Disclaimer: I do not own the Jurassic Park/World franchise or any of it's characters; I only own the characters and plots of my own mind.

15. Welcome to Jurassic Park

Owen popped out of his bungalow with a piece of toast dangling out of his mouth. One hand was shoved into the pocket of his pants in search for his keys, which were jangling muffledly behind the layers of fabric. The other hand was both clutching a mug filled with coffee and attempting to tug the door closed. Owen Grady had, for the first time in a good while, chosen to take the day off. He had been planning on spending his day away from the raptor pen with Gwyn Grant, trekking through humid jungle for the majority of the afternoon. Gwyn was bent on finding the old visitor's center, and had invited him along for the journey. Owen had seemed equally surprised to learn the structure still stood, and his curiosity drove him to enthusiastically agree to tag along. Yes, it would mean that he would be dripping head-to-toe in sweat in the matter of an hour, and, yes, it was predicted that that afternoon was going to be the hottest of the month so far; but he'd be spending time with Gwyn, which he found he rather enjoyed.

A swear was uttered around his mouthful of toast, once a splash of hot coffee sloshed over the back of his hand. The scalded skin stung as the rivulets of caffeinated liquid trickled across it; with a mighty sigh, Owen pushed the door back open and deposited the mug on the small table just inside. It wouldn't have fit in the cupholders anyway. The other hand had more success and found the keys, which jangled brightly once extracted from their cloth prison. Gwyn had said to stop by 'some time before noon,' which Owen took to mean 'nine, because we can start before it gets too hot.' Unfortunately, the sun was already shining passionately and mercilessly in the cloudless blue sky above. After folding the toast in half twice and fitting it into his mouth, Owen jumped into his jeep and started down the road towards Gwyn's bungalow. The distance between their places of residence was, quite honestly, not all that far. They were on opposing corners on the same side of the lake, which meant that it was legitimately possible for them to swim the length of the lake as a means to go see the other. It would take quite a bit of effort and a lot of dedication, but it was possible.

Gwyn was seated in the single lawn chair she owned, which migrated around her little property day-to-day. That morning, its home was the little porch that faced the glittering lake. When Owen pulled up, he found her busily observing the numerous sheets of paper that were clenched in both hands. Her hair was sloppily piled atop her head in what might have once been a neatly done bun. She wasn't dressed for hiking, that was for certain; he would venture to guess she was still dressed in her pajamas. A mug was sat atop the table just beside the chair, and it appeared to be holding down another stack of papers, discouraging the wind from snatching up her notes. It also appeared that she had slipped into her hyper focused workaholic mode, as Gwyn did not notice when Owen pulled up, got out of the jeep, and approached her bungalow. Owen patted the head of the stone brachiosaurus that was settled at the base of the porch steps. It had a wonky little face, but it was cute. Apparently Lowery had given it to her as a 'congrats on surviving––oh, sorry, poor choice of word!––your first month at Jurassic World!' gift. With each visit, Owen would notice that the bungalow exterior had started to look more homey. It was edging on six months since she had arrived, and the bungalow finally seemed established. All of the flowers and various other plants had found their permanent homes in the ground and were already thriving in the rich soil. A thermometer had been screwed into the wall by the door where it hung slightly askew, a set of mud-spattered shoes sat atop the railing, and clothing had been hung out to dry on a clothesline made out of flimsy twine she'd stolen from Owen. Her little home on the side of the lake was a little slice of heaven on an island that plagued her with terrible memories on the daily.

"Morning, Gwyn," Owen said pleasantly. He sat himself down on the blue plastic cooler set just opposite of Gwyn's chair. She hummed and flicked the paper in her hands, trying to keep it from bending in the wind.

"Morning…" she murmured distractedly. A grin spread across Owen's face, watching as the pinch between her brows deepened. There was always a particularly concentrated look on her face whenever she got so focused––it got more endearing every time he saw it. Gwyn set one handful of papers down, placing a rock atop the documents before immediately returning to reading over the remaining sheets. Her lips moved in a barely perceptible motion, as though mouthing the words she was reading. She scratched something out with a pen, which was then clamped between her teeth for convenience's sake. Owen chuckled, a fond smirk pulling one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

"You're, uh, doing that thing where you're so focused you don't realize other stuff is going on," he informed. It had come to Owen's attention that most of anything could go on and Gwyn could ignore it if she was focused enough. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth and he watched her carefully as he spoke again. "You know, some people might find that annoying… but I think it's kinda cute."

Her head snapped up quickly, hair flouncing around her face. "W-what?" Gwyn asked. Her blue eyes had widened and her mouth was still parted from speaking; as a result, the pen toppled from her lips and it hit the table comically. Hair tickled at her cheeks and nose when the wind swept off the lake in a warm wave. Owen beamed and straightened up some, pointing at her in a 'gotcha' motion. He tried not to let himself get caught up in the fact he had noticed she was blushing a little. It was a very becoming flush of pink.

"So you can hear me when you go into workaholic mode."

"I just… fall into that… zone sometimes," Gwyn defended. "It helps on digs, keeps me focsued." She tucked the remaining papers under her coffee mug, which was completely empty. Her voice had been gentle and quiet, as though she had just been woken up or had been broken out of a trance. She cleared her throat and reached down to tug the hem of her pastel lilac shorts down a couple inches. When her attention was redirected to Owen, who sat about a foot lower than her, she made a face and reached up to massage the back of her neck. "I really should get a second chair, you always end up sitting on that thing…"

Owen's smiled returned, feeling strangely pleased that she wanted to get a second chair for him.

It was little things like Gwyn mentioning she wanted to get him a lawn chair that made that increasingly familiar stirring bloom to life inside his chest. Sometimes it was accompanied by a flush of warmth. It would always give him pause, no matter how slight, as he would pinpoint just what had caused the sensation. Be it a shift in the tone of Gwyn's voice, a hand on his shoulder, or even the way their knees would bump when one of them would slouch into a seat beside the other. Such occurrences happened fairly often, especially with the increase of time the two spent with each other; they were now the sort of friends that knew how the other took their coffee, right down to the amount of cream and the number of sugar packets they wanted. People had even taken to asking one of them where the other was if the other party couldn't be found. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to picture Jurassic World without Gwyn's presence in it, Owen had realized.

"Are you not planning on hiking anymore?" Owen asked, gesturing to her attire. Gwyn looked down and pinched the lightweight, short-sleeved kimono style robe that was wrapped around her torso.

"Oh, no, I am!" she assured. "I just… figured you would probably show up around eleven."

"I figured you'd want to leave around now, y'know, to beat the heat."

"I think it's too late for that; it's been this warm since eight. Only gonna get hotter."

Owen felt his face instinctively screw up into a peculiar look when she had mentioned a specific time. "Have you been awake since eight?"

"Ehhh…" Gwyn waved a hand through the air as though it were nothing, then held it to her mouth to stifle a yawn. Owen pursed his lips in concern, realizing just how tired she actually looked; he worried that, perhaps, her nightmare had returned again. Her hand then fell to the table, fingers gingerly resting atop the innumerable pieces of paper. "I'm just going through the reports I have to turn in at the end of the week, making sure there aren't typos. Wu likes to have the reports both physically and digitally. With my suspension from 'special research' I've had too much time to linger on grammar mistakes…" She offered a wry smile. "There are many."

It was painfully clear that Gwyn was trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of her sleepless night. Owen cocked an eyebrow at that realization, but chuckled at her self-deprecating joke regardless. The wryness of Gwyn's smile faded and became a full-fledged grin. She started to shuffle all the papers together, moving the various makeshift paper weights. Those included a rock, her mug, and a small flower pot. Upon moving the pot Owen watched her wince and shake off some soil that was littered across the paper.

"If you just give me a minute, I'll get ready and we can head out," she told him, rising from her seat. Owen rose from the cooler and watched Gwyn start to head inside, only to pause and turn back around. She offered a mildly sheepish but pleasingly charming smile. "Would you mind taking my laundry off the clothesline while I get dressed?"

Owen arched both eyebrows and looked towards the clothesline, from which swayed a handful of clothing items. He shrugged his shoulder and nodded his head, earning a bright and thankful 'thank you' as Gwyn swept inside. The corner of his mouth quirked up a little, finding himself strangely pleased that she trusted him enough to take down her laundry; something that was oddly… intimate. He made quick work of unpinning the dried clothes and piling it all into the crook of an arm. Owen then strolled into the living room and dropped the pile of clothes onto the loveseat. With a roguish smirk, he pinched the silky-soft lilac fabric of a cute pair of panties. He arched a brow and cast Gwyn––who had just put her papers into a haphazardly organized binder––a smirking look over his shoulder. "Bet you look cute in these." Both of her eyebrows rose when she saw the article of underwear he was speaking of; then, instead of blushing like Owen had expected, she shot a smirk right back at him.

"I do look cute in those." She then plucked them from his grasp, smiled her own roguish grin, and headed towards the back of the bungalow to change. Owen smirked and chuckled, eyes drawn to the sway of her hips, which he could have sworn she was exaggerating. Gwyn cast a glance over her shoulder just as she disappeared, eyes sparkling with mirth. With a shake of his head, Owen let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. From her teasing comments, her pleasant concern, her dismissal of bad dreams, and the way she warmed his chest with a single look, she would be the death of him. But if death was the outcome, it would be a very pleasant one to be had.

OOOO

The afternoon heat was hinging on unbearable. It was the hottest day in the previous two weeks, and both Gwyn and Owen were spending it hiking through the jungle in the gyrosphere plane. Her skin was slick with sweat and spots of her clothing had gone damp. She'd been consistently sipping at her water all morning, which left about half the bottle to still be drunk. The search had started with traversing the gyrosphere valley as stealthily as possible; the last thing they needed was for Claire to set security on them. They then followed the marked up map to a thicket of jungle just south eastern of the open fields. Owen seemed perfectly contented with trekking through the dense jungle foliage; in fact, he almost seemed at home doing it. His steps were careful, his movements cautious, and his eyes sharp and observant. Gwyn would admit it was nice to have company, even if they did split up every so often to cover more ground. They had been searching for a couple of hours, stopping every now and then as the sweltering heat sapped their energy.

"So," Owen started, mopping a hand over his sweaty forehead, "what had you up so early?" Gwyn gulped down a mouthful of water and shrugged her shoulders dismissively. He chuckled lowly and shook his head. "No, no, no, don't give me that dismissive shit; it was the nightmare, wasn't it?"

Silence joined the conversation as Gwyn grimaced. "You guessed it," she tried to joke, her laughter weak and short lived. "It's just, uh… hard to fall back asleep after I have it, so I usually busy myself with whatever I can find. I just so happened to have that mountain of paperwork to get through. Convenient."

There was a gentle thwack as Owen batted aside a fern frond, and from the corner of her eye, she could tell he was eyeing her carefully.

"You conked out pretty fast when I was there," he pointed out.

Gwyn shrugged again and scratched at the back of her neck, which was slick with sweat. It was hard to ignore that her heart started to beat a little faster at the recollection of that night. She had been an absolute mess, shaking and crying and trapped between dream and reality. And what had kept her grounded, what had reassured her was him. Owen had been a steady, warm presence on that awful evening, and there was no ignoring that. Her father had been a rock for her before, but with Owen, something was… different.

"That night was… different," Gwyn admitted after clearing her throat. The subtext of those words being: it was different because you were there. Owen nodded silently beside her, and the gentle clearing of his throat made her believe that he understood that subtext. A heated flush not attributed to the heat flooded her cheeks. She twisted her head to the right in the guise of stretching her neck; in reality she grimaced into the jungle, eyes scrunched shut.

"Just remember that if you need anything, give me a call. Day, night, rain, shine… brachiosaur's the word," Owen reminded, nudging her with his shoulder. Grimace faded, Gwyn smiled and shook her head fondly.

It was then that Gwyn stumbled over a root, her toe catching on it suddenly. She stumbled forward a handful of steps and wobbled around on her feet for a moment. A hand appeared in the middle of her back, helping her to regain her balance. Thanking Owen, she planted both hands on her hips and let her head loll backwards. She stared up at the flecks of sunlight that filtered through the leaves above her. They danced and grew and shrank as the thick, warm breeze passed through the branches. She took a swig from her water bottle, and then considered its lukewarm contents. Gwyn ducked her head and moved her braid aside; with the water bottle tilted, water splashed against the back of her neck. The water rolled over her sweaty skin and dribbled down her back and over her collarbones. She reached up and rubbed the water around, bringing it to the front of her throat and the underside of her jaw. It didn't do much, but it did cool her down some.

Silently, Gwyn held the bottle out to Owen, brows arched. He accepted the proffered bottle gratefully and drank the remainder of its contents. Reaching around his back, he fitted the empty plastic container into his back pocket. Gwyn watched as his expression shifted, brows pinching and eyes narrowing. He nodded at something just ahead of them.

"See that?" Owen asked. Gwyn followed his gaze curiously. Her eyes skimmed over a wall of trees only to freeze and realize that what she was looking at was not natural foliage. Gwyn's heart nearly stopped.

What she had initially suspected to be a tight cluster of trees or a hill, was, in fact, walls. Walls that were covered in thick layers of vines and ivy. Walls that were obscured by various forms of flora and fauna that had started growing around them once nature had been allowed to run its course. Walls that had once been pristine and white, shining in the sun. There was also a door, the handles of which formed the vague shape of an egg. Gwyn's arm fell limply to her side and the neutral look that had been comfortably resting on her face shifted. Her eyes were wide, just like the first time she had stood in front of that building; she felt as though she'd de-aged some twenty or so years. Her mouth fell open and went dry, despite the fact she'd gulped down water only a moment before. Emotions began to churn around inside her, drawing up memory after memory. She remembered arriving at the visitor's center for the first time, grinning excitedly as she tugged on her father's arm. She remembered leaving the visitor's center for the last time––half conscious and carried in her father's arms, with a bloody t-shirt tied around her chest in lieu of a bandage. When Lowery had told her the structure still stood, she believed him as she had no reason not to. But to actually see it for herself was mind boggling.

In a slight daze, Gwyn's feet shuffled forward, forgetting her companion, and walked towards the door. It had tarnished over the years, become weather worn and beaten as nature took claim over it. The paleontologist climbed the steps, which were cracked and sitting at awkward angles, with an almost reverent slowness. Gwyn stopped at the very top of the steps and inhaled shakily. Standing there after so many years made her feel strange. It was like finding an old childhood toy, an experience that brought both awe and sadness. There was almost something… comforting about the fact it was still there; that it had become a fossil like the creatures it had been made to glorify.

"Is this…?" Owen's voice was quiet and it barely registered to Gwyn. She reached out and touched the vine covered door, testing to make sure it wasn't just in her imagination. When her fingers brushed against the surprisingly cool, engraved metal, a breath fled her mouth in the form of a word.

"Yeah."

"Holy shit… That Lowery guy didn't lie." In her peripheral vision, Gwyn could see Owen thread his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back to stare up the entire height of the wall. His tone was disbelieving, and Gwyn couldn't agree with that feeling more.

With the daze wearing off, Gwyn took a few more steps forward and placed both hands on the handle of each respective door. She exhaled shakily for the second time. Did she really want to do this? Did she want to open the doors and let loose a flood of memories she had been keeping locked away for so many years? Was she ready to remember things she had likely forgotten? Fingers tightening around the handles, she made herself say the brave answer––yes. Gwyn pushed forward with all her might, the hinges of the door having become stiff with age. The vines strained and attempted to keep hold of their on the doors; try and keep them shut and bar Gwyn entry. She leaned all her weight against the doors. Her face scrunched up with the effort she was putting into shoving at the doors. After a moment, the vines snapped and the doors opened with a groan. The air that hit her face smelled musty and a couple degrees cooler than the air outside. Gwyn stumbled a couple steps forward and into a building that she'd last set foot in twenty years prior.

Dead leaves crunched under foot, scraping along what had once been a magnificent marble floor. It was now covered in dirt and decaying fauna, looking much like the jungle floor outside. Nature had, indeed, taken over the skeletal form of the original visitor's center; the interior was flooded with plants that grew through cracks and windows, with vines spilling down the walls around them. The twisting staircase had ivy curling around the rusted banister and now unstable steps. Daylight spilled into the lobby murkily through the dirty glass in the ceiling above. Panes of it were shattered and missing. The scaffolding that had proved to be used as an escape route creaked quietly overhead, likely ready to fall away at any second; Gwyn thought it was possible the vines that had entwined themselves with the chains were the only things keeping it aloft. The second and third floor landings were practically obscured by curtains of hanging foliage, beyond which everything was painted in shadow. Gwyn stood dumbfounded just inside the doorway, head tilted back a few inches while her nose stung and her eyes started to water. Not from the smell of earth and must and decay, but from the pure power of emotion and nostalgia. She could recall every detail of every moment she had spent in that lobby, right down to the way that everything had smelled. How everything had started out smelling brand new and ended up smelling of fear and blood.

The sound of shifting leaves signalled Owen's approach. Gwyn felt his hand settle in the middle of her back in a gesture that was both comforting and supportive. A teary laugh tumbled from her mouth and her lips stretched into a strange sort of smile.

"The paint wasn't even dry the last time I was here," she said. Her words were trembling and there was a sharp inhale of air at the end of the sentence, like a hiccup or a sob. For some odd reason she felt… sad. Sad that the once beautiful building was in such disrepair. But why was that? One of the worst moments in Gwyn's life had taken place inside those walls, and she felt sad that it was left to rot? Another laugh bubbled unbidden from her throat, this time confused in nature. Her brows furrowed and her mouth dropped open like she might speak. But she didn't. A small column of heat appeared on her cheek, growing longer and longer till it met the curve of her chin and disappeared. Gwyn raised a hand and wiped away the tear with the back of her hand.

"Are you okay?" Owen asked gently. His hand had started to move in a slow circular motion, disregarding the dampness of her shirt. Gwyn looked over to Owen and felt her stomach twist around more than it already had been. The man's face was crunched up in the concerned look he had worn when he'd seen her wake from her nightmare. A faint smile flickered briefly across her face, before it faded and she gave a little shrug of the shoulders.

"I, uh… I… don't know, honestly," Gwyn admitted. Owen nodded and pulled her gently into his side. His hand migrated up to her shoulder, where his fingers curled around it in a tight, reassuring gesture. Gwyn placed her left hand in the middle of his back with her fingers gently splayed out. All the while, their gaze didn't break. The corners of Owen's eyes narrowed a fraction, betraying a growing amount of concern. She curled her fingers to gently grasp at the fabric of his sweat dampened shirt. He raised both eyebrows seriously, a preface to the words that he spoke next.

"Do you wanna leave?"

Gwyn returned her gaze to the dilapidated building and listened as Owen's voice echoed for a second before it became muffled by the layers of foliage. Did she want to leave? Did she want to stay? The part of her head that usually screamed at her to use common sense––which would, in fact, have told her to hightail it out of there––was silent. Stunned. It had no bearing on the decision she would make. "This place, it's… it's been an enigma in my mind for years, and maybe just taking a walk through would be… beneficial. See that it's nothing to be scared of anymore."

"What if it isn't helpful?" Owen asked, sounding regretful for having to pose the inquiry. Gwyn inhaled deeply and held her chin a fraction higher. She stepped forward, squared her shoulders, and eyed her surroundings sharply, in warning. A deep breath of musty air was taken in through her nose and let out slowly through her mouth, reminding herself that she was stronger than the last time she was there. The only thing that could hunt her now were the memories; the raptors were long since dead. Gwyn looked at Owen over her shoulder, nerves just barely steeled while anxiety clawed at the back of her throat.

"Then I'll at least have had a walk down memory lane."

Owen looked like he was about to protest, but Gwyn had already set off across the lobby. She smoothed her palms along the sides of her thighs, trying to act as brave as she was telling herself she could be. Her feet tromped over something that crinkled under the sole of her boot, a papery sort of sound. She paused, only briefly, to find she had trod on the banner that had once hung vibrant and proud above her eleven year-old head. In decaying yellow letters, she could read the word 'ruled.' Beside it was a scattered pile of dinosaur bones that had once been suspended from the ceiling; dirt had started to migrate atop it, mostly obscuring the forgotten fossils from sight. Flashes of screaming while dangling from twisting wires flashes to mind, her hands itching as though they were still clinging to the spine of the tyrannosaur skeleton. Behind her, Owen was following in the manner of a tourist lagging behind a tour guide.

"There used to be two skeletons suspended from the ceiling," Gwyn told him, turning around whilst pointing upwards. "A tyrannosaurus-rex and a… sauropod, I think. Eleven year-old me thought that was really cool."

Owen laughed quietly and pushed his hands into his pockets. "And thirty-one year-old you wouldn't?"

A much needed laugh was pulled from Gwyn, and she nodded her head guiltily. "You got me there, Grady." She turned back around and continued to step over the field of fossilized bones. She gestured limply to the right, narrowing her eyes at the darkened hall in that direction. "I think there's a room down there that leads to the laboratories; but I imagine InGen picked it clean." Her narration was, surprisingly, keeping her calm. It was helping balance the memories with the dilapidated state everything was in now; a reminder that the memories were, in fact, memories. They were the past.

Gwyn fished her phone out of her pocket and flicked on the flashlight setting. She held it out in front of her as she took a left. Natural sunlight did not reach where they were going, and suddenly Gwyn was much more apprehensive as they continued forward. Her steps were slower and her shoulders became a little more tense. It felt like the shadows were ready to engulf her, swallow her whole.

"Can't believe this place is still standing," Owen murmured behind her. More light flooded the hall, and a quick glance over her shoulder revealed that he, too, had started to use his phone for light. He pulled a face as he shone it upwards, illuminating the ceiling. Gwyn snorted her agreement.

"I always figured it would have been a pile of rubble by now," she deadpanned. "I guess it would have been too much trouble to tear it down; probably more lucrative to just leave it to rot." Owen continued to shift his phone this-way-and-that, directing the light in every direction.

"Mural seems to be holding up, though," Owen pointed out, tone light. Gwyn turned her attention to where Owen had turned, the wall now illuminated thanks to his phone.

Sure enough, the impressive mural that Gwyn had marveled at years ago remained almost untouched, if not a little dirty. She stepped towards the meticulously painted jungle scene, her eyes locked on a predominant figure in that image. With fingers stretched out, Gwyn dragged her fingertips over the painted image of a velociraptor. She gently traced the shape of its head and marveled at how docile it looked. That hand dropped away and she brushed her fingers off on her pant leg. She vaguely recalled thinking a similar thought all those years ago; and she surely remembered how very unlike the mural the raptors had been.

The two then turned to stare into the dilapidated dining room just behind them. Some tables were overturned, plates shattered on the ground, chairs sitting askew. Others looked perfectly untouched, plates waiting for food, silverware perfectly placed, tablecloths dirty but present. The room smelled particularly worse than the lobby, something that she attributed to the amount of food that had been left unattended to upon abandoning the island. Gwyn shuffled forward, eyeing one table in particular. Once there, she placed a hand on the back of the chair a smaller version of herself had sat in once. It was at that table she, Tim, and Lex had relaxed after a night of terror. Relaxed before their nightmare continued. Just as she turned, her foot swept across the floor and hit something.

Gwyn gaped at what she'd accidentally kicked. It was a bag.

"No…" she murmured.

Gwyn dropped into a crouch and wrenched at the zipper, which was stuck in a couple of spots. The last yank she gave saw the zipper break, the seams holding it in place ripping easily. Once it was open, she peered inside and laughed in shock. It was her old backpack––the one that she had abandoned twenty years prior. The bag was made of nylon and had protected the contents a little, though it was starting to decay in some places and was covered in a smattering of damp dirt. Inside the backpack was her old sketchbook, which was a little worse for wear but still recognizable. The camera she never got a chance to use sat cold and untouched. Pens and pencils rattled inside a pocket, a bottle of sunblock, and the book that she had read on the plane to Costa Rica. It was a dirty little time capsule that she had forgotten completely about. It was a reminder of the happier aspect of that day; how excited she had been to be on vacation with her father and Ellie, and the giddiness that coursed through her at the thought of seeing live dinosaurs.

Gwyn scooped the bag into the crook of her arm and rose to her feet, smiling faintly.

"What's through here?"

Upon lifting her gaze from the bag, she spotted Owen shining his light on and approaching a door towards the back of the room. It was metal with a single circular window, the pane of glass scratched fogged over by time. Its lever door handle made Gwyn's smile drop. With eyelids fluttering, she recalled watching that very handle shift downwards whilst she cowered in the park kitchen. She remembered being shocked upon realizing that it was a velociraptor that had opened the door––opened it like a human. Gwyn began to zone out, eyes locked on that damned door. Her ears stung with the tapping of claw against tile, throaty hunting calls, and terrified screams. The smell of blood and rancid breath stung her nostrils. The beating of her heart escalated to a frightened patter. Gwyn's chest started to ache in a sharp line, and her hand rose to massage the scar nervously. The heat of the jungle seemed to sweep into the previously cool dining room, and the wetness in the air became disgustingly humid.

"Kitchen…" Gwyn choked out, voice quiet and breathy.

Memories continued to run rampant through her head, engulfing every sense except her vision. The only thing she could look at was the door, which felt magnetic, like it was trying to draw her back to her past. To the moment that had introduced her to the legitimate fear of death. The irrational part of her chanted that the raptor still waited for her on the other side of that door, ready to kill. No rationality could override that idea, it was being screamed too loud. It was only when a gentle hand touched her shoulder that she was wrenched from her trance. Gwyn jerked sharply and grabbed hold of a chair for support. She turned her back to the door, and focused her gaze on the first thing it landed on. That happened to be the third button on Owen's button down. The muffled sound of his voice warped around her ears like he was talking underwater. After her heart calmed and her breathing evened out, Gwyn cleared her throat.

"Let's go," she murmured.

When they exited the decaying building, Owen pulled the front doors tightly shut. Gwyn continued down the steps without casting a backwards glance at the dilapidated façade. It merely lurked behind her back like her own shadow, following her wherever she went. It was unshakeable. Inescapable. At the foot of the cracked steps, Gwyn stopped and grit her teeth. It was then that she looked over her shoulder at the looming building. It was unshakeable and inescapable because it was part of her, she realized. Jurassic Park would never disappear for her; it would stay with her till the day she died.

OOOO

The sunset that evening was spectacular. It painted the sky in pinks and golds, and paired with the pleasantly warm breeze, it was the perfect tropical picture. The golden tones of the sunset were offset by the orange, yellow, and pink light the paper lanterns that zig-zagged over Gwyn's deck. They were sat on the steps that descended to the small lawn with Owen carefully thumbing through Gwyn's old sketchbook. She sat one step above him, looking at the sloppy images over his shoulder.

"You had really good handwriting for a kid," Owen complimented, narrowing his eyes at some of the slanted letters on the page. Gwyn speared some pasta with her fork and started poking at the last piece of chicken; it slipped around the bottom of the bowl like it was evading capture.

"Better than my dad's––that's why I took all of his field notes. It was a joke with family friends that I'm the only one who can read his chicken-scratch; but it's less of a joke now that I still transcribe some of his stuff." She pushed the fork into her mouth and quietly enjoyed the rest of her dinner.

Owen had insisted on making dinner when they returned from their hike; she had tried to help several times, but he had shooed her a way with the wave of a hand and the flick of a dish towel. Eventually, he had ushered her out of the room and told her to relax. That was how she had found herself on the deck, trying to slow her racing thoughts whilst Owen cooked dinner in her kitchen. It was as Gwyn sat on the deck alone that, through the screen door, she heard Owen singing. It was that kind of under-the-breath singing that one did when they were focused on something more important. His voice would dip out for a second, the words jumbled and a little wrong, before picking up with more gusto at the chorus. He even vocalized some of the instrumentals, which made her smile. It was nice to hear him sing. There was something pleasantly heart-warming about hearing Owen's voice intermingling with the sound of pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen. It made calming down a little easier.

"And––wow––your drawing has come along way," Owen commented, chuckling brattishly. He looked up at her over his shoulder with a cocky smirk and a raised eyebrow. "What is this supposed to be? A chicken?"

Gwyn arched an eyebrow as he held the sketchbook at arms length, the dying evening light cast across the page in a golden hue. The page was browned around the edges and warped thanks to water damage. The pencil marks were still visible, though. With a roll of her eyes, Gwyn threw her knee into Owen's side; the chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. The drawing wasn't impressive compared to what she could do now. But, for an eleven year-old kid, it was pretty damn good.

"It's an apatosaurus, asshole," she laughed gently. Her brows furrowed and she cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing the twenty year-old drawing. "I think…"

Owen chuckled and winked at her, the corner of his eye crinkling endearingly as he did so.

"It's cute."

Gwyn smiled and took the sketchbook back and held it up at eye-level. She tried to decipher whether or not it was an apatosaurus. Much to her chagrin, she realized it kind of did look like a chicken. The lines were wobbly where they should have been straight, and the details weren't as detailed as she had once thought them to be. The face was wonky like her brachiosaur statue. The neck was a little too long, a little too thick. She quietly figured that she should have some of the pictures framed for Alan.

"So… are you feeling any better?"

Gwyn lowered the sketchbook contemplatively. The trek back from the visitor's center had found her so lost in her own head that if there had been any conversation, she didn't remember it. She couldn't recall if Owen had asked her the same question earlier. Based on previous conversations, Gwyn knew that he had refrained from asking any other questions because of how invasive and triggering they could be. He once mentioned how he hated it when people pried too much when he had one of his 'moments' as he called them. The answer to the question he had asked, however, was a complicated one.

"Yes," she decided, before crumpling her brows together and pursing her lips. "And no. The dinner really helped, so thank you. I guess I just… I've been too in my head." With that said, Gwyn massaged her forehead with the heel of her palm, lips pulled into a grimace.

There was a quiet but sharp tinging sound as Owen tapped the edge of his bowl with his fork. Gwyn opened her eyes, forehead still braced against her palm, and found the aforementioned man grimacing at nothing in particular. His knee had started to jump anxiously, heel tapping atop the next step down. Before she could inquire as to how he was, Owen sat a little straighter and cleared his throat.

"I pointed out the kitchen," he stated definitively. "I feel responsible for… y'know…" When his voice trailed off, Owen scrubbed a hand over his face and grunted quietly. Gwyn's expression, previously crumpled in worry, began to soften.

"Owen…"

"I'm sorry."

Owen was frowning severely and was valiantly attempting to avoid looking in her direction. Gwyn reached out a hand and placed it on his knee, which caused his eyes to dart towards the point of contact. She shifted down a step so she sat beside him and bent forward to try and catch his eyes.

"Owen, none of that was your fault," Gwyn reassured. She gave his knee a little squeeze and he shifted a little at the gentle pressure. "It's like I said, I was too in my head today. So in my head I, stupidly, didn't realize that, maybe, it would be a bad idea to give the visitor's center a nostalgic look around. Especially after having the dream again last night. You were right to ask if it wouldn't help before I idiotically sauntered into the landscape of my nightmares. I should've listened to you." She laughed a little there and smiled. Owen chanced a look at her, the corner of his mouth pulling up a little. "Came to a realization, though, so it wasn't all bad."

Owen shifted a little, the whole of his attention returning to the woman sat beside him. "And what realization would that be?"

"That I would not be who I am today if I hadn't been put through the trauma of Jurassic Park," she stated simply, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. "What happened all those years ago… so much of it informed how I went about my life afterwards. I wouldn't be who I know myself to be if my father had never accepted Hammond's offer… if I had never been trapped in that kitchen… and, you know what? I really like who I am." Gwyn laughed and smiled broadly, an almost sheepish shrug moving her shoulders. "It's… strange to realize that you have to be oddly thankful to the moment that made you who you are. Because I would never wish what happened to me on anyone… and if I could go back in time and prevent myself from having to experience it, I sure as hell would, but… If I had never been attacked, I would be a very different Gwyn Grant. It's… macabrely funny. The most hated and feared moment of my life is what molded me. I have to thank it, no matter how much it haunts me. Jurassic Park will never die for me––it'll die with me."

The hand that had been resting on Owen's knee was suddenly scooped into the warm grasp of another hand. Owen had slipped his hand atop hers, his fingers seeking out the spaces between her own. Without thinking, Gwyn flipped her hand around so her palm met his; then, simultaneously, both Owen and Gwyn curled their fingers to clasp their hands together. It wasn't necessarily a gesture of comfort––it was a gesture of companionship. A simple movement to let the other know that they were there. Nothing more was expected, though Gwyn did lean into his side and drop her head to his shoulder. For a minute, neither of them spoke. They simply enjoyed being in the other's company. The evening insects were starting to chip and hum, the birds trilled their evening songs, and the dying light was becoming increasingly more pink.

"You know," Owen said, voice warm and light, "I'm a fan of this Gwyn Grant, too––wouldn't want her to change in the least bit. Jurassic nightmares, memories, and all."

Gwyn smiled and turned her face into his shoulder, hair falling to obscure the flattered expression and the flush that appeared on her cheeks. She tightened her hold on his hand upon realizing that her stomach had fluttered a little at what he said. It had been a deep pull in her gut, one that inspired a skip in her heartbeat. That skip only returned when she felt Owen press his lips to the top of her head. It was a fleeting gesture, but it had happened; and it made Gwyn grin stupidly in the dying light of sunset.

Afterword: Sorry I was MIA for a while. I was swamped with work and it sort of sapped all my creative energy. I've barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down to write for as long as I would like to. But I had some time this morning to finish this chapter (which has been mostly finished for weeks).

And in an effort to get it out there, I'm forgoing review replies for just this chapter––but THANK YOU to everyone who read and reviewed/added this to their favorites/follows. Next chapter I'll get back to replying to all you lovely people, because I adore getting to talk to you all.

Thank you all for being so patient, and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; I was in a weird place when I wrote most of this, so sorry if it's kinda funky. Thank you all again! You rock!

~Mary