Author's Note: Alright, I've had a few questions regarding the last note in the previous chapter. Just so everyone's aware, this takes places over the course of one summer. We begin in the beginning of May, right after school. As stated, Zach, Gray, and Sophie will be staying the entire summer, until the point where school would have to send them home.

The Indominus: well, not to give out spoilers, but she's coming. Just not yet. Enjoy what I've got so far, and I hope you're loving it!

Chapter Five

Owen stopped at the top of the steps leading to the walkways, Barry going ahead of him to their joint-office to begin filing an incident report to send into Claire, legal, and the corporate office at Masrani. Owen, forever dreaded the mere thought of paperwork, didn't stop the quiet-spirited man as he slipped into the office. A shriek and hiss came from the floor of the paddock, the girls obviously involved in one of the hundreds of nitpicking pack-fights they initiated between themselves. Shrugging it off, Owen turned his attention back to the new girl.

She stood where he'd left her a few moments, probably collecting herself and hashing over what in the world had happened. He really hadn't expected the interview to get that serious, but he'd wanted it to be serious enough to where he could see the girl's true colors when it came to standing in the face of fear. Well, he'd been pleasantly surprised, as other girl's he'd "brought home" had other...worse instances upon meeting the team. He'd had a girl faint once, another scream and run away, and finally one who'd messed. He'd finally just given up talking about work, instead opting to talk about sports or bikes.

But this girl, Owen could immediately tell was different. He had a gift about discerning people, one he'd had since he was young boy. He'd never really been wrong before, and he wasn't now, from what he could ascertain about her. He watched her run her fingers midway through her messy, curly hair and let them sit there as she scanned the perimeter as if something were going to come out suddenly. Satisfied with just his technicians hauling boxes and devouring her with their eyes, she headed towards Claire's Benz and waited for her to finish her conversation with Vic. Owen gave a slight smirk from his place above, nodding to himself. Yeah, she was alright. She'd managed to stand in the face of fear and not fall back, not give in, and not panic. Something which was necessary for this job.

And, to his surprise, she'd trusted him without even knowing him. Owen wasn't even sure if he'd trust himself being in her position, but she had nonetheless and had swung under the fence with a gait of confidence and uncertainty, but she didn't show it. Sure she'd been scared out of her wits, but she'd handled it decently and with poise, which he had to give her credit for. Owen could barely get people to rationally talk about the raptor's much less approach them. He might has well be ripping teeth.

He watched the girl, Marianne, lean against the Benz casually, stretching her arms above her head. From his position he could see she was exhausted from traveling and climate change-her hair was falling out in dry, frizzy bits, her eyes were bloodshot, and her dress was marred with dirt and sweat spots, which he didn't find necessarily repulsive. He studied her, not too intently, and found her halfway pleasurable. Not drop-dead stunning or repulsive, but midway.

An overly curvy hourglass silhouette is how he'd describe her-big on top, big on bottom. Broad shoulders maintained a bigger bosom, curving and turning like hourglass figures did along the stretch of her body, rounding out at the hips. Surprisingly, her thighs touched when she stood, and she had thick calves, not entirely muscular but not out of tone, and a bit of a belly. She had a round face, with light scarring on her cheeks, fair skin, and he'd recalled piercing blue eyes the color of the sky, which he assumed changed shades depending on the lighting, much likes his own. Light brown hair curled wildly, and from the strands fallen out of her bun, he guessed slightly below the shoulder. She wore glasses, no makeup, and no jewelry, save a ring on her right index finger, and a watch. Overall, she was no magazine model, but not undesirable. A bit plain for his taste.

He watched her until Claire got in the coupe and left, roaring down the road and kicking up a dust cloud. Once they'd vanished around the bend of foliage, he turned on his heel and headed to his office. He shouldered open the door only to be welcomed by his overly unkempt desk, his insides churning at the thought of searching through it ever. He turned his back on it, however, and marched into Barry's office, who was scribbling away on an incident report with a pen. His back was slick with sweat in this sweltering heat, and Owen shrugged off his vest, approached the desk, and tossed it over the back of the chair. Leaning down to rest his hands on top of Barry's desk, he hung his head and exhaled loudly.

"You could've killed her, you know," Barry broke the silence moments later, not looking up from his scrawling. "Claire was standing right there. So was Vic."

"I know," Owen said, a regretful tone in his voice. He turned to glance out the window, inhaled a deep breath, only to puff it out. "I know. But it went well."

Barry stopped writing, glancing up at Owen with his eyes, "I guess if you call almost killing the girl well. You have no idea how close Blue was on your heels. Any closer and you'd be standing here without an arm, my friend."

"It's a good thing I'm quick then, isn't it?" He winked at Barry, reached over the desk, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I think she'll do fine. Once she gets in the swing of things." He grabbed his vest and swung it over his shoulder, holding it by a finger. "She seems...capable."

"And beautiful," Barry added, glancing at him again and scribbling his signature quickly. He handed the report to Owen and set the pen down sharply on the desk. "She has a beautiful spirit in her. Strong."

Owen made a "yeah, sure" face and shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, she's okay. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything." He walked over to the wall, grabbing a pen from Barry's desk as he passed, pressed the paper to the wall and signed his name quickly. "I'm not really into husky girls myself."

Barry raised his brows and crossed his arms as Owen handed him the paper, "Not a very fair assumption, my friend. You don't even know her."

Owen nodded and shrugged again, "I guess. She's not repulsive, but just not my type." He turned, headed for the door, and stopped at the heavy office door. Grabbing the knob, he lifted his chin to Barry and called into his office, "I've gotta go get Sophie. I promised I'd take her to supper in the resort somewhere. Can you handle the skin-check and feeding report without me?"

Barry laughed heartily at him, "I don't need you for everything, my friend! Go, have a good meal with your niece. Tell her I say hello."

Owen nodded, smiling, "Will do, Bare. Thanks." He closed the door, tromped down the steps, and headed for the Triumph he'd parked in the shade across the way. Shrugging back into his vest, he popped the keys forward and revved the bike, kicking it into first gear. Giving it gas, he lurched forward, the transmission whining for another gear, and he jetted forward.

He rustled the leaves of the jungle foliage as he left, the bike screaming loudly down the road and towards the heart of the resort.

. . .

Claire Dearing hadn't said a word to Marianne the entire drive. She'd just dropped her off, informed her to use her passes for dinner, and left her and her things outside the hut-looking bungalow. Marianne stared at the small thing for a long time, calculating how many miles it had been from the paddock. She guessed around two or three the way the crow flies, but she'd clock it in the morning.

She spent an hour just looking around the outside of the building, walking the perimeter. There was a patio out back, with a backdrop of jungle and tropical flowers grew along the outside of the building. A fire pit, lawn furniture, and a hammock were set up in the backyard as if she'd never left. Moving inside the building and taking her carry-on and purse inside, she found the small building to be anything but small inside.

It had a sunken in living room just off the entry, which veered left into a hallway which she assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. Just off the living room, one crossed through a set of French doors to get into the kitchen, which transitioned nicely into a dining area. It was airy, modern, and excellently decorated, with all new appliances and pre-furnished, dark suede furniture. Complete with a jungle, "dinosaur" theme, she ran her hand across the giant tooth sitting on the bookcase shelf just under the front window-she recalled it being a Rex tooth, and she wrinkled her brow, wondering if it was supposed to be offsetting or inviting.

Marianne took her bag into her room, sat on the bed, and stared at the window into the dense jungle. The exhaustion of the day had caught up with her, but too exhausted to possibly imagine sleep, she unpacked what little she had in the carry-on and went through the box Vivian had given her at the Innovation center. She ran her fingers along the lanyard attached to her ID card, stared at her photo ID, and then looked up at the desk on the adjoining wall. A flashy computer sat still, dark; awaiting use. Remembering Alan's warning to email her, she logged on and found her way into the system.

She typed him up a substantial email, letting him know she'd arrived safely, leaving out the details of her "interview", just explaining it had went well and she had the job for sure. Signing off, she sat in the chair comfortably for what seemed like hours, studying the taste-fully decorated room and soaking in the quiet. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and sat...

...jarring awake, Marianne realized she had dozed off. The rumbling of her stomach prompted her to check her watch. Two hours had gone by, and evening was setting just outside the window. Getting up, Marianne grabbed her purse and her badge, as well as a dinner pass, and left the room. Stopping in the living room before making the door, she wondered how on earth she was supposed to get into the resort on foot.

She was about to search for a phone, betting her cell was dead, when a flash of blue grabbed her attention from outside the window. Hurrying for the door, she whipped it open to find her Camaro parked just outside, sitting serenely against the jungle backdrop. Puzzled, she looked around for anyone, but instead found a note taped to the front door. It was a computer generated script, which told her the car had been inspected and was ready for use, listing her documentation information and registration number.

Marianne spent the better half of the hour unloading what little the Camaro could hold and dropping it into her living room. Satisfied, she grabbed her purse and keys and hurried out of the bungalow, towards the muscle car, and slipped into the driver's seat. She started the car with a flick of the keys, it roaring to life and relief settling in her nerves-this was the only thing that had went smoothly today.

Puffing out a breathe, she hit the gas and took off towards the resort, stomach rumbling the entire way.

. . .

"Dr. Wu. So. What have you got for me?" Claire said later that evening after she'd returned from Marianne's interview. Having been utterly exhausted and distressed, she'd taken an hour to recover in her office, sipping more espresso and typing up emails to sponsors and running guest analysis. She'd checked some security feeds and looked into a few maintenance calls, only to be called into Dr. Wu's office to discuss the new asset.

Now, sitting across from the aging scientist, she tried her best to forget the entire raptor incident. Though she hadn't given him it verbally, she gave Owen a good hashing in her mind, cursing the man for his stupidity and his brazenness. He'd deliberately put an inexperienced employee in harm's way, not even stopping to weigh the consequences with InGen's representative, Vic Hoskins, standing right there! Oh how she despised his breezy attitude towards life, his boyish charm, and his pathetic sarcasm. He grated on her nerves and made her skin broil with irritability.

And that woman. Claire couldn't even find words for the indignant rage she felt towards her.

She hadn't noticed Henry stop speaking, much less the look on his face until he'd leaned forward and said her name. "...Claire. You alright?"

Jerking back into reality, she nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. So. You, uh, said you had to add a bit of cuddlefish to the genome to help curb it's..."

"Growth rate," Henry interjected, "She's growing much faster than expected," he reiterated, hitting a few keys on his computer. The screen behind him lit up with scientific reports and diagnostics, but overall with a picture of the creature to an animatronic scale. "Production on the exhibit is slow going, so we had to slow her down somehow."

"So, when will she stop growing?"

"Hard to say," Henry shrugged, "But she will stop. As a juvenile, she's bound to grow at a faster pace right now than in six months from now. Her hormones and her genes are working overtime to get her body to a stage where it would be able to breed and/or establish its role in nature without bringing harm to itself. It's going through a lot of changes."

"But you can control her growth rate?"

He gave her an "iffy" look before replying, "To some extent. We added cuddlefish into her genome before she was in the embryo stages to ensure she wouldn't grow too quickly. It's proving effective, but she's still ascertaining a fast growth rate more than we anticipated."

"But, we can fix it with the sibling, right?" She really had no idea what all of his technobabble meant, but she kept interested for propriety's sake. She'd have to tell this all to Masrani again anyway, so she might as well not look like an idiot doing it. "I mean, it can be controlled by adding more of the gene?"

Henry, sensing her lack of understanding of the subject, sighed and blinked a few times, "We really won't know until it happens. It's hard to know these things your first time around the track. Growth rate, food consumption, behavioral issues, social skills-all these are difficult to manage without first observing the animal in her habitat. It's something we really can't control, Claire."

Control. She was so sick of hearing about it she could vomit.

Quite finished with the subject, she decided to gracefully bow out. "Well, if everything's going well, then I'll look for your quarterly report in my inbox sometime this month, Dr. Wu. Thanks for the update." She got up, Henry doing the same, and he escorted her to the door. "Just let me know about any hiccups."

He chuckled, "I will do my best to make sure there aren't any,"

She smiled. "Wonderful. Have a good evening, Dr. Wu."

He nodded to her, "And you as well, Claire."

She smiled tightly at him, nodded, and headed from the lab to dinner with her nephews.

. . .

The crack of a que ball sent a jolt down Marianne's spine later that night, after the resort had died down around eight that night. Marianne had opted for Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for dinner, deciding that she deserved a drink after the events of her day.

She'd settled in quite nicely in her back booth among the men and women out for a good time. Their cheers and chatter and rambunctiousness helped ease her mind off her exhaustion, her drowing it in a pattern of water, then alcohol, then water again. Someone kept playing old Johnny Cash songs on the jukebox, a tacky memoir sitting among the world's finest technology in one place. A cute, flirty couple were playing a game of pool, but as Marianne watched them from her place, it was more of a game of groping than anything else.

She ordered another Brandy Seven.

Popping a peanut into her mouth, she watched the couple lock into a deep, passionate kiss as if they were alone and not in the middle of Margaritaville. Then, someone slammed their fist on the counter and pointed to the TV, jarring Marianne into reality. She blinked, rubbed her sore eyes, and smiled at the waiter as he left her Seven on the table, among the other glasses she'd downed. By no means was she drunk, but her belly was warm with Brandy, and it felt good.

Then, the bell above the door jingled lightly, and she looked to the door before taking a drink. She froze, her stomach sloshing to her knees, noticing the familiar frame from earlier that afternoon. Owen Grady hadn't changed from their meeting, instead walking into the place as if he owned it. She sighed, and attempted sink into the booth away from him. But, he scanned the place, and his eyes landed on her. To Marianne's dismay, he sauntered over.

The song changed as he stopped at her table. She looked into her drink and then up at him, squinting an eye closed against the light. He stared down at her, then quirked a brow. She smiled flatly at him, rested her arms on the table, and glanced at the couple still making out.

"Drinking alone on your first day?" He asked, his voice like bourbon; strong, smooth, and satisfying. "I wouldn't exactly call that a good Jurassic World first day." He kicked out a chair, flipped it around, and lowered himself into it. Draping his arms across the back, he leaned forward.

"Yeah, well, considering I almost got eaten today by a an Velociraptor, I think it qualifies." She gave him a half smile, grabbed her glass, and sloshed it around the glass. The dark liquid swirled when she stopped, the glass cool and sweating in the heat of the night. "It always this dangerous?"

He shrugged, then smiled, "Depends on the day." He wrinkled his brow at her drink, then gestured for it by wiggling his fingers. She released the glass and he picked it up, drawing it to his nose and inhaling a sniff. He made an impressed face, "Brandy Seven. Nice."

"My dad was a Brandy guy," Not that you care. "It's a family requirement."

He gave her a half smile, then nodded as if he understood. "Yeah. My dad was a tequila guy."

She nodded, lips flat. She scanned his thick arms, then his tousled, messy brown hair and his well kept mustache and found heat rising up her neck and threatening her face. She looked down, then to the couple at the pool table, finding the girl had sunk three more solids into the far corner. There was silence between them as someone struck up an old Shania Twain song, the tune rattling throughout the air. Owen stared at her and she caught him, drawing his eyes to his feet.

"So." He sounded serious, as if about to talk business. "Where'd you go to school?"

She cleared her throat, "The University of Minnesota," she took a drink. His brows quirked at this and she nodded, raising her own, "Yep. Majored in Communication."

"Really." He sounded shocked.

"Yeah. Surprisingly, I landed an internship at a museum keeping books and organizing lab reports. I spent a semester learning how to categorize fossils and other archeological findings from some of the top minds in the industry." she shrugged, "Once I graduated, I had letters of recommendation and a phone number, which led me to Alan Grant, who hired me on as an intern and spent six months in preliminary trainings for field excavations," she chuckled and gave him a look, "Guess what learned there."

Owen nodded, eyes flecking with life and intrigue, "I can only imagine,"

She smacked her lips together and took another drink, "So from there I went into the field and worked closely with Dr. Grant. He was a friend of my Dad's from the army," her eyes dropped to the table, where she grabbed a stir stick and busied herself with it. "So I've been around."

Owen nodded, then looked over his shoulder and signaled the bartender, "Whattdya do to stay healthy?"

She quirked a brow at him as he turned back to face her. Truth be told, she hated exercising, but she had all through college and had kept her membership current by going three times a week. She'd also spent time swimming and in a backyard softball league. She hated that he asked, because she knew what that meant. She nodded slowly, "I swim, treadmill, lift weights. Basic stuff."

"Good." Was all he said. He sounded unimpressed.

The bartender dropped off a Coors bottle and he took a long drink, the bottle dripping with sweat. Marianne took a drink from hers well, the silence all but killing her. Her heart had slowed down now, wasn't hammering so hard, and she no longer felt ridiculous in this man's presence after his question. He was obviously looking for a super model type. Not that she cared. He started small talk about her research and projects in Snakewater, in which Marianne filled him in on the basics and the most interesting parts. She didn't bring up Grant's experiences with Jurassic Park, and he didn't ask.

They spent the better part of the evening drinking and making awkward conversation. At quarter to eleven they called it quits and got up from the bar, Owen dropping a twenty for the house. He led the way out the front door, her following through the thinned group of people still left at the establishment, until they stepped into the muggy tropical air. Owen made his way down the steps, her staying put, and he headed for the Triumph motorcylce parked next to a string of bikes.

"I'll see you tomorrow at six," he said, slipping onto the bike.

Marianne curbed the attraction she felt towards him being on the bike, shoving it down and remembering he wasn't looking for a woman of her...shape. She nodded curtly and stepped down the stairs, fishing for her keys in her purse where her Camaro was parked out back. "Sure. Six then."

He revved the bike and gave her a half smile, as if sensing her attraction, "Yep. Six." She smiled softly, waved at him, and then turned on her heel to walk away. He called after her, surprising, "I think you're gunna do fine," she stopped and turned to face him, "I mean, you handled yourself real good today."

She shrugged, "You really didn't give me much of a choice."

He quickly smoothed his mustache with his fingers, looked down at the dash of the bike, and then situated himself, the bike rumbling in the night deeply, "It's best to associate the girls with new people by coming into the situation, not just being there. It's a power play. Shows them who's in charge. Now, they associate you with me."

"Which is good,"

He chuckled, "For now, yeah. By no means are you best friends yet. It's taken me four years to get them to hold."

She swallowed at that, her mouth running dry. Four years? It didn't surprise her, they were first generation, and according to Alan's research, raptor's were excessively aggressive and territorial. It didn't surprise her that they were hard to imprint. "Interesting."

"Every day is a challenge," he chuckled, "But that's part of the fun." Shrugging, he shifted the bike into neutral and began backing it out slowly with his feet. He nodded to her, gave a flighty wave, and then gripped the handle bars and kicked the bike into first. He raised his chin to her. "See ya tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Six."

He grinned, "Yep. Six."

Owen then roared out of the resort, towards the maintenance road, and was gone. Marianne headed back to her Camaro, started it, and returned to her bungalow, where she managed to make it into bed and set an alarm for six.