Author's Note: So I said I was taking a break. Well...I'm not. I wrote a ton of my movie today and the co-author for my Expendables story is currently out of town, so I resorted to coming back. I know, you're all disappointed. *Winks*

So that surprise I promised? Well, it's here! I hope you enjoy it, and that it doesn't come too fast as a shock.

Also - hinting at movie happenings here! Please note that it's not starting yet - we have a few more chapters to go before everything goes to heck. I'm changing it up a little from the movie, but not by much.

Thanks tons - again, you're all amazing!

Chapter Twenty-Two

"What do you mean the mainland kind?"

Alan's tone was less than inquisitive – it was heavy and filled with concern. Marianne's eyes shifted to Owen, who drove the truck wordlessly and gave her a reassuring nod. She swallowed thickly and then looked down to the chart at her own handwriting. Her stomach sank like a stone in her belly, and she bit down on her lower lip.

"There's someone trying to take the raptor's off the island to use developmentally in the military," she replied hesitantly, "and I'm afraid that if you're theory is confirmed by the biopsy, things are going to go badly."

Alan was quiet a long time, almost a full minute. Marianne sat cautiously, somewhat comfortably in the truck, bobbing along as Owen hit pot-holes and drove quickly. They needed to get to the paddock and get their files secured and in their possession before anyone else did – neither one of them were sure if Vic had people working for his cause on the inside or not, and Marianne wasn't one to risk that chance. Owen glanced at her and reached across the seat for her hand before Alan responded. "Do you know what the biopsy says?"

Marianne swallowed and cleared her throat, "No, not yet. Though the medical chart says the bone density is hollow, it's speculation and not backed up by anything." He was quiet again, and she added, "So, you see what I mean by mainland?"

"It's a bad idea," He interjected, "Bringing raptor's off that island. There's a reason Muldoon took such precautions in the original park with the raptor's – he knew they were smart, Marianne. If this someone gets those animal's off the island and loses control of them –"

"That's not going to happen," Owen spouted off across the cab. Marianne removed the phone from her ear, covered the mouth piece, and shot him a frown. Owen waved her off, reached for the phone, and took it from her firmly. Placing it to his ear, he continued. "Sir, you don't know me –"

"Who is God's name is this?"

When Owen stopped talking, Marianne knew Alan had that tone – the commanding tone that demanded respect, the one that he had when he was mad – furious beyond rationalizing with – and that he'd better be taken seriously. She'd seen it many, many times in his lectures when he was consistently prodded about Jurassic Park, and upon its opening, Jurassic World. The man couldn't escape his experiences, and he'd learned to cope with the questions and speculations with authority. She watched Owen's face carefully, still set like a stone. He opened his mouth to speak and set his jaw.

"My name is Owen Grady, Dr. Grant." He turned to Marianne, "I'm the raptor specialist on the island."He hit speakerphone, tossed the phone onto the bench seat, and shooed Marianne's hand away when she went to grab it. Shaking his head, he put two hands on the wheel and continued driving.

"Good for you," Alan was entirely sarcastic, beyond reason. Marianne sighed and facepalmed, shaking her head and slumping down in her seat. This wasn't how she wanted to introduce them – though she'd been dating Owen less than a day. "I suggest you two tell me what's going on before I lose my temper entirely and call the Coast Guard."

"Alan," She pleaded.

Owen grabbed her hand and squeezed it, running a thumb over her knuckles to reassure her that he had it. He gave her a crooked smile and looked to the phone, "Sir. I've been working with these animal's since their birth, and I can confirm all your speculations and whatever else you have against these animals. They're dangerous, and extremely intelligent – but they are capable of interacting with humans on a communicative level," Marianne studied him, all business, and then glanced down to the phone. "They respond to my commands, Dr. Grant, and one of my supervisors is pushing to have them integrated into military operations to increase manpower, manipulation, and stealth tactics. He's pushing for military approval, and release on my end – he's taken it above my head, and so far he's gotten nowhere."

"Define nowhere."

Owen shifted a glance to Marianne, "What he means," she interjected quickly, "Is that Vic's having a hard time convincing the superiors to sign off on the idea and give him an open-air field test," she glanced up at Owen, "So he's nowhere near close to getting them off the island, Alan." She looked to Owen and gave him a confused look, "Right?"

"I have the situation under control," Owen insisted, looking to as if that was to answer both their concerns. She doubted it would. Though she hadn't heard much about Vic's initial plans, it was floating around the staff gossip tree here and there. Barry and Briggs and Silas made mention of it sometimes, and Marianne had overheard mostly, not willing to get into the politics of the situation. But Owen's explanation to Alan was enough for her - she know understood fully.

Marianne quickly grabbed his arm and shook her head frantically, a look of horror on her face. But, it was too late – he'd already spoken the words and Alan was already stewing on them. She sighed, closed her eyes, and listened to something on Alan's end crash to the floor. She winced.

"Let me tell you something, specialist," Alan began, his spiteful biting tone snaking down Marianne's spine and seizing her resolve captive. She sank down in her seat and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Owen bristled, "If there is one thing you are not, it is in control on that island. You are the farthest thing from in control. You are witness to a science experiment that only has a matter of time, a contender in a game of survival. Those animals are extinct in nature for a reason, Grady, and it wasn't nature's choice to bring them back into the world. You have no control because you've never had control. It's an illusion Grady, one that John Hammond bought into and one that you and everyone else on that island has."

Marianne frowned at the phone. While she knew what Alan was saying was right, it didn't justify how he sounded furious at Owen and at the world in this moment. She had never believed the dinosaurs went extinct by natural causes like meteors in the first place – she believed God had taken them off the earth. Her and Alan had differed in their beliefs in extinction and creation, but it hadn't stopped them from getting along, and it certainly hadn't stopped their friendship. She felt Owen looking at her, and she shifted the seat to face him.

There was silence for a minute, before Alan added, "Marianne –"

"Alan," she interjected roughly, almost disrespectfully, "There's no reason to get defensive about this. We're going to do everything we can to make sure this doesn't happen –that it won't happen. I'm sending you a copy of our research and you can look over it with whomever –"

"Our?" he was yelling now, furious, "Our? Marianne, you've been…you've been working with….you've been with this specialist the entire time and you didn't tell me?" she fluttered her eyes closed and sighed, "What in the world were you thinking? You've been working with raptors this entire time and didn't bother to let me know? You didn't think I'd be concerned -?"

"Alan!" she spat, "Yes, I knew you'd worry, which is why I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you – I've been working with raptors this entire time, I'm sorry, yes, yes – we're beyond that now! This is serious stuff, and I need you to tell me what you want me to do." She hated her own tone and Owen shot her a warning look, but she disregarded it. When Alan said nothing, she backpedeled and reiterated, "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want you to be upset like you are now. I thought it best to tell you later."

"Well what you thought best was probably the worst," he growled at her, "I'm going to make a couple of calls – Malcolm, Ellie, the entire deal and get them on board for this. We're gunna need all the testimonies and subjective speciality on this if what you're saying could possibly happen. I'll let you know."

Her heart dropped, as if it had been on her sleeve and she'd let it fall mid-give. She sighed deeply, and she mentally chastised herself for being so defensive and straightforward with Alan on such a touchy, hard, and emotional subject for him. She knew it was only out of concern for her, his position, and she knew it was because he cared for her as his own daughter. Her eyes drifted to the window, and the familiarity of jungle fronds and surroundings reminded her that they were almost at the paddock. She looked back to Owen, who gave her a soft, compassionate smile.

"Alan," she said quietly.

He stopped her, "I'll talk to you soon, Marianne."

The call dropped.

When she didn't reach for the device, Owen locked the screen and they sat in silence. They roared past the coast, which expanded out from the paddock – which Marianne had missed most of her time driving in the mornings. The road pulled away from the coast a mile back, going deep into the dense jungle, and she'd regretted not looking out over it. Taking a deep breath, Owen reached out and rubbed her shoulder.

"You ok, champ?"

She said nothing, just nodded. He let his hand fall into her own and she closed her eyes – she was thankful for this man and her time with him, and overall, she was thankful for this job. She tossed up a thankful prayer, breathing in the smell of the truck and took in the sounds. It was quiet, save for the rumbling of the engine, and finally they arrived at the paddock – which was deserted and dark.

Exiting the truck, she snatched up her phone and stuffed it into the back of her damp jean's pockets, following Owen as he took her hand and led her to the maintenance shed, where he flicked the breakers on. The paddock illuminated in bright floodlights, and they hurried through the soft ground and earth and up the stairs to the office.

There he unlocked the doors and stopped in the threshold. She instantly activated, hurrying towards the file cabinet and unlocked them, grabbing at files from the drawers, "You should go check on the girls," she advised, "I'm ok here."

He nodded, " 'K. I'll be back."

She snorted at him, "Okay, Arnold." He gave her a lopsided smile and left, she heard his boots pound against the catwalks around the corner. Her heart thudded in her chest when she logged onto the computer and dug around the top drawer for a flash drive. Finding one, she plugged it in and began pasting files quickly. It took her about twenty minutes to erase everything off the system, before Owen came back – on a call. Marianne, furrowing her brow, pieced together from her place sorting through files.

He moved into Barry's office, closed the door, and immerged a few moments later. She glanced at him and hurried into Barry's office, stalking towards the cabinet in the corner. Opening it, she found a backpack and tossed it at him. They'd have to carry the rest by hand. "Who was that?"

"It was Peter," Owen said, pumping towards the desk. They began putting files into the backpack and she scooped up the rest, "Delta's awake and triggering her vent. They're extubating right now."

Nodding, she followed him out of the office, "Uh-huh. That's good."

He pounded down the stairs, "Yeah. He –" He was cut off by his phone ringing again. Putting it on speaker, he moved towards the truck, and Marianne froze. She felt something staring at her, and looked to the main gate, illuminated by a floodlight.

There she found Blue, Echo, and Charlie starting at her, calculating. They looked at her sideways, mouths slightly parted, as if taking in her presence and piecing together who she was. She stared back calmly, slowing her breathing and loosening her nerves. They smelled fear and could sense it, like a horse, and it was never an option. Owen had told her to always be in command of the situation, and she visualized it by raising her chin at them and squaring off her shoulders. They stood, the four of them; her across the yard, them locked in the enclosure, listening to Owen jabber on the phone. Only when his hand clapped onto her shoulder did she look at him.

"That was Peter's assistant, Neela. She's extubated and okay," he sounded relieved, "they've got her on a low sedative so she doesn't go berserk, but there's something else," She gestured for her to shift the files to him and she did, and he moved to the crew cab of the truck and set them inside. Her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"There's something wrong with one of Claire's new projects," he sighed, "She wants me to check it out. Something about security. I don't know."

She shook her head slightly and dug her keys out of her pockets, where they'd been abandoned most of the night. Her Camaro was waiting, undamaged by the storm, soaked and waiting patiently for her. She looked at it, found the key, and handed it to him. "Sounds grand," she said dryly.

He took the keys, "What's this?"

"Take my car into the resort and see Delta," she sighed and lifted her hair, now fallen out again, off her neck, "I'm gunna go lock these up at my place and I'll meet you there." She smiled at him, Owen looking at the car as if it were heaven reincarnated on earth. She rolled her eyes and slammed the crew cab door closed.

"You're sure –"

She nodded, "I trust you," she said slyly, then gave him a coy look. Pointing a finger at him, she topped in front of the headlights of the truck, him meeting her. He stepped towards her, and she put her finger in his chest and stopped him, taking half a step back. "But, if you scratch her, I'll kill you."

He snorted, "No pressure or anything," he tried to step to her again. She laid her palm flat on his chest to halt him, giggling now.

"I'm serious. That paint job cost me four grand," she looked to it, Owen grabbing her wrist while her guard was down. He pulled her close to him and planted a kiss on her lips lightly, her looking back to him. "Be careful, will you?"

He nodded, "Worried about me already?" He teased.

"I can not be if that's what you'd prefer."

He shook his head, eyes sparkling in the headlights. He smelled terrifically of rain and jungle, and she gave him a lopsided grin. "No, I don't want you to," he kissed the palm of her hand now, "I'll see you a bit later."

She nodded. "Okay."

He kissed her again quickly, and then hurried towards the Camaro. She stood in the headlights, crossed her arms over her chest, taking in the fact that they were indeed together and that it happened so quickly she couldn't even wrap her head around it. How it had happened she had no idea, but she was grateful it had.

Instantly, for some strange reason, Sophie popped into her had. Checking her watch, she found it was quarter to three in the morning. Sophie would still be asleep, and her belly warmed at the thought of the little girl. They were going to have to tell her sooner or later, and Marianne relished in the thought – Sophie had had it out for them since day one, trying to put them together discreetly. It had never occurred to Marianne the little girl had been right from the get go about her Uncle, and she chalked it up to a woman's intuition. Calling after Owen before he dipped into the call, she said, "We're gunna have to tell Sophie about us, you know!"

He nodded, "Yeah," he called back, "I'm not worried."

She laughed, "Me neither," she moved around the truck and stepped up into it, pulling herself in by the wheel and plopping down into the truck. She planned the rest of her night out in her head as she followed Owen down the road – him gunning the engine like a school boy and tossing mud up onto her car. Laughing at him from her place, she honked the horn and flashed her lights at him. In turn he tapped the brake lights. Marianne decided she'd stick around until morning, and help Owen bring Delta back before going home for some well over-due sleep.

They parted ways at the maintenance road; Owen towards the vet, her towards her bungalow.

. . .

Alan frantically circled an ad in the phone book, after his search online had presented nothing, much to his surprise. Cradling the phone between his shoulder and his collar bone, he glanced at the pad of paper with his handwriting on it: there he'd written Malcolm, with a circle around it, and then Ellie, with an 'X'. He'd talked to Malcolm already and had his full support, but he'd left two messages on Ellie's machine in Manhattan.

Turning back to the phone book, he set the pen in the spine and got up, moving towards the camper bed where he had a duffle out. He began piling clothing inside from another suitcase, out from under the bed. He had a slight tremble to his hands, and his mouth was insanely dry – not from the Badlands air, either.

The man on the phone was talking slowly, and yawned, less than pleased with the phone call. After the fourth quote being wrong, Alan had had enough and he straightened. Taking the phone in his hand, he had rolled his eyes and swore before replying the first three times, but now he was just beyond reason. He all out yelled at the man.

"No, I want a chartered flight from San Francisco to Isla Nublar– and I want it tonight!"