Ah, can you believe this is number 40?! Whoa! Definitely had no expectation of writing this many when I started.

This was came about from an anonymous ask on Tumblr, that was essentially:

if you could do one were owen has a motorcycle accident but its during their break up pre fallen kingdom, and claire finds out from the news or something

After some back and forth, I figured out a way to do this in the FC/Snapshots universe, and to keep angst. It's not quite the idea from above. But it's close. It starts before Fallen Kingdom, then jumps into their first year post FK. The November scene takes place a couple of days after Running on Empty. It's hard to easily place this in the timeline because it covers so much time.

Thanks so so much to Nadin and Elise for all their support with this series. Both of them really liked this snapshot, and I hope you do too.

Bulletproof

— Fall 2017 —

When her phone rang, Claire didn't even think twice before answering. Nor did she bother to check the caller ID. These days, there were only about three people who semi-regularly called her: her mom, Karen, and her new friend and Dinosaur Protection Group co-founder, Zia.

"Hello," she answered distractedly, still focused more on her laptop and the spreadsheet it was displaying with the latest figures for the DPG. The figures that were continuing to show that they were going to be stuck in the red for a long time coming, unless something big changed.

"Is he okay?" The question was asked in such a frantic rush that it caught Claire off-guard, and she wasn't even sure if she had heard it properly.

"What?"

"Is Owen okay?" Karen asked again, and this time Claire caught the words.

"Um, I assume so?" her answer came out more as a question, as she was still mostly confused.

Claire and Owen had broken up, or parted ways, or, well, something, a couple of months earlier. After that final fight, when she'd yelled at him that he might as well go live in his van, and he'd stormed off in a huff. To be honest, she'd actually expected him to come back later. For them both to apologize to each other, and make up, and for her to finally get a chance to tell him about what she and Zia had been talking about.

But he hadn't. Not that first night, or the next, or even a week later. In fact, she hadn't seen him in person since that day. And she'd only had one stilted and awkward conversation via texts, about a month ago when she'd received a letter in the mail for him and she'd had to ask what to do with it.

"Are you really still not talking?" Karen asked with a groan. "You guys should be better than this stupid silent treatment stuff."

"We're not not talking," Claire protested. "We're just…"

"Not talking?"

Claire was about to launch into her favourite rant on why things had ended and why it was Owen's fault (and not hers), when Karen's initial question popped back into her head, causing her to freeze, as its meaning finally sank in.

"Wait, why would Owen not be okay?" she asked slowly, feeling cold panic start to churn in her stomach. "What happened? What don't I know about?"

"Well," this time it was Karen who was hesitating in answering her. "If you don't know, and if you aren't talking, maybe I shouldn't… Maybe you should just forget I called. I'm just–"

"No, wait," Claire said, her voice frantic now. "You can't just leave me hanging. You phoned me, remember? What happened? What should I know? Karen… please."

There was a long pause and Claire found herself gripping the phone tighter, worried that her sister was going to hang up without answering. Finally, after letting out a long sigh, Karen answered: "Zach said that Owen was in an accident. Something about a motorcycle, I think. He didn't have a lot of details. That's why I called you."

"An accident? With a motorcycle?" Claire was glad she was sitting, as she was pretty sure she would no longer be able to stand, as even sitting she was feeling a bit lightheaded. She rested an elbow on the table in front of her, before lowering her head, using her palm to prop herself up as she took a few deep, steadying breaths. "He doesn't own a motorcycle. He sold it, back before we, I mean he, bought the van. Said it wasn't worth keeping since we couldn't take it with us."

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn't help it. She was trying to get her thoughts straight. To wrap her head around the news.

"Is he okay?" she whispered, momentarily forgetting that it was Karen who had originally asked her that.

"Um, I don't know," Karen admitted, and Claire couldn't help the gasp that escaped her, her vision suddenly blurred from hot tears that were threatening to fall. "Zach didn't have many details. I mean, I assume it can't be too bad, since Zach–"

"Is Zach… do Owen and Zach talk?" Claire interrupted.

"The odd text here and there, I think," Karen replied. "Zach doesn't tell me much, and I don't press. But he mentioned the accident tonight. He didn't seem too worried, but I just... I thought that maybe you'd know more. I was wondering why you hadn't told me about his accident…"

"I didn't know," Claire replied. "I haven't—I haven't talked to him in over a month. I don't even know where he is." She barely managed to choke out the end of that as she had to cover her mouth, a sob suddenly bursting forth.

"Claire, Claire. CLAIRE!" Karen calling her name eventually broke through the haze that had suddenly taken over, and Claire had to force herself to focus once more on the phone and her sister's voice coming through. "Claire, I–I don't...I wish I had more to tell you. But Zach must have heard about it from Owen himself. I don't know how else he'd have found out. I could… I could have him ask, if you want? Find out where Owen is?"

"I–" Claire was about to beg her sister to do just that, but as she tried to actually say it, to voice the words, she found that she couldn't. "No," she finally whispered, before clearing her throat and speaking more forcefully. "No. If he wanted me to know, he would've… we're not together anymore. It's not my place."

"Claire…"

"No, stop," she protested, knowing where Karen was going to go. "I wish things were different. But they aren't. There's a reason we're no longer together, Kar. It wasn't meant to be. What we want… we're too different. We didn't work on the island, I don't know why we thought we'd work off of it."

There was a long stretch of silence after that, as Claire waited, almost holding her breath, to see what her sister would respond with. She wasn't sure what she wanted Karen to say. Did she want her to fight her? To argue with her? To tell her that the breakup was a mistake? That Owen and her were being stupid? Or did she want her to accept things the way they were? To trust Claire to be able to make her own decisions about her life? To understand that not all relationships were meant to last, just as Karen's and Scott's hadn't?

In the end, Karen didn't really do either. "I know you have your reasons, and I'm sure you haven't told me everything, but, Claire, I'm on your side. I've got your back."

"But?" Claire asked hesitantly when Karen stopped.

"No buts. Tell me what you want, what you need, and I'll do it. I can try to find out more. Or I can let it drop. Or I can fly out there."

"Fly out here? Why?"

"To see you. I haven't seen you in a while, actually. Not since–" Karen cut off, but Claire knew what she was about to say. Not since Owen.

Since everything had happened at Jurassic World, Claire had worked hard to keep in closer contact with her sister and nephews. And she and Owen had even visited them a couple of times. But even though it wasn't like before, where she hadn't seen them for 7 years, she still hadn't seen them in person a lot. There was always a good excuse, the litigation around the fallout, and then needing to escape all the publicity and her 15 minutes of fame that she had never wanted. Still, even though they hadn't seen each other as much as she knew Karen would've liked, they had talked much more regularly. And this wasn't even the first time that Karen was offering to come visit since Owen.

Claire wasn't sure what it was that made her so opposed to the suggestion. No, that wasn't true, she knew why. She just didn't want to face it. She had felt, for a while, like she was putting her life back together. That she was going to be able to reassemble most of the pieces she'd felt like she'd shattered into after the Indominus and rebuild. That while she wouldn't be the same (how could she, really), that maybe the new life she and Owen had been building together was going to turn out to be even better than what she'd had before. When everything had imploded between the two of them, it had felt like going back to the start again. When she saw Karen next, she wanted to feel more… like herself. More collected. More whole. Which was why she'd been spending so much time on the DPG.

On that thought, her gaze drifted back to her open laptop in front of her and the spreadsheet of numbers that still weren't balancing out.

"I actually need to go," Claire said, remembering she was still on the call. "I've got some work that needs to be finished up and am expecting a call soon, too."

"Wait, Claire, don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything," she protested. "Really, I've got a lot of work. I'll phone you later. We can catch up more then."

There was a short pause before Karen conceded, the two quickly exchanging goodbyes. After Claire had placed her phone onto the desk, she looked at her laptop again, before reaching out and closing the lid.

Left alone in the silence of her condo, Claire finally let the tears that she'd been struggling to hold back the whole call fall. They weren't just because of the news about the accident and the knowledge that Owen was hurt, or had been hurt. But more over the fact that even after that, he still hadn't reached out to her. That he hadn't wanted her to know, or to see her. That the relationship she'd still been holding a shred of hope over fixing, was really, and truly, over.

x x x

— Late August 2018 —

Slowly, Owen circled the motorcycle that was now sitting in the garage, taking in the details that he had missed earlier when Claire and Maisie had presented it to him. Over dinner that night, the motorcycle had been the main topic of conversation, as Maisie had regaled him with her version of how they'd picked it out. Claire, he'd noticed, had been pretty quiet through it all, although she had repeated that it wasn't new and that she knew it needed some work, but that she'd also known that he'd liked working on his old ones.

After dinner, he'd gone back out to take another look, but Maisie had trailed after him, and so he hadn't been able to focus on the details, not to the degree he was now.

Now that he was alone, and able to look at it more carefully, he ran his hands across the body before squatting down to peer more closely at some of the connections, and fiddling with some hoses.

There was some basic work he'd have to do, in order to get it into a more drivable condition (although he had started the ignition earlier, and it had turned over). And there was a bunch more work that he knew he'd want to do, once he started to take it apart. Upgrading various parts, replacing some that looked worn out, changing out the style of some others. Little tweaks here and there to customize it more to his liking. But, the basic body was in good shape. He wasn't going to be starting from scratch. And it'd definitely be more rewarding fixing this up than if they'd gotten him something new that was already in tiptop shape.

There was another benefit to it needing some work. A benefit that Owen wasn't about to admit to anyone, as he barely wanted to admit it to himself. But… it was coming up on a year since the last time he'd been on a motorcycle, and that trip had ended with him stuck in a hospital for a couple of days.

It hadn't been his fault. He knew that, and the police and accident investigators had all cleared him and charged the driver of the car he'd crashed into for reckless driving. Owen had been driving the speed limit (okay, maybe a few mph above, but nothing crazy) when a driver hadn't fully stopped at a stop sign, instead taking a left turn that cut right across Owen's path. He'd managed to lay the motorcycle down on its side, instead of crashing straight into the side of the car. A maneuver that had probably saved his life. Or, at least, kept him from getting badly injured. But, he hadn't managed to let go fast enough, and also hadn't remembered to "be a rope," his body tensing instead, and he had been dragged across the road, which had resulted in a broken wrist, a couple of cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder — and all on his left side.

They'd healed fine. And he had no lingering complications (or even scars) from the accident. At least, nothing visible. But because he'd been living alone at the time, and because he had definitely not wanted his parents to come out, the hospital had forced him to stay there for a couple of days before releasing him. They had insisted he couldn't go until he could demonstrate that he was able to deal with everything on his own, from getting dressed, to washing up, to carrying (light) loads.

He'd spent the few days he'd been stuck there bored out of his mind, itching to escape, or for some sort of distraction. For the first time in his life, he found himself staring at his phone for hours, reading websites, and texting friends. However, there had been one contact he couldn't help coming back to, debating whether he should call or text them. But each time he'd pull up her name, he'd chicken out, turning the phone off, and staring at the ceiling instead. He'd never managed to bring himself to follow through.

Instead, he'd have internal debates with himself, with half his brain arguing that this was the perfect excuse to reach out to her. That Claire would want to know. That she'd probably come running. After all, if she had phoned him to say she'd been in an accident, he knew he'd be at her side as fast as humanly possible. That part of his brain would remind him that he probably should've reached out weeks ago. That he should've gone home a day after he'd originally left. That this whole break up or whatever they'd done was stupid.

But the other part of his brain disagreed. It was the part that had managed to keep him away these past two months. The part that pointed out that Claire had a phone too, and was actually much more likely to use it than he was. That if she wanted to see him, if she'd wanted him to come back, she could've called. Or texted. Or something. That the fact that she hadn't was a clear sign that she was happy he was gone. That him leaving had been the right move. It was the part that pointed out that it was Claire, after all, who had told him to leave in the first place. That it wasn't his decision, but hers. He was just doing what she'd wanted him to do.

That didn't mean he didn't miss her. He did, every day. But he also knew that things had been getting worse, those last couple of months they'd been together. Both of them had started sniping at each other over little things. Things that had never bothered them before, now felt like hills they were willing to die on.

But it wasn't just the little things. No, there had been something big brewing. Owen wasn't blind. Nor was he stupid. And he was an expert in reading behaviour. Okay, usually animal behaviour, but humans weren't all that different. And Claire had definitely been hiding something from him. The way she'd turn her phone off when he would walk up beside her. Or how she'd switch tabs on her laptop. He may not be super computer literate, but he knew what that meant.

He'd wanted to snoop. He'd wanted to open her laptop and look at her browser history. He'd wanted to unlock her phone late at night and scan over her text messages. He had just wanted to know what she felt like she couldn't tell him. But he hadn't. He'd let her have her secret, telling himself that she would share it with him when she was ready. That it was better to let her sort through whatever it was. That everyone has things they aren't willing or ready to share.

It had been as he'd been lying on a bed in a hospital room that he'd seen the first news about the Dinosaur Protection Group. He hadn't even realized Claire was involved at first. Not when the first headline had caught his eye. Not until he'd opened the article and had started reading.

He wished he could say that he'd put it all together then, that he'd realized that that was what Claire had been hiding. That she'd been ready, willing and wanting to work on saving the dinosaurs, and hadn't known how to tell him. But he couldn't. He hadn't made that connection.

Instead, he'd mainly just seen red, at first, as anger took over as he'd realized that Claire was moving on, moving past him. Anger that had eventually dissolved into self-loathing, as he'd turned it on himself, and how he clearly hadn't been enough for her. That he should've known that someone like Claire would have higher ambitions, that his plans for the future, for a more low-key life, wouldn't align with hers.

In a moment of spite, he'd sent a text message to Zach, clueing the teen in on his accident. Part of him had been hoping that the information would make it to Claire. That Zach would pass it on. But if it had, Owen had never found out because nothing happened. He liked to console himself that it must not have, that when he'd told Zach he was fine, Zach hadn't thought it worth mentioning to anyone. Because thinking that Claire may have known, but hadn't reached out hurt too much. No, he assumed the info had ended with Zach.

He'd seen Claire a few months later, when she'd come out to his, at the time new, lot. He hadn't even known she'd known about it, or where it was located. But she'd shown up one day, and the two of them had just started fighting from almost the moment she emerged from her car. He couldn't even tell you what the topic had been, or what had set them off. And then the next time he'd seen her, she'd shown up to tell him about Lockwood's proposal. About going back to Nublar. And, well, the rest was history.

The couple of months they'd been back together had been a whirlwind, from taking Maisie in, and buying a house and getting married and moving and registering Maisie for school. It had only really been in the last few days that he'd started to feel like he could breathe again. That life was slowing down to a more bearable pace.

And now, as he stood staring at the motorcycle in his garage, he realized that he'd never told Claire about his accident. And that she must not know about it, because surely if she did, if she knew that the last time he'd been on a bike, he'd spent the next few days in a hospital, then he couldn't imagine she'd have willingly bought him one.

But he should probably tell her, right?

He was so busy contemplating what to do, he didn't hear when the door from the house into the garage opened behind him, and Claire stepped out. He didn't hear her until he jumped, when her hand slipped around his waist. His heart pounding in surprise, he recovered quickly, wrapping his own arm around her, and pulling her into his side.

"Everything okay?" she asked softly, but when he looked down, she was looking at the motorcycle, not him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just trying to decide where I want to start. And what I need to get. Maybe we can head out to the cabin soon, so I can pick up some of my tools from there, instead of getting duplicates."

"I don't know much about motorcycles," Claire told him. "But I asked around, and did some research. I know it's not in great shape, but I was reassured that it works."

"It does," Owen nodded. "But you know me. It's the tinkering and fiddling that I like best. It really is a perfect gift," he said, repeating his line from earlier when they'd presented it to him. "I can't wait to dive in."

x x x

— November 2018 —

Shoving the covers back, Claire pushed up in bed, sitting briefly on the side before committing to getting up. She'd been really hoping that her case of the flu would end up being mostly mild. One of those 24 hour things, that it would be gone as quickly as it had arrived. But it seemed hell-bent on sticking around and making her miserable. Today was her third day stuck in bed.

There was nothing that she hated more than not being in control, and being sick seemed to have sapped all of that away. Owen (and Maisie) had been practically waiting on her hand and foot, and she was sick of it. She wanted to get her own glass of water, thank you very much. It was just the flu, she wasn't dying.

The house was currently quiet, and she knew that Maisie had gone to bed an hour earlier. Claire wasn't quite sure where Owen was, although her guess was that he was probably hanging out in the garage. Which meant now was a good time for her to sneak downstairs and into her office where her laptop was being held hostage. She just wanted to dig into her emails. And, for once, she was actually feeling lucid enough to do so. Each day she had been doing her best to skim her inbox on her phone, but she knew that she was falling farther and farther behind. Owen, however, hadn't seen it that way. He kept insisting that everyone would be fine without her, and that if there was an emergency, they wouldn't email, but phone and that no one had.

She hated that she knew he was right. Or, at least, mostly right. That while Zia had phoned each day, it had been more to check in on her and less about anything work-related. But that hadn't brought her much comfort. She wanted to be needed by her work. Finding out that they were getting by these few days without her wasn't liberating, as Owen seemed to think it should be. Instead, it just made her feel useless.

Claire was sort of hoping that her inbox would prove him wrong. That maybe, if she finally spent some time going through it, she would find important tasks that were waiting for her and couldn't be managed by anyone else. After all, her inbox had only been growing since she got sick. There must be something important buried in there. She'd tried to check it on her phone from bed, but she'd struggled to stay focused on them. She had always preferred dealing with email on her laptop, as it was easier to look anything up she needed for replies.

Pushing up off the bed, Claire paused as she swayed slightly, waiting until she found her balance before stepping forward. Just as she was about to exit the room, she noticed one of Owen's sweatshirts on the edge of the bed, and she grabbed it, quickly pulling it on, shivering slightly, even though she knew the house was nice and warm. Being sick sucked.

She carefully crept down the stairs, moving as quietly as she could until she finally ended up in her office, sinking gratefully onto the chair behind her desk. That was the most exercise she'd had in days, and she could barely believe how much it had tired her out. She was already almost wishing she'd stayed in bed.

However, she focused on opening up her laptop and pulling herself in closer to the desk. Through the wall of her office, she could hear Owen out in the garage, working away on his motorcycle. The sound of him doing so was somewhat soothing, helping her settle into her own work. She started by sorting through her emails, deleting those that were junk, before sending off a few quick replies to the easy ones. It didn't take long before she was sucked in, and she didn't notice the time going by, or when the noise from the garage died down, the door into the house opened.

"Ahem."

Claire looked up, guilty, at the sound of Owen clearing his voice, to find him standing in her office doorway, leaning against the door frame, watching her.

"Hey," she just greeted him, schooling her face to make sure she looked unconcerned about his presence. This was her office. She was allowed to be there.

"Why are you out of bed?" he asked, stepping into the room and circling her desk. He propped a hip on edge, as he bent over, his hand immediately seeking out her forehead.

Claire wanted to protest, to dodge away from his hand, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. He always managed to succeed. It was less effort to just let him.

"Just wanted to catch up on some emails," she said, gesturing to her laptop.

"Hm," he just hummed, sitting back up. "How are you feeling?"

"Bett–" she started, but he simply raised an eyebrow, and she sighed, looking away from him, before grumbling, "Fine, not better. But more lucid. Which is why I wanted to come check."

"I was just going to head up and see how you were doing," Owen said, surprising her by not arguing or insisting she shut her laptop. "You could take another dose of NyQuil now, if you wanted."

Claire hesitated, glancing at her laptop, debating internally what Owen would say or do if she insisted on spending more time there. However, before she could make up her mind, she let out a yawn, which pretty much decided it for her. She reached out and shut the laptop, pushing away from the desk and then grasping Owen's offered hand and letting him pull her to her feet. The two headed out of her office, Owen shifting until his arm was wrapped around her shoulders pulling her in close.

After a stop in the kitchen to grab a fresh glass of water, they headed up the stairs, Owen turning off the lights and checking the locks on the doors as they went.

Stepping back into the bedroom, Claire immediately headed around the bed to her side, grabbing the bottle of NyQuil of the nightstand and measuring out a dose. Scrunching up her nose, she gulped it down before drinking half the glass of water in a desperate attempt to rid her mouth of the taste.

After removing Owen's sweatshirt, Claire climbed into bed and pulled the covers back up. She watched as Owen moved about their room, collecting his pajama bottoms before he headed to the ensuite. The shower turned on almost immediately, and Claire lay there, letting the white noise of the water falling help her mind settle.

Now that she was back in bed and no longer focused on her laptop (which had turned out to be an excellent distraction for the bit of time she'd been on it), she was realizing just how crappy she still felt.

It was just as she was about to drift off to sleep, the NyQuil already doing its work, that it suddenly hit her that in the more than two months since she and Maisie had given Owen the motorcycle, she'd never actually seen him ride it. He'd turned it on that first day, she remembered that. And she was sure she'd heard him turn it on now and then since. Of course, there had been a few weeks when it had been missing some obvious pieces as he'd replaced them and so it had been clearly unrideable. But… shouldn't he have taken it out by now? Especially after all the time he'd spent in the garage working on it? Wouldn't he want to take it out?

When she'd bought it, she'd known that it wasn't in perfect condition. But she'd been looking for a fixer-upper. She remembered how much he'd talked about the motorcycles he'd had on Nublar and how he'd enjoyed fixing them and working on them. While he'd talked about riding them, she'd always understood that his joy came more from the tinkering, and less the riding.

But he had ridden them. In fact, when he'd owned a motorcycle briefly in San Diego during the fallout of the whole incident, he'd even taken her out a few times. It hadn't been her favourite activity, feeling too exposed to the world on it, especially with people always seemingly on the hunt for any evidence that she was having too good of a time and how she shouldn't, not when all those people had died.

Her mind suddenly felt wide awake. Wait, maybe she had this all wrong. Maybe he hadn't ridden it because he didn't want to. Maybe it was because the last time he'd been on a motorcycle he'd had an accident, although, she didn't even know if that was true. She had no idea when he'd gotten a motorcycle after they had broken up, and when he'd gotten rid of it later. Only that he no longer had one when she'd gone to see him about Nublar.

When she'd bought this one for him, his motorcycle accident had never even crossed her mind. Probably because he had never mentioned it. It wasn't something she ever really thought about, past the initial panic she had felt upon learning about it from Karen. There had only been a couple of times she had even remembered it, but she hadn't noticed anything different about him. He didn't seem to be hiding any new pain and she hadn't discovered any new scars. So she assumed it must have been minor. That if it had been anything bigger, that he would have mentioned it, when they'd talked about what had happened during their year apart. But he never had. And so neither had she.

But what if, what if that was why he hadn't taken the motorcycle out. That he didn't actually want to ride it. Although, if he didn't like it, he sure had been spending a lot of time out in the garage working on it, and spending money on fixing it. And while Claire wasn't anywhere close to an expert on motorcycle maintenance, even she could see the noticeable improvements that he'd made. He actually was working on it.

She was still thinking it over, trying to come up with an explanation that made sense, when Owen emerged from the bathroom and crossed over to the bed, climbing in beside her.

"You're still awake?" he asked, surprised when she turned on her side to face him. "Usually NyQuil knocks you right out."

"My mind's too busy," Claire said, as she squirmed across the bed towards him. Immediately, his arm reached for her, pulling her to him.

"This is why you shouldn't be doing work," he admonished, although his tone was light and mostly teasing. "You'll get better faster if you just let yourself rest."

"That's all I've been doing," she grumbled, tucking herself even closer to him.

They lay there in silence for a minute, Owen softly trailing his fingers up and down her arm.

"Hey, Owen?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"How come–" she started to ask, before cutting herself off. Now that she was about to ask him about the motorcycle, she found that she couldn't. That she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"What?" he asked, when she didn't continue.

"Nothing," Claire said, shaking her head slightly.

"You know you can ask me anything, right?" Owen replied, and she nodded.

"Just thinking about your motorcycle," she admitted. "Remembering back to the rides you took me on in San Diego."

"Okay, now I'm starting to think you're even sicker than you're admitting," Owen joked. "I would've sworn you didn't like riding on it."

"Wasn't about the motorcycle," Claire said, her voice finally starting to grow sleepy as Owen's presence, and the soothing feeling of his fingers still trailing up and down her arm, managed to quiet her brain. "I liked being on it behind you. I just didn't like how the media twisted it. Maybe you can take me out again, someday."

There was a long pause before Owen answered and while she waited, Claire relaxed further into him, her eyes fluttering closed. It was just as she was drifting off that she heard his reply. "Yeah, maybe."

x x x

— Late January 2019 —

Owen usually saved his days off for when Maisie didn't have school. But, the work project he'd been on was ahead of schedule and they didn't really need him today, so he'd decided that it'd be nice to just have some time to catch up on a few things around the house while it would be empty.

But, his original plans were forgotten the second he'd stepped into the garage, his gaze landing on his motorcycle. In the almost five months he'd had it now, he still hadn't taken it out for a spin, and he was running out of excuses as to why not. There were no big parts he was still waiting to upgrade or replace. Or, at least, not ones he was going to do anytime soon. And for the amount of time and money he'd sunk into it at this point, he really needed to be getting more out of it than just his time in the garage.

Claire hadn't brought up going for a ride since that night back in November, but recently Maisie had asked. Owen hadn't known how to answer her. He'd wanted to say yes, but then he'd thought back to his accident, and the idea of Maisie being involved had made his stomach heave. Same with Claire, really. He knew he needed to get over his fear. That there were precautions he could take to make sure it was as safe as possible when he went out, and for anyone on the motorcycle with him.

And on that note, it was actually a really nice day out and there no one was around. So, really, now would probably actually be a good time for him to finally just do it. There would be no pressure. He could go out for as long or as short as he wanted, and no one would judge him if he only made it to the end of the block.

Squaring his shoulders, decision made, Owen wheeled the motorcycle out of the garage. He tucked his phone into his pocket, picked up his keys and closed the garage door. Pulling on his helmet, he straddled the bike, placing the key into the ignition.

And then he sat there, the key left unturned, as suddenly his mind flashed back to the accident. To the sound of metal scraping across the pavement. The feel of his clothes tearing, the agony and white-hot fire ripping up his left side. He closed his eyes, but that only made the memories worse, as suddenly he could see it all happening, too.

Immediately he popped his eyes back open, forcing a few deep breaths as he focused on everything he could see around him. His truck parked off to the side. A soccer ball that had been abandoned on the grass. The mailbox at the end of the driveway. Claire's car turning onto the driveway in front of him.

Wait, Claire's car?

He snapped his gaze back towards it, confirming that yes, she was pulling up the driveway. What was she doing home? Could he pretend he'd already been out on the motorcycle and was actually coming back?

When she stopped in front of him, it took him a few seconds to realize he was blocking her entry into the garage, and he quickly wheeled the motorcycle off to the side, finally tuning into the sound of the garage door opening behind him. Right, he'd closed it. And he was facing down the driveway. There was no way she'd buy that he'd just returned home. Dammit.

And not just that, but he couldn't just take off now. Not with her having just pulled in. Instead, he sat, waiting for her to park the car before she joined him on the driveway.

"Hey," Claire greeted him as she approached. "I decided it was too nice a day to be stuck in the office, and since I knew you were home…"

When she trailed off, her hand reaching out to run down his arm, Owen thought he had an escape. He flipped his hand over, grabbing onto her hand.

"Empty house, no Maisie…" he followed her train of thought, giving her a suggestive grin as he pulled her closer to the bike.

"Yeah," Claire replied, before she looked him over. "But, you look like you were just about to head out for a ride."

"I was," he admitted. "But you're presenting a much better offer. I can go anytime." He shifted to climb off the motorcycle, but Claire stopped him.

"No, you should go," she told him. "You're probably excited to finally have it ready enough to take it for a spin."

"I–" Owen faltered, not really sure how to respond to that. Not wanting to admit that he'd been delaying going out on purpose, but not comfortable lying to her, either. He stared down at the end of the driveway, frantically trying to come up with an excuse, something to say.

But before he could, Claire spoke up, her voice soft. "What's going on? Do you not want to ride it?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean–" he cut off, shaking his head in frustration. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I want to. I do," he insisted, turning back to face her. "I just…" He knew what he needed to say, but he really hadn't expected today to be the day they finally had this conversation. "The last time I was on a motorcycle, things didn't end so well."

He winced when he finished, staring at the ground, not wanting to see her reaction. There was a short pause, before she squeezed his hand and said, "I know."

His head snapped up, gaze jumping back to her. "You what?"

"Well, sort of know," she amended. "Kind of. I mean, I didn't know it was your last time, but Karen mentioned once that you'd been in a motorcycle accident."

"Wait, you knew?" Owen wasn't sure how to react to that.

Back when it had happened, he'd always assumed that she didn't know. That she couldn't have known. Because if she had, surely she would've been at his side in the hospital. Had they been more broken then he'd realized at the time? He knew, now, that those months apart had been important. That they'd needed that time, both of them, to recenter and find themselves. To be actually ready for the relationship they were in now. But, still, to know that she had known…

"Sort of," Claire repeated. "Karen didn't have any real details. She just said that Zach had mentioned you were in an accident. She thought I would've heard about it." At that, Claire looked away from him, her voice lowering as she mumbled, "from you."

It was his turn to squeeze her hand, pulling her attention back to him. "The whole time I was in the hospital, I kept staring at your name in my phone, but I couldn't bring myself to actually call. I wanted you there, Claire. But you'd also sent me away. And I hadn't heard from you since I left. I was trying to do what I thought you'd wanted."

Owen tightened his grip when he felt her trying to pull away as she also took a step back, her expression horrified.

"Sent you away? That I didn't want to know? Owen… really?"

"You told me to leave," he reminded her. "I know, now, that we both messed up then. But at the time… I was hurting. Physically, from the accident, but also emotionally. I had bought the bike to cheer myself up after… well, after. And then I found myself in a hospital, and the bike totaled."

"Totaled?! Just how bad was your accident?" Claire asked, stepping back towards him of her own volition. She was scanning him from head to toe, although he didn't know what she could possibly be expecting she'd find, not more than a year later, and not while he was fully dressed.

"I broke my wrist, dislocated my shoulder and cracked a few ribs," he admitted. "But I'm fine. Completely. One hundred percent. No lasting anything, from it."

"Maybe you shouldn't go out on it," Claire said, suddenly looking uneasy about the motorcycle. "I shouldn't have bought this for you. I should've–"

"No," he interrupted her decisively. "I'm glad you bought it. I would've probably bought one myself if you hadn't. I've enjoyed working on it these past few months. And I do want to get back out there. Really."

She looked at him skeptically. "You really don't have to, you know. Not for me."

"I know," Owen nodded. "And I was planning on going even before you got home. I just–" he cut himself off, realizing that he didn't want to voice his thoughts to her. He didn't want to admit that he'd been thinking about how much more he had to lose now. Last time, he'd been alone. But now he had a family. He had Claire and Maisie.

"You just what?" she asked, when he didn't finish.

"It wasn't my fault. The accident, I mean," he explained. "A car made a left turn in front of me, and I had to lay it down to avoid crashing head first into it. I know I'm a good driver. I just, well, I don't trust the other drivers."

"You know," Claire said after a pause, her head tilted to the side as she stared down their driveway towards the street. "I think if there's one thing life has taught us, it's that we shouldn't stop doing things after one bad experience. After all, if we had, well, we definitely wouldn't be married. And Blue wouldn't be alive. And who knows what would've happened to Maisie… I know it can be tough. You know how much I hate having my head submerged underwater now. But if I avoided it forever, I'd never be able to go swimming again. And each time I do so now, the next time gets easier."

"I know you're right," he said, "but it still makes me nervous."

"Tell you what, wait here a sec."

Owen turned and watched as Claire walked back up the driveway, disappearing into the garage for a moment, searching through one of the cupboards, before raising her hand in victory, a shiny black motorcycle helmet clutched in her fist. Exiting the garage, she closed it behind her, before walking back down the driveway to him, fastening the helmet.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, dumbfounded, as he stared at her helmet. He had, of course, bought a helmet for himself. But he hadn't even thought about getting ones for Claire and/or Maisie yet. Not until he'd felt comfortable driving it himself.

"I bought it," she said simply. She climbed onto the motorcycle, settling down behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

For a long moment, Owen sat there, frozen in disbelief. "You bought it?"

"Yeah."

He could feel her nodding behind him.

"I was out getting one of your christmas presents one day, and I saw it and I thought, well, that I might as well get one. For whenever you were ready to take me for a ride. So, let's go."

"Us?" he winced slightly when his voice squeaked on the word.

"Yeah, us," she said. "I trust you, Owen. I know you'll keep me safe. And I know you're a good driver. Show me what this motorcycle can do."

Still, he hesitated. "You're sure?"

"Of course," she sounded indignant at his question. "Come on, let's go. What do you really think is going to happen?"

Taking a deep breath, Owen finally turned the key in the ignition, the engine sparking to life and the whole motorcycle vibrating beneath them. Turning as much as he could to look back towards her, he gave her a grin. "You're right. And, hey, I drove one of these through a jungle with a pack of raptors. How bad can our neighbourhood be?"

So, if you made it to here, are you still enjoying these? Want more? I've already got another one planned out (and yes, it'll have some Murphy). Anything else you'd like to share?