Author's Note: Greetings, acolyte's! I know it's been awhile since I've updated this - October was the last, yes? Anyway, I've been pretty invested in some Star Wars pieces, but I decided to tap into this again in hopes to get some muse.

Needless to say - we're beginning to pick up steam! Next time, we should launch into the events of the movie (thirty-some chapters later), which I am more than excited for! Granted, I need to watch Jurassic World again (my Owen is getting rusty and I need a refresher) but hopefully I can get into the swing of things here and pick up where I left off. As always, there will be some plot/story-line changes, so hang tight.

Enjoy, friends, and leave a review! I miss all of you!

Owen propped his feet up on his desk, uninterested in the fact that tidbits of dirt and dust dropped onto its surface from the treads on his boots. He shrugged off his vest, which was equally filthy, and wrestled out of his button down to pitch both of them in the corner of the office beside his desk. He reached behind him, slid open the window, and listened momentarily for any sounds of the raptors filtering through the night. Satisfied there were no unusual sounds, he started up his computer and began filtering through the daily reports.

Try as he might, he could not shake the conversation he'd had with Marianne earlier that week. She'd sounded tired and cold; everything unlike her usual self, and had taken every ounce of his being not to let his hurt show. She'd left the island without saying good-bye, and it had hurt him more than he was willing to let on. However, hearing her voice was enough to satiate his simmering anger.

He scrubbed his unshaven face with a hand, making observational notes on Delta's behavior having just been replaced back into her routine. So far, he hadn't noticed anything aside from her slowed pace among the others – within a few days she'd be well enough to get back to causing trouble and making him nervous. Peter had said dinosaurs bounced back from perforated stomach surgeries rather quickly, and that Owen had nothing to worry about.

His attention broke from the papers when the wind picked up outside his window and began jostling the trees and other foliage in a wild array. He felt a distinct rhythm vibrating beneath his feet that shook the walls, and his curiosity piqued. Owen rolled away from the desk, his feet tromping back on the floor loudly, and listened for a moment – there was a distinct, mechanical buzz for only a moment, and then a metallic whine.

Owen jumped up, and tossed his papers on the desk; they went skittering to the floor with other unsorted stacks, and he snatched up his discarded vest from the floor. Wrangling himself into it, he made the door in three long strides, only to be met with pulsing wind, as well as the amplified engine noise sitting directly outside the compound. Heat rushed through his veins, and he swore under his breath.

He rushed down the stairs just as the passengers inside the privately marked Cessna were dropping out of the plane. The engine began to wind down; the turbine slowed, and the second figure – a man – closed the door with a thump. Another figure came around the plane, presumably the pilot, to meet the other two.

Owen, beyond livid, heard the upset screeching of the raptors from somewhere inside the paddock and stalked towards the sudden trio of drop-ins. He clenched his fists, clamped his jaw, and threw his hands into the air.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, loudly, "what do you think you're doing? This is private property – you can't just touch down –"

Suddenly, the second figure whirled around and stepped into the beam of light produced by the overhead fixture situated on the paddock. Owen pulled up short and his expression went blank – he felt liked a seized up engine as every part of him froze in place. He became suddenly cold as his stomach dropped into his ankles, and his throat felt paralyzed all the way down into the depths of his gut. He couldn't have eked out another word if he tried.

The dark sapphire eyes of Marianne Randal stared back at him, and for a moment Owen wasn't sure what century he was in. It had only been two weeks since she'd left Jurassic World, but it might as well have been two decades – he hardly remembered them outside of this moment; hardly remembered himself. For a second he couldn't breathe through his mouth, instead forcing air into his suddenly deflated lungs through his nose, until she smiled at him and he couldn't breathe at all. It was getting harder for his brain to communicate with the processes of his body.

She shouldered a backpack and rushed towards him. "Owen," was all she managed before he found her in four strides and wrapped her up in a strong embrace. She unshouldered the pack and it hit the ground at their feet, and she held tightly to him as he pressed her close.

He inhaled a breath of her hair and mumbled into her ear, "You're back," he said quietly, "you left without saying goodbye, Annie," Owen tried to mask the relief in his voice with a rumbling in his chest, but it didn't work as impressively as he imagined.

She nodded and sighed, her body relaxing slightly, "I know," she murmured, "and I'm sorry." She squeezed him tighter, standing on the tips of her toes within her hiking boots to lace an around his neck. With her other hand, she clung to the front of his vest. Owen didn't even notice he was half clothed, or the fact that they had an audience.

After a brief moment more, she shuffled herself back; Owen unwilling to let her go, and he produced a lopsided grin as he locked eyes with her. "Ya missed me, huh?" He asked her, quietly.

She bit her lower lip and gave him a shy smile, "More or less," she responded, her lips upturning into a full smile. After a serious second, she added, "It's good to see you again."

Movement behind her signaled Owen's attention, and he looked past her to see the other two passengers move into the light. Upon further inspection he found Alan, and Nick van Owen, approaching; each with a backpack over their shoulders, and Nick with a camera bag hanging off to the side over his shoulder. Owen's brow rose a few inches on his face and Marianne noticed, turning to face them.

"I see you didn't come alone," Owen murmured before Grant and Van Owen were within earshot. She nodded and dipped to shoulder her backpack again, then reached for his hand. He offered it to her, gave it a light squeeze, and fell into step beside her.

Alan came up to her right, "So, hotshot," he glanced at Owen from beneath the brim of his hat, "sounds like you've compiled yourself some research the military is ready to pounce on. Care to share?" When they made it up into the office, Grant added, "And maybe put on a shirt?"

Owen rubbed the back of his neck, nodded, and reached for the shirt he'd abandoned. Marianne dropped her backpack beside Barry's desk in the next room, and seated herself at his computer, immediately beginning to dig among his coworker's files. The trio of men joined her and Owen came around, pressing a hand onto the back of the computer chair to scan the screen as she filtered through sent faxes on Barry's email.

"Barry doesn't lock his computer," he announced. Marianne's nod confirmed this, until she finally clicked on the right email. She opened it, hit the print button, and the printer began spitting papers to life in the corner behind them. Owen went to retrieve them and slipped them into a file from Barry's cabinet, "I'll have to send him a memo about that."

Absentmindedly, Marianne added, "You haven't sent a memo in two years, Owen," before she snatched the paperwork from him and handed them to Alan. To him, she said, "Look at the genetic testing report on these, Alan. These animals are closer to birds than we realized before. Their predatory skills, mental capacity, and genetic profile are near matches." She hesitated, "If that's the case, their unpredictability in the wild is –"

Alan continued, "—nearly impossible to profile. It makes me wonder if Wu found a way to replace the missing DNA fragments with pieces of aviary genetics instead of frog DNA," he shook his head, "Hammond's technology allowed geneticists to replace the gene sequences with frog DNA, which lead to the sex change in the animals and unobserved reproduction,"

Marianne set to rummaging through her backpack, and retrieved a tablet. Unlocking it, she managed to connect it to Barry's computer and began syncing the files to her device. With a few clicks, she added, "Exactly. Wu's research with InGen all those years ago is more than outdated – it's faulty. He needed to come up with a way to isolate the sex change that was observed in the first park's speimen's to nix the problem. If that's the case, and he succeeded – we have an entirely new set of predator's on our hands. And if their genetic profiles are close to that of birds, we're unsure of how they could develop. Birds have a higher intelligence than most reptiles, and their predatory skills can be heightened, depending on what species of bird was used to fill in their genetic gaps." She looked to Alan, "Right?"

He rubbed his chin before scrubbing his face, "That's the short version, but right. Lord," he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, "he doesn't even know what he's got and he wants to market it to the freakin' military."

Nick let out a low whistle, "Ouch." After he shook his head, he added, "That doesn't sound good. You mean he wants to market raptors to the military? Has he lost his mind?"

Marianne slapped the cover of the tablet closed, erased the file on Barry's computer, and switched the machine off. Taking the backpack at hand, she gestured for them to follow her out of the compound. She ignored Nick's question outright, instead leading them down the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at Owen, "Peter probably doesn't even know what he's got on his hands, Owen."

He nodded in agreement. "We need to get that research from him before it gets to Wu and is passed along to Hoskins – I know he was coming to island sometime this week to discuss proceedings with Masrani. Not that I think Simon is all that excited about the idea, but he does have a mind to at least listen to InGen." He paused and exhaled a puff, "He can't hold them off forever."

Alan grabbed Marianne's arm, pulling her to a stop. "We're missing a link here, boys and girls – what motivation does Wu have to just hand over his research to the military? It's his life work. He won't just pay out his cash cow," he shook his head, "he's not that gullible."

Marianne shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno. That's a good question." She looked to Owen, "What if Peter's already passed along that data to Masrani's office?" A brow quirked over her left eye and Owen pointed them towards the maintenance shed, where an official Jeep was sitting; waiting to take them back towards the park.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Owen released a nervous breath, "let's start with Peter and I'll think of something." He draped his arm over Marianne's shoulder, gave it a slight squeeze, and dug the keys for the Jeep from his pocket.

. . .

"Peter, you don't understand – I need that data. I have…some revisions to make before it goes into Masrani's office. You have to let me have it back."

Owen's voice was more than pleading – it was desperate. Peter Bartlett sighed, and looked up from his microscope. He took off his glasses and tossed them on the counter beside the machine, and sat back on the stool he was seated on to scrub his face with a hand.

They'd left Alan and Nick at Owen's bungalow lest they raise any questions with his presence in the park. It was questionable enough that Marianne was back on the island, and after briefly going over a synapse with Peter Bartlett of her arrival and her relationship with Owen, they'd been able to spring the question on the confused scientist.

Now, he shook his head and crossed an arm over his chest, gesturing with his other hand. "I'm sorry, Owen – I can't give them to you. You know the rules – my notes are completely confidential until they've been evaluated by Henry. It's protocol." He looked over to Marianne, "As much as I'd like to help you –"

She leaned across the counter and produced the file from her backpack. Smacking them on the table before the doctor, she quirked a brow. "These don't have any of your notes on them, Peter – you can print off a new biopsy reading and no one will be the wiser."

He looked to the file and then back up at her, "The lab registry will be different, Marianne," he sighed and accepted the file from her, "I can't just –"

She interrupted him with a shake of her head. "Even scientists make mistakes, Peter," she added quietly, "please. This is so important." Everything in her tone suggested there was more to this than revisionary notes, and Peter glanced up from the file she'd handed him and stopped rifling through it. With a deep sigh, he hung his head and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

He heaved a sigh, sharply grabbed a pen from the front pocket of his shirt, and slapped it down on the file. Scooting his stool back, he slipped off and moved to his desk, which was littered with odd-ended paperwork and other laboratory ends. Rifling through the top drawer for only a moment produced a folder stamped with a bold, scarlet CONFIDENTIAL label, which he extended to Owen.

"Here," he said with a sigh, "something tells me you aren't being forthright, Owen, but I trust your judgment." After a pause, he added, "Just don't get caught with those, hear?"

Owen nodded and beamed at the man, "You got it, doc. Thanks again."

Marianne smiled at him, dipped her head, and adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. "Thank you, Peter. You have no idea how important it is that we fix these." After a pause, she continued, "You have a good night, doctor."

He nodded, saluted them lightly, and moved back to his microscope to continue his research.

. . .

Marianne tapped through the documents on her tablet, seated outside Owen's bungalow on the table situated to look out over the lake that stretched out along Owen's corner of the island. There was a quarter moon; eerily white in the black sky, in competition with sparkling stars. It's reflection on the lake wrinkled unsteadily as the water lapped against the shoreline.

Too exhausted to sleep and even more exhausted to think, she locked the tablet and flipped the cover closed, slipping it onto the table top beside her. She propped her elbows on her knees and scrubbed her face with a hand, her mind whirling.

Now that they'd intercepted the research data from Peter before it could reach Wu's office, Marianne was unsure what the next step was. They could try and convince Masrani to pull his investments from the military operation with Hoskins, assuming he had them in play already, and risk not only Alan's reputation in the paleontological field, but also Owen's job. Or, they could try and pull Hoskins out from the idea of military development, which she deemed nearly impossible. The very thought of each mess brought a migraine to her head, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

So distracted was she that she didn't hear Owen come up behind her until he was already at her side, extending a bottle of Miller to her. "Looks like you could use this," he said, tipping back a drink of his own bottle.

She nodded and took the beer, letting the neck dangle through her fingers. "Thanks," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand, "Alan and Nick?" She questioned.

He nodded and slipped a hand into his pocket, rocking back on his booted heels. "Alan's up looking at the data from Peter, and Nick called it a night after standing at the window watching you for ten straight minutes," he snorted, "I finally convinced him nothing was out here and he went to bed."

She smiled grimly. "Guess I owe you." She raised her bottle to him, and then took another drink. He gave her a lopsided half smile and sauntered over in front of her, sitting his bottle on the table top beside her tablet. Marianne watched him carefully as he took her bottle and did the same.

He brushed her braid over her shoulder with a careful hand, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Then he took her hand in his own, gave it a squeeze, and interlaced their fingers. He slowly traced the curve of her body with the back of his other hand and gave her a serious look. She felt her heart melt inside of her chest. Fire engulfed her stomach in a burning ball, and her lungs suddenly constricted; unable to pull air into her body, effectively.

Something rumbled through Owen's chest before he said, "It's been pretty quiet around here since you left," he continued, his voice dropping into a low, quietly, "why'd you take off without saying goodbye?"

This gave her pause as she considered her words, carefully. Could she tell him that saying goodbye would've been too difficult for her? That she didn't want to be hurt, again? Her broken engagement with Nick had left her hurt and cautious towards new relationships - and, her budding relationship with Owen was something she didn't want to lose. A lump formed in the back of her throat and paralyzed her vocal cords, which gave her a longer pause than she would've allowed, normally.

Marianne wasn't sure what he'd say, so she swallowed back the statement before whispering, "I guess I just wasn't ready," she murmured, looking away from him. "I'm sorry."

Owen let his hand fall into place along her jaw, and stroked her cheek with his thumb, holding her gaze for a moment too long. He guided her face back to look at him, and held her gaze. Then, he gave her a crooked grin and nodded his understanding, as if he understood her concern. "Yeah," he added, "I guess I wouldn't have been ready either." He pulled her forward to rest his forehead against hers and released a heavy sigh, "I missed you, Marianne. Probably more than I should've."

She nodded slowly. "Me too," was what she managed to eke out.

After a second, he snorted, "Even though you were a jerk to me on the phone," this made her smile," You ever hang up on me again and I'll make you wish you never did." The chuckle in his chest was low and crackling and his voice dropped into the bourbon tone that made skin prickle with goosebumps of approval. A blush rushed up her neck and exploded on her face, like it always did around him.

She beamed. "I'll remember next time."

His brows shot up. "There's gonna be a next time?"he challenged.

She shrugged a shoulder. "You never know with these things," she replied, which made him chortle. He rolled his eyes at her jibe, and she giggled.

"'You never know with these things'," he did his best impression of her, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, right," he finally added, before she swatted his chest with a hand.

She smiled up at him then, releasing his hand to wrap her arms around his neck. The front of his thighs touched the table she was sitting on, and he wrapped a thick arm around her middle. He tipped her head back with the other and gave her a lidded look that sent her stomach jumping into her throat with nervous anxiety. He looked at her like Nick never had, and it sent her body to shambles.

In the next breath, his lips brushed along hers tentatively, awaiting her consent. It took a fraction of a second for her to respond – she hitched a breath, felt her stomach jump up into her chest to hammer against her heart, and took his face in her hands. She nodded her consent, and in a microsecond, Owen pressed his lips against her own, and their breath mingled together.

Half aware of her surroundings but fully sure of his presence, he nudged her backwards along the table's top. Somehow she managed to kick off her boots, and he helped her out of her button down shirt. The night air was hot and muggy on her arms, and her tank top was streaked with sweat along her back, but Owen didn't seem to care. Instead, he shrugged off his vest and tossed it to the dirt beside the picnic table in effort to shed as much clothing as appropriately as possible. Marianne couldn't breathe.

She traced her tongue along his bottom lip and he responded, taking a sharp breath in through his nose. She knew he tried to stifle it, but a soft moan rumbled around his chest. Her stomach was getting warm, and her heart was throbbing – her ears were thrumming with her pulse, which seemed to rattle her skull. The feather like touch of his hands left trails of fire across her skin. She was almost dizzy.

When her mind began to dance with imagines that left her breathless, she broke away from him, breathing unsteadily. A hot blush crept up her neck and blossomed on her face, again - this time it didn't escape Owen's attention. He smirked at her and flashed a goofy half grin at her.

"You're blushing again," he teased.

She slapped his shoulder playfully, and brought her leg up between them to push him away with her socked foot. She lifted a brow and gave him a smirk, and when he lunged for her, she reacted by grabbing the nearest beer bottle of their pair and, just as he grabbed at the front of her shirt, simultaneously splashed it in his face. This all transpired in a fraction of a second, but that was all it took.

Sputtering, Owen took a few steps back to wipe his face with his hand, the front of his shirt now stained with alcohol. The bottle dropped out of Marianne's hand and she clapped a hand over her mouth in amazement.

"Why you –"he sputtered again, "- what was that for?" and Marianne couldn't stop laughing. She clamped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter, but she couldn't. Her eyes pinched shut as she doubled over on the table, laughing at his gawking form standing across from her, hands dripping with the remains of alcohol. She could smell it from where she sat, and another bout of laughter erupted from her lungs.

As Marianne collected herself, he grinned at her, ran his hand along his unshaven stubble to lick the dripping beer from his lips. She snorted and held his gaze for a few seconds. There was quiet between them, save for the muffled jungle sounds and lapping water against the shoreline– and thenshe saw the mischievous looking gleam in his eye. She hitched a gasp, and bolted off the table to take off through the yard. Owen was right behind her.

Her socked feet were at a disadvantage on the gravel, and he caught up with her in three long strides, wrapping a thick arm around her middle. They were laughing loudly, and he snickered in her ear in victory. "Not so fast," he said, pulling her back against his chest quickly. Now effectively trapped against him, she collapsed forward over his arm, laughing and gasping for air.

"Now that I'm effectively drenched in what was an expensive bottle of imported Miller," he said sternly, "I think it's time we took a swim, babe." He managed to turn them towards the body of water a few yards from their current scuffle, and Marianne's eyes widened at his meaning. He chuckled, countering her squirming, and forced her forward a few steps.

She gasped. "You wouldn't!" she insisted, now persisting in her attempt to be released with even more vigor. "Owen!" He wrangled her forward a few more steps, her fighting his advance, ever gaining towards the lake, "Don't even think about it!" She knew it was pointless - his naval training and hulking frame severely outranked her out-of-shape physique and feeble attempts in this miniature war, and realization was dawning on her, fast.

He snorted, "It's only fair," he put on a whining tone, wrestling her toward the lake again, "just cooperate and –"

She lashed a foot out in a sloppy kick, her sock filthy from the dirt. "Owen!" she squeaked, trying to contain her sudden onset of laughter, "please, don't –" her legs were no match for his powerful ones, and he pushed her forward; past the picnic table, towards the muddy shoreline. Her feet sank into the soggy muck, and she wiggled her toes. The mud was somehow cool, even through her socks, and soaked her feet.

She spun around to face him, pushed herself away with her hands to his chest, and planted her feet - she hoped her broad build would be enough to stay his advances. Something in his eye, however, told her it wasn't. Owen dipped, gently shoved a shoulder into her abdomen and swung her over his shoulder. She squeaked as he stabilized for a second, taking on her weight. Panicking, she swallowed a sharp breathe – Marianne knew she wasn't light like other girls, and she protested her concerns immediately by beating a fist against his thick shoulder.

"Put me down!" She insisted, "Owen, put me down. I'm too heavy to carry –"

He snorted, "Don't underestimate me," he started towards the lake again, this time a bit slower, "I don't go to gym and lift just to watch other guys shower," he pointed out. Marianne clenched her abdominal muscles in hopes that it would relieve at least some of her weight, and finally he stopped at the shoreline of the lake behind his bungalow.

He let her have her feet (less than gracefully), but didn't release her, instead worked off his boots and kicked them behind him. Marianne wrinkled her nose at the smell of beer emanating from his shirt. He smirked at her, gave her a lidded look, and in a single move shoved both of them into the black water stretched out before them.

For a brief second Marianne was falling and then she was submerged. The water was cool and soothed her skin, and was deeper than she imagined. Owen had released her, and she pawed for the surface, inadequate breath in her lungs. She popped up through the surface and inhaled a breath of air, swiping the rivulets of water pouring down her face from her hair. Her clothing hung to her body, and her socks buried into the mud of the lake beneath her as she stood, fully. She sputtered the lake water from her lips.

Owen's head bobbed up beside her, not standing at all, but grinning like a child. When he began to laugh, she spun around and slapped the water with a hand, effectively splashing him in the face. His laughter sputtered to a stop, and a satisfied grin overtook her face. She lunged for him, and dunked his head beneath the water. He popped up, standing this time, and sputtered.

"Are you happy now?" She was trying to contain her laughter but found it more difficult than she had hoped. Marianne turned away from him, moving towards the shoreline again, still swiping water from her eyes. It was difficult to walk in socks on the muddy bed of the lake, but she managed. "Ow!" she recoiled back, stumbled on another rock, and mumbled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Owen lunge through the water towards her. She tried to move away from him, but the water slowed her attempt, and he grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her down. She collapsed back into the water, and swallowed a mouthful of lake water. She staggered until she found her footing and stood again. Now drenched once more and dripping streams of water, she sputtered and staggered to correct her balance. Owen was laughing by this point, and reached out to snake an arm around her waist and pull her against his chest.

He answered her, "Yes – now I'm happy," he pulled her wet braid over her shoulder and fingered the saturated curls between his thumb and middle finger, "I was wrong about you, from the beginning. Promise me you won't ever leave me again. I don't want you to." He was dripping wet; shirt clinging to the sculpting of his chest and arms, and he shook water droplets from his face. "I'll find a way to make you stay," he added, "or I'll die trying."

Before she could answer, Owen kissed her again, long and slow, her anger extinguished. When he pulled back from her, she nodded her understanding. Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and in a swift move, he lifted her in his arms and she latched her legs around his middle. He didn't even seem fazed.

"I'll stay even if you don't want me to," she replied in a breath, "that's a promise."

. . .

Morning found Owen's bungalow earlier than Marianne would've liked. After she'd toweled off in Owen's bathroom and changed into one of his t-shirts and a dry pair of cargo pants, she'd collapsed into his bed for a few hours of sleep before dawn. When she woke, she found him splayed out beside her over the covers, snoring quietly.

She slapped a hand on his chest, mumbled, "Owen, get up – it's morning," and rolled out of bed to pad into the living area of the bungalow. Owen followed moments later, bypassing to the bathroom; leaving her to greet the kitchen on her own.

Alan was sitting at the island, passed out over Peter's data, and only stirred when she rubbed his shoulder and whispered a good morning greeting. His head lifted, and he stretched, registering the watch on his arm. Rolling his eyes at realizing the piece was still set on Montana time, he scrubbed his face with a hand while Marianne began rummaging around for breakfast.

"Anything interesting?" Marianne jibed, beginning to scan the label on a box of pancake mix from Owen's cupboard. Satisfied it would complete the job, she set it on the counter beside the sink and began searching for mixing bowls and other utensils needed for breakfast preparation.

Alan shot her a look with a cocked brow as she squatted to rummage through a drawer towards the bottom of the counter, "Yeah, take your pick. The biopsy this doctor did confirmed the hypothesis I made twenty odd years ago – these animals have hollow bones. Their genetic profile is closer to birds than reptiles, like you said – Wu must've messed around with the DNA like we thought."

She nodded, opening the box with a finger, "So we were right. These animals are far more complex than we thought twenty years ago," she shook her head, and began measuring water into a mixing bowl for the pancake mix, "Wu sure knows how to mix up a mess, doesn't he?" When she'd finished, she read the label on the box again.

Alan nodded and rubbed his face with his hands, "Sure he does. That's what he gets paid for," He leaned forward and rested his arms on the counter-top just as Nick stumbled in the door from outside, where his hair was wet, as was the collar of his shirt.

He paused only a moment to stare at Marianne, who dropped her gaze away as Alan finished his thought, "I don't think what we have here is enough to detour this military project, kid. I think I'm going to track down and Ellie and run all this by her, see what she thinks. Maybe she has some friends who would be better suited to address this issue than we are." He paused, "Then I'm going to get off this island before hell breaks loose."

She pinned him with a look, "Calm down," she insisted, "nothing's happened yet."

He raised his brows, "Emphasis on the 'yet'". He looked over his shoulder at Nick, and thumbed over his shoulder, "I'm going to clean up in the lake. Sounds like a good idea. This muggy heat is oppressive as hell."

After Marianne rolled her eyes and started to mix together pancakes, they dropped the discussion as Alan left the bungalow to clean up at the lake's shore. After they had finished a quick breakfast, Marianne threw on a midriff shirt and shouldered her backpack to meet the three of them outside to pile into the Jeep. Marianne bypassed her Camaro, only pausing briefly to stare at it and shoot Owen a grin.

Before she could climb into the Jeep's passenger seat, Owen tossed the keys to the SUV across the console. Then, he thumbed towards the Camaro and gave her a teasing half smile, and Marianne twirled the keys on her finger.

He grinned. "I kept your gun and your bow case in the bungalow. It's in my closet with the Marlin." He paused, referencing his Guide Rifle, "Just in case."

She nodded, "Great," she responded brightly, "I just might need them if we run into Claire."

With a snort, Owen rolled his eyes, and Marianne leaned over the console to fire the Jeep to life. Rounding the front of the car, she climbed into the driver's seat, and draped one leg out the Jeep's open door. Owen leaned through the open window and draped his arms through. Marianne opened every window in the Jeep, allowing the morning breeze to shuffle through the car smoothly.

He gestured with his head towards the Camaro. "I have to run and inspect a paddock this morning for Claire," he started, "why don't you meet me at the hotel and pick up Soph? I'm sure she'll be happy to see you." He added, "You take this with Alan and Nick, and I'll take your ride."

Her brow wrinkled. "Why are you inspecting a paddock? You're not park security, or ACU," she questioned.

Marianne referred to the Animal Control Unit of the park. They were almost a black ops team of specialists that ensured the park's assets were in order and properly "controlled". In an event of an emergency, they were sent to neutralize the threat and ensure the animal was properly secured – all without damaging the goods, of course. Marianne had only met members of the team briefly, leaving the introduction grateful that she would never have to do their jobs or maintain their stony disposition.

Owen shrugged at her statement. "Apparently Masrani thinks my training in the Navy and my relationship with the raptors qualifies me to make the call on the new asset's paddock," he gestured with a hand, "y'know, that one that's been hush-hush all summer?" He raked his hand along his unshaven face, rubbing his jaw.

Realization dawned on her, and she situated in the front seat of the Jeep. Owen closed the door with a thump, and she turned to face him in. Concern marred her expression. "You mean the new hybrid," she clarified, dropping her voice before looking over his shoulder to Alan and Nick, who were examining her car. "Owen," she warned, "be careful. You don't know anything about the animal, and –"

He put up a hand and smirked at her, shaking his head, "Calm down," he leaned through the open window, "it's not like I'm going to play with it, Annie. I'll have a look around, ask a few questions, and be out before you know it." He wriggled his brow at her, "Now, give me a kiss for luck and get out of here."

She refused and wrinkled her brow. "Don't take this so lightly. I still don't like it, Owen," she warned again. After a second's contemplation, she kissed the corner of his mouth quickly and pulled back, "Maybe I should come with you." The expression on his face was enough to let her know that he did not think that was a great idea.

He sighed, giving her a flat look. "With Claire there? Not a good idea," he confirmed her hypothesis.

She shrugged. "I'll pick up Sophie and head over. You think she'll stay the entire inspection?"

Marianne pressed the brake and clutch in, resting a hand on the gearshift. Owen gave her a look that was as blank as an empty page. "I don't know," he ran his hand through his hair; "I'll text you and let you know." He waggled his brow again, "Now are you going to give me a kiss, or do I gotta steal it?" He gave her a knowing smile, and crooked his finger for her to oblige.

She nodded, smirked, and lowered through the window to kiss him softly on the lips. He let out a satisfied moan, parted from her, and stepped away from the Jeep. He saluted lightly; Alan and Nick coming over to climb into the vehicle. After they situated, Marianne shifted into first gear, and guided the Jeep away from the bungalow, leaving Owen with her Camaro.

When they arrived in the park, she managed to get the Jeep to the hotel and parked across the lot, lest she draw attention to herself. After checking in with the front desk and assuring them that Owen had sent Marianne to collect Sophie for the day, they found themselves at the right door on the penthouse floor. Marianne knocked twice before she swiped the key-card, and stepped into the suite. Sophie's head popped up from behind the couch, and it took a split second for her to recognize Marianne.

"Marianne!" She shrieked with delight, clamoring over the couch. She bolted with arms outstretched to her, and Marianne took a knee to welcome her in an embrace. The little girl tightly threw her arms around Marianne's neck and squeezed, her body wound with excitement. She smelled of soap, milk, and breakfast, and Marianne was suddenly grateful to see her young friend.

"Hi, Sophie," she said with a chuckle, "good to see ya."

Sophia pulled back from her, arms still wrapped around Marianne's neck. "You've been gone a long time," she pouted, "Uncle Owen said you moved back home." She grinned again, "But I knew that wasn't true. You're here now!" She bounced up and down, her eyes sparkling with youthful pride and delight. She was slightly sunburned and incredibly tan, and her hair was lighter than Marianne remembered.

Marianne wrinkled her nose and puffed out a dramatic breath, pushing aside one of the girl's raven curls. She gave her a flat smile and made a face, "Only for a little while," she indicated a small amount with her fingers, "but I'm back now, you're right." Sophie moved in to hug her tightly again, and Marianne shuffled her back and wrinkled her nose again, gesturing to the girl's mid-morning attire of miss-matching pajamas and slippers. "Why don't you go change into some pants and a shirt and some sneakers, and we'll hang out this afternoon, huh?"

She nodded, furiously. "Okay!" was the reply, and she took off to change her clothes in the bathroom. Marianne stood and found Alan and Nick both staring at her – Alan, with a look of surprise; Nick, with a grin of amusement and adoration. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants and thumbed over her shoulder towards the rest of the hotel suite, which hardly looked lived in amidst the little girl's stay.

"I didn't know you were good with kids," Nick observed suddenly. Marianne remembered that he sons of his own, and probably had picked up on her interaction with Sophie than Marianne would've. She swallowed back a breath and bit back a snide remark; she swallowing that, too. Or, at least, tried to.

She gave him a look, but a remarked escaped anyway. "You didn't stick around long enough to find out, Nickolaus," she started and shouldered past him, "Why don't you two hunker down here for the morning until I get back," she checked her watch, "Owen's inspecting a paddock this morning - Sophie and I are going to meet him and we'll see if we can't track down Ellie and send her your way."

Alan made a face, crossing his arms. He braced his legs a shoulder's width apart and raised a brow beneath the brim of his hat. He took off his sunglasses and folded them, placing them in the front pocket of his shirt. "Do you think you should be out gallivanting around? Weren't you forced off this island?" His tone was warning, and he gave her a fatherly look she had forgotten.

She shrugged, "I'm Owen's girlfriend," it still felt weird to say, but she liked the way it sounded, "they may have fired me, but they can't keep me away from him. I'm like a guest," she winked at the pair, "I just happen to know my way around administration, too." As she concluded her statement, Sophie burst out from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of tan shorts, miniature-looking hiking boots, and a long-sleeved, checkered button down. She'd even pulled on a frayed and weathered-looking ballcap.

She handed a white ribbon up to Marianne. "Please tie this in my ponytail," she asked, and Marianne nodded. Once she'd finished, the young girl slipped a small cross-body bag over her shoulder and announced, "I'm ready!"

Marianne nodded once, looked back to the two men, and extended a hand for Sophie to take. "Me too," she replied, passing by Alan to press a quick kiss to his cheek. She nodded to Nick, who made room for Marianne and her charge to pass. Once at the door, she looked over her shoulder and slipped her sunglasses on. She opened the door, and with a smile and light wave to her mentor, she and Owen's niece made their way back to the Jeep.