Author's Note: Holy crap, everyone! 501 reviews and I can't even comprehend how many that is right now! Let me say I am so honored that so many of you have taken the time to get to know this story and support me in this - I'm touched that Marianne means so much to you and that her relationship with Owen is gratifying! It encourages me, the positive reception of this story. I haven't written a story yet that has so much feedback, follows, and alerts! A author's greatest joy is getting to know her readers, and knowing their thoughts, and I've gotten to do that here!

I'm supremely honored to have written something that speaks volumes to everyone here - I really didn't think this would garnish so much attention. It was just a brainchild, just one of those things that you think in a movie theatre when you watch the actress doing a great job of making you hate her and thinking: "Man, I wish there was a good female lead that could really spice things up and give Owen a run for his money." And, with that thought, I met Marianne and introduced her to Jurassic Park/World and got to create a story that I love, with a message that is very near and dear to my heart.

I just hope to continue to please you all and gain your trust, loyalty, and attention! So - a hugmongo gigantic hug to all of you and an even bigger thank you! I could not have done this without your kind words of encouragement, your pleadings to continue, nor your appreciation. Celebrities really aren't lying when they tell fans that ya'll make stuff happen.

And, I am very proud to announce that I have decided to continue this storyline into another story once I finish up here! I have a brainchild plotting for another installment of Marianne and Owen's journey - so, if you're still reading all the way down here, I'd appreciate your thoughts on the idea. But, sorry, no spoilers here - what kind of author would I be if I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger?

Again - ya'll are amazing, and I hope you don't get tired of hearing it! *Kisses and hugs and waves*

Let's continue the adventure, shall we?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Marianne stepped out of the shower forty-five minutes later, quickly tossing her curls into a slip bun and glancing around the hotel's bathroom. Quickly shedding the gauze Owen had dressed her leg with, she was satisfied that it had stopped bleeding. She shrugged on the fluffy bathrobe and stepped out of the steaming room to find Sophie still watching television – a National Geographic special on dinosaurs. Quickly pulling some toilet paper off the role, she pressed it to her thigh and tied it off with the tie of the spare bathrobe, and promptly notified the front desk to send up some gauze and iodine.

Marianne wrapped her arms around her middle and padded down the stair of the sunken in room, moving around the couch and stopping at the arm.

Sophie smiled at her and Marianne gave her a cheery one right back. The little girl had her hands folded on her lap, remote by her side on the cushion of the couch. She was intently watching the program, and Marianne could see the wheels churning in her brain – taking in the information. She sank onto the arm of the couch and put her feet up on the cushion, dropping her elbow to her knees. Droplets of water from the ends of her hair dripped down through the collar of the robe, and she wiggled her toes. She watched the program of a CG triceratops grazing with its infant, the narrator giving off facts as if he were reading off the script with a monotone, not caring.

"You okay if I go and get some sleep?" Marianne asked, her eyes slipping from the television to Sophie. The little girl nodded, pushed a curl behind her ear and looked at Marianne. "I'll set an alarm on my phone so I don't sleep all day. Sound good?"

Sophie dropped her gaze to the couch and then nodded slowly. She was irregularly quiet – every time Marianne had seen the girl she was a bubbling concoction of curls, smiles, and energetic joy that was beautifully entertaining and innocent. She was the sparkling gem Marianne remembered of childhood, and she very much reminded her of Owen – she had the same smile and the same joy in her eyes. But now, her eyes were sad and her personality deflated and a type of gray that made Marianne's heart quiver. Obviously, there was something wrong, so Marianne quipped, "Sophie? What's up, honey – is something wrong? Did something happen with your Uncle?"

She shook her head, "No, that's just it," she squeaked, "he was acting all weird – not like Uncle Owen," her voice dropped into a hush, "that's how I know something is wrong." Then, she slipped off her sandals politely, brought her legs up under her, and shifted to face Marianne. "Something's wrong, isn't it, Marianne?"

Marianne swallowed the lump of cotton that had replaced her tongue and there was an abrupt knock on the door – room service with her bandages. She held up a finger and slipped off the arm of the couch, "Hold that thought, Sophie honey." She hurried up the step, received the package, and padded back into the room only to find Sophie at the wet-bar pouring herself a glass of orange juice, which was sitting next to an already poured glass. Marianne slipped by her and set her items on the granite countertop, and began unwrapping the package. Sophie replaced the jug back in the mini fridge, and scrambled up into a bartstool, reaching for the glass. Marianne slid it towards her carefully. Sophie watched her hands as Marianne applied iodine to the gauze.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Sophie quizzed.

Marianne looked up at her, "Yeah, but it's nothing. Just want to make sure it closes up okay." She moved aside the robe off her legs and began wrapping the gauze, Sophie unable to see behind the bar. Soon she tied it off tightly and began throwing the wrapping away. Once done, she grabbed the orange juice and took a long drink, Sophie eyeing her expectantly. Setting the now empty glass on the counter with a clack, she smiled at the little girl. "That's good stuff."

"Tell me what's going on, Marianne," she asked quietly, "Please?"

Marianne sighed and scratched her wet head, then took the empty glass and moved to the barstool beside Sophie. She slipped onto it and set her elbows on the countertop, moving her fingertips along the rim of the glass. She let out a sigh and glaned at Sophie, "I'm not sure I should tell you, Sophie. Your uncle might want to discuss this with you."

Sophie huffed, frustrated. "He never wants to discuss anything important," she said, anger tinting her voice, "he thinks I'm a little kid. I'm not – I know what he does, you know."

This made Marianne's attention pique. She swiveled in the chair to stare at Sophie, quirking a brow at the little girl. She rested her hands on her lap, still holding the glass. "You do?"

Sophie nodded, "He works with the raptors, doesn't he?"

Marianne turned her head and gave her a cautious look, "Where'd you hear that?" She wasn't exactly sure if Sophie's statement had been a confident answer, or if the girl was smart enough to probe Marianne with a statement sounding like a confident answer or not. So, she shot the girl one of her own instead.

Sophie shrugged, "He was talking to my Mom one night on the computer," she took a quick drink, smacking her lips together, "I didn't mean to overhear, but I did. He told my Mom not to tell me until I was older and could understand." She jutted out a lip quickly, but hid it well. "I know more about dinosaurs than my teacher does," she shot Marianne a look, and she could see the grief in the little girls eyes.

Marianne rolled her lower lip into her mouth and gently bit down on it, nervously. She was treading dangerous ground here with Owen's niece – obviously, if Owen hadn't revealed this information to Sophie himself already, he wasn't ready to. But, the intelligence in this girls eyes told Marianne that she was more hurt by his secrecy than anything else. She thought about his statement about dinner tonight, and decided to hold off. "I'm sure your uncle has his reasons, Sophie. And I'm sure he doesn't want to hurt you, so he's being extra careful." She knew that sounded horrible and defeating, but she didn't know what else to say. She reached up and tweaked Sophie's nose, "He'll tell you what's going on soon, I promise."

Sophie gave her a weak half smile, "You're a very nice lady, Marianne." She took another quick drink, "And I'm glad you work for Uncle Owen. I think you're super – and I think my Uncle likes you." She grinned at Marianne now, "Do you like him?"

As soon as the girl had asked it, Marianne's face had exploded in a mad and wild blush that left her face burning and her heart fluttering. She smiled at Sophie and shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, and looked away back to the empty glass she'd abandoned on the table – the girl had asked a question she wasn't sure she wanted to lie about, and it tickled her stomach with excitement. She could hardly wait to see him again. It was if suddenly he'd flipped her world upside down and had her on a string, commandeering her every movement and every thought – in a good way, one that made her belly swirl with warmth and butterflies. It was like taking the down-hill slope on a rollercoaster: exciting, thrilling, and oh so satisfying.

She could hardly believe they actually were together still, after all that had happened in the previous hours. It was almost as if it were a dream and she was unable to wake up out of it – or want to. She chuckled and looked back to Sophie, who had a sparkle in her eye, as if their conversation about Owen keeping secrets from his niece hadn't even happened. "Well," she chuckled nervously, "I think your uncle is very nice and good at what he does." Her eyes drifted to the bedroom, where he'd taken her hands and stared at her as if she were the only thing in the world, rocking her to a part of herself she hadn't known existed. It sent goosebumps and a speed of warmth through her blood that was unusual, but pleasant. "And I like him, very much." She turned back to Sophie and smiled warmly at her.

Sophie's face cracked into a smile and she flung herself at Marianne, and Marianne quickly opened her arms to receive the girl. Sophie wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly, nuzzling her cheek against Marianne's chest and melting into her like butter. "I always knew Uncle Owen would find someone pretty and fun and special," she said dreamily, "and I'm glad it's you."

Marianne's heart pitched – what? Had she misspoken? Pushing Sophie away, she dropped her brow into a furrow, the girl staring at her with a geeky smile and rosy cheeks, matching with sparkling eyes. "Sophie!" She said, her voice raising in pitch, almost to a squeak, "I didn't mean –"

"Yes you did!" Sophie giggled, pointing at her, "You blushed and got all dreamy like Mom does talking about James Bond and all the guys on TV!" She giggled now.

Marianne's mouth fell open, gawking. "No I didn't –"

"You did, you did- yes you did!" Sophie bobbed in her seat, "But don't worry, I won't tell!"

Marianne let her head fall into her hands and she slipped off the barstool. Frustrated and utterly in shock that the girl had read into her statement so far, she turned to face Sophie and pointed both her index fingers at her, taking small steps backwards towards the bedroom, "I didn't say anything," she interjected, her tone playfully rough, "and don't you dare tell your Uncle. I'm going to sleep. I'll be up in a couple of hours to take you to your class."

Sophie giggled, "Okay, Marianne."

Marianne let a hand drop, then she narrowed her eyes, one still pointing at the little girl, "You, Sophie Forester, are way too smart. I'm serious – you can't tell your Uncle, because he thinks you don't know."

Sophie made a pretend 'X' over her heart and couldn't contain her giggles – or her dancing eyes, which Marianne found fixating and entirely entrancing. She found the little girl inside herself when she stared into Sophie's eyes, and she felt young and perfect, like she could tell this girl anything or be anybody and still be accepted. She felt adored and worshipped and – admired. Something she'd never felt before.

She couldn't contain her giggling. "I won't – I promise!"

. . .

Owen rubbed his mustache and sighed, watching the mess of his supply shed as if it would suddenly get up and walk away. Barry stood beside him, arms crossed high over his chest, leaning back slightly, shaking his head. Closer to the paddock, Briggs and Silas oversaw a team removing brush with skidsteers, pickups, and chainsaws.

Owen hadn't heard or seen anything of the raptors all morning, which concerned him. Barry had said he'd heard them calling out most of the night, after he and Marianne had left with Delta to the resort – and they'd done nothing since then, their calls quiet. Owen was sure they were displaced and sorely without understanding, if not concerned for their sisters – they did, after all, have social skills. And, they had never been separated before – so, he was certain they were up in arms about the disappearance of their sister, as any sibling would be.

He rubbed the back of his neck now, sighing. He was exhausted and every inch of him hurt, and he was emotionally spent. Barry had pulled him aside in the office when he'd arrived and demanded to know what was going on – and Owen had gushed everything as if he was a teenager all over again. He explained the situation with Delta, Hoskins, Grant – Marianne getting fired, her argument with Wu and Claire, their "moment". That had caught Barry off guard, but in a good way, and he'd cracked a smile. "I told you you hadn't given her a fair shot," he'd said.

Now he'd spent the better half of the morning overseeing clean up and wondering about not only Marianne, but his raptors. He rubbed his eyes now, trying to shake himself awake with some type of physical movement - but, he was so exhausted he couldn't bring himself to physical labor. Barry turned, clapped a hand on his shoulder and suggested, "You should get some coffee, my friend. I can get the skidsteer to clean this up."

Owen nodded, "Yeah."

"You look worried," Barry inquired, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Owen turned and scuffed his foot against the ground, kicking a rock as he did. He shrugged a shoulder, "You worried about Hoskins?"

Owen shook his head, "No, that's not it," he let his head fall back and closed his eyes, following Barry at a lazy gait, "What's happened Barry? The last twenty-four hours has flown by and my life is entirely upside down. Delta's sick, the entire raptor project is compromised, and Marianne and I are-" he puffed out a breath, "-Marianne and I." He gestured with his hands, laying them out before him as if presenting. He then reached up and ran his fingers through his hands, "Holy crap, Barry. It's just…god, I never imagined –"

Barry chuckled at him, "Life can get crazy sometimes," he tipped his head to the side as he talked, "in good ways or bad ways. Delta being sick is bad, yes; and so is Hoskins." He scuffed his shoe against a rock, "But you can't focus your life on the bad things, Owen. Marianne – she's a good thing: a beautiful, understanding, strong woman that somehow has managed to fall for you."

Owen gave him a playfully offended look, "That supposed to make me feel better?"

Barry chuckled, "Maybe. My point is, Owen, that life's gunna give you some tough challenges. But, it's your responsibility to be the toughest opponent those challenges face. You gotta go for the things you want and hold on to them with both hands, or they're gunna get away from you. And those tough spots, well," he winked at Owen, "I think you're stubborn enough to get through those tough spots on your own."

Owen stopped and clapped Barry on the shoulder, giving him a somewhat goofy grin. He nodded to Barry's statement and then thought about his words – he was right. Owen had breezed through life passing one thing on to the next, not satisfied and unwilling to finish what he'd started. He hadn't really put his nose to the grindstone – he'd gotten out of the Navy, dropped out of college, ended a few serious relationships, all because he hadn't wanted to put the effort into them and get through the rough spots – it was easier to quit and be quick about it.

But now, Barry was saying something he truly understood: stick to your guns and you'll go far, that the bad stuff was going to happen regardless of how many things you start and stop – and that you couldn't keep bouncing around your entire life. He was right – Owen was thirty-six years old and unmarried, uneducated, and living the life of a college bachelor. Here he was a man living in the shadow of a teenager, and he hadn't accomplished anything. And Barry was calling him out on it.

"If you weren't my friend I think I'd have to slug you." Owen shook his head.

Barry laughed, "Thank God I'm your friend then." He winked, Owen clapped his shoulder, and they headed back towards the paddock.

They were headed up to the office when Silas slid to a stop around the corner, kicking up dirt and mud and stones. He was panting, sweating, and his cheeks were red, his hair dripping with perspiration. He grabbed the railing to the staircase and Owen dropped his face into a furrow, immediately concerned by the man's disheveled appearance and abrupt entry. "Owen," He panted, "It's Delta. She's up and it's not good."

"Show me," He immediately burst into a run towards the containment unit, past the skidsteer and workers, Silas straight on his heels. Barry wasn't far behind them, and Owen barreled through the doors, kicking them open and hustling like his life depended on it. His chest constricted, his heart cascaded, and his skin iced over when he heard her screeches.

They echoed like death on the walls of the containment unit, sending pinpricks of shivers down his spine, rocking it as if it were taffy instead of bone. Every inch of him flared with warning and caution, but the part of him so dedicated and attached to these girls – his love form them – rocketed him forward when everything else told him no. He came to the second door – the cage part, and scanned in. Silas slowed outside the cage, lacing his fingers through the gaps, Barry shouldering through.

Owen was displaced when he saw Delta thrashing against her restraints – the monitors were going haywire as her body furiously moved on the exam table, the gauze stained with blood. She screeched and screamed, her high-pitched calls eery and stomach shaking. Owen's knees quaked, but he moved forward, and tried to mask the fear trembling through his nerves and bombarding his brain like a tidal wave. He came to her, gently, slowly moving a hand towards her face.

"Delta, sweetheart," he cooed huskily, his voice dropping low and calm. AT his presence she immediately stopped screeching, but she did bristle, and her breathing turned into snorts or rage and betrayal more than anything. He slowly sideled up to her, then dropped onto the rolling stool beside the table and slowly edged towards her, his eyes locked with her own intelligent one. It scanned wildly around the room, panicked and frightened, and he slowly moved his fignertips across her skin graciously, clucking his tongue and cooing softly. Barry came up to her other side doing much of the same things, and as he touched her, she thrashed once, "Shh, it's okay, baby. Owen's here," he whispered, letting his lips gently brush her skin. The heart monitor began to beep slower, and he watched the readings on the screen drop. His own resolve was beginning to melt away at her fear and her pain – he wanted to cry for her, take it on himself, blame himself for this. Wanted to break down right there and cry right along with his sweet Delta, who'd had it rough since day one.

Barry looked at him across Delta's neck, "You should call Marianne. She will want to be here."

Owen checked his watch – slightly after noon, and Sophie would be at her lesson. He nodded slowly and swallowed the lump in his throat, his stomach doing turns and somersaults at the thought of her here with Delta, her raspy voice, her calming and serene touch that was surreal unto him. When had she invaded his thoughts so and sent his world into a disastrous mess? He nodded continually, eyes locked on Delta's frame. "Yeah. Could you get Peter down here and tell him she's up?"

Barry looked to Delta and slowly stroked her head, his eyes not leaving her form. "Yes. I can do that."

Owen took out his phone slowly and found Marianne's contact – quickly pressing the call over her picture. He remembered the day at the mineral pool when she'd sent him a text just inside the bushes and he had to crack a half smile at the look on her face when she'd been discovered. He pressed the phone to his ear and used the other hand to stroke Delta's brow. He smiled softly at the animal, who's eye skittered about as if she were being tortured. His chest burned.

The line connected, "Owen. I just dropped Sophie off and I ran back to my place to get some more clean clothes–"

He cut her off, "Delta's up – you'd better get down here." His eyes shot towards the monitor – her heart rate was still up and her breathing labored. Delta was still panicking, strung tight and unsure. He could still see the uncertainty in her eyes, the fear pooling up in her brain. She let out a screech when he rolled closer to her and he winced. "It's okay," he murmured to the raptor, "I'm right here."

"I'm coming. Be there shortly." The call disconnected and he shoved it into his back pocket.

"She's coming?" Barry questioned softly.

Owen nodded strongly, "Yep. Be here shortly."

Barry went back to stroking the crown of Delta's head, "You as concerned about that monitor as me?"

Owen didn't say anything, just locked eyes with the monitor, watching the heart-rate. He turned back to Barry and puffed out a breath, taking his free hand and raking it through his hair, only to tousle it - to try and relieve stress and hide the trembling in his hands. He pinched his fingers together to indicate a small amount. Barry wrinkled his brow at this, and Owen explained with what he hoped to be a confident retort.

"Probably a bit more."

. . .

"Island control, this is Alpha Foxtrot Zero, do you copy?"

Alan had taken to reading up on some of the Jurassic World materials that Marianne had looked up online before her departure – he'd quickly grabbed them while marching out the door to catch his flight to San Francisco. She'd gotten everything form blueprints to executive summaries to vacation brochures – things he'd expect for a field assistant with a degree in Communications to acquire before taking a job. What he found interesting, though, was a press release on Henry Wu before he heard Nick send out the request for island control.

They'd been silent on the drive – Malcolm reading and scratching notes in a journal, Nick awkward and uncomfortable as he'd flown the plane. Alan had caught him a few times trying to come up with something to say, but he'd chickened out and had stayed quiet – which was fine, he'd hear enough of his lies and excuses when they saw Marianne. Alan had debated whether he should warn Marianne or not, and had decided better of it. Best to not make her worry too much in advance over nothing.

The reply from the control tower came quickly "Roger that, Alpha Foxtrot Zero. State your presence."

"Wilco that, Island Control. Request permission to land."

Control hesitated a moment, but then came back. "Negative, AFZ, we do not allow private aircraft on the island, copy."

"Roger, Island Control," he shot Malcolm a nervous look, then reached up to situate the headset, "We have proper documentation from the Costa Rican government, Island Control – we're here for a documentation of the park's inhabitants for a research article, over."

Quiet, for a long moment. Alan lowered the press release and glared at the mirror to Nick's right. Nick caught him, looked away nervously, and then tapped the airspeed gauge with a knuckle. A few more moments went by before Malcolm commented.

"They got Doogie Howser running the place or what?" He snapped.

They came back, the static over the line almost unbearable. Alan reached a hand up to plug an ear, and Nick took a breath – Alan watched him in the mirror. "Wilco that, Alpha Foxtrot Zero, you are cleared to descend at 3,500."

Nick released his breath, and Alan realized he'd been sweating. Actually, he realized too he'd had his toes curled from the moment he'd left the trailer. Every nerve within him was pounding warning messages – every instinct was screaming like hell, thrashing at his resolve like a wild animal wanting loose. His chest was hurting and his stomach was tied up in knots, but he'd forgone all of the regrets and all of the vows of never going back for Marianne – something big was up, and something was wrong. The entire situation reeked like trouble, and Alan wasn't about to let his best friend's daughter crash and burn and end her career.

He was getting her off that island.

. . .

"Zach, Grey – I'm not mad. I'm furious!"

Grey scooched lower in his chair, if possible, as Claire paced back and forth in front of them, slapping her hands together and talking as fast as she could. He shot Zach a look, who had his arms crossed and too was slouched in his chair. Grey looked back to his Aunt, who had a packed and very swollen nose and stained tank top – and, who was, shockingly, in jeans and sandals.

She'd been going off for an hour, rambling about Owen Grady and Marianne Randal – the woman they'd met at the Innovation Center during the storm – and mumbling about the raptor that was sick and how she was going to kill Owen and a thousand other people who had no idea of. He'd just been aching to go to the Mosasaur show, as Mo was getting a special feeding today, and Violet, the trainer, had promised them a sneak peek at breakfast this morning.

"What were you thinking – running off with someone you just met? What do they teach you in school these days?"

"Owen works with you, Aunt Claire," Zach interjected, Grey gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He watched Claire stop, whip to face his brother, and glare at him as if she could shoot lasers out of her eyes. He didn't like that look, and swallowed the frog that had clogged his throat the moment she'd stormed into their hotel room.

"I don't care if he's the President of the United States!" She blurted, "You had no idea who he was and where he was taking you – and, of all places, it was the raptor paddock! Do you know how many things could've went wrong? If I had a week I couldn't list them all!" She was ranting again, pointing a finger at them and gesturing between their two chairs, "You two are supposed to be responsible. You're old enough to know who and who not to go with – to make decisions that are safe and smart," she knelt before their chairs, "You're mom would kill me if she found out something bad happened. She has a hard enough time with this place the way it is."

Which was true, Grey surmised. She'd been against them spending the summer with Claire in Jurassic World from the moment Claire had sent the tickets – but Grey had been so excited to see his lifelong passion fulfilled that his parents had finally caved and thought better of the situation. Now, as he looked into Claire's eyes, he saw her concern for them and their relationship with his mom: it was already on thin ice, as his mom didn't trust Claire much with kids. The last thing he wanted was for them to fight again and be separated.

"We're sorry, Aunt Claire," he finally piped up, his voice sounded less and less brave and grown up as he would've preferred – why did he always have to sound like a baby? "But he did tell us he was going to talk to you and take us back to the resort."

"Well, then that explains it," she tossed her hands into the air and gave them a dumbfounded look – one that was sarcastic, "If you wouldn't have snuck out of the resort we wouldn't be having this issue, now would we?" When her glare didn't rouse them, she sighed and messaged the bridge of her nose, the other arm wrapping around her abdomen. "That's it. I'm done. You two can go to lunch now."

Her phone went off and Grey glanced out the window of the resort, to where the Tyrannosaur Kingdom was beginning to swamp with people – he'd like to see another feeding before their lunch again. He turned back to Claire, who turned and answered a text.

She began walking to the door, neck craned to look at her phone, and she told them. "After lunch I have a business meeting with the owner of the park," Grey and Zach shared a look, then watched her open the door. She held it open with her foot then tossed them a look, phone still at hand. "I'll have my assistant come and escort you around the park, since I don't want you running off," she wiggled her fingers as if they were bugs and waved them off. Zach was glaring at her now and Grey didn't think that was appropriate, and her face softened just a little and she sighed. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't care about you two. I want you to be safe. That's all."

"Yeah, well, we're glad you care now," Zach mouthed off, "Because you sure haven't seemed to care until today when your butt was on the line." He got up, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door.