Author's note: Thanks for the comments, guys! And it took me only about 10 days to update this time instead of, I don't know, a month. Wow...

So, is anyone still reading this? Is yes - have fun!

On that day at the park, there had been a moment, near the very end, when the time slowed down for Claire. Up until then, she'd kept catching herself waiting for a grand resolution of it all. For someone to sweep in and save the day and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But the truth was, she didn't see the end of it, and the alternative was terrifying.

Maybe if they'd tried harder or run faster…

But it wasn't that. Of course, it wasn't that.

No one was coming to save them. It was up to them to save themselves.

And when the T-Rex stepped out of the darkness, her teeth bared, and the flare started to burn Claire's hand, she finally had a grip on reality again.

Owen was right. It wasn't about control because no one could control everything. Hell, half the time she couldn't control anything. But she was good at taking action. It made her feel whole when her world was collapsing around her and her sanity was hanging by a thread.

Standing in the doorway leading to Owen's bedroom, Barry's voice still trying to break through to her over the rush of blood in her ears, Claire felt paralyzed, overwhelmed with panic.

But in the end, it all came down to this – she needed Owen, and she needed him to be alive.

Once this was set, everything else simply fell into place.

Following the protocols to the letter had always been Claire's thing, and even though there wasn't, technically, a protocol for this particular situation, the logical course of action was pretty straightforward.

Claire told Barry to let the vets handle the animals and explained Owen's situation. By the time they made it to the mainland – because she was not delusional enough to assume she could fix it on her own – there was an ambulance waiting for them, and she had never been more grateful for anything in her entire life.

Barry followed them to the hospital, but as soon as the medical staff was in charge, she sent him back to the island, promising to stay in touch. Using whatever Spanish she'd picked up over the years at the park, she explained Owen's condition as best she could, allowing them to figure out the rest, and only breathed out a sigh of relief when they wheeled him away to take care of him.

"What do you mean, at the hospital?"

Claire pulled the phone away from her ear and offered an apologetic smile to a middle-aged couple sitting next to her in the waiting room who couldn't have possibly missed her sister's shriek. Hell, the whole Wisconsin must've been in on their conversation.

"It's not like…" Claire got up to her feet and walked over to the vending machine, pretending to study the selection of snacks to get a semblance of privacy without leaving the area. "I'm fine. We're fine."

"Okay," Karen drawled. "Then why are you at the hospital?"

Because we keep on thinking we're invincible.

"Owen had an accident," Claire explained. "But it's all right now, nothing to worry about." God, she hoped she was a convincing enough liar for her sister to buy it. "Do you always assume the worst when I call?"

"You live in a dinosaur-infested hellhole, Claire. What else am I supposed to think?"

"That sometimes I miss you?"

"It's 2 in the morning, and in my defense, you only call when something's wrong. Like that time when my children nearly turned into snacks. Or when what's-his-name lost the votes on The Voice."

"That's not true! I called you… you remember, that time…"

Karen snorted. "My point exactly."

"Well, everything is fine." Claire rubbed her forehead, her eyes running again and again over the price of Cheetos. "I'm sorry about the time. I didn't realize… I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. It's not like I have to be up in 4 hours." Her sister said. "So, everything is fine?"

"They should save everyone the trouble and just add 'dinosaur-related injuries' to the insurance policy already." Claire muttered, stifling a yawn. Up until now, she didn't quite bother paying attention to what time it was, but the moment Karen mentioned it, it was like someone turned the switch.

"Work on it while you're there." Karen joked. "Hey, you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I told you-"

"No, I mean okay okay, you know? Not strictly right now."

Claire looked at the double doors leading to the 'personnel only' corridor, a couple sitting in the plastic chairs, a kid of about 4 with a coloring book and his bleary-eyed and tired mother in the corner. Calling any of this okay would've been a major overstatement, all things considered.

Just then, the doors opened and the doctor Claire spoke to a little while ago stepped into the waiting area, his glance quickly scanning the room and fixing on her. He motioned to her to follow him.

As if only now remembering that Karen was still on the phone she nodded even though her sister couldn't see it. "Yeah, I think so."

xoox

The first time Owen woke up a couple of hours later, his mind was fuzzy, his eyelids heavy and uncooperative.

"Hey," he croaked and Claire leaped up from her chair by the wall where she'd stayed ever since she ignored the nurse's reassurance that he was going to be fine and her persistent request to go get some rest of her own.

("We don't normally let people in the ICU." Claire chose to pretend she didn't understand, but the nurse didn't put up a fight, probably for the sake of her own sanity.)

"Hey," she smiled weakly, her lips trembling as an overwhelming sense of relief washed over her, so powerful it all but knocked her off her feet. "How are you feeling?"

"I had a weird dream," he confessed in a groggy voice, laced with medication the hospital had put him on. "You were there. And then you weren't. But you're here now."

"Where else would I be?" She inquired softly with a curious tilt of her head.

"Anywhere. Wherever you want," Owen suggested wearily.

"Well, there's your answer right there." Her hand closed around his, squeezing it.

"Am I still dreaming?"

Claire's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Does it feel like it?"

His fingers flexed around hers, his eyes focusing on her face for a long moment before fluttering shut again. "Always."

It was stupid and sentimental, and straight out of a cheesy flick, and under any other circumstances she wouldn't have rolled her eyes or scoffed, but right now, there was a burning lump in her throat and she had to blink fast before… before…

Once he was out of the woods, they transferred him out of the ICU and to a room on the same floor, and the medical stuff finally kicked her out for the night. Which, honestly, made no sense to Claire, seeing as how it was 5 in the morning and the visiting hours weren't that far away.

"He is stable," the doctor had assured her, even though Claire found it hard to believe him – not because she doubted his competence, but because she kept waiting for something to go terribly, awfully wrong the moment she let her guard down. "You did good by bringing him here, but there's nothing else for you to do. What he needs now is some rest." He paused. "And so do you."

Claire was about to protest that it wasn't about doing something so much as about not losing her mind with worry, but it didn't seem like the battle she could win.

"Nothing's wrong," she said without a greeting a little while later when Karen picked up the phone again.

"The fact that you say it like this makes it sound even worse," she pointed out. On her end of the line, Claire could hear the clatter of pots and pans, the beep of the coffee machine. Somewhere in the background, Zach yelled at Gray to get out of the bathroom, promptly calling Karen to come get her younger son to behave. She ignored it entirely. "It's like saying 'Just don't freak out' before you tell someone their house has burned down."

Claire leaned against the wall in the hallway, watching the nurse adjust Owen's pillow and take his vitals through the open blinds. "How would I know if you house has burned down?"

"Not the point, Claire. How's Owen?"

"Good. Better. I just wanted…" to hear a familiar voice. She shifted from foot to foot, her calves aching. "Well, now you know I don't only call with bad news."

"Okay, let's talk good news. When were you going to tell me you moved in together?"

"We… what? Where did you-"

"My sons mentioned it in passing. Like it was common knowledge."

"It wasn't. It's not." Claire took a deep breath. "We didn't. It's not like that."

"Hey, if you're happy, I'm happy, is all I'm trying to say." There was another yelp and Karen pulled her phone away from her ear to bark, "Zach, cut it out! Gray, we're leaving in five!" Then she was back. "Just… just don't do that thing you always do, Claire."

"What thing?"

"When you pull away when something… when people get too much, you know?" She paused, then sighed. "I've seen you do it before and I know it's how your defense mechanisms work, but being strong doesn't mean you have to be alone."

Claire bit her lip. "I'm way too tired to process what you're saying right now. And I should let you go. Sound like you're having your hands full."

Karen didn't push. "Scott's having the boys for the day, but I have to drop them off."

"How's everything with the two of you?"

"We don't talk much, and as long as it stays that way, we're good."

Claire smiled ruefully. "Well, I guess I'm learning from the best."

She asked Karen to say hi to Zach and Gray for her and ended the call, promising not to disappear again.

Next, she called Barry with an update and got some news from him. By the time she was allowed to come back to the hospital, she'd rented a room at the motel a few blocks down the street – to keep her stuff and to take a proper shower. It was small and nothing like the place she'd normally choose, but the clientele was mainly local travelers who paid no mind to her, and this far away from the main tourist attractions, it felt safe.

San Jose was an odd experience to her. After the quiet tranquility of the island, it seemed loud and hectic, assaulting her senses with sounds and smells, making her head spin and her heart beat faster. But after living under constant scrutiny in California, Claire found herself almost invisible here. The reports about Jurassic World and the related investigations still popped up on the local news channels, but in her shorts and a non-decrepit tee, she looked just like another tourist. As it turned out, being unrecognized was a vastly underrated privilege. A liberating one, at that.

At some point, Claire talked to Lowery on the off-chance he didn't know where she'd been gone - he didn't – and asked him to keep her in the loop in case something requiring her attention came up, artfully dodging his nosy questions.

She spent the rest of the day at the hospital, curled up in a plastic chair by the sleeping Owen while the TV perched high up on the wall played something on mute, only occasionally leaving his room to get more coffee or a snack from the machine in the hallway or to answer her phone on the patio, lest they kick her out for breaking the No cellphones rule. A few times, she'd caught un dinosaurio mentioned in hushed conversations in the corridor, but sure they'd seen worse than that in the aftermath of the tragedy at the park, so she chose to disregards the looks the staff cast her way. At least they weren't after a sensational story or a statement or some other crap.

The next time Owen woke up, it was way after the visiting hours were over. Claire knew she was about to be politely asked to leave for the night when he started to stir.

Confused and disoriented, he blinked a few times while his eyes adjusted to the overhead lights, then turned to her, eyebrows knit together. "Claire?"

She pulled her chair up to his bed, smiling weakly. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," he smiled back, reached for her hand. "What happened?"

"Your wound got infected," she explained. "I had to take you to the hospital."

He looked around once again as if her words were not enough and he needed to double-check it for himself, taking in the white walls, sparse furnishings, beeping machines to the right from him and the now turned off tv.

"No wonder I feel both high and hungover," he observed. "Are you okay?" He asked her, his thumb running over her knuckles, forehead wrinkled with concern, his eyes searching her face.

"It's not me who's hooked to electrolytes," she pointed out.

Owen cracked a smile that faded almost as fast as it appeared. He swallowed, conflicted. "And… Blue?"

"She's fine," Claire assured him after a moment of hesitation.

"Claire…"

"I swear she is. I would tell you if she wasn't. You know that, right?"

His fingers curled around hers. "But?"

Claire sighed, her gaze apologetic. "We had to put down two other animals. I'm sorry."

Owen cursed under his breath, wincing when the shift of his body shot a jolt of pain up his arm.

"You can't save them all," she whispered and he shook her head.

"I know I can't, I just…"

"Find it hard accept it," she finished.

"Sounds about right." He sighed.

Claire reached out to press her palm to his forehead. It still felt too hot to her, but maybe her hands were too cold with fear – or air conditioning. She knew for certain that he was doing better because no one was running around him, which, as far as she was aware, was about as best as it could possibly get at this point. But he still looked too pale for her liking, his usually easy smile too forced, and it made something inside of her ache.

"What were you thinking?" She asked with accusation.

"You really need to be more specific here." He caught her hand, held it to his cheek.

"I thought you had this taken care of," she pointed to the fresh bandage on his arm.

"I had. You were there, remember? They checked the stitches – which you did a decent job with, by the way – changed the dressing, pumped me with antibiotics and told me to-" He cut off with a grimace.

"Told you what, Owen?" She demanded.

He eyed her with a sort of trepidation. "To come back later so that they'd make sure it wasn't getting infected."

Claire exhaled sharply. "You're unbelievable."

"I had…. other concerns." He protested defensively.

She was up on her feet in a heartbeat, his room not big enough to hold both of them and her anger. "Are you kidding me? You could have died. You could have… you could have burned through the goddamn helicopter your fever was so bad. They had to do blood transfusion, Owen! You know what that means, right?"

"That you were very attached to my old blood?" He suggested.

"That we barely made it here on time." Claire snapped. "It was… it was…"

"Luck?"

"Stupidity. You scared the hell out of Barry, you—you scared me. I thought you…" All of a sudden, her lungs didn't seem to be able to hold enough air for her to say more than one word at a time, her chest too tight. "And only hours after your profound speech about how the island wasn't a safe place for me. After you promised, after you said-" She huffed, feeling both frustrated and ridiculous because it was such a stupid thing to bring up, but she needed him and he promised.

"Well, technically, I think it started maybe a bit earlier than that."

Claire froze, breathless, deflated, her cheeks flushed. "You know what? The next time I hope the T-Rex eats you."

He started at her for a few moments, eyes wide, before his lips stretched into a broad smile.

"What's so funny?" She asked with a frown, like maybe he'd lost his mind.

"Nothing. It's just… That's a good look on you."

She looked down at her shorts, then at him again. "You really are high."

"That's not what I meant," Owen shook his head. "Well, that, too. But not just that." She kept glaring at him from her spot in the center of the room. He sighed, his smile dimming. "You look haunted, Claire. Half the time, you look like you're about to jump out of your skin, and when you think no one's watching, you look downright terrified. And this," he gave her a pointed once-over, "is the first time you've been this worked up about something since… since you gave me that exciting speech about my first date wardrobe choices." His lips curved into a somewhat rueful smile. "I missed it."

"Driving me crazy?" She inquired, folding her arms over her chest.

"You." He scrubbed a tired hand down his face. "You being you."

For a moment or two, she just stared at him wondering how exactly did she end up in a universe where Owen Grady kept catching her off guard time and time again.

"You really are insane," she declared – because it was so much easier to say that than to admit even to herself that his words felt like a sucker-punch and that she was all but suffocating under his gaze.

"I work with raptors," he reminded her. "That should've clued you in a long time ago." Arm outstretched, he whispered, "C'mere."

With a sigh, she plopped back into the chair, hand grabbing his and squeezing it tight, her lips trembling. "You scared me." She repeated.

"I'm sorry." His face fell. "I'm fine, Claire, I swear. Lesson learned – no more taking risks, okay?"

"Like you can keep that promise," she grumbled.

"Is that why you're crying?"

"I'm not…" Claire stopped to wipe a traitorous tear form her cheek. "You're such a hypocrite, Owen. You keep telling me life is not about control, and then you go and do something like this because you need to be in control of everything." She sucked in a sharp breath as if not trusting her lungs to fill properly. "You were burning up so bad."

"And you brought me here," he reminded her softly. "You fixed everything."

She dropped her head down onto her folded arms, her forehead was pressed to the back of his hand, so that he couldn't see her tears. "It's not like I had a choice," she murmured.

Owen let out a short laugh, his other hand smoothing down her hair. "God, I love you."

xoox

The text came a little before midnight just as Claire was about to slip into bed, half-mad at the hospital personnel for persistently telling her to leave, half-grateful for not having to spend the night in a chair. But mostly happy about why they wouldn't let her stay.

"The 24-hour visiting privilege only extends to the family members of the terminal patients," the nurse explained to Claire, her voice firm, before shooing her out of Owen's room after dinner. For once, Claire didn't argue.

She lingered in the hallway for a while – partly because she didn't like being told what to do, even by the people in white coats, and partly because even the idea of going back to her empty hotel room where she'd want to climb walls was making her sick. Claire took in the medical personnel zipping past her on their way someplace or the other, at the patients, and in her mind, she could see so easily the chaos and panic filling these corridors when the parks guests started to arrive on the mainland, shocked, hurting.

And it was that image that finally chased her out and into the humid evening, pushing her toward the flimsy safety of her small room where nothing was lurking in the corners.

Claire picked up her phone from the nightstand, smiling despite herself.

Can't sleep. Miss you. Wish you were here.

I miss you, too. She typed immediately and pressed send. And then added a follow-up one, Except I wish you were here. I've had enough of that hospital.

The answer arrived not half a minute later. You've had enough of this hospital? You don't even know how bad their room service is.

Smiling, she climbed onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, one leg tucked under her body. You okay?

Yeah, he wrote. The food is terrible. Think you could sneak in some beer for me?

It was easy, she thought. This mindless chatter. So normal it felt surreal. Wouldn't that be breaking like 10 rules or something? She responded. And how come you're using the phone?

I'm sneaky, Owen bragged, and she could picture his smug grin. And, technically, alcohol is disinfectant. I can't understand why they don't encourage it here. I mean, you know, it probably wouldn't hurt.

That's now how it works, I'm afraid.

Her phone was quiet for a moment before the next message arrived. And there's this nurse named Estella who's taller than me and twice as strong. She brought me three extra helpings of green Jell-O already. You have to save me.

From green Jell-O or Estella? She inquired, biting her lip before her face split into the kind of smile that could crack her whole head open, giddy for the reasons she couldn't explain. God knew, a dingy room that also had questionable service couldn't count as one.

Both. Everyone knows that the green Jell-O is the worst. And I'm feeling very vulnerable, being half naked and all that.

Claire scoffed under her breath. I bet you do.

His response was immediate. Seriously, you've gotta help me.

No, but I have to see it, she wrote. Save some of that show for tomorrow for me, will you?

There was nothing else for a while, but just as she decided that he must have fallen asleep – which was not a bad idea, come to think of it; not that she expected it to happen to her anytime soon, what with her mind being too awake, too restless – when the screen blinked with another message.

I meant it, Claire.

She bit her lip, staring at the words for a while, her stomach twisting at the memory, at the way the words seemed to have washed over her, easy and natural and like everything she'd ever wanted to hear.

I know. She responded after a short hesitation. Her finger lingered over I, before she typed, Me, too.

xoox

Owen's fever put up a serious fight and his doctor decided to keep him at the hospital for a couple more days, specifically until it was time to remove the stitches. And while his health and color improved, he grew progressively more restless and frustrated, reminding Claire of a caged animal, trapped and eager to escape.

She'd probably be more sympathetic had it not been his fault, which she seldom forgot to remind him about. And had it not been so amusing to watch, of course.

To keep him from losing his mind, she took it upon herself to keep him entertained, which was a no-brainer, really, because all it took was to stay with him.

Outside, the world was waiting, huge and terrifying, but in the confines of his hospital room, they chose, by unspoken agreement, to forget about the reporters and the looming court hearings and the hybrids and death. Instead, she told him embarrassing Thanksgiving stories, pulling the ones from the depths of her memory she didn't even know were still there. She told him the plot of a cheap paperback from the gift shop downstairs that kept her company in the evenings and recounted the storyline of the film she watched when she wasn't able to fall asleep.

In turn, Owen shared some memories from his time in the NAVY, the heat of the desert, and ups and downs, and the whys and the hows, easily slipping into the anecdotes about the raptors – something he hadn't been keen on discussing until now because it hurt too much.

The ending of this all was still something none of them could see clearly, so for now, only the beginnings mattered.

"You need to get me out of here," Owen said on the morning of his release day while she sat perched on the edge of his bed, her hand clasped around his.

"Nah ah, not a chance," Claire responded immediately, and frowned for good measure lest he assume she was joking. "Not until you're cleared to go. Which is…" she checked the time on her phone, "not for another four hours."

"Aren't you sick of this place yet?" He tried a different approach.

She was.

And she also wasn't.

Ever since the tragedy at the park, Claire had been living and breathing that story, and this, however unpleasant, was a much needed break from the island. One she grew to appreciate despite the grim circumstances that led to it.

It didn't feel like getting her life back together. Not exactly. Not yet. But it felt like a step in the right direction – a much needed perspective so she could see that her whole existence wasn't spinning around that one thing that happened to her. That there was more to it.

She didn't respond, smiling instead. "I have a surprise for you."

At that, Owen perked up. "Please tell me it's that black thing that I like and that you're wearing it right now," he asked.

She scoffed. "Well, no. For one thing, we're at the hospital…"

"Not for long," he reminded her quickly.

"It's still a no," Claire waved him off. "I got Alan Grant to come here."

As expected, that got Owen's attention alright. "Here here?" He asked skeptically.

She shrugged – like it wasn't a big deal. Like he hadn't sworn to stay at least 2000 miles away from Costa Rica ten years ago and never broke that resolution until now.

"He's curious," she explained. "And he's the only person aside from Wu who might have some answers."

"And he said yes? Just like that?"

"Well, no. There was a great deal of persuasion involved. What do you think I was doing when I wasn't watching Nickelodeon with you?" Claire sighed, looked down at the knot of their hands, then up at him again. "I didn't know who else to turn to. And it's not like I asked him to go back to the island." A pause. "I mean, I did. But you can imagine what his response to that was."

Owen let out a short laugh. "You're something else, Claire." He shook his head.

"It's not the worst thing I've heard in the past few months," she said.

He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, pulling her down until her hair was brushing against his face and he could see nothing but her eyes – jade-green with golden specs, pulling him in and keeping him whole, their light filling the cracks and healing the broken parts of him.

"You're something else," he repeated in a whisper as if it was an epiphany of sorts he was still trying to come in terms with.

Claire smiled, locking her lips with his.

xoox

"This is ridiculous," Owen pointed out later in the afternoon. "Ridiculous and embarrassing, I must say."

"You mustn't," Claire responded, "But when did it ever stop you?"

She dismissed the porter that brought the wheelchair to take Owen downstairs – hospital policy – and chose to push it herself, saving the people who somehow didn't smother him in his sleep despite his being an unbearable patient from this task. She had already received strict instructions from a weary-looking nurse to bring him back immediately if his fever returned and a reminder to change the dressing regularly until the wound started to scar, pocketing the bottles of prescribed painkillers and antibiotics.

"I'm not an invalid," he grumbled defensively.

"You do understand that they're kicking you out because they can't wait to get rid of you, right?"

He glance at her over his shoulder. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, no?"

"You told them you'd climb out of the window if they didn't let you go," she hissed as the front doors slid open before them, and half a second later, he was on his feet.

"It was an empty threat," Owen scoffed. "My room was on the third floor."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Claire deadpanned, nodding her thanks to a nurse who took the chair. "You suggested they have wheelchair races."

"That was a reasonable request," he responded quickly. "I swear, half of their clientele would benefit from it."

"They're patients, not clientele," she retorted.

He swung his arm around her shoulders, and stiffened, wincing. "Wrong one."

"Case in point," Claire continued, stepping to the other wise of him and taking his hand, lacing their fingers together as they started toward her motel. She wanted to call for a cab or rent a car, but since it was only a few blocks away, Owen insisted they walked, restless and antsy after spending three days in bed. It was a miracle he didn't climb out that goddamn window, she decided. "I just signed something that left you in my care. If you rip your wound open and bleed out and die, it would be on me."

"Then let's not let it happen." He stopped, causing her to pause as well. Propping her chin on his knuckle, he dipped his head to catch her lips with his as the crowd parted around them, chatting animatedly. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling – to know that he owed her his life – and it made him feel warm on the inside. "Thank you."

Her mouth twisted, "I'd say my pleasure, but if you do something like this one more time, I swear to God I'll strangle you myself."

"Yes, ma'am."

In the motel room, Owen flopped down onto the bed with a grimace and an Ow!

"Could you at least try not to maim yourself even more?" Claire asked while she checked her phone for new voicemail messages, ignoring all of them that weren't from the Masrani executives or Lowery. "If you hurt yourself again, I'll send you straight back to the hospital and have them keep you for another week."

"That's inhumane," he gasped, horrified, making the corners of her lips lift up.

Claire put her phone on silent and set it on the bedside table. "You hungry?"

He shook his head. "That green Jell-O will haunt me for the rest of my life."

Claire rummaged around her bag for his pills, then pulled a bottle of water from the mini fridge and handed it to him before setting the medication down on the dresser.

"Anything stronger in there?" Owen craned his neck toward the mini fridge, curious.

"Sure, let's wash some painkillers down with alcohol and get the party started," she deadpanned.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her down until she was sitting beside him, his thumb running absently over her pulse point, making her wish she could read his mind, if only to figure out how on earth could the way he was looking at her go straight to her heart, making her breathless-dizzy-elated.

"You've taken such good care of me, and I don't even know what I did to deserve it," he said softly.

She pushed her hair out of her face, looping it around her ear. Smiled. The list was so goddamn endless actually she wouldn't even know where to begin. "You say it like affection needs to be earned."

"It doesn't?"

Claire rolled her eyes with a snort. "For someone so smart, you can be awfully dense sometimes."

"You and your fancy words." Owen shook his head, looking about a giddy as she felt.

xoox

The sky opened up at sunset, heavy rain washing away the heat as the peals of thunder made the ground shake, rattling the windows. The old hotel shifted and shuddered with every clap as if wishing it could take off and run for the shelter, away from the merciless fury and pitch-black clouds pierced with blinding jolts of lightning.

It was still raining when Owen woke up sometime around 2 in the morning to find Claire standing by the window and watching the glistening rivers stream down the pane, yellow and pale-white and purple, highlighted by the streetlamps and a neon sign over a small convenience store across the street, a hypnotic kaleidoscope. Dressed in his shirt and with her hair hanging loose over her back, she looked transfixed.

Groggy from sleep and pain medication, he climbed out of the bed rubbing her eyes, and padded toward her, picking up a spare blanket from the couch where she'd left in earlier in case they needed it. He threw it over her shoulders and then crossed his arms around her, pulling her flat against him.

"What's wrong?" Owen whispered into her hair.

"I can't believe how strong the rain is," Claire responded quietly. "Can't remember a storm so fierce."

"No, no that." He insisted, but she didn't say anything else. "You need to sleep, Claire. You need to have some rest. Let's go to bed."

"I can't," she said after a moment, her voice small, thick with fear. "I close my eyes and… I thought I'd lost you. And now I keep thinking that I'll wake up and you'll be gone. And I can't…" Her breath caught in her throat and she fell silent.

"I'm here," he murmured. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around, her features hidden. His arms closed around her as Claire buried her face in his shirt with a shuddered breath and the blanket fell down to their feet. "I'm here and I swear to God I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't lose you," she muttered, her voice muffled and hot against his skin, her grip on him panicked and desperate. "I don't know how to need people, but I need you. If something happened to you, Owen, if you…" She trailed off, falling silent for a moment. "I don't know what I'd have done if I lost you."

The floor was cold beneath her feet, but it was the dread rising up inside of her that made Claire shiver. She'd somehow managed to do pretty damn fine for 34 years without him. Now the very idea of not having Owen around was unfathomable. Absurd. She'd be fine, of course. She'd learn to adapt if had to. But she'd never be whole again.

"Shh." Owen brushed a kiss to the top of her head, wishing he could fold her whole body into his and never let go – the only real thing he knew, the only one that mattered. "It's fine. We are fine."

"I'm sorry. I should've been taking care of you and this," Claire sighed, "is not it."

He huffed under his breath, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. "You're doing plenty. Come on." He steered her toward the bed, wrapping his arm around her as she curled into him, careful not to hurt him. Owen let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, his hand tracing slow circles over her back.

"It scares me sometimes," Claire said after a while, her voice nothing but a whoosh of breath barely audible through the cacophony of the storm and the handfuls of rain the wind kept throwing against the window.

"The weather?" He turned his head, his lips grazing her forehead.

"How much I don't know about you," she said.

The corner of his mouth lifted. He chose not to notice a pang of longing in his chest. "You know everything, Claire." His voice dropped. "You know how I take my coffee."

"Black." There was a smile in her voice, zipping along his skin. A comfortable familiarity.

"What my favorite tv show is," he teased.

"Don't get me started," she groaned, and he chuckled in response.

"You know why I do what I do. That's about it, really." She looked up, her eyes finding his in the darkness. No one had ever trusted him this much, and the weight of it was both anchoring and crushing him. "You can know everything about someone and yet not know them at all. You know me, Claire."

His fingers ran down her cheek as their lips met and his hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, a quiet growl forming in the back of his throat.

"We shouldn't…" Claire protested half-heatedly.

Owes let out a short laugh, soft and low. It reverberated through her, holding her like a tether. Another kiss. "I need you," against her mouth.

Well, it wasn't the first time she threw caution to the wind.

xoox

Even though Jurassic World was Simon Masrani's "baby" and his promise to John Hammond to keep his dream alive, it was up to Claire to contact the previous visitors of the island and ask them if they would like to participate in the opening ceremony and witness the cutting of the proverbial red ribbon.

Predictably, Lex Murphy laughed at the very idea and told Claire exactly where to shove this invitation. Well, not exactly like that, but the message was clear enough. Tim Murphy was actually polite about the whole thing, but he declined the offer as well, claiming he'd had enough of this island, and even though at some point he supported his grandfather's wild dreams – certainly more than his sister – he still regarded the revival of the park as a mistake. A big one, at that.

Ian Malcolm's reaction was not a surprise, either – he'd already expressed his opinion, in detail, on one talk show or the other long before Claire broke through to him, his final answer coming down to Over my dead body.

Alan Grant was the only one of them who actually listened to her prepared and rehearsed speech until the end. Granted, his answer was still a solid no, and his opinion of the idea mirrored everyone else's, but of them all, he was the only one taken with the dinosaurs enough to wish her good luck, and not in a cynical way, too.

It was no surprise, perhaps, that he kept an eye on the park, following its progress – not out of spite or in hopes of saying I told you so one day, but because he was genuinely curious, albeit from a safe distance. Or that he kept tabs on Owen, for that matter. Come to think of it, they weren't that much different from one another.

When Claire mentioned this to Owen – the whole Let's invite the people who barely got out of here alive for another round fiasco and Grant's continued paleontological research, which was deemed odd in certain circles, much like Owen's attempt to fix what had gone wrong at the park, he told her that perhaps they were alike because they were both broken in the same way.

"Glad to see you in good health, Mr. Grady," Grant said when the tow of them met him for lunch the next day at the restaurant of the hotel he was staying in, offering his hand to Owen, and added to answer a silent question, "Ms. Dearing caught me up on your… adventures."

Owen snorted and gave Claire a surprised look. "Is that what we call it now?" Explaining to the other man, "Because usually it's refereed to as idiocy."

"They're not mutually exclusive," Dr. Grant noted as the three of them got seated.

It was the second time Claire met him in person – the first being at a science conference which she attended with Simon Masrani a few year ago, before he'd even started to entertain the idea of making his own new kind of dinosaur. It was Dr. Grant's ever-wry smile and inquisitive blue eyes that made her like him instantly, his sharp mind and lack of bitterness she half-anticipated; but it was his ability to look past everything bad that had happened to him and still be fascinated with the world that didn't want him to be a part of it that won her respect.

"Thank you for coming all the way here," Claire said after the waiter collected their drink orders and left the food menus. "I know it's not an ideal situation for you."

He considered her words for a moment, then nodded, his lips curved into that trademark half-smirk of his. "As long as there's a couple hundred miles between me and them, I'm good." He let a dramatic pause hang between them for a moment. "I must admit you got me curious." He linked his hands together, looked from Claire to Owen and back to Claire. "What is it exactly that you think I can help you with?"

Claire cleared her throat, switching into a business mode.

"With John Hammond being dead and Dr. Wu having, well, undefined alliances, you're the closest thing we have to an expert that has at least some understanding of what the initial experiments were about," she explained. "I was hoping maybe you could tell us what it was like back then. What the animals were like. If Hammond mentioned anything about any problems, any… hiccups, so to speak."

"If you mean the health issues we've discussed on the phone, no. John Hammond never mentioned anything of that kind to me. I don't think he would have." They all fell silent when their drinks arrived. "See, I wasn't a fan of the idea in spite of how fascinating it was. His project was bound to fall apart sooner or later. He wouldn't have confided in me because no one likes hearing Well, what did you expect?"

"What about InGen?" Owen leaned closer to Grant, propping his elbows on the table.

Alan took a sip of his drink. "InGen was founded by John Hammond, but it was sponsored by the military. Still is, as far as I'm aware." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the white tablecloth. "And if I'm not mistaken, they always wanted to be a part of the process, not just the recipients of the end product."

"Hence, Wu's involvement." Owen muttered under his breath.

Alan shrugged. "Dr. Wu is a hired person, always has been. What he did with a hybrid was a step too far," he offered Claire a somewhat sympathetic look, which she guessed was personal, considering their more or less pleasant professional interaction. "I don't approve of his ethics, or lack thereof, but let's be real. If it wasn't him, it would've been someone else. There's no shortage of ambitions people in this world who'd build you a Godzilla for the right amount of money."

"Now, that's reassuring," Claire sighed. "I was hoping you could have a look at the medical reports we collected on the sick animals, help us see if there's anything we can do to prevent the spread of … whatever it is."

"Absolutely," he nodded.

"I'll have them sent to you," she nodded, relieved.

"Can I ask you something, Ms. Dearing?"

"Claire, please."

"Claire. Why are you still here? I mean, the incident at the park must have hit you hard. I do remember your enthusiasm about this project." A pause. "Not to mention the press, the scandal. How come you're still trying to salvage it, even after everything that happened?"

"I'm not trying to salvage anything, Dr. Grant. Far from it, actually." Frankly, she wasn't sure she believed it herself, but her voice didn't waver. "The last thing this world needs is another Jurassic World. But, as you said, there's no shortage of ambitious people in this world who'd do anything for money. If it's not me, it could be someone worse."

For a moment, Alan studied her, making Claire feel like he was trying to see through her, and so she held his gaze steadily and with as much confidence as she could summon until he nodded.

Her phone started to ring. "Excuse me, I have to take this," Claire said after checking the caller ID and pushed her chair back. "Lowery?"

"Thank you for your help, Dr. Grant," Owen turned to Alan when she was gone.

"I haven't done anything yet."

"In this situation, it's the thought that counts," Owen joked rather grimly.

"Have you thought of my offer yet, Mr. Grady?" Alan asked him after the waiter left their bill on the table and walked away.

Owen glanced toward the lobby where Claire stood in a corner by the palm tree, her face unreadable from there the men were sitting. "Still thinking."

Alan followed his gaze, nodded knowingly, a wistful smile crossing his face, softening his features. "I see. A word of advice from someone who, well, made a wrong turn in a similar situation?"

Owen nodded, "Shoot." He tilted his head to his shoulder, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "Is this about Ellie Sattler?"

Alan let out a rueful half-laugh, "I lost my Ellie, Mr. Grady. Make sure you don't lose yours." He cleared his throat, added some cheer to his smile. "My offer has no expiration date. The job is yours whenever, but do me a favor – make sure you don't regret your decision, whatever it might be."

"Thanks. I do appreciate it, Dr. Grant. Really. I just…" Owen ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. "I need to finish something first."

"Let's do it, then." Alan stood up. "Shall we?"

xoox

"Slow down, Lowery," Claire said urgently, struggling but failing to make sense of the hurried words falling out of his mouth. "I can't understand you."

She tried to block out the noise of the lobby, of the people talking around her, the AC units rumbling softly, the phones ringing, the cars honking outside. It wasn't just that, however. It was a buzz of panic in her own ears that was making it hard to concentrate.

"ACU," Lowery said.

"What did they do?"

"They didn't do anything, Claire. They found something." He made a dramatic pause, and Claire wished she were there to get him to spit it out already. "This guy Owen's working with, Barry, he said they found something in the forest. A footprint that doesn't belong to any of the island species."

Claire frowned. "That's impossible."

"What's impossible?" Owen asked, appearing by her side with Alan in tow.

"You know it's not unlikely," Lowery noted.

"Has anyone seen anything specific?" She demanded, her mind racing a mile per hour, itching to know more.

"Claire, what's going on?"

"No." Lowery hesitated. "We haven't told anything to Harris, either. Not after he wanted to set the whole island on fire when a few animals got sick." He lowered his voice. "But we have to, Claire. He's in charge of the security and this, you know, is a security matter."

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, having to remind herself to keep breathing. "Don't do anything. We're coming back."

She hung up and quickly caught Owen and Alan up on the conversation, the men's faces growing darker with every second, and by the time she was finished, Owen's hands were balled into fists.

"Son of a…" he muttered through his teeth.

To be continued...

A/N: Still can't believe I broke my rule about not using ILY in my stories [insert facepalm here]. You see what they are doing to me?! On the bright side - ha! - EVERYTHING is going to go wrong in the next chapter, so...

Thanks for reading, and please don't leave without a review :) I really appreciate your feedback!