Author's Note: Ok, I know I said I was taking a break from this story, but I couldn't help it! It's all just coming together so nicely! I can't wait to get to the movie, and I just wouldn't stop formulating this chapter. It was playing in my brain like a movie, so I had to write it and get it out. So, ta-da, here it is! I hope you like it, because I certainly do, and let me say - my surprise that I mentioned earlier? Well, it's coming, and it's coming fast! No spoilers here.

Enjoy, and seriously, I need to write my movie. I'll try and curb my creativity for Jurassic World for a few days. Anyway, tune in and please enjoy! Thanks so much for everything, ya'll rock!

Chapter Twenty- One

It was the second time that day they'd skidded into the vet building, leaving ruts outside the front steps in the soft earth. Before Owen had even parked the truck Marianne was already out of it and taking the steps two at a time. Her heart was pounding and her lungs burning, pushing her forward, and unnerving her to no end. It was probably adrenaline, and a bit of shock, as she really hadn't formulated everything that happened tonight.

She burst through the door, Owen hot on her heels, the doors bouncing on the hinges. She instantly moved past the front desk, where two techs were entering in information. The building, now lit up with life and a grave-shift, felt odd and unfamiliar compared to how it had felt earlier that night. Marianne was frantic, moving down the hallway swiftly, both her and Owen oblivious as to what the tech's were saying as they ran after the trainer and his assistant.

Peter met them in the hallway, out of his surgery uniform and back into a pair of navy blue scrubs with brown accents, and a white lab-coat. He had his stethoscope in the lab-coat pocket, and had freshly showered. Black circles were under his eyes and he set a chart and pen down as Owen approached him quickly. Peter held out his arms to calm them both, as if they were animals needing negotiation.

"Owen, you –"

Owen seized the man's arm strongly, locking eyes with him. "Where is she, Peter?" Peter looked between the trainer and his assistant, and nodded. Marianne would've decked the man if he hadn't turned on his heel and briskly led them down the hallway, blood pulsating all reason from her head. She hurried to keep step with Owen, and he opened his hand to her at the side. Looking at it and then up to him, she didn't hesitate to slip her own into his calloused one's – a working man's hands.

They rounded the corner to the right, and they passed into a larger section of vet building – where the bigger animal's were kept. Roughly the size of an airplane hangar, it was long enough to house the Rex and the Brachiosaurus comfortably on a table – but if they were to stand, they'd have problems. Their footfalls echoed as they crossed the brightly lit room, and came to a door marked "observation" – a regular sized room, for smaller, more manageable animals to be treated in. Why it was off the larger hangar, Marianne had no idea, but she didn't rightly care.

Peter pushed open the door, ushered them inside, and the two of them swiftly entered as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. The room was dark, and Owen halted her at the door, Peter flipping on the lights.

Adjustable lighting provided a dimly lit scene, and even then the room was blindly sterile. Clean, white walls were blinding, complete with stainless steel counters and shelving in the back corner – and an exam table in the middle of the room. It was sparse and reminded Marianne of a prison – a blindingly white prison that she would've wished on no man. But, the dim lights calmed her nerves somewhat as Peter moved towards the table.

Delta, still unconscious, was wrapped in gauze around her abdomen, her arms and legs roughly withheld in massive restraints that looked suitable for the Hulk, much less a raptor. An IV poured into her arm, bags full and on stand-by, providing her antibiotics and a myriad of other medications. Close by was an ultrasound machine, and X-ray light, and a monitor that beeped rhythmically. She squeezed Owen's hand and he pulled her close, her interlacing their fingers. Panic and fear overtook her heart and she began to tremble – tears long since pouring down her face unable to stop. She sniffled and they approached.

It was as if this was her own child instead of a dinosaur, and it was killing her to see Delta so sick and weak. What terrified her the most now wasn't seeing the blood-stained gauze, or the IV, or the monitor's – which were all fine – but what scared her the most was the ventilator, clicking softly every three seconds to fill Delta's lungs with air, raising her chest mechanically, unnaturally. Marianne knew what this meant and Owen stopped her at the side of the table, otherwise she may have just climbed right onto it and laid their beside the animal.

Marianne released his hand and placed her own on Delta's snout, running her fingers along the length slowly, letting it register in the back of her mind. Her knees bucked, but she didn't show it, instead lowered her face against Delta's nose and inhaled. The smell of blood, dirt, death, and jungle pounded her senses, but she didn't care. Marianne kissed Delta's nose, then raised her head to look at Peter, who was staring at her across from Delta.

"How long will she be on the vent?" Marianne squeaked. Owen came up beside her and wrapped a secure arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. Suddenly relieved he was here with her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and slumped into him slightly. Her nerves became to melt away and sanity returned to her brain only slightly. "I mean, does she -?"

Peter stopped her, "Delta's brain activity is normal. She didn't lose much blood at all," he smiled at her gently, "We just had to paralyze her for the surgery. She'll wake up in a few hours, but she's entirely fine, Miss Randal." He looked to Owen and then chuckled, "You've got a strong set of girls on your hands, Mr. Grady," he said teasingly.

Owen nodded slowly and rubbed Marianne's shoulders, "You have no idea, Peter."

He laughed lightly, pushing a few buttons on the monitor screen, "I don't think I've ever seen a woman work so hard in the rain before, especially in the Valley, right beside us in the muck." He moved around the table and extended a hand to Marianne. "We haven't formally met yet, Miss Randal. Peter Bartlett."

She swiped at her eyes, looked at Delta, and then shook the man's hand, "You can call me Marianne."

He dipped his head, "Beautiful name," he smiled at her, then he chuckled at Owen, "You two an item or something?" He gestured between them and clicked a pen from his breast pocket, "Because Owen –"

"We just became an item," Owen interjected lightly, tossing a coy look to Marianne, who had moved to Delta's side. She rolled the stool from under a table and seated herself slowly, stroking Delta's rough nose, eyes scanning the animal's face. She used her other hand to run her knuckles along Delta's fingers, admiring her design and her genetics. She breathed in the animal's presence – this may be the only time she had with Delta to be able to touch her, and she tossed a look over her shoulder at Owen.

Peter nodded, "I could tell," he smiled warmly at them, "Good to hear it." Their conversation became lost to Marianne as she began to conceptualize Alan Grant, her mentor and friend, and what he would be thinking, seeing this animal weak and helpless after surgery – paralyzed and entirely at their mercy.

Swiping at more tears, she immediately got up and walked to the supply cabinet hanging on the wall. Opening the doors, she found a clipboard and a blank chart, then snatched a pen from the desk across the room, flipping the page over as she went. Owen and Peter's conversation stopped abruptly as they began watching her. She reseated herself and began scratching notes furiously.

"Resps at..." she checked the monitor, "15, BP 115 over 75," she ran the vitals, then reached for the medical record Peter had left on the exam table next to Delta's snout. She flipped the page and began copying his notes, "Bone density is..." her brow dropped into a furrow, "...hallow?" she breathed. Her heart pitched into her feet: Alan had made the same prediction twenty-some years before his time in Jurassic Park, insisting that raptor's took after birds more than reptiles – and that, if their bones were hollow, his theory would be correct. She blinked, whipped a look to Peter. "How did you find out her bones were hollow?"

Peter, obviously perplexed, fumbled for words. "Well, we did an initial exam when we opened her up for surgery, but – "

"Did you take a bone biopsy?"

His brows shot into the air and he glanced at Owen, "Bone biopsy -?"

"Don't look at him," Marianne snapped up from her chair, tossed her clipboard onto the exam table and approached him, pointing the pen at him, "Look at me. I asked the question. Did you get a bone biopsy or not?"

Flummoxed, his face reddened and he nodded, "Well, of course we did, but I don't see how you would be concerned –"

She looked at Owen and then shouldered by then, digging in her pocket for her phone. "I want a copy of whatever readings you get back on the biopsy," she interjected, quickly punching through her password and entering her contacts, "And I want another biopsy to send back to the mainland."

Owen approached her, "Annie. What are you talking about?" He had a look on his face that told her he had no idea what page she was on and was entirely lost. Alan's voicemail. She hung up, huffed, and turned to him, gesturing wildly. When she stalked back to the exam table, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her back to him. "Marianne. Tell me what's going on, please?"

She nodded, her brain processing as fast as it could go. That biopsy could prove – or disprove – everything Alan had put his life into. It could change his entire outlook on raptors; it could get him here if he knew he was right. If raptors did indeed have hallow bones, his theory was correct – they did take after birds. It could revolutionize his life work, change the way they knew dinosaurs and prey. It would launch countless opportunities for research and developmental sciences –

-She froze. An image popped into her brain, a face that she recalled her first day here. One that she had forgotten about in her four weeks on the island, but had heard enough about to be aware. She'd seen his name float across the desk a few times, taken a few messages from him – talked to him on the phone. Owen and Barry had warned her about him and what he was after with the girls. It sank her stomach as if it were sinking warship. She whirled around and grabbed Owen's forearm tightly. "Vic." Was all she said.

His brows rose, and he looked at her as if he were concerned she'd flipped a lid. She swallowed thickly, quickly scanned his eyes with her own. She shook her head, grabbed her phone from her back pocket and quickly dialled Alan again. Before she could press call, Owen snatched the phone from her.

"You gunna tell me what's going on or what?" He asked forefully.

She nodded, pacing to Peter. She pressed a finger into his chest lightly, "I need whatever you get back on the bone biopsy, Dr. Bartlett," she tried to calm her heartbeat, but couldn't quite find the energy or the brainpower necessary for the task, "Whatever that bone biopsy comes back and reads could change everything we know about these animals," she turned and faced Delta, "and it could revolutionize the way they are studied and approached." She whipped back to Owen and hurried towards him, "Alan's been studying raptors for twenty years, Owen," she slapped her hands together, "he believes they have a hollow bone structure and that they share more DNA similarities with birds than with reptiles, though their DNA is specifically reptilian," he wasn't following – she could see it.

"Annie, I have no idea what you're – "

"Owen," she stressed, "If these animals have a hollow bone density and do indeed take after birds, Alan's theory is right. It will change our entire approach to these animals. It could be developmentally groundbreaking," She thought about Vic Hoskins, the man she'd met her first day at Jurassic World – the man who had psychopathic idea to use raptors in warfare and espionage to replace military men and women. She couldn't imagine if he got his hands on Alan's research. "Hoskins. He wants – "

She didn't have to say a word more, "I understand," he turned quickly and stalked over to the exam table, gently rubbing his hands over Delta's skin, glancing at the IV, vent, and finally the monitor. He watched her heart-rhythm on the monitor when Peter finally piped up.

"Does one of you two want to tell me what you're talking –"

"Owen Grady!"

All three of them whirled around and gave their attention to the door, where a very obviously upset and dishevelled looking Claire Dearing was stopped, arms crossed over her chest, face red. Dressed in jeans, a peach-colored tank-top and jean button down, she had flip flops on and her hair pulled back into a clip. She had a dose of lip gloss on and some mascara, and the room filled with the scent of plums and vanilla. She stalked into the recovery room, hot under the collar, and practically shoved past Marianne as if she were nothing.

Owen, flummoxed, blinked at her as if he were trying to materialize her presence. Marianne was so stunned she had to rub her eyes, which were in sore need of a change of contacts, and she staved off the idea of gaping at the woman. She looked unreal – not the Claire Dearing that ran Jurassic World. She looked like a civilian woman in civilian clothes. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she sprang to retrieve it, but was disappointed when it was only her schedule.

Claire stomped towards the raptor trainer and slammed a finger into his chest. He looked down at it, stunned, and then back up to her. "You'd better have one heckuva explanation as to why you didn't call and tell me about this –" she whipped a hand out to gesture to Delta, as if she were serving up the situation, "Wu is going to flip that you did surgery without consulting him."

Owen finally gained his composure and dropped his face into a wrinkled frown. Claire didn't seem to care, but hammered on, "It's a breach of park policy – all invasive procedures have to be documented by the lab and approved by Dr. Wu –"

Marianne flew into his rescue, not appreciating Claire's attitude already this morning, though it was still dark out and hardly rising and working hours. She grabbed Claire's arm and whipped her around, taking the woman by surprise. She knocked back a few steps, taken aback by Marianne's intrusion, and raised her brows in surprise at Marianne. "I suggest you take a few minutes to ask about the situation rather than dominating it, Miss Dearing." She said roughly. Owen went to stop her but she shook his grasp off her arm. "Delta was dying, Claire. She needed emergency surgery on her stomach, otherwise she was going to bleed out and die." She pounded a hand on the exam table, grabbed the chart, and shoved it at her, "If you'd take a second to actually understand the situation and not just concoct it up in your narcissistic brain, you'd know that it takes two consulting physician's signatures to override consent for an emergency operation," she thrust a finger into the chart, Claire's mouth open and her eyes cemented in shock on the assistant. Marianne jabbed the chart, "And Owen signed for the operation, as I am under the impression that's necessary too. But maybe you forgot."

Claire, utterly taken aback and shocked by her sudden outburst, fumbled for words and her face turned red. Finally, her eyes flashed, and she got an icy look on her face. Her jaw set, she bristled and squared her shoulders, and she glared at Marianne. "Well. Of all the audacious things for you of all people to say to me! I've thoroughly had enough of your condescending, disrespectful remarks, Randal, and after your stunt with Wu I'm not entirely sure your employment is in Jurassic World's best interest." As if she were a child throwing a tempter tantrum, Claire whipped the chart back on the exam table next to a still paralyzed and sedated Delta. "I expected more from a professional who appreciates science and has a fascination for this type of work," she hissed, "But I guess it was too much for the assistant to a paranoid fanatic with PTSD and a conspiracy theory." Her tone was biting.

Marianne's tempter roared and she whirled back around to Claire, her eyes pinning the woman in place. Claire had a smirk on her face, her hands on her hips, and an aura that told Marianne she thought she was better than everyone else on the planet. Her stomach began to churn in rage – how dare she talk about Alan that way! Without warning, Marianne pulled her arm back, bunched her fist, and saw out of the corner of her eye Owen lunging for her.

"Marianne -!"

Before she could hear more, her fist collided with Claire' nose and sent the woman reeling back, straight into the desk. Claire screeched, tumbled over the desk, knocked her head against the wall, slumping to the floor and screaming. Marianne's body burned, her fingers on fire, and she rubbed her knuckles and glared at the woman. Owen was at her side immediately, Peter rushing to get gauze to pack Claire's now bleeding nose. Marianne lurched from Owen's grasp and pounded over to Claire and thrust a finger at her. Claire, in a mixture of screaming and crying, glared at her, fingers trembling at her bloody nose.

"If I ever hear another word about Alan Grant from you," she panted hard, her nostrils flaring, "then I will personally make sure every piece of cartilage on your face is thoroughly broken."

Claire screamed, grunted at her, gasping for air as if she were a debutante. Sitting, with her shirt bloodied and her hands covered in the dark red liquid, Peter at her side ready to pack her nose, she shoved him away and screamed at Marianne, her face distorting and turning red. "You're fired, Randal! Fired! I'll make sure you never work in this field again – do you understand me! Fired!" The operation's manager was sobbing now as Peter tended to her wounds.

Marianne huffed, grabbed the chart she'd started, and stalked out of the room, her knuckles and heartbeat pounding. Owen followed her quickly, ignoring Claire's protests to his leaving. Marianne was halfway across the large animal wing when he came up behind her, grabbed her wrist, and brought her about. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, her not stopping but instead lurching out of his grip, "Marianne, would you just stop and talk to me?" She was unwilling to let him see the tears now running down her face. "Annie," his tone dropped to that bourbony tone that raked across her nerves so deliciously.

She turned, slowly, her cheeks stained with tears now. He blinked at her, confused by her sudden change of demeanor, and she blinked back another barrage of tears, to no avail. Without warning, she hurried towards him, threw her arms around his waist and pulled herself closely, the chart thunking to the floor with a slap. Taken aback only slightly, it didn't take him long to wrap his arms around her. Marianne sobbed into his chest, tears snaking down her neck past the sweater, and he gently rubbed her back and placed a hand on her head.

It was all too much. Everything was catching up with her – the exhaustion, the stress, the anxiety and worry for Delta. The emotions she had for Owen and the realization of her state and position revocation from Claire. It all crashed into her soul like a mighty wave would pound over the sides of a ship. She stood there a good two minutes and just cried into him, he not saying anything like the good and honourable man he was. Only when she'd composed herself only slightly did she pull back from him. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I-I just couldn't –"

He smiled at her, tipped her chin up and searched her eyes a moment and then her lips, only to find her eyes again. "It's okay. I get it," he said huskily, "You needed to cry."

She nodded, changing gears, "We need to get the biopsy results to Alan," she said quietly, "and we need to make sure they're sealed so Vic doesn't get his hands on them. Because you know what he'll want to do,"

He nodded, "Yeah. He's gunna want to take the research and run with it," he chuckled, "Birds are a lot easier to train than reptiles, and they develop faster," he sighed now, his eyes filling with regret, "And who knows what Vic will want to do with that knowledge."He ran a thumb across her cheek.

"What am I gunna do?" She looked away from him, "She fired me, Owen."

He nodded and laughed, "Like that's ever stopped you?" Like he would even know, but he was right. Marianne wasn't one to just throw in the towel despite her circumstances – she'd come out of this like anything else and she'd get her way if it killed her, especially against Claire and Wu both. Everything she'd speculated about this place was right – they were conniving and dangerous, and she just knew that if she didn't intervene, Hoskins would get his way on the research and throw everything to hell. Owen continued his thought, "You're gunna stay with me and we're gunna make sure Grant gets the research,"

She wrinkled her brow, "Owen, I can't -"

He nodded, shushing her, "You can and you will," he smiled, "I've got a spare bedroom and we can arrange for you to keep your stuff at Barry's or something," he smiled, "And we're gunna take care of Delta and the girls like we have been." He bent to kiss her tenderly, and her knees buckled and went weak, but she didn't dare move from under his kiss. He pulled back and breathed, his breath swirling her senses, "And we're gunna continue with this," he gestured between them slowly, "And it's gunna be amazing."

She smiled at him, "You're a pretty confident son of a gun, aren't you?"

He chuckled, "You have no idea."

Owen kissed her again and he took her hand. They began exiting the large animal wing and hurried back in the direction of the truck. He took the driver's seat and she sat beside him, scribbling a few more notes on the chart. She grabbed her phone again and dialled Alan as Owen hurried out of the resort.

"Who is gunna be up?" He asked her, flicking on the air. It was humid and sticky out now, as all the rain had turned the jungle air into a dense, greenhouse type of temperature. Marianne began wriggling out of Owen's sweatshirt and she glanced at the clock on the dash – almost after two. She nodded to herself and pressed the phone to her ear, shifting her eyes to Owen.

"Alan will be, once he see's it's me."

. . .

The loud, obnoxious, and far to chipper ringtone burst from the nightstand, the night illuminated by the screen on Alan Grant's phone. He rolled over onto his side, groped for the flashlight he kept at the camper bed's side, and finally managed to click it on.

Moaning, he propped himself up on his elbow and grabbed the alarm clock – registering what time it was. 2AM. He wrinkled his brow, rubbed at his eye, and grabbed the phone, being careful of the attached charger. He glanced at the screen – a bright and beautiful picture of Marianne, smiling back at him. Realizing it was her, he quickly answered it.

"Randal," he croaked, his voice hoarse and dry from no water and the dry air of the Montana Badlands. She wouldn't be calling if this wasn't an emergency. Everything within him froze and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, knowing. Panic seized him and his stomach hardened into a stone. Memories and flashbacks came back to fill his mind when he closed his eyes - they didn't stop when he opened them again to the dark room.

"Alan," she sounded frantic, "I need to talk to you. It's important."

Of course it was important! "Are you alright? Safe? Is everything ok?" He stood, bent to retrieve his boots and dumped them over to check for spiders and other desert inhabitants. When he was satisfied nothing had made itself at home in his shoe, be tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek and began lacing them on.

"Yeah, I'm fine – everything's safe. But we have a problem."

His brow furrowed and his eyes dashed around the dark camper, empty and lifeless. It was hot and he hadn't realized he was pouring sweat down his back. Heartbeat increasing, he tried to calm his breathing and the shakiness in his voice. He couldn't imagine what could be wrong, it could be an infinite amount of possibilities when it came to the park. He remembered – everything that could go wrong had, and it wouldn't hesitate in this case either. Horrifying imagines came flashing back at him. "What type of problem?" He was hesitant.

Her voice was calm, commanding, and serious as she replied. "I have a bone biopsy from a Velociraptor, Alan."

He stopped from lacing his boot instantly, focusing on the darkness of the camper. His lungs hallowed and his heart felt as if it had kicked in nitrous. His throat instantly parched, and he felt hot all over, still cemented in place. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Everything he'd always dreamed – everything he'd invested his life work in, every speculation and lecture and article. Every bit of his career had boiled up to this one phone call – the phone call he'd been beginning to think was never going to come, but knowing full well that may have.

He hitched his breath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But, it's a lot more complicated than you think,"

His eyes popped open and he furrowed his brow as if she could see him. His eyes scanned in confusion and wonder all at once, "What type of complicated?"

"The mainland kind."