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.

32. Spread the News

Bozeman, Montana

Alan Grant could count the number of times he thought he might have a heart attack on both his hands. And almost every instance in which that happened, it was related to that damn hellscape of an island. It never ceased to try and destroy him any way it could, no matter how far away he was from it. And it would seem that it was seeking to do so again. He had only been home from work for fifteen minutes when the world sought to pull the ground from under him.

"Breaking news off of Isla Nublar."

Those words were enough to cause Alan's heart to seize up. He was stood at his sink, beer bottle in hand, bottle opener in the other. The sound of the cap hitting the sink basin had almost been the trigger for the news caster's voice. Alan turned his head towards the kitchen doorway, waiting for the reporter to say something else. Anything else. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest, and he slowly started to inch his way towards the living room. News "off Isla Nublar" often left Alan rolling his eyes and snorting in distaste. But that was before his daughter had taken up work and residence there. Now any mention of the island in the news cycle put him on edge. It left his heart tripping over itself in worry. More often than not the news was about a new attraction, or a spike in ticket sales; but he always feared that he was going to hear the worst.

And one thing was for certain––"breaking news" was different than just "news." It was usually worse.

"Reports are coming in from the island stating that yet another break-out has occurred." The moment that Alan saw the television screen, he froze. The red news ticker at the bottom of the screen displayed the words: DINOSAUR RAMPAGE ON ISLA NUBLAR. The reporter on the screen looked distressed, despite her best efforts. "This is the fourth such incident since Jurassic Park fell to disaster in nineteen-nintey-three. As of now, we have been told that Jurassic World's aviary has suffered a breach, and that the animals held within it are now free. We will continue to report as more information becomes available."

The bottle in Alan's hand slipped from between his fingers and hit the floor. Beer sprayed across the hardwood and started to pool by his feet. One of his hands rose to cover his mouth as footage off Isla Nublar started to play on the television screen. Tourists screamed and darted around, ducking to avoid the bills of dimorphodons and pterodactyls alike. Alan's hand then quickly migrated to his pocket to extract his phone. Trembling fingers dashed to dial Gwyn's phone number.

The phone rocketed up to his ear, and Alan started to pace, foot briefly splashing into the pool of spilled beer. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" he muttered. His eyes didn't leave the television screen, where they continued to show horrifying video clips and photographs off the island.

Rrrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrr––

Hello, this is Gwyn Grant. I can't make it to the phone, so if you'd please––

"Shit!" Alan heaved, tearing the phone away from his ear. He dialed a second time, his fingers digging their way into his hair.

Rrrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrrrrrring. Rrrrrr––

Hello, this is Gwyn Grant. I can't make it to the phone, so if you'd please leave a message I'll get back to you when I can.

A ragged breath left Alan's mouth and his eyes clenched shut. There was a beep, where his message would begin––but he couldn't speak. Words failed him. An overwhelming sense of dread and fear washed over him, rendering him motionless and wordless in the middle of his living room. The phone dropped away from his ear and his thumb tapped the screen to hang up. It was with a sinking heart that Alan remembered the text he'd gotten from his daughter earlier that day.

I love you.

It wasn't an uncommon text, so it hadn't sparked worry. It had made him smile, actually, when he'd received it in the middle of a staff meeting. But he hadn't responded; and now he wished he had. Because the reason why Gwyn had sent the text was thrown into sharp perspective. It wasn't just a spontaneous reminder. She had texted it in case she died. That realization wrenched at his heart the hardest it had been pulled in years. It felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

His phone rang.

Alan's heart leapt with hope, hand shooting up so he could see who was calling––and smiling back at him was the contact photo for Ellie. His heart cramped up in disappointment, and then returned to that fragile, breaking feeling when he knew why she was calling. Upon answering the call and putting it up to his ear, he could already hear sniffling.

"Alan," breathed Ellie brokenly. She sounded like she was crying, or on the verge of tears, at least. "Did you hear about––"

"I did," he confirmed, voice thick. Talking wasn't easy. His heart was hammering so hard it was difficult to hear his own voice. His throat had tightened as he fought back terrified cries.

"Have you heard from her? From Gwyn?"

"No, I haven't. But she texted me, earlier."

"What did she say?" Ellie asked, frantic.

"Told me she loved me," Alan exhaled, unable to help the way his voice broke, how he sucked back air to stop a sob.

"Oh, Alan…" she croaked on the other end. It was easy to hear the edge of heartbreak in her voice.

Silence overcame them, words failing in their moment of shared fear. Every ounce of worry that Alan felt, Ellie was feeling too; because Gwyn was very much a daughter to her. Just as she was very much a mother to Gwyn. It was horrible to feel helpless when it came to the safety of one's child. It created a hollow feeling in the chest, one that ached and nagged. It left Alan feeling utterly and completely useless. It left him weak in the knees, listing forward to brace his only free hand against the back of the couch. A trembling, almost sickly sounding breath left his mouth.

"I don't know what to do, Ellie, I don't… she won't pick up the phone," Alan droned lowly. "She has to be alright, I don't know what I'll do if she isn't alright."

"I'm scared, too, Alan, but we have to… we've gotta hold out hope that she's okay. She's a smart woman, she knows how to handle herself," came Ellie's response. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying as she was saying it. She sniffled, then, and a quiet, muffled, "Oh, god…" could be heard shortly thereafter.

Alan raised his head, hair falling across his forehead messily. Through strands that were now more grey than blonde, he stared at a photograph, which hung in a frame on the wall beside the television. It was himself and Gwyn at her senior portrait session––she beamed at the camera while he smiled at her proudly. His fingers curled into the top of a couch cushion so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I'm going back…" he muttered.

"Wh… what? Alan, they're not going to let anyone on that island!"

"Then I'm gonna get as close as I can! They're gonna start evacuating, they have to. I'll… fly to Costa Rica and wait. I'll be damned if I don't see my daughter again."

The unspoken 'dead or alive' was heavy enough to crack concrete.

There was a shuddering breath on the other line of the phone. Another sniffle, an exhale, a pained sound. "Bring her back, Alan, please," she pleaded.

Alan's eyes crashed closed, and his head dropped forward. He took a steeling breath and nodded to himself. "I will. I promise."

"Keep me updated?"

"Always."

"Thank you. It'll… it'll be okay. Just remember to breathe."

"I will."

Their promises were as much of a goodbye that either of them could manage. Alan's phone slipped from his hand, and fell to the sofa with a muffled thud. That hand immediately moved to shield his face as it crumpled. A ragged gasp of air hissed in between his teeth. And, finally, after staving it off for as long as he could––he began to cry. Tears fell hot and heavy along his cheeks, and sobs rattled his chest. His knees gave out and crashed to the floor, leaving him slouched forward against the couch, elbows braced against the back of it. Isla Nublar was Alan's nemesis; and he was sick of it trying to destroy the ones he loved.

Alan had made damn sure it didn't take Gwyn from him back in '93; and he would be damned if she allowed it to finally get her.

OOOO

Isla Nublar

The sun had set shortly after they left the resort. By the time they were half-way to the raptor paddock, the sky had darkened significantly. After Zach and Gray relayed their harrowing tale, and Gwyn and Owen had shortly recounted their brush with the Indominus, the car fell silent. It was a much needed silence, really. The day had been nonstop noise. It had been go-go-go, unstoppable stimulation and action. The growing darkness and the quiet were soothing. They were a much needed reset after everything they'd all done and seen that day.

Gwyn had sat back against the seat, holding her left arm close in to her body. Her right hand concealed the bloody wounds from sight, particularly because Gray was seated right next to her. A subdued hiss would pass involuntarily between her teeth every time the car hit a ditch. It was impossible not to react; if her arm jostled, a fresh flood of pain would throb through her arm. It was hard not to swear, but, again, Gwyn was trying not to for the benefit of the kid. The key word there was 'try'; there were a couple of pretty rough bumps that jostled a garble swear out of her mouth. But Gray didn't correct her as he had Owen. In fact, if he'd noticed at all, he hadn't said a word about it.

The emergency flood lights around the raptor paddock were on when they arrived. Trucks of all sorts crowded the parking lot, portable tents had been established on the perimeter, and men in uniform milled about with guns slung across their backs or in their hands. It looked totalitarian and cold, everything that Gwyn had come to learn the paddock wasn't. It was stomach turning. And to top it all off––Hoskins was in the cage. It sparked a sudden protective anger in the depth of her chest, which left her lips twisting into something horridly unpleasant. And if she was angry, Owen was enraged. No sooner was the car put in park than he was jumping out of it. Upon realizing that she was trapped between Zach and Gray, Gwyn climbed between the two front seats. Her wounded arm protested, and it prompted a pained grunt. Despite the pain, she clamoured out of the driver's side door as Claire got out of the passenger's side.

"The mother hen has finally arrived!" Hoskins proclaimed. He was grinning as though he had won the lottery, walking towards them with a swagger in his step. Gwyn's bloodied fingers clenched in the height of frustration.

And no sooner did her fists clench, than one of Owen's swung out to clock Hoskins clean across the face.

Three men outfitted with guns and bulletproof vests stepped forward, backing up the doubled-over man wordlessly.

"Get the hell out of here and stay away from my animals," Owen practically growled. Hoskins straightened up, winced, and started to rub a hand across his freshly punched jaw.

"Hoskins, you wanted this to happen you son of a bitch," Claire punctuated, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, Jesus! How many more people have to die before this mission starts to make sense to you?" Hoskins bit out. His hand continued to cradle and nurse his chin, eyeing Owen warily, in case he went for another hit.

Gwyn stepped forward, the heat of anger rolling off of her in waves. "How many people have to die for you to realize that this 'mission' is a dumbass idea?" Now stood at Owen's right shoulder, and with Claire at his left, they had formed a united front against the man stood before them. She held Hoskin's gaze, daring him to say something against her, against what she'd said. All he did was let his lips quirk to one side.

"It's not a mission," said Barry, striding over. He glared at the head of InGen security. "It's a field test."

"This is an InGen situation, now. Okay, there are going to be cruise ships that show up here at first light! Everybody's gonna get off this island! You're gonna watch a news story tomorrow about how you all saved lives––no, no better yet!" Hoskins got up in Owen's face, far too close for comfort. "How your animals saved lives!"

There was a swath of silence before Owen turned his attention to Barry. He shook his head, eyes wide.

"They've never been out of containment. It's crazy!" Barry reminded.

Hoskins turned away and waved a hand through the air. "Let's move it out!" he called. There was the sound of revving engines, and the surprised, displeased whines of the Girls. "This is happening––with or without you."

It was a lose-lose situation. That much was painfully clear to Gwyn. Hoskins had been trying to get everyone onboard with this hairbrained scheme, and no matter how much they'd said no, he was finally getting his chance. He was grossly taking advantage of the situation. It made Gwyn sick to her stomach, it made her want to scream and throw him around. She spat a swear under her breath and turned away. She wordlessly threw her hands up and started to walk away, needing a chance to cool off; it was remarkable how heated she'd gotten from a forty-five second conversation.

"How does it feel?" Hoskins called after her. Gwyn immediately froze in her tracks. "To be back in the thrill of it?" The beating of her heart picked up into a hard thrum. "Y'know, I really pegged you as being the one who would buy into this. See how good it could be." The crunch of gravel telegraphed that he was following after her. With slow, confident steps. "You're a scientist! You study these things! You know them more intimately than any person on the planet, your little boyfriend included. It's a damn shame you can't see reason. You would've been great in taming these things."

Something snapped. Every time that he'd demeaned her advice, belittled her, and made her work life a living hell. It all crashed in blindingly, overwhelmingly. She whipped back around on her heels, cocked her arm back and swung forward. Her knuckles met his cheek with stinging force. It wiped the cocky smirk off his face––finally––and caused him to stumble. Gwyn grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt with bloody hands, and hauled him upright again; he got in his face the way he'd gotten into hers countless times before. He was gaping at her, seemingly shocked.

"They aren't things," she hissed. "They are living, breathing creatures, and you cannot control them. This is going to backfire on you harder than you know. You are going to be the reason more people die, mark my words." Gwyn's voice dropped into a harsh whisper, her eyes not once breaking away from his. "I hope the guilt of that rots inside of you. I hope it eats you from the inside out, Hoskins. Just as the ambition of this park is the reason it crumbles every time… your ambition is going to be the cause of your downfall."

Once the heaviness of that prediction landed, Gwyn released the collar of Hoskins' shirt. His face was stoic and his cheek was starting to turn red. She took one step backwards, eyes still locked with his, before she turned and took her leave. There was a prolonged moment of silence before Hoskins went back to yelling orders at his men. As she marched away, knuckles stinging, a smirk drew across her face.

She'd finally gotten the last word.

OOOO

New York City, New York

"The death toll on Isla Nublar is unknown at this current point in time, but we are happy to report that evacuation measures have been put into effect."

Tim Murphy sat hunched over his knees, hands pressed to his face, eyes wide and glassy. That glassiness reflected the light from his television––the cool blue of the news studio's background, the bright red of the ticker on the bottom of the screen. His throat was tight, a preface to a new flood of tears. With a congested sniff and a heavy exhale, Tim dropped his hands away from his mouth and nose. He reached out to grab the wine bottle off his coffee table and tip its contents into the glass beside it. His mouth hung open, nose too stuffed to breath through it properly. With the glass poured, he swore under his breath and threaded his fingers through already messy hair. A hand returned to cover his mouth, the other flopped limply against his thigh, eyes shooting back to the television.

It had been impossible to avoid the news.

And because he was a Jurassic Park survivor, people wouldn't have let him avoid it, even if he'd been able to.

News stations had already gotten hold of his work number. Every news outlet––from radio stations to their online websites––were dedicated to keeping people updated. They promised live updates as information came in, and they reiterated what information they already knew till it came in. Tim couldn't count the number of times someone brought up the incident in '93. He could now identify several horrifying video clips the minute it was described. Any time someone mentioned Gwyn's name, Tim's anxiety spiked. She wasn't dead––not as far as anyone knew; and they loved to keep pointing that out.

Tim dragged his hand away from his mouth, grabbed the wine glass, and took two large gulps. The glass, mostly empty now, was returned to the table and he flopped back against his couch. He stared at the television, but he wasn't absorbing anything being said. His brain felt like it was going numb, all while his emotions took over and ran rampant. While he sat there, his fingers curled inwards; he started to rub his fingertips over the irregular scar tissue that cut horizontally across the tender flesh of his palms. After a minute of repeatedly rubbing, Tim looked down at his hands. With a trembling breath, he rolled his hands over and flexed his fingers. The scars were an inch in width, crooked around the edges, gifted to him by way of electric shock. They were something that he'd grown to accept as being part of him and his story. But they were still reminders. They brought forth memories of rain and mud, the heat of metal cording under his fingers, the pain of electricity coursing through his body, the sound of metal utensils scattering across a kitchen floor…

And as Tim stared down at those scars, while the news described the newest Isla Nublar tragedy––tears fell from his eyes.

The sound of a knock at the door startled him enough to jump, fingers curling into the scarring. He let out a little breath, having to take a moment to remind himself where he was. He dashed tears off his cheeks with the backs of his hands, which he then shook out as he rose to his feet. The walk to the door was short, but Tim had taken long enough that the person behind it knocked again. When he pulled it open, he was met with the concerned face of his sister. Lex's eyes crumpled as they roamed his face, and Tim sniffled, looking away from her probing gaze. She stepped in without invitation, closed the door, and immediately wrapped her arms around him.

Tim immediately returned the embrace, unable to help the shuddering exhale that he released into Lex's shoulder. Her coat was flecked with rain, but his cheeks were damp, anyway. He could feel her hands curl slightly against the fabric of his t-shirt. The siblings always found comfort in one another when something like this happened. When the San Diego incident happened, they'd been at home in California, young and banned from watching the news by their parents. But they'd slept in the same room, in the same bed that night, jumping at every sound. It was a comfort to have someone who knew how they were feeling, and why they were feeling it. There was no need for questions to be asked, no need for painful elaborations. There was just an understanding embrace and much needed support.

When the hug broke, eventually, Lex let out a little sigh.

"How're you doing?" she asked quietly.

Tim let his shoulders rise and fall half-heartedly. "I dunno. My brain feels scattered, like it's… here and it's… there."

Lex looked over at the television, which was on and playing at a volume just a little too loud. He'd had it turned up so he could hear it in the kitchen while he tried to make food. Cooking ended up being out of the question, as he couldn't focus, so he'd just ordered in pizza, most of which sat cold on his counter. Turned out, he wasn't very hungry.

"Well, that's probably not helping," she commented. Lex walked around the couch, snatched up the remote and turned the volume down; it now sounded like a faint whisper, murmuring horrible tales and weaving terrible images. She then grabbed the bottle of wine off the table. She eyed its half-gone contents and leveled a very older sister-like look at Tim. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side.

"Would it make you feel better if I said the guy at the liquor store gave me a discount 'cause he recognized me?" he asked flatly.

"It'll make me feel better if you grab me a glass," Lex said.

Tim nodded and retreated to the kitchen in order to retrieve another wine glass. When he opened the cabinet and reached up towards the top shelf, his eyes lingered on a coffee mug on the second shelf. It bore the name 'MONTANA' across its front, surrounded by cartoony images associated with the state––mountains, an eagle, a camping tent, a bear. He'd bought it at Starbucks the last time he'd visited Gwyn in Montana. His heart squeezed in worry, and he blew out a breath as he snatched the wine glass and accidentally slammed the cabinet shut.

"Here," he offered, holding the glass out to his sister. She'd shucked her coat and sat down, so he plopped down beside her once she took the offered drinking vessel. Tim couldn't help how his eyes shot straight to the TV. "Can't believe it's happening again… Like really happening again."

Beside him, Lex sighed. There was sloshing as wine was tipped into her glass, a quiet thump as the bottle was set back down. "It's a pattern, now. Happened three times." Tim grunted, displeased, and let his leg start to jump anxiously. There was quiet for a moment. "Have you, uh…" Lex stared down at her hands with furrowed brows, "have you heard from her? From Gwyn?"

With a shuddering breath, Tim shook his head. "I tried calling, but she didn't pick up. Then I called Alan, and he didn't pick up, so I called Ellie, and she said that Alan's flying down to Costa Rica. That, uh… Gwyn had left him a voicemail this morning, one that kinda… alluded to the fact she knew things were gonna go south." He cleared his throat and gestured at the television. "They've gotta stop mentioning her, 'cause I keep thinking they're gonna say she's dead. But they just keep questioning how she's handling it, guessing if she'd be hiding or taking initiative. About an hour ago they released these really shitty, blurry pictures of who they're saying is her. It looks like her, but it's a still from a video, so you can't really tell. If it was her, she was, uh… running during the pterosaur attack. It looked like pure chaos, it looked bad. But she was running, she was alive."

Tim was a nervous ranter, just as much as he was an excited one. The words came spilling out of his mouth, eventually becoming a way of trying to convince himself their friend was okay. Lex tapped her fingers against her glass, nails pinging against it. She nodded, tension crawling into her shoulders. The situation, regardless, would have been awful; but knowing that they knew someone on the island made it all the worse. It raised the stakes tenfold. It reminded them that as much as it felt like a nightmare, it was real. Gwyn was currently living––and likely re-living––all of their worst nightmares. It made Tim sick to his stomach, made him want to yell and cry and break things. Because no one should have to go through it once––let alone twice.

"We're gonna have to call the lawyers tomorrow," Lex said after a moment. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip, and Tim brought his hands to his face. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and rubbed, grunting unhappily. Being Hammond's grandchildren meant that they were the heirs to his fortune, to his legacy. Anytime something happened on Isla Nublar or Isla Sorna, they were left to deal with the legalities. It prolonged the horror. It made it worse on every possible level.

"I don't wanna think about that right now… I can't…" Tim muttered.

"I know," she admitted on a sigh.

They lapsed back into silence, at a loss of what to say. There was no need to say that they felt helpless, or scared, or frustrated because they both knew they did. Casual conversation was a no-go, because it would feel like they were making light of the situation. It was really all they could do to sit beside one another, stare at the television, and try not to lose their minds with worry and fear.

"I just feel so awful," exhaled Tim. His brows furrowed sharply, and his mouth hung open wordlessly for a moment. "W-we're sitting here, on this couch, and… things are happening down there! People are dying and Gwyn is missing and there are dinosaurs loose again and––" Tim cut himself off with a groan, hands furiously scrubbing through his hair. He got to his feet and started to pace, letting his anxiety finally move him. "Why does this keep happening!? Why can't we do anything about it? John Hammond was our grandfather! We've gotta be able to do something!"

Lex was quick to set her glass down, get to her feet, and intercept her little brother's path. She took him by the arms and fixed him with a glassy-eyed look. "We can't do anything, not right now," she said, voice breathy and threatening tears. She squeezed his arms, and when she blinked, tears rolled along her cheeks. Tim's face crumpled and a quiet sob puffed past his lips. "Everything we can do has to wait till this ends."

Tim hiccupped past another cry. He raggedly tried to catch his breath, tears still falling along his cheeks. When he finally managed to meet Lex's gaze, his eyebrows were furrowed sharply, and his lips were curled in something caught between a grimace and a frown.

"When all this is over…" He paused to draw in a harsh breath as his body tried to force another sob. "When all this is over… we're making sure that no one sets foot on that island ever again," he ground out through his teeth. He jabbed a finger at the television angrily. Then he turned and glared at the screen, chest rising and falling with almost concerning gasps of air. They were showing old newsreels of the other incidents––'93, '97, '01. Soon enough, there would be a fourth reel. And four reels, four tragedies was too much. It made Tim's blood boil. He turned back to his sister, and in a voice choked with tears, he said, "I don't want this to happen ever again."

OOOO

Isla Nublar

Gwyn sat perched atop a table she'd stolen from Hoskins' men. A first aid kit sat open beside her, and some of the supplies had been taken out for convenience. She shrugged her bloodied button down off her shoulders and peeled it off her arms. But the blood had caused it to stick to her skin, and it pulled at the edges of the slashed flesh. A pained hiss fled Gwyn's mouth, but she ripped the sleeve down like it was a bandaid. With a swear, she cast the shirt aside and twisted her right arm towards herself, observing the wounds for the first time. There were three slashes across her bicep, which were crusted in dried blood, damp with fresh blood, and inflamed at the edges. Two less concerning cuts curved around her elbow. Her bicep had taken the brunt of the dimorphodon attack, and damn was she feeling it.

"Let me help."

Gwyn looked up to find Owen walking towards her, his brows set in a firm furrow, eyes glinting with concern. She gestured to her arm with a hand covered in dried blood. She was covered in the stuff––the whole of her left arm was streaked in it, there were dashes of it against her thighs from her fingertips, and a smear of it pulled across the stomach of her tank top. She looked an utter mess and Gwyn knew it.

"Be my guest," she invited.

Owen stepped up to the table and grabbed a sealed antiseptic wipe. He tore it open, pulled the little towelette open, then turned towards her. "It's gonna sting."

"Don't I know it…" Gwyn muttered. Gently, Owen placed a hand under her bicep in order to cradle it away from her torso. The other hand brought the wipe up to her skin. The towelette was wet, and cold, and as it ghosted over the first cut, it burned. She choked back a yell and settled on grunting, fingers curling around the edge of the table. For a moment, all she did was focus on breathing through the pain, eyes squeezed shut. Owen remained dutifully focused on his task––and he was quiet while he did it. But the quiet only let Gwyn focus on how much it hurt, so she started talking. "It's a bad idea you know." It came out a little breathy, a little pained. "Taking the Girls out there, it's a bad idea."

"I know," Owen confirmed. He had moved on to cleaning the second laceration, working as gently as possible; but no matter how gentle he was, it still hurt like a bitch. Gwyn sank her teeth into her lip in a bid not to swear. Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table.

"So you're gonna work with Hoskins?"

"Better to work with him than let him have free range, at this point," Owen grumbled. He picked up a new antiseptic wipe with one hand, and continued to cradle her arm in the other. His thumb rubbed comfortingly against her bicep, while he tore the wipe packet open with his teeth. The packet remained between his teeth as he removed the towelette, and was then disposed of as he spat it to the side. "There's a better chance that we'll get a hold of the situation somehow."

"What is it he wants to do, exactly? I didn't really give him the chance to elaborate," Gwyn drawled. Beside her, Owen chuckled throatily, lips pulling into a smirk.

"Yeah, you really didn't. Am I gonna have to take a look at your knuckles, too?"

"I've scraped my knuckles on fossils tougher than Hoskins." She swung her foot to the side and gently nudged his leg. "What's the plan?"

"We're gonna run a game of hide and seek. The Girls'll be loose, but…. they'll lead us right to the Indominus."

Gwyn stared at him. He continued to clean her wounds dutifully, the wipe becoming pinker and pinker with every swipe. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. And she just stared at him. A quiet anxiety started to claw its way up her throat, and she pulled away a little. But Owen still held her arm, and he looked up questioningly when she shifted.

"We?" she stressed. Her eyes started to shine with worry. "Us? You… you think I'm gonna go out there with the Girls roaming free-range?" All day you've been asking me whether or not I wanted to continue. And now you want me to walk towards the jaws of death?"

"The Girls aren't gonna go after you," he told her, tone assured. She shook her head and smirked darkly.

"I don't know about that."

"You've bonded with them, Gwyn, they recognize loyalty."

"They're loyal to you because you're their alpha. I'm just…." Gwyn laughed self-deprecating and shook her head. "I'm not brave, Owen."

"Gwyn––"

"No! I'm not. I'm governed by stupidity. I get punched in the gut by intuition and I elect to ignore it. And, somehow, the whole world thinks that I've been so brave––brave to deal with my trauma, brave to have built a life, brave to have come back here. But it isn't bravery––it's stupidity. I… jump out of my skin when there's thunder. I avoid any sign of danger like it's the plague. Whatever I've done that's been 'brave' has just been skewed to seem that way. At best, it was all luck."

The Grants believed that they were many things, and brave was not one of them. They never sought out danger or pain in order to endure it. They were never ready to do so. Danger and pain had found them and dragged them, unwillingly, into it. It always caught them off-guard and they always just barely made it out on the other side, panting, shaking, scared, and exhausted. Not once in her life that Gwyn wanted to rush head-long into situations like she currently found herself in; she had always been quite content to stay out of trouble whenever she could.

Owen shook his head, lips pulling into a frown. His gaze was unwavering, locking Gwyn's with his own, not letting her look away.

"What's stupid is that you think you're not brave," he told her, blunt and flat. Owen let go of her arm and inserted himself directly in her line of sight. He was stood between her knees, upon one of which he placed his hand. He squeezed firmly, calloused fingertips pressing against her skin. "I'd say you're one of the bravest people I've ever met. I don't think I know a single person that would go back to the place that burned them with such a gung-ho attitude. Is it stupid? Okay, yeah, maybe a little bit." Briefly, Gwyn snorted and laughed. He smirked at her pointedly. "But no one said you can't be stupid and brave." Owen leaned in a bit, which warned that whatever he was about to say was going to be more personal. His eyes pleaded under raised brows, all signs of joking gone. "I can't do this without you, Gwyn."

"Why do you need me there?" she asked. "At best I'd freeze up, at worst, I'd die of fear."

"Because you know the Indominus best." Owen threw a hand up as her mouth popped open readily, a sharp remark ready to trip off her tongue. "I'm not asking you to try and tame her, I'm not asking you to treat her like one of the Girls. I want you by my side so you can tell me when things are gonna go south." His fingers tightened over her knee, a reassuring squeeze. When he spoke again, it was reverently low. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Gwyn tipped her head back and swallowed hard. The idea of going out into the jungle, not only with a pack of velociraptors, but with the Indominus lurking who knew where––it was something about of her worst nightmares. And what she hated about it all was that she knew that Owen was right. Working with Hoskins was the only way they'd be able to keep an eye on him, try and get the situation under their control. And out of everyone at that paddock, she was the only one that knew the Indominus well enough to see the warning signs. But the idea of being out there, in such a volatile, unpredictable situation––it made her skin crawl. She had resolved to feel more confident about what she was doing, but that didn't make the decision any easier to make.

"Let me think about it?" she asked quietly. She tilted her head back down and arched her eyebrows questioningly. The corner of Owen's mouth twitched up briefly, but it was enough to convey his appreciation at her consideration.

"I hate to give you a time limit, but I'm gonna have to give that answer in about ten minutes," he said apologetically. He swapped out the antiseptic wipe for a gauze patch, which he then placed over the deepest three slash marks. Gwyn smiled wryly and reached up to hold the gauze as he grabbed the roll of bandages.

"I think I could put my self-loathing aside for that long," she joked. Owen smirked, rolled his eyes, and took her right hand. He placed her hand on her knee with her fingers facing the inside of her leg; it turned her elbow outwards, which would make it easier for him to dress the wound.

Owen worked quietly, wholly and intently focused on keeping the bandages straight and at the appropriate tightness. Gwyn watched him, allowing herself a moment to appreciate the focused furrow between his eyebrows, the slight pucker of his lips, and the way he'd tilt his head to see what he was doing better. Even sweaty and dirty, the man was impossibly handsome. It was almost unfair. They'd both been through the same amount of hell that day, and she was sure that he was looking better than she was. He must have felt her lingering stare, because he glanced up at her quickly, a roguish smile pulling across his face.

"You're gonna distract me if you keep looking at me like that," he warned playfully. Gwyn laughed under her breath, unable to help the smile that appeared on her own face. It felt good to smile after everything that happened. For a moment, just a moment, they were allowed to be light hearted. And that was good, because that was what would keep them sane; moments of lightheartedness.

"Look at you like what?" she asked quietly.

Owen looked back up and let his eyes roam over her face. The gaze was impossibly soft for the situation they found themselves in. His eyes lingered a little longer than normal on her lips; he then wetted his own and let his eyes languidly rise back to meet hers. "Like that."

It would have been a lie for Gwyn to have said that her heartbeat hadn't become more prominent. That it hadn't started to beat a little faster when his eyes lingered on her lips, or at the spike of intensity in his eyes when he'd looked back up at her. On an exhale, she smiled and made a show of averting her eyes. "Sorry. I'll let you work."

"Don't worry about it, you're all wrapped up, now," he informed.

With that said, Owen secured the bandage he'd been wrapping. He stared thoughtfully at her arm, his thumb ghosting over the carefully wrapped layers. It moved with a barely-there pressure as not to induce pain. Slowly, his fingers trailed down the length of her arm, avoiding the scratches at her elbow, not minding the rivulets of dried blood on her skin. The gentle graze of his fingertips was almost ticklish. When his fingers reached her hand, he curled his fingers around it, thumb rubbing over her wrist. Gwyn could feel her heart tripping over itself, everything about the moment impossibly tender. She twisted her hand till their palms met, then threaded their fingers together. She squeezed his hand, which lifted his gaze from where it had been resting on their hands.

"Thank you," Gwyn said, voice filled with wholehearted appreciation. "And not just for…" She nodded down at her bandaged arm. "For everything today." She wanted to thank him for keeping her sane, keeping her on track, not abandoning her to her fear and terror. There were a thousand ways she wanted to express those thanks, but it was all she could manage just to say it. Because there wasn't time for much of anything else; but just the weight of those words––thank you––seemed to convey it just fine for the moment.

The look in Owen's eyes went soft, suddenly. So gentle that it would have been easy to forget they were in the middle of a jurassic war zone. In a moment wholly cliché, it felt to Gwyn that everything around them was non-existent. He gave the smallest shake of his head, the corners of his mouth rising in the loveliest of small smiles.

"You don't have to thank me," he murmured.

Gwyn answered his smile with one of her own. Her free hand rose to gently brush some hair off his sweaty temple, and push it back to where it belonged. Those fingers then gently caressed the side of his face, her palm coming to cradle his cheek. The scruff of his beard tickled her palm as his jaw dropped a little, his lips parting. She could feel the hand he'd placed on her knee slip half-way up her thigh, where it stopped, fingers fanning out. Gwyn swept a thumb over Owen's cheekbone, which was flushed, slightly, from the heat.

"I kinda want to," she whispered.

"I won't stop you, then."

It wasn't till their foreheads met that Gwyn realized how close they had been. Now she was hyper aware of it. How she could feel his breath fanning across her face. How their hands were tangled together, the weight of his hand on her thigh, the heat of his cheek beneath her palm. How she had scooted to the edge of the table, and how her legs brushed against either of Owen's hips. It felt like the only heat in the air was their shared body heat, not the oppressive tropical humidity. Gwyn's eyes fell shut as their noses brushed together. She then tilted her head forward, pressing her lips against Owen's.

Despite the dire situation the day had presented, the kiss was quietly and gently passionate. Just the feel of the other's lips was enough; the softest affirmation that they were there for one another. His lips tasted like sweat, and his mustache scratched against her skin. His fingers tightened over her thigh, and the pressure incited a quiet sound in the back of Gwyn's throat. The kiss was too short lived, breaking sooner than either would have liked it too. Their lips remained parted, their eyes closed. It was impossible for the reality of the situation not to creep in. The distant realization that the night was about to get infinitely more dangerous had Gwyn's hand moving.

It slipped from Owen's cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers slipping through his hair. Their lips met again, firmer this time, their bodies arching into one another. The kiss was slow, but drawn-out and intense. Their clasped hands parted, Gwyn's flying to his hip, and Owen's jumping to cradle her waist. Gwyn curled her fingers through one of his belt loops, pulling him as close as she could get. He dragged his hand across her lower back, effectively wrapping his arm around her waist. With one easy tug, he could've had her off the table; and if he had pulled her off, she would have had her arms around his shoulders in no time––but there was no time. No time to let hands wander and lips luxuriate.

There was a loud bang, followed by some yelling, which broke the couple away from each other. Their lips parted reluctantly, but their foreheads remained pressed together. Gwyn smoothed her hand over the hair at the nape of Owen's neck, a smile worming its way across her face. But it fell as her brows furrowed. That kiss, that moment was likely to be the last good thing to happen for the foreseeable future. The night was still young, and still full of horrors. She dragged her hand away from his neck, sliding it over his shoulder in order to let it rest over his heart. She could feel it thrumming beneath her palm. She wanted to commit the moment to memory, prolong it for just a while longer. Because if they were about to launch themselves into the maw of hell––she wanted one last moment of happiness to cling to, so it might help pull her out.

Afterword: FINALLY. I finally got to this scene, oh my god. I've been itching to get to this scene for ages. I've had the paddock stuff planned for years, but the Alan and Tim bits I just brainstormed, and I loved writing them. Got a bit carried away with Tim, but that might just be because I watched Joe Mazzello's live commentary of JP, so I was in a Tim mood.

Review Replies!

MsRosePetal: I love Gray being an utter nerd. And I wholly intend on having Gwyn and Gray have a chat next chapter, 'cause that'll just be far too much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

Piffthemagicdragon21: I've wanted to put in Alan finding out about the collapse of JW in this story for a while. I just had to figure out, logistically, when that would happen for him. Because I figure that he's not checking social media, and people probably fear bringing that stuff up to him, so it was when he got home from work (which would probably be just after the pterosaur attack) that he found out. It's weird saying I had fun writing such a… sad scene, but I did. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

AmericanNidiot: I love Gray. I want nothing but the best for him, just as I want nothing but the best for poor Tim. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

Alchemy Writer: I couldn't take away Claire's moment with the tranq gun. I thought about it, very briefly, and was like 'that's a disservice to where her character ends up, so I'm not doing it.' And while I write this story, I often reference back to the prequel I wrote, to sort of remind myself where the horror really began for them. Everything up till the cars getting stuck by the T-Rex paddock was pretty okay––and a lot of those memories are still fond to Gwyn. The visitor's center is also a fun thing to play with in Gwyn's memory; because she has both fond and horrible memories with it. Fallen Kingdom is gonna be one hell of a time, I can assure you that… 'cause just as JP shaped Gwyn, JW is gonna shape her, too. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

WaywardandWanderlust: I'm glad the action sequences read well! I used to be… totally horrible with writing action sequences, so I get worried when I get to write them. And thank you! I always like to see how my writing's developed over the course of a story––even if it makes me wanna go back to the beginning and re-write the first fifteen chapters. I think that Gray is gonna remind Gwyn of Tim, so that's gonna spur a nice bit of nostalgic protectiveness, I think. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

AugustRrush: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

NicoleR85: I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this one; thanks again!

daydreamer1119: Thank you so much! I hope you've enjoyed the newest installment!

Angel JJK: I've been having a lot of fun with the dips and rises of Gwyn finding her inner action hero. Because not all heroes always feel heroic; as is evidenced by the fact that Gwyn can feel better about her chances of making it through this disaster, but still not feel brave. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

Guest: I intended for the Girls to be in this chapter, but then… I hit a Tim kick and he took up a good chunk of the middle of the chapter. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

MageVicky: I have been waiting to write for Zach and Gray for years. I've always wanted Gray to be kina fan-boy-y, in the way that Tim was like 'holy shit you're Alan Grant,' I wanted him to be like 'crap, you're Gwyn Grant.' I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

Vaporzz: This story really is hitting its stride, now that it's late movie events. I planned a lot of this story to be led up to get to these chapters, so I'm thinking the payoff is pretty nice right now. And we're getting closer to the Indominus fight, and I've got some plans… I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

Rebecca Rivera: So Gwyn gave Alan's hat back when he left the island after visiting. She gave it back under the guise of him needing to keep the sun off his neck––he's too stubborn to get a new hat. I, as an author, got it off the island 'cause I was like 'there's no way she'd make it off the island with that hat.' And my deeply nostalgic heart couldn't bear to have Alan's iconic hat go missing. Again. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

CJ/OddBall: The phone was totally hinting at the fact she was gonna get phone calls from Alan (and Tim) and was not gonna be able to pick up. And I have always wondered what the outside world's reaction would have been to all this happening. If you couldn't tell with how much I mention the media in this story, I think that media coverage of these kinds of things is fascinating. How it reaches the public, how it affects those involved. So I like to play around with how things get mentioned, how people find things out––'cause Alan finds out in a totally different way to Tim. Technologically challenged Alan found out from the news, Tim found out from a co-worker who monitors social media. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

Gabriella Elaine: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
xenocanaan: Thank you so much; I hope that you enjoyed the story and look forward to more!

M: I always love when I hit these kinds of points in my stories; where my characters finally hit their stride and start to show their true colors and true abilities. Especially for Gwyn––because she's lived in fear of all this stuff for so long, doesn't see herself as brave… that maybe she'll come out of it all realizing that she is. Gwyn's fully a badass, and I think she'll fully come to realize that soon. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

And thank you to those who have added this to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!

We creep ever closer to the epic conclusion of the movie. And I'm having so much fun with these chapters, as can be evidenced by my impromptu chunk following Tim. I love Tim, he deserves more love and more content. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

~Mary