Chapter Fifteen

Owen was torn between laughing at Marianne Randal and growling at her.

The rain pelting the roof of the dilapidated Ford above them mirrored the thunking of his own heart, in step with the breaths he was taking. Water slowly dripped from the ends of his hair and onto his face, snaking down his back and wetting the seat of the truck. His wet hands hand already did a number on the steering wheel, where the vinyl was already beginning to crack from sitting in the blistering heat and sun.

The windows began to fog, their breathing all out of sync—Sophie's rapid, Marianne's steady, his strong. He stared at her a second before looking at the keys, feeling laughter bubbling in his chest, along with a flurry of other emotions: confusion, uncertainty, enjoyment, sarcasm. He wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling—he felt something new every day it seemed around Marianne, or Annie, has he had started calling her.

Owen wasn't sure if he liked her of he couldn't stand her—but he was sure it was somewhere in the middle, because she confused the pants off him. One moment she was sarcastic and made him laugh and challenged his wit, the next he was so dumbfounded by her professionalism and seriousness that it scared him. She was sassy, funny, serious, and opinionated all rolled into one; but she was also outgoing, strong-willed, and approachable, and yet even still possessing a student's open-mind and likeability.

These four weeks had challenged him in many, many aspects. He'd never worked with a woman before at Jurassic World—well, up close and on his terms and turf before, anyway. Where he struggled to find words to teach Marianne, she found them; and where she struggled to understand, he explained. It was as if they were kids that had grown up next door to one another—like he could read her every thought and finish her every sentence. It drove him mad, the way they worked together so well—the way she knew his schedule forwards and backwards and could predict his every move without him even breathing word. It was like she'd always been there and had never left.

He had also noticed things—small things—about her that he'd glanced over before. He noticed she wore her hair the same way every day, she had blue eyes when she wasn't wearing contacts, she wrote with her right hand, and she had the habit of playing with her hair when she was thinking. He'd learned from simple conversation her favourite color was blue (as was his), her favourite band was Huey Lewis and the News, and her favourite car was actually a '60's GTO.

What Owen had also noticed was the fact he'd caught himself staring at her as they worked apart—as she charted across the catwalks, walked from the supply shed, locked up the med room, used the hood of her car more as a desk than the one in the office. He'd even noticed she'd begun to trim up only slightly around her hips, and her arms had started to tone just barely. She'd confessed to doing suicide runs over her lunch and taking up jogging in the early mornings at dawn. Owen couldn't lie—he found it exciting and intriguing.

But—her constant retorts! He couldn't say a word without her running her mouth about something opposite or with some other opinion, or some other viewpoint. She couldn't just let him joke around at her—no, sir. She had to poke back, she had to get huffy and challenge his wit with sarcastic remarks and facial expressions, she had to jibe back to him to keep him in check. Her charts always had to be different than his (which he always had to correct to make his the exact same way), her filing had to meet a midshipman's standards, and the computer document's had to be put in alphabetical files for "easy access". Not only that, she'd labelled key rings and hung them on tacks just by the door, demanding they be replaced after each use. She'd flipped his office upside down in organization!

Overall, Owen didn't know if he liked her or couldn't stand her.

Now, he stared at her, both of them soggy and cold, sitting in the Ford that was turning into a sauna. Sophie traced circles on the glass somewhere behind him, his hand still on the keys, trying to make them budge. He wondered if the column was just jammed of if the entire ignition was shot. The keys were cool in his hands. He watched the water drip off the ends of her wet and soggy curls, and noted the dirt across her brow from her muddy hands—the slight scrape from the tree as it had crashed into the shed.

Truly, he'd been terrified when he'd heard her scream. He'd bolted from the main-gate as if God himself had touched down to earth. The wind had been howling, the sky alive with thunder, lightning crackling like a light-show above him when he'd seen the top of the tree fall into the shed. The sound had been deafening as it crashed through the ceiling, Marianne's blood-curdling scream sending iciness through his veins. He'd panicked, bolted for the shed without thinking twice, hoping she was alive. It was a military instinct—keep the one's alive you can, be the one to sacrifice.

But now, he was ready to sacrifice her.

His face crumpled in a frown, but only for a second when his lips upturned in a smile. He couldn't help it. He snorted, shook his head, and this elicited a chuckle from her, which turned into a snort, which then rolled them into laughter. Sophie just was quiet in the backseat, tracing circles, and Owen rested his head against the seat-back. He was cold, hungry, and exhausted, but it was so hysterical. They laughed and laughed until he couldn't laugh anymore. He ran his hand through his hair, his sides beginning to hurt.

Marianne finally reached over and slugged his shoulder playfully, waving him out of the car. "Would you go out and fix that already?" She asked him, her laughter beginning to dissipate. She flipped some of her fallen curls behind her with the back of her hand and brushed the water droplets off her legs—bare, in shorts and hiking boots. "Don't make me do it, because I will."

Her smile was soft and genuine, and he liked the sparkle in her eyes. Without glasses they were the brightest blue he'd ever seen, which reminded him of turquoise oceans and navy seas, bright blue skies and sapphires, depending on the day and her mood. He nodded and heaved an overly-dramatic sigh, putting a hand on the door handle and popping it open."Yeah, yeah, I'll do it, I'll do it," he mumbled, causing another giggle from Marianne. His sarcastic tone caused Sophie to snicker as well. Instantly, a chilly and wet breeze shot into the cab of the truck and he slid out of the driver's seat and into the sheets of rain. Instantly he was re-soaked and he pointed to the steering column, looking at Marianne's, squinting in the rain as the droplets bombarded his eyelashes. "When I say, see if it'll go over!"

She nodded, slipping into the seat he'd vacated. The thunder boomed above him and rattled the leaves overtop the truck, causing a barrage of water to slosh down onto him. He sighed, groaned, and she popped the hood of the truck. He raised it, propped it open, and hurled himself up over the ledge, balancing on his stomach and reaching his hands deep into the engine, feeling for any type of cabling which would run from the engine to the dash. It took him a good three minutes until his hand found the problem: the steering cable was melted.

How had they gotten this thing out here?

"Well, screw that idea," he hollered, whipping the cable ontop the engine block and slamming the hood closed. He waved Sophie and Marianne out of the car and pointed towards the Jeep they'd arrived in. He came around to the driver's side and opened the passenger door, helping Sophie out to where she sloshed in a puddle beside him. Instantly wet and drenched, he held the door and watched Marianne slip from the driver's seat, adjusting her rain-slicker. She pulled the hood over her head and then glanced at Sophie.

Quickly pulling it over her head Marianne took a knee before Sophie and helped her into the overly large yellow rain-coat. She situated the hood over the girl's head and smiled, the rest of her clothing plastering to her body as it soaked through. To his surprise, Marianne tucked one of Sophie's dripping curls behind her ear and winked at her. She then got up and huffed out a breathe, smiling at him.

"Let's get going," she said loudly over the rain, thumping the Ford's door closed. She bounced on the balls of her feet, as if she were a boxer, and gestured towards the Jeep with her head, "They won't wait forever!" She grinned at Sophie and took off for the Jeep, her foot catching in a huge puddle and going up over her ankle. She ignored it, came to the Jeep, and popped open the doors on the driver's side, then rounded around the back towards the passengers. Owen and Sophie shared a wet, cold, surprised look.

"You heard her," Owen shrugged his shoulder, "Let's get going, Soph!"

She nodded, droplets of water spraying onto his already wet clothes. They took off for the Jeep, he helped Sophie inside, and took the driver's side. Marianne was ringing out her hair on the floor, then tied it into a bun. He watched the stray pieces of curl fall around her face. He kind of wanted to reach out and curl one of them around the tip of his fingers.

Nah, he told himself. She wasn't his type.

. . .

The valley might as well have been a swampland.

Most of the animal's had taken shelter beneath the huge trees, their long branches shielding some of the rain, their bodies keeping one another warm as they laid together and, as Sophie has retorted, "snuggled". Marianne had envied their state as she'd trudged through the mud, carrying a plastic clip-board and a heavy case of medications for Dr. Peter Bartlett, and his co-worker Neela-head veterinarians for Jurassic World and experts in genetics and gene splicing.

It'd been two hours, and Marianne was sick to death of Neela's pathetic attempts at flirtation—with both Owen and Peter Bartlett both. She was started to shiver, her penmanship beginning to fail as she scribbled orders and observations. She glanced at Owen as Neela shoved her dripping finger onto the paper, smudging an order for Doxycycline.

He was waist-deep in mud, on his knees, helping Peter try to re-position one of the Gallimimus, who'd grown ill suddenly and wasn't able to bring herself to shelter. She'd been down for hours, shivering and cold, her lungs swimming with fluid, as Peter had declared upon their arrival to the scene. Marianne watched Owen, utterly exhausted, listen as Dr. Bartlett gave him further instructions. He'd been pushing and pulling and repositioning the animal in the mud for hours, his muscles straining and his energy draining. Marianne had hoped he was okay, and had offered him Sophie's rain-jacket—abandoned as the little girl had fallen asleep in the car an hour into their assignment.

The thunder and lightning had been unmerciful, rumbling and striking overhead as if they were at war with the earth. The wind was almost unbearable, the thing keeping them all freezing and struggling to do their jobs. Hands trembled as they tried to prepare syringes, fingers shook, white with cold, as they wrote orders, and lips quivered as they shouted commands and made diagnoses. Neela's hand slapped against her shoulder, the short woman glaring at her.

"Hello? Did you get that?" She shouted. Even though there was wind, Marianne could still hear her, and she gave a sharp look to the young doctor, who softened her stare once she noticed the seriousness of Marianne's.

"Yeah, yeah, .20 instead of .02. I got it, I got it," she uttered, drawing a line through the previous entry, initialling it, and rewriting the order. She thought a moment how to spell the medication, but then got it when Neela shouted something to Dr. Bartlett about IV fluids and transfer.

She continued scribbling, and didn't feel the body sidle up to her suddenly. It caught her off guard and she jolted a bit, the rain cascading down around her. She prayed she wouldn't get sick—or that Owen wouldn't either, and turned her head to the brawny figure next to her, clad in a rain-jacket, muddy to the waist and up the arms. Something flopped in her stomach.

"How're you doing?" She asked him loudly. He nodded, bobbing his head side to side as if to indicate he was "so-so". He then swiped at the water pooling in his mustache with the back of his hand, leaving behind a trail of mud. She chuckled, and shook her head at him.

"What?" he asked.

She put the clipboard under her arm, "Nothing," she came around to his front and reached up with her hand to swipe at the mud in his mustache with her thumb. She had to stand on tip-toes, and he bristled as she put her hand, with the clipboard, on his shoulder to stabilize her, him taking a hand to hold her waist in assist. Quickly, Marianne wiped away the mud, and she realized she'd been holding her breath, as well as staring at his lips. They were both still, lingering a moment, Marianne up from his lips and into his face. He was staring at her, his jaw setting quickly, and her heart stopped. Owen looked caught off guard and unsure, and he quickly dropped his hand from her waist.

She stepped back. "You had some mud," her voice was lost as the whipping wind caught her voice, carrying it away as if she'd never said anything. She turned from him and went back to her chart, sloshing and slipping through the mud towards the animal and its doctors. She was busy writing when her feet caught a small pot-hole in the incline of the hill.

Yelping, she hit the earth and slid a few inches in the mud, the cool, slick earth covering her pants, leg, and hip. The pen and clipboard has disappeared, and pain spiked up her ankle only a moment. She instantly could tell she hadn't injured it, mostly just her pride as her face brightened with a red blossom. She jumped when two hands landed on her shoulder. She barely had time to recognize it was Owen before he came crashing down beside her, his boots catching int he slick mud of the slightly inclined hill. He too hit the ground, grunting, now entirely covered in mud beside her. His hands left her shoulder, instead grabbing onto her shirt—only, he was going down the hill, and taking her with him.

"Owen!" she screeched at him, mud slicking her entire side and front as she manuevered onto her belly. Rage and embarrassment consumed her as they finally came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. They'd stopped a few yards from the watering place of the animals, in the very thick and very disgusting mud-pit, destroyed as the animals came and went from the water's edge. Now a good distance from Neela and Dr. Bartlett, the two doctors stared at the field assistant and Raptor handler, and Marianne could just hear them containing their laughter—and failing, their snickers pestering her thoughts. She pushed herself up on her hands, rolled over onto her back and sat up. Looking at her hands and then her torso, she plopped them back into the mud around her and glared at Owen. Her seriousness was gone, however, as he came to his knees before, looking himself over.

"I can't believe you!" she screeched at him, her voice cracking as she couldn't contain her laughter anymore. He was, from his head to his feet, entirely covered in muck. He'd swiped at his face, his facial hair only slightly visible, he was all smiles. He plastered his hands to his chest and pretended to brush the mud off, a goofy boyish grin on his face. Marianne was full out laughing now, and so was he. "Look at us!" She laughed.

"I'd say we look pretty darn sexy right about now," He laughed deeply. Marianne was roaring now, shaking her head and trying desperately to shake the mud off her hands to swipe at her face. Her entire outfit was soaked through with wet and mud, but she wasn't faltered. She finally got some of the mud off her face when she tried getting up—only to come crashing back down as her feet skated through the muck as if it were ice. She giggled, Owen all out laughing, lashing out to catch her with his hand.

'I can't believe you drug me with you," she breathed, shoving him away playfully. "I look disgusting!" She snorted, pulling her arm away from him playfully. He'd stopped laughing heavily now, was only chuckling and trying to catch his breath, staring at her. She began to calm as well, them both an arm's reach away from one another. Their eyes locked, and he only tore them away to give her a very obvious once over.

She felt his stare and got nervous, her stomach spiking jabs of alarm into her heart. She panicked and began to scramble, trying to get up. "We should get back up there—"

He grabbed her wrist, halting her, and jerked her back down to her knees. She turned to face him and he inched her closer to him, lowering their hands slowly. He took his other to push some mud from her ear and his eyes scanned hers frantically. Her breathing was shallow, his was deep and calm. He smelled terrifically of earth and man, she felt herself begin to swoon. "I think you look amazing, Annie." He said deeply, that bourbon-y tone swirling her mind and causing heat to rise up in her chest.

"You look pretty good yourself," she squeaked.

He chuckled, his hand falling into place along her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheek, "I told you we looked pretty sexy right about now," She smiled up at him, lost in his eyes, craving whatever he was going to say next. Marianne couldn't have moved if she tried—was this happening? Was he going to kiss her? Right now? Hope dashed into her chest and stole her breath.

Then, it began happening. His eyelids fluttered closed and he lowered his head towards her, gently tipping up her chin with his other hand and pulling her towards him. Marianne saw nothing after that, as her eyes closed and her breathe hitched, her chest aflame and every nerve within her boiling over hot—all freezing rain driven from her body. She could feel his breath on her face, she could feel her body melding into his, her muscles readying for this moment she'd fantasized about from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him—despite their circumstances. She couldn't hear the wind or the thunder, of feel the rain and strike of lightning anymore—all she could feel was him as her hands found his arms and gently slid across his slick and muddy skin, right across hard, packed muscle tone. Her legs were quavering, even though she was on her knees. He stood taller, if possible, on his knees, bending at the abdomen to lower down to kiss her. He did everything, didn't make her do anything, just coached her on.

He, ever so gently, tipped her head to the side. Their noses brushed together—

"Uncle Owen!"

They froze. Owen bristled, and she hitched her breath. As if on cue, both of them opened their eyes and found each other, before Owen briskly turned away from her, dropping his hands and sliding himself through the mud to his feet. Marianne desperately tried to stand, skating slowly, until he reached out to help her. She glanced at him, him giving her a confused, sorry, and weak smile. They both turned their attention up the hill, where Sophie was jumping and waving at them, and then pointing over the crest of the hill to where the doctor's had to have been working.

They trudged the hill, the rain continuing, silence between them. Marianne hoped most of the mud covered the blossoms of red boiling on her face. Her heart was still hammering, her lips tingling. They crested the hill, Sophie now over by the animal, her eyes alive with sparks of hope, excitement, and ecstasy.

Dr. Bartlett gave both Marianne and Owen a knowing, sly expression. He was kneeling at the animal's side, stethoscope pressed to the animal's chest, listening. Owen abandoned her side to assist the man in whatever he needed assisted with, and Neela came up beside Marianne with the dirty clipboard and pen. She had a scowl on her face, and Marianne got some satisfaction at knowing she was jealous, but it instantly plummeted.

He'd turned away. Without a word.

".20 of Doxycycline," Neela's tone soured, "and make sure you mark the time." She turned on her heel, which squished in the mud, and Marianne nodded, pen poised over the paper. She began writing, but paused and glanced at Owen, who was staring at her over the animal. Their eyes caught for a brief moment before Sophie came bounding around the animal's body and latched onto Marianne's arm, now in the rain-coat Owen had abandoned. She was all smiles. Marianne looked down to the girl, smiled softly, and then turned back to Owen.

He was still watching her.