not so fortunate.

After another twenty minutes in the examination room, Owen made his way to where Tom's room was, deciding that it would be courteous to at least see how the man was doing; his other motivation giving him more of a reason to worry. He gently rapped on the door with his left hand, the pain in his right shoulder having decreased significantly. A weak, "Come in!" prompted Owen to open the door, taking in the sight before him.

Tom lay in the white hospital bed, his leg propped up in a bulky white cast. A grimace of excruciation etched across Tom's face, his head wrapped in blue bandages. "Owen!" Tom managed, determined not to let his discomfort affect his attitude. He waved his hand for the raptor handler to come over. "How are you, my friend?"

If it weren't for the pain from the injury—or major case of heartache—Owen would have been amused by Tom's grumpy, concussed state. Owen gave a light chuckle in spite of himself. "I've been better."

"You can say that again! I'm rather poorly! I will warn you, I'm not myself right now, as the horrid doctor refuses to give me any pain medication!"

Owen smiled again, nodding at the very moody man. "I can tell." He shifted back and forth on his heels, pursing his lips as he looking around the room. He eyed the vet carefully, taking in just how serious the injuries were. This could have been easily prevented. "Why didn't you leave? You had plenty of time to get out of there."

Tom sobered slightly, though his speech was still slurred. "I had to see why Lizzie had behaved so strangely. I was able to get a blood sample, but I left my bag… wait… no, I think someone got it. Hopefully."

"I'm sure Jackie got it," Owen offered, noticing the distressed expression on Tom's face.

Tom shook his head vigorously, then stopped suddenly and held his aching head. "No, she never returned. She left me in there." His expression grew cold, his voice stabilizing ever so slightly. "I don't trust her. I can't help but think she's behind this."

Owen would be lying if he said that he hadn't considered that as a possibility at some point. Dr. Robinson was such a small, unassuming girl; she could easily get away with anything if she tried, but still, it seemed too easy an assumption. "You really think she's smart enough to pull that off?"

"No," Tom said simply, leaning back into the pillows. "Someone's helping her. Ugh! Women. Why do people like them so much?"

Owen found himself puzzled by Tom's strange question. "You like Claire," He reasoned.

A large smile spread over Tom's face, traces of pain vanishing for a moment. "Oh! My Darling Dearing! Claire is wonderful. I love her! She is a beautiful red-haired angel sent from heaven."

"She is," Owen found himself nodding in agreement at the odd, yet somehow fitting description. As usual, when he was uncomfortable, his hand went to the back of his neck. That would be something he'd have to work on. "I actually wanted to talk to you about her."

Tom lifted his head slightly. "What about her?"

"Well, first off," Owen began, debating on whether or not to take the seat next to the bed-ridden vet. "I wanted to apologize for being a complete dick this whole time. I was—am— an asshole, and you don't deserve that."

Tom waved his hand dismissively, his face ever smiling even in pain.

"Granted, I still think you can be an annoying little shit," Owen chuckled as Tom seemed taken aback by the statement before joining in on the laughter. "But that's not the point. All those times I wanted to punch you were because I was angry. Angry and jealous."

Tom's face contorted into one of confusion and concern. His pained expression seemed to fade away into worry. "Why?"

Owen bit the inside of his cheek, realizing to what exact scale the difficulty of this was. "You make Claire happy and... she really cares about you. I just couldn't stand seeing her with someone else after all we went through together."

The look of confusion on Tom's face deepened, though he didn't stop Owen in his speech.

"I had my time with her, and as amazing as it was, I can't get it back. I can't believe it took me this long to get the message, but I finally got it," Owen paused, not entirely ready to say the next part. This was it. This would be his defeat. "You won. She's yours. I'll back off."

There was a beat of silence before the room was filled with Tom's confused laughter. Owen's eyes narrowed at the man, his own bewilderment coming from why this insane man was snickering. The new, but remembered, feeling of irritation filled Owen at Tom's response. "What's so funny?" As far as Owen knew, this was a serious conversation, not some joke.

Tom took a deep breath, only pausing to wince as his laughter got out of hand. He finally collected himself, the pain and concussion obviously still having a strong effect on his mental stability. "Okay, first of all, my friend, she's not yours to give," He finally said, holding his hands up in defense as he noticed Owen's fist clenched. "Secondly; frankly, I really don't want her."

Owen didn't know whether to feel angry or perplexed. He opened his mouth to speak, finding himself unable to produce comprehensible words. The nerve of Dr. Thales was unbelievable. Was he serious? Had he been leading Claire on this whole time?

"Do you think she and I are together? Because she's not really my type."

It was anger. Owen forgot the pain for a brief moment, the new feeling providing a brief distraction. "What do you mean you don't want her? Tom, she loves you! You'd be an idiot to let her get away!"

Tom wiped a tear of amusement and pain from his eye. "Again; I mean it, she's not my type."

"Not your type?" Owen asked incredulously. "Not your type? Are you insane? If you aren't wanting someone as beautiful, intelligent, and powerful as Claire, then you're a bigger moron than I thought. Claire Dearing is what every woman can only dream of being. You'd be damn lucky to have her, Tom. Take it from the guy who was dumb enough to lose her, alright? She's the most important thing in the world to me. I swear to God, if you hurt her, if you break her heart, if you even make her cry, you'll have a lot more to worry about than a broken leg—Why the hell are you still smiling?!"

Tom's eyes flew between Owen and the door behind him, his huge smile plastered across his pale face. "I must say, it's about damn time!" Tom said, beaming.

Owen tilted his head in confusion before turning slowly to see what the hell this man was so amused by. His heart nearly stopped seeing Claire standing a few feet behind him, a shocked expression stretched across her face. He swallowed once again finding himself unable to speak, wondering if she had heard anything that he just said. In his rant, he had failed to hear the door open and close behind him.

Tom laughed. "My Darling Dearing! Did you hear? Owen actually thought we were an item!"

Claire blinked, tilting her head slightly as if to ask, 'Really?'. She gave an amused huff.

Now Owen was thoroughly puzzled. He had expected her to become wrought with despair at the idea that Tom didn't share his feelings for her, that he was using her. Owen was now finding out that she wasn't at all fazed by this. In fact, she found it funny. "Why would you think that?" She asked.

"Uh, well, I just… You guys were…" He stammered awkwardly, cursing silently to himself as he scratched the back of his neck again.

Claire cocked her head to the side, passing a knowing glance to Tom.

Owen looked between the two, frustrated that he still didn't get it.

"Owen," Claire said, trying to mask the humor in her tone with seriousness. "You're more of Tom's type than I am." She stifled a laugh as Owen's face contorted in bewilderment.

What?

Another humored glanced passed between the two. Tom held his hand up, stopping Claire from saying anything. "Give him time. It will come to him."

Was he missing something vitally important here? Owen looked at them both, every possibly scenario running through his head. It didn't make sense. Why would Owen be more so of Tom's ideal companion than Claire? Owen was a guy for crying out loud—

Oh.

He hadn't even considered that.

The realization came as a surprise to Owen; he blinked twice, furrowing his brow as he tried to process the new information. He wanted to make sure that his new assumptions were correct. "Is Tom… Are you saying he's gay?"

"Bingo!" Tom laughed and winced again in pain.

"You're surprised?" Claire asked as she suppressed another guffaw, finding herself astonished that Owen had been so unobservant.

Without thinking, and without even really knowing why he had done so, Owen moved to Claire, standing closer than what was considered platonic. He still found himself at a loss for words as he looked down at her, watching her face as she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Now that he was in close proximity with her, he wasn't quite sure how to proceed, and to be honest, he wasn't sure how he felt either; a mixture of even more confusion from the news, relief that Claire had not found someone else, and anger that she didn't make that fact clear in the first place all welled within him.

"Are you going to kiss her?" Tom asked teasingly behind them. "If you are, I'd rather you not do it here. I'm feeling a little woozy and I might vomit again if I see anything too disgusting."

Claire's smile faltered for a moment, her eyes searching Owen's blank expression for any hint of emotion. Her own expectant expression seemed to ask if he would take Tom up on his question. Disappointment flashed across her features as Owen stood motionless in front of her; not doing anything. Claire cleared her throat, lowering her voice so that only Owen could hear. "Can we talk?"

The fluorescent bulbs from the hall cast large shadows over the quiet waiting room of the park infirmary. The room was empty, save for Claire and Owen, who were now seated next to each other, neither one entirely sure how to proceed. Two years apart had certainly taken a toll on their conversation skills with one another.

There were so many unanswered questions in Owen's mind; he didn't even know where to start. They all flooded his thoughts, each begging to be asked and answered first. An overwhelming feeling of stress resounded within him.

He wouldn't ask why she came back; that answer, though left unsaid, was already known to him. No, he would much rather know why she wouldn't tell him such an important detail such as, oh, he didn't know, not actually being in a relationship. The ambiguity of it all had already caused him so much agony. He had originally thought that she didn't want to be with him because of the nature of her and Tom's relationship; now, Owen was realizing that along with not even being with Tom, she just didn't want to pursue anything further with Owen.

And that was painful.

The two of them sat in silence, the only sound being the ticking of the clock on the wall. In all honesty, neither of them knew how to get through this. They both had their own need for answers, and not entirely in different ways. It was just that neither of them knew exactly where to start. Claire was the first to break the quiet, bringing her hand to rest on Owen's arm. "Did you really think Tom and I were together?" She asked in a hushed tone.

"You never denied it." There was an edge to his words; a hurt that she hadn't anticipated. He had said it so easily, as if the response had been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "Hell, Claire, everything pointed to it. I'll admit, my jealousy may have played a part in painting that picture… but you didn't think for once to maybe explain anything at all to me?"

"I thought you already knew about Tom. You never asked, so I just assumed that you understood."

"Well, I didn't," he snapped.

Her hand moved away as she felt the bite of his words. "I would have told you if there was anything serious between Tom and I."

Owen chose to ignore her claim, finding it easier to vent his feelings rather than listen to reason. "Even before I came back, I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know if Blue was alright, I didn't know if you would ever speak to me again, hell, I didn't really know if I'd ever see you again." The anger in Owen's tone had been replaced by one of melancholy. "And I come back to this damn island and… and Blue's sick, maybe dying... these damn scientists still haven't learned a fucking thing, and… you're just back to what you were before the incident… and with this new, perfect guy. You acted like 'we' never even happened."

A pang of guilt shot through Claire's heart as she felt the emotion in Owen's voice, though she felt herself bristle at the accusation. "Well, you acted like you were just looking for fun."

He stared at her incredulously. "Dammit Claire, I told you it was never just about that! How can you still think I'm only interested in sex?"

"For one, you've been avoiding me all week after flirting incessantly."

"You made it pretty clear nothing was going to happen between us."

"I had to be professional, Owen!" Claire huffed, running an exasperated hand through her hair. "I can't run an entire theme park and let my heart rule over my head," he looked up as if to respond, but she stopped him. "But it was hard. I hadn't anticipated your coming back would be as difficult for me as it was. I was thriving again! The park was due to open in a month, I had just received a pay-raise, and the park was flourishing. I actually felt like I was getting somewhere… But seeing you again compromised all of that."

Owen scoffed, feeling slightly offended. "Well why'd you hire me if I caused so much trouble? You seem to be doing just fine now."

She looked at him in disbelief, her head tilting slightly as she rose to her feet. "It really wasn't my choice. We needed someone who knew the animals, and Barry turned it down flat," she remarked, folding her arms across her chest. "And for the record, I'm not fine. I haven't been fine. Do you actually think this has been easy for me? I thought you had moved on, and I had to convince myself to do the same. And then you come here and make me question everything! You brought feelings back that I tried so hard to get rid of!" She paused momentarily, catching her breath. "Look, I know I ended things, but you aren't the only one who suffered." In her rant, she had begun pacing restlessly. Realizing her actions, she stopped, planting her feet firmly in front of Owen.

Owen bit the inside of his cheek, debating on whether or not to ask his next question. He rose, towering over her small frame. "Well then why did you end it?" His asked, his voice quiet and harsh. Part of him felt that he already knew the answer; the other telling him that there was more to her reasoning.

She looked away for the briefest of moments, her arms falling to her side in defeat, her fingers nervously beginning to play with the material of her skirt. She bit her lip, contemplating on whether or not the honest answer would help her cause.

"Control," she said simply, finally meeting his gaze. "My biggest fear was losing control. I was absolutely terrified. What we had was all so new and filled with uncharted territory for me. You were unlike any other man I'd ever been with, and that scared me. When I was with you, I completely forgot myself, my emotions. I felt vulnerable." Her voice had become small and weak, breaking ever so slightly. "I was worried that 'for survival' was only temporary; that there was an expiration date. I thought that you would eventually outgrow me. So, I thought that if I was in control, I couldn't get hurt," Claire felt her voice wavering, her face growing hot. "So, when I got the call about the reopening, I took my chance. I just wanted to know that I could handle things, and working here was familiar, there was nothing new about it. I met Tom, and he became the closest thing I've had to a friend since Zara. I saw coming back as a chance to rebuild what I had lost; something that had taken me ten years to accomplish was just destroyed in a day. I had to go back. I wanted to do better this time. I didn't want the same mistakes to be made."

Owen felt his brows knit together in concern, his free hand moving slowly to rest on her shoulder.

"But I was wrong. It was stupid of me to hire some of the people I did. I was foolish to think that gaining any more control of these animals was possible. I was naive to think that nothing would go wrong this time, and now, because I was too damn scared to turn down something that could profit the park and potentially make it more safe, these animals are dying. I've made a lot of mistakes, Owen," She paused, catching her shaky breath. "But the worst one I've made by far is losing you."

There was the sheen of tears welling in her eyes at her confession. Owen felt his own expression soften, finding himself both taken aback and touched by her words.

"Not a day went by where I didn't regret what I did to you."

Owen immediately pulled her into his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around her protectively. The familiar feeling of having this woman in his embrace brought forth an overwhelming wave of emotions. Memories flooded his mind as her body melted into his. He began rubbing slow, up-and-down patterns on her back as he listened to her mumble into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Owen."

He felt the threatening burn of tears in his own eyes, having to blink them back to prevent any from falling. He had been angry with her, so hurt, failing to realize that all this time she was feeling the same way; suffering just as much as he was. "I'm sorry, too."

Claire tightened her hold on him, her arms brushing against his wounded shoulder. He winced, drawing in a sharp intake of breath. She pulled back, her face etched in concern, then flashing to regret as she realized what she had done. She apologized profusely, hovering her hand above the sling awkwardly as if she weren't sure how to alleviate the discomfort.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Owen gave a weak laugh, reaching his other hand up to wipe the wayward tears from her pale face. An immense feeling of happiness swelled within him, numbing the dull ache in his heart, yet there was still an undertone of guilt edging on his joy. His smile faltered as he once again realized the pain he had caused her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, taking a lock of her copper hair between his fingers. Owen had been so focused on his own emotions all this time that he failed to think for a moment on how she was handling everything. He had drawn his own conclusions based on what he thought he knew. "I'm an idiot."

She sniffed, giving a small smile. "Don't apologize for something you can't control," she teased, resting her hands on his chest, earning herself a glare of mock-offense from Owen. "And you already apologized."

"I know," He said, brushing the stray hair back. "I think I've said it way too many times today. So, twice. That's a record." They both smiled. "But I needed to say it again."

The meaning wasn't lost on Claire. She smiled again, her chin quivering slightly as she leaned in to rest her head against Owen's uninjured shoulder. They had both been so stubborn; neither one ever really willing to admit how they really felt about anything. They were both idiots, really. In reality, they had both been at some degree of fault; Owen had felt too much with his heart, abandoning any sense of logic. Claire, on the other hand, had done the opposite; she had ignored, even run away from her feelings, only listening to the science of reason. There really was so much for them to apologize for; too much. They would be there for days before they were finished listing off everything they felt guilty for. The rest was left unspoken, a fact that was perfectly fine with them both. Nothing needed to be said; the two apologetic words held so much subtext already.

He wrapped his arm around her again in a tight embrace, now choosing to ignore the discomfort from his injury. Any pain was worth ignoring as long as he was able to hold Claire Dearing.

A moment passed between them; a moment of beautiful, comfortable silence. In truth, neither of them could believe that any of this was real; it felt like they had stepped into a dream. Owen was scared that any minute he would wake up to find himself alone in his bed. He rested his chin on the top of her head, reveling in the feeling of closeness. In his mind, he knew that there was still one obstacle left in this. He knew that Claire was not one for office romances, she had told him of this fact after he had asked her out the first time all those years ago. "Listen," Owen took a deep breath. "If you don't think this is a good idea," he said, gesturing between them. He swallowed, the fear of what she would possibly say pooling in his stomach. "I'll respect that. I know you have that whole professionalism thing—"

"Oh, no," Claire said, cutting him off, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'm done with that."

He heard her chuckle as he felt himself sigh in relief. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Thank God."