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.
42. Family Matters
Gwyn awoke to the feeling of fingers gently carding through her hair. Fingertips skimmed across her temple, pushed hair behind her ear, and then repeated the process. Despite having been awoken by the unfamiliar, but largely welcomed, sensation, Gwyn contented herself to keep her eyes closed. Every so often the fingers would catch on a sleep-rumpled snag; but even the slight tug wasn't enough to fully rouse her. She just quietly luxuriated in the feeling of being so close to someone; being so close to him. Her head rose and fell with the gentle rise and fall of Owen's chest. There was a quiet, warm fragility to this moment. Like it was balanced in the cloud of a dream, which could be ruptured by the slightest of sounds or movements. Gwyn wanted to exist in this moment forever––and if not forever, for as long as she could manage it.
It was only when a pair of lips sleepily grazed across her forehead that she made a sound. A quiet hum rumbled in the back of her throat.
"'S a nice way t' wake up," Gwyn murmured. Her voice croaked sleepily, her lips barely moving as her first words of the day tumbled from her mouth.
Owen chuckled, the sound resonating in such a way that she felt it more than heard it. He cuddled her even closer, his lips planting against her forehead a little more firmly. "I said I'd give you a nice wake-up call," he replied, voice rumbling with sleep.
Gwyn hummed and her lips curled into a smile. She pried her eyes open. She craned her head back, and blinked up at Owen. With the bleariness cleared from her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of his soft smile. A sliver of light cut across his face, drifting in through the narrow partition between the curtains overhead. She started to run her hand lazily up-and-down his side. His smile grew, and he continued to fondly card hair out of her face.
"It is nice. More than nice." She wiggled her way up a little, which left her head gently reclined against his shoulder. Her smile went lopsided. "Though, I have to admit… I pictured something a little different."
The roguish curl that twisted the side of Owen's mouth would be the death of her. A great smile was her greatest weakness; and his smiles were so charming, it was no wonder that Gwyn had fallen to them as a sweet, sweet victim. That look was his response. Because no sooner did it slip across his face, than he craned his head forward and kissed her. Gwyn smiled against his lips as they moulded to hers, in a perfectly languid, sleepy caress. Her hand traveled up along his side, briefly glanced over his chest, and found its home at the back of his neck. Fingers toyed with already mussed hair, twisting and smoothing at a slow pace.
The hand that Owen had been carding through her hair drew a long, sensuous path down along her spine. Even the feel of his fingertips ghosting over the fabric of her t-shirt had her skin erupting in goosebumps. It had her arching into him just a bit more, her fingers finding a firm hold in his hair. He had the cheek to chuckle, lips quirking against hers as his hand passed over her backside. It lingered there for only a moment, before it continued down to find its mark––her knee. It was already hooked over his leg, but Owen curled his fingers behind the crook of it, and held fast as he started to shift his body. The kiss broke as both parties moved from their previous, cozy position, but Owen took the chance to start drawing kisses along Gwyn's jaw. She hummed happily, smiling up at the ceiling as she rolled onto her back, bringing him with her.
Once her head was cushioned by the pillow she'd previously abandoned in favor of his chest, Gwyn hitched the leg Owen had a hold of over his hip. Once it was there, his hand retreated back along her thigh, ruffling the worn fabric of her sleep pants. His other arm rose to brace against the bed beside her head, and some of her hair got caught beneath it. But the slight pull just had her snickering softly, and had Owen smiling against her skin. Just as his lips passed over the curve of her jaw and on to her throat, Gwyn dropped a hand to push under the hem of his shirt. His skin was warm, invitingly so. She flattened her palm against his stomach, and started to slowly draw it upwards. His shirt rose with the motion of her hand, the fabric slowly bunching up around her wrist. Beneath warm skin, she could feel his muscles jump at her touch; and there was something innately satisfying about that. Or, perhaps, the satisfying bit was that, the moment her hand had touched his skin, she'd been able to feel his breath catch.
A low sound rumbled in Owen's chest as her hand came to a stop in the middle of his chest. The kisses he'd been laying along her neck grew a little more firm, lingering longer in the same spot. He started to smooth Gwyn's shirt up along her torso, his caress a little heavier than hers had been. There was intent in his touch, and it was electric. And just as he got the shirt pushed up and over her ribs––
There was a knock on the trailer's front door.
"Owen?" called a faintly muffled voice. A woman's voice, soft and caring. Another knock. "Owen, are you up?"
Everything came to a screeching halt, like two caught teenagers. Owen's head dropped into Gwyn's shoulder with a sigh, and he mouthed a curse against her collarbone. When his head lifted, she had to resist the urge to snicker at his crumpled, tortured expression. He turned his head over his shoulder, eyes scrunched shut, lips twisted in a grimace.
"Yeah, I am. What d'you need, Mom?" he called back.
A snort, graceless and sharp, rattled through Gwyn's nose. She retracted her hand from his shirt and clapped it over her mouth, muffling the breathy laugh at the half-hearted glare Owen shot her way.
"Will you be coming in for breakfast?"
Owen dropped his head with a half-pained, half-embarrassed sigh. "Yeah. Yep, we will, we just need a few minutes."
"Well, don't take too long, it'll get cold!"
Silence hung in the air tenuously, waiting to be broken by another request. But when it became clear that Mrs. Grady had disappeared, Owen groaned with all the ire of a disrupted teenager. And, despite herself, Gwyn couldn't help but giggle.
"It's not funny," he deadpanned, dropping his face into the crook of her neck.
"It's kinda funny," she contested with a grin.
Owen grumbled, the sound muffled against her shoulder. But his shoulders did begin to shake, the breath of laughter rushing across the skin of her neck. That breath caught, though, and then was released in a sigh. "Parents. Always got the worst timing." He lifted his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "If we don't get up now, she will come back."
"As parents are wont to." Gwyn smiled up at him before stealing another kiss. "Mind if I steal your shower?"
"Not at all. Now you can wash all that plane sweat off," he teased, lips curling into a grin.
Gwyn clucked her tongue, rolled her eyes, and threw the heel of her palm into his shoulder. With a push––that he leaned into, and gave way to––Owen rolled aside, laughing that throaty, cheeky laugh of his. She shot him a wry look as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
"You're the one that was so eager to get me into bed you didn't offer the shower last night," she snarked. Gwyn got to her feet and stretched, wincing at the sluggish pop of her vertebrae. When she twisted round to shoot a look at Owen, she found him grinning up at her roguishly––boyishly.
"Can you blame me?" he drawled.
Despite throwing her eyes into another roll, Gwyn couldn't help but smile. "No." The response earned an admiring chuckle, and a softer grin. She moved towards the door, only to pause when she was halfway through it. With a roguish look of her own, Gwyn threw a wink back at the reclining man. "'Cause you're not too bad yourself."
OOOO
What initially struck Gwyn about the Grady household was its warmth. And not just its actual temperature contrast to the chilly morning; it was warm in a homey way, too. Not only were the walls of the living room painted a rich, honey-like yellow, but it didn't feel like a showroom, like some houses did. The throw blanket on the back of the couch was unevenly folded and a little wrinkled. The coffee table was a little messy. The smell of bacon hung in the air, but the scent of coffee was faded, like it had been made half an hour ago. The quiet buzz of anxiety Gwyn had felt the night before about meeting the Gradys was assuaged, slightly, by the already welcoming atmosphere of their home.
"Mom?" Owen called. They were paused in the doorway leading into the family room, having just toed their shoes off and kicked them towards the shoe rack.
But for as calm and cool as Gwyn had schooled herself to be––repeating over and over again, in the shower, that it was going to go well––she stiffened at the word 'Mom.' But no sooner had her muscles tensed, than Owen's hand came to sit against her lower back. His thumb rubbed a steady, repeating path against her shirt, pushing and pulling the fabric with each pass. And before she could shoot him a thankful look, accompanied by a slightly shaky smile, the time of reckoning had arrived.
A woman appeared in what must have been the doorway to the kitchen. She had a mug in hand, and a broad smile on her face. The woman who could only be Diane Grady seemed absolutely delighted with the arrival of present company. Her blonde hair, which had started to elegantly grey, had been mindlfully twisted back out of her face. Smile lines beautifully framed her beaming grin, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Gwyn hadn't expected Mrs. Grady to be particularly stern or spartan, but her bright and sunny demeanor was still a relief to be greeted with.
"Gwyn, this is my Mom. And, Mom," Owen turned a smile on the woman beside him, "this is Gwyn."
With a smile of her own, Gwyn took a couple steps into the living room, and offered her hand for a friendly shake. Inside her chest, her heart was hammering against her ribs, and her stomach was churning around the lump of toothpaste she'd accidentally swallowed. It was all she could hope that her face was contorted into some shaky, nervous look.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Grady," she said.
Diane clucked her tongue, set her mug down on a rustic looking sideboard, and flapped one dismissively at Gwyn's. She awkwardly retracted it, unable to help the way both her heart and forehead pinched in worry. But then Diane opened her arms in invitation for a hug. A little laugh fell from Gwyn's lips, and her smile grew again. She accepted the hug, which was as warm and welcoming as everything else had been so far. For a moment, her eyes drooped closed in relief.
"Call me Diane, please," Diane insisted. One of her hands rubbed Gwyn's shoulder blade a couple times. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, honey. Owen's told us so much about you, I feel like we already know each other."
"All good things, I hope," Gwyn laughed as they broke out of the hug. She shot a look back at Owen, who shrugged with a crooked smile.
"Oh, you best believe that if he'd spoken ill of you, he'd get an earful," Diane assured, leveling her son with a playfully severe look.
Owen threw his hands up with a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners, just like his mom's. "I'd get it from both of you." With an unrelenting smile, he pushed his hands into his pockets. "Maybe I shouldn't have introduced you two, your power combined could level a whole city block."
"Oh, just wait till she meets your sisters," Diane teased.
The smile on his face dropped with a faux sudden fear. He puffed out a breath and shook his head. "Yeah, you'll level all of L.A.. Better warn 'em."
"Well, you can warn them on your way to get your father; he's in the garage on his second cup of coffee. Entice him the promise of a third. In the meanwhile," Diane turned a sweet look on Gwyn, "we'll get started."
Gwyn's heart thumped hard at the idea of being alone with her so soon. There was no reason to be nervous, she tried to remind herself. Diane seemed perfectly lovely, and she couldn't imagine getting the third-degree from her; at least not yet, and not so early. Though, she supposed that if Diane did give her the third-degree, it would be significantly less ruthless than Alan's version of it. For that, Gwyn didn't envy Owen, who'd already undergone Alan's scrutiny at least twice. But, nevertheless, there was still an instinctive, sudden restriction deep within her chest.
"Sure thing," Owen agreed. He turned to move back towards the front door––only to pause, turn back, and shoot his mother a quietly pleading look. "Just… no embarrassing stories."
Diane placed a solemn hand over her heart. "You know I promised I wouldn't." She then leaned towards Gwyn a little and winked. "At least not till dinner."
A grin split across Gwyn's face, and she arched an eyebrow. "What kind of embarrassing stories."
"Oh, just you wait till Kristy gets here. The pizza story is her favorite to tell."
"Mom," Owen stressed, eyes wide, lips tense. There was a worried, nay, terrified sharpness to his gaze. A genuine fear that Diane would spout off an embarrassing story the minute his back was turned.
His mother tossed her hands up in a show of innocence and dropped her eyes demurely. "Fine, fine! I'll keep my word––but only because I love you so much."
With a sigh, and the hint of a fond smile, Owen turned to shove his shoes back on, unceremoniously stepping on the heels of them instead of putting them fully on. Gwyn smiled after him for a moment, before turning back to Diane––who had been watching her with a quietly giddy look. She then tilted her head towards the kitchen, and turned to snag her mug off the sideboard. As she moved towards the kitchen door, Gwyn found her gaze snagged on one of the five displayed photographs over the furniture piece.
It was nestled in a neat black frame, dustless and perfectly hung. In it was an official military portrait, with that typical blue-grey mottled background, and the american flag tucked into the left corner. Staring through the spotless sheet of glass was Owen, dressed in immaculately kept service blues. It was the kind of uniform you saw in old films, with the white piping on the wide collar. A neckerchief was knotted with precision beneath the v of the jumper's collar, which bore the pure-white undershirt. A white hat sat perched atop his head, which appeared to be buzzed short––the shortest she'd ever seen it. He was cleanly shaven, which allowed the viewer to see the tense set of his jaw, which tightened the corners of his mouth just-so. He looked the perfect picture of a military recruit.
"Oh, he looks so handsome, doesn't he?" Diane gushed with motherly affection.
"Yeah," Gwyn murmured. She smiled a little, eyes yet to leave the picture. "I haven't seen a picture of him in uniform. Or… without facial hair." A laugh escaped her, which prompted a smile as she leaned in closer to the photograph. "He looks so young."
"He was. He's nineteen in that picture. He'd just finished basic training," Diane revealed. Gwyn turned to see that she had propped herself in the doorway, a smile on her face caught between wistful and melancholy. "God, what it did to me to see my boy in uniform…" One of her hands rose and fell over her heart. She patted the spot a couple of times before she shook her head. "Followed in his father's footsteps. That's his picture, there." Diane pointed to another military portrait, this one of an older man dressed in the uniform of a different military branch––army, perhaps. "There's been a Grady in the military since… god, I couldn't tell you. We've got records somewhere, but my memory is stalling on me; Michael knows. He's into the whole genealogy thing. C'mon, let's get you some coffee––we can bore you with family stories later."
Gwyn smiled and laughed softly, finally following Diane into the kitchen. "I love family stories," she assured.
And she did; stories were how she pieced together her family's story, like a haphazard patchwork quilt. Each patch was a story, connected by threads both loose and taut. There were bright colors and dark colors, good times and bad times. Rough areas, smooth areas, faded patches, and new ones. Mended spots and holes. All families had a landscape of memories, joined together in unique patterns. The Grants had a lot of sharp corners and angular shapes––and Gwyn could only wonder what the Grady's pattern looked like. Was it more rounded and symmetrical? Or more haphazard, like her own? Somehow, she guessed that no other family on earth had such a mis-matched crazy pattern like the Grants. But she was willing to bet that with what seemed to be an innate, inherited toughness, the Grady's would be just as interesting.
"Well, good––we've got lots of them," Diane beamed. She pulled a mug off a wooden mug tree, set it on the countertop in what appeared to be their home coffee station. "I won't pretend to know how you take your coffee. Fix it up how you like, and I'll get started on some fresh pancakes."
"Thank you."
The conversation carried on amicably, as they chatted about her flight and the difference in weather between California and Montana. The longer they talked, the more Gwyn's anxiety started to slough away. Diane was just as lovely as predicted, and things were going smoother than feared. In fact, both were thoroughly engrossed in swapping bad weather stories when Owen returned from fetching his father from the garage. When both men entered the kitchen, Gwyn caught a pleased smile splitting across Owen's face. No sooner did she return it, than he winked at her and he gestured to the man beside him.
"Dad, this is Gwyn. Gwyn, my Dad, Michael."
Michael Grady, much like Alan Grant, had a presence that commanded attention. There was nothing about him that was inherently intimidating, but it was obvious he'd spent time in the military. He held himself the same way Owen did––squared shoulders, straight back, chin raised to be level with the floor. There was the shadow of a slight, perpetual furrowed brow across his forehead. But the eyes set below that furrow were kind; blue and sharp in a mischievous sort of way. There was a sternness to his demeanor that she'd seen on Owen's face in moments of high tension. He looked like the sort of man you said 'yes, sir,' and 'no, sir,' to. But, suddenly, the residual tension at the corners of his mouth gave way as his lips lifted into a smile. It softened the look on his face drastically, so much so that he almost appeared to be a completely different person.
"A pleasure to meet you, Gwyn," he said. He stepped over to the table with a measured gait, and offered a polite hand.
Gwyn set her coffee aside and rose to her feet. She smiled as she accepted his handshake, that anxious little buzz reigniting in her stomach again. His hand was calloused, his grip firm; but it wasn't so tight that it was overpowering, nor meant to be intimidating. It was a little stiff, though, like he'd had to shake many hands before.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Grady."
"Michael, please," he insisted. "And you prefer Gwyn?"
"Yes. My name doesn't give way to many nick-names; at least, none that sound particularly flattering," she chuckled.
There was a softly clucked tongue from Owen. His smile had slipped into a smirk, though the pleased gleam of his eyes had yet to fade. "I dunno. I think 'Gwynny' is kinda cute."
She couldn't help it. A crookedly wry look scrawled itself across Gwyn's face, and she fixed Owen with a look. She'd known it had been a mistake telling him of the nick-name that only one person had ever called her. Deep down, she knew she'd handed him ammunition for some yet to be determined moment; that moment was, now, apparently, and she desperately wished she had something to shoot back at him. But she didn't.
Michael Grady, however, did.
With a throaty chuckle, he patted Gwyn's hand before releasing it. He arched a brow and leaned in like he was sharing a secret, though he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "My son's name may fall under the same category, but I know his boot camp nick-names," he revealed conspiratorially.
Gwyn's smile grew; Owen's disappeared. He cleared his throat and gestured to the coffee maker in the corner of the room.
"You wanted more coffee, right, Dad?" he asked, gliding towards the counter.
"Now, when Owen was a recruit, they had to do all sorts of tests, get baselines, see who'd get held back, and who could continue further," Michael began.
"Three sugars and a bit of creamer?" Owen tried, busily––and noisily––opening a cabinet and extracting a mug. He breezed over to the fridge and shot his dad a pleading look. "We've still got that peppermint stuff you like so much."
"And one of those tests was for swimming," he continued, much to his son's audible dismay. Michael seated himself at the table, a familiar smirk drawing across his face. Gwyn sat back down, elbows propped on the table as she beamed across at him. "And you'd think that Owen, being from California, would be great at swimming––"
"Dad."
"––and he is! But jumping off diving platforms? Bit trickier. So he goes to jump, and the instructor, he's got a hand on his back. Does that for all the recruits in case they hesitate. And Owen––well, he hesitates, just a little bit; and he slips. Goes into the water all wrong, and all his superiors start calling him Slippy."
The sound of Gwyn snorting tangled with the thump of Owen's head thunking against the freezer door.
"Slippy?" she chuckled.
"And then they made him take swim lessons."
"I thought we agreed on no embarrassing stories till dinner," Owen grumbled.
"And that's what you get for embarrassing your girl," Michael replied. He leveled his son with a look that said 'this is a teaching moment.'
"Yeah, Slippy," Gwyn prodded good naturedly. A broad smile had split across her face, and when Owen turned to catch her gaze, she winked. "Eye for an eye. Only fair that I've got ammunition against you, too."
It was hard to believe that he had ever been called something like 'Slippy' in his life. It was such a clumsy title. The sort of thing a kid who slipped on a pool deck got called by his jeering buddies. Gwyn had never seen Owen so much as stumble, not even when traversing the tangled jungle landscape. But it wasn't this Owen Grady that had been deemed 'Slippy'; he'd been nineteen, less hardened, and maybe a little more cocky. That squirmy little nick-name was likely one of the things that had made him who he'd become.
The corner of Owen's mouth tipped crookedly, and the distraught furrow of his brow eased up. "You got me there."
"Oh, and uh, bud––" the smirk that pulled across Michael's face was one that had played across his son's many times before, "––peppermint sounds great."
OOOO
The Grant family was small, but it was special. Alan and Gwyn had their traditions––birthday lasagna, watching Christmas Story after Thanksgiving Dinner, and all but ignoring Valentine's Day to name a few––and their dynamics. And it was rare that anyone was ever invited in to share in those traditions or experience the dynamics. They were very specific to just the two of them, since it had been just the two of them for so long. Extended family had never really factored in too much; it was always just the two of them at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and very often the same for birthdays. Ellie had been integrated into many of them, of course; she had always taken Gwyn Trick-or-Treating, and was the reason that everyone got to open one present on Christmas Eve. But, largely, it was always just Alan and Gwyn, operating side-by-side.
Such was why Gwyn found herself quietly enthralled by watching the Grady family interact. It was so different. It was busier, that was for sure. When dinner was being prepared, someone would bustle in to help, then move out as someone else came in. Diane would swat at Michael's hand as he snuck a pinch of cheese out of a bowl. Owen would flick water off his freshly washed hands at one of his sisters, who'd yelp and snap him with a dishtowel. This, of course, earned a reprimand from their mother, who insisted that 'this is no way to act in front of a guest.' Everything would calm down for a moment before one of the siblings would flick another towel or slap a wet hand on someone's shoulder. Isolated chaos would then resume.
Gwyn found that Diane was more vocal than Michael, who proved to be more reserved than expected. He would chuckle at his wife's reprimands, smile pulled across his face as he dipped out of the kitchen. In turn, Diane would roll her eyes fondly, unable to fight away her own smile, despite her apparent amusement. Owen was very much an older brother. He'd chuckle snottily whenever he intentionally bothered Kristy-Ann, and wink at Jessica––his youngest sister––when their sibling shrieked his name in protest. And all the while, Gwyn was caught in the good-natured cross-fire.
Kristi, who dabbed at her face with a damp hand-towel, scowled at her older brother, before turning a playfully disbelieving look on Gwyn.
"How do you put up with him? Honestly, how do you do it? He's infuriating," she stressed. She leaned forward to catch her reflection in the window over the sink, and swiped a stray smear of mascara off the top of her cheek. Beside her, Owen grinned wolfishly and chuckled smugly. He made a show of lifting his still damp hands, which had Kristi twisting the towel up, which she then brandished threateningly. "Don't."
Gwyn grinned as she watched the two siblings stand-off with one another. Owen arched his eyebrows; Kristi grit her teeth. He listed forward, and she lunged towards him sharply in warning. And Jessie, who'd been peeling potatoes into the trash, quietly whistled the theme to 'The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.'
"I take it this happens often," Gwyn commented to her on a laugh.
Jessie grinned crookedly, and leaned her head down to itch her ear across her shoulder, as her hands were otherwise occupied. "You've got no idea; it's practically our theme song. I'm the Good, Kristi's the Bad, and Owen's the Ugly."
There was an indignant sound and, stand-off forgotten, Owen's head swiveled around to level his sister with a look. "Hey!" he huffed.
Kristi took his distraction and whipped the towel into his stomach with a sharp snap-ing noise. She smirked triumphantly when her brother hissed and slapped a damp hand over the stricken spot.
"Ow!"
"Serves you right, jerk!"
"Okay!" Diane threw her hands up, before she dropped them to dash flour across her apron. "All of you out! Get our guest a glass of wine and argue on the couch, this kitchen is too small for all this bickering." She met Gwyn's eyes and tossed them into an apologetic roll. "No matter how old they get, put them in the same room and they argue like twelve year-olds." A laugh tumbled out of Gwyn's mouth as she pushed the cutting board, and the bread loaf she'd sliced up, aside. "Thank you for your help, dear."
"Of course, it's the least I can do," she insisted. Gwyn scrubbed her hands together, ridding them of the clingy bits of crust and flour. "Are you sure there isn't anything else I can help with?"
Diane smiled but shook her head. She returned to dredging chicken breasts with practiced ease as she said, "You've been perfectly lovely, honey. Sit down and relax!" She waggled a kind hand towards the door, leaving a small cloud of flour in its wake.
A hand appeared at the small of Gwyn's back, and she turned to see Owen had quietly sidled up to her. He smiled down at her, through a corner had quirked it into something a little more crooked. There was something lovingly teasing about it.
"C'mon; I know Kristi's probably dying to get your opinion on the wine," Owen said. He started to guide her towards the door, steering her between Kristi and Jessie as one darted to grab wine glasses, and the other went to deposit a peeler into the sink.
"You did warn her I'm not a sommelier, right?" Gwyn chuckled. Wine wasn't her forté, though she did enjoy it; cocktails and beer were more up her alley. She arched an eyebrow up at him from over her shoulder.
"Did I warn you that she is?" he bandied back with a smirk. He then dashed a kiss across her temple, looped an arm around her waist, and nodded towards the door. "C'mon."
The living room was cast in a warm glow provided by tan lampshades, and though Gwyn had been content with helping around the kitchen, the couch did look inviting. And despite how much she'd been enjoying the Gradys' hospitality, it was nice to have a moment alone with Owen. The appeal of the couch went up as Owen dropped onto it with a contented huff. He smiled up at her softly and nodded to the cushion beside him. He had an arm draped over the back of the couch, framing the spot that he'd invited her to take. Gwyn tucked one leg under herself as she sat and nudged him with her shoulder.
"I like your family," she told him.
His brows quirked skyward, and his smile grew a little bigger. He curled his arm around her shoulders, gave a little tug, and nestled her up against his side. "I like my family, too––but they've been monopolizing you." He kissed her temple a second time, and this time let his forehead rest against the top of her head.
Gwyn laughed and patted his knee a couple times, before she let her hand rest there comfortably.
"Isn't that the point of this trip? For your family to monopolize me to make sure that I'm good enough for you?" she teased.
"No, the point of this trip was so I could see you again," he playfully grumbled. "Meeting my family just conveniently lined up." He squeezed her shoulders a bit, and she heard the softest of little chuckles breeze through his nose; it was a sound usually accompanied by a smirk or a smile. "They like you. A lot."
Relief, unbidden, swept through Gwyn's body. She slumped a little further into Owen's side and her eyes slipped shut. For a moment, her fingers tightened over his knee in a little squeeze. Owen chuckled in her ear and she could feel him shake his head a little.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," Owen chuckled.
"What?" she pressed.
"Nothing, really! Just… I felt the tension in your muscles disappear faster than a wave retreating from the beach," he snarked cheekily. Gwyn heaved her eyes into a roll and she started to pull back; in retaliation, Owen tightened his hold on her shoulders with a laugh. "No, no, no! It's sweet!"
"Yeah, sure, Slippy," she deadpanned.
"Not even that's gonna make me let you go, you'll have to try harder, Doc."
"I may not have been in the military, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to get you off." The drawl was met with a boyish snort from Owen. He lifted his head and smirked down at her, that familiar, roguish look scrawling itself across his face.
"Oh, I'm sure you do," he grinned.
Gwyn clucked her tongue, rolled her eyes, but was unable to help the breathy laugh that tumbled between her lips. "You're impossible."
Their faces were too close. She could feel the stuttered breath of his chuckle ghosting across her lips. She could smell his cologne. And she was very much aware of the heat of his body against hers. In any other situation, this wouldn't have been troublesome; in fact, it would've been wonderful. But the whole of his family was a room away, bound to come sauntering in any moment, because his mother had banished them from the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to get caught like two naughty teenagers. Owen, on the other hand, didn't seem too bothered by the prospect.
"You like impossible, it's a good challenge." With those words, he craned his head forward, gaze intent on her lips.
And, with the perfect timing, Kristi came breezing into the room.
"Younger sister in the room, I repeat: younger sister in the room. Please refrain from kissing in my presence. 'Cause as much as I love you, Owen––I really don't need to see your make-out methods," she announced.
Owen pursed his lips and twisted his attention to his sister, who smiled at him smartly and placed several wine glasses on the coffee table.
"Yeah, and I didn't wanna know yours, but when I caught you and Kevin in his car, I got a whole eyeful. Gave me nightmares."
"Then I'll thank you for being a good big brother and spare me from having nightmares!" The response was bright and punctuated by her turning to the sideboard, atop which two bottles of wine sat.
With a roll of his eyes, Owen settled back into the couch, playing the role of the relenting older brother. "Alright. Only 'cause I love you, Kristi."
"Love you too, jerk," Kristi chuckled. She started to work on uncorking the first bottle, wielding the corkscrew with an ease that Gwyn had never managed to obtain. Anytime she tried to worm a cork out of a bottle, half of it ended up stuck, and chunks of it dropped into the wine, which she then had to strain. "So, Gwyn, have you got any siblings whose existences you suffer?"
Gwyn snorted a laugh and shook her head, sitting up a little straighter. Around her shoulders, Owen's arm loosened up a little, but his thumb ran a fond, comforting pattern on her left arm.
"Nah, it's just me. I couldn't imagine having a sibling; I don't even really have cousins, at least not any that I know well. My Dad isn't really a… kid person, so picturing him with more than one child is…" Gwyn trailed off and laughed. "He wasn't keen on having kids, but fatherhood grew on him. He did a good job."
"Well," Kristi turned and brought the now open bottle over to the coffee table, "count yourself lucky. You didn't have to deal with someone just… walking into your room, rearranging something on your dresser and then walking out 'just because.'" The look she leveled Owen with made it clear that he must have done so many times.
Owen shrugged in a 'what can you do' kind of way, smiling crookedly; and that smile was answered by a perfectly identical one, which betrayed their true fondness for one another.
"I may not have had siblings that did that, but I've worked with plenty of people who do something similar," Gwyn said. She breathed a 'thank you' as Kristi handed her a filled wine glass. "Can't tell you the number of times this one colleague just sort of… lingers in the doorway till I ask him what he wants. Sometimes he plays with the door handle and drives me up the wall." She huffed a little, thinking about the metallic flapping sound of Dave repeatedly pressing on the door handle. Not only was it annoying, but the damn thing was a lever handle, and the sight of it repeatedly jiggling just unsettled her. Gwyn lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, letting it spill across her tongue consideringly. She hummed in surprise. "That's really good."
"Isn't it?" Kristi asked with an air of triumph. She'd just poured Owen's glass and moved on to the other two––presumably hers and their sister's. "Owen mentioned you're not big on wine, and this one tends to be a big pleaser. Not too acidic, not too sweet… thought it would be a good one." She smiled at Gwyn and picked up both glasses, one of which she handed off to Jessie as she passed by to take the last spot on the couch.
"Maybe this'll convert me into more of a wine gal. I've got a friend in New York who would love it if I had a better taste in wine."
"We'll make an aficionado of you yet, Miss Grant," Kristi promised. She elegantly seated herself in a cozy looking armchair, elbow braced on its arm, wineglass raised slightly aloft. And Gwyn wholly believed that, yes, this woman could teach her more about wine than she'd known before. Everything about her screamed 'classy,' from her black turtle-neck and the carefully curated curls of her dark blonde hair, right down to the delicate pink squares on her soft grey socks.
"Doctor Grant," Jessie pointed out, brows arching. She'd been looking at Kristi, like she'd been making a point, but quickly brought her eyes over to the woman in question. "Right?"
"Yeah, you're right," she confirmed.
"How long did that take?"
"Oof…" Gwyn pulled a face, eyes rolling ceilingward as she recounted the years and years of schooling she'd endured. "Ten years? Yeah, ten."
Jessie's look of unbridled shock was amusing; her head jutted forward and her mouth dropped open into a stricken 'o.' "Ten years? I barely made it through two."
"Theoretically, I could've done it in less, but I'm not crazy," she said.
With a shake of her head, Jessie took a long sip from her glass, as though the idea of being in school for that long made her want to drink. Which, as the youngest of the Grady kids at twenty-five, and the most recent to have attended college, Gwyn was sure it did make her want to drink. Because even thinking of it now, some three years after the fact, the wine looked more and more appealing.
"So she's the educated one in the relationship," Kristi teased.
"Oh, yeah," Owen agreed. There was a borderline proud look on his face, accompanied by a beaming smile and a charming gleam to his eyes. "You should've seen the way she dismantled people's attitudes with just the sheer amount of knowledge she has. There was this guy––" Whatever the next few words were choked off in silence. His mirthful expression simmered into something more sober.
'This guy.' It was with a knowing, sharp twist of the stomach that Gwyn realized who that 'guy' was. Hoskins. It used to be commonplace for Owen to tell tales of Gwyn's handling of Vic Hoskins. Of her snark and dry attitude, of how unafraid she was to get in his face and challenge every bit of drivel that seeped out from between his teeth. But it felt like if they spoke of him now, they weren't just dragging a former co-worker. They were speaking ill of a dead man. A man they'd all but seen die. The spray of his blood across glass was still remarkably vivid in Gwyn's memory. And heaven knew what Owen had seen––he hadn't even set foot out of the room before Hoskins met his untimely demise. Something felt wrong about mentioning him, let along laughing about his attitude.
The atmosphere of the room shifted dramatically and quickly. The air had gone still, bordering on tense. Gwyn noticed that both Kristi and Jessie's expressions had changed, trading smiles for matching furrowed brows and frowns. Their eyes were fixed on their brother, and their hands were tighter around their wine glasses. If Gwyn didn't know any better, she'd also think they were holding their breath.
"Owen? You alright?" Kristi asked, voice the gentlest it had been all day. There was a carefulness about the question, a quiet and cautious prodding. It was clear that Owen's sisters were worried about him; like they'd seen him like this before.
There was a beat before Owen shook his head and cleared his throat. The hand rested on Gwyn's shoulder tightened a fraction, and it was clear he was a little more tense than before. But she watched him actively brighten the expression on his face, pushing a smile back across his lips.
"Uh, yeah, yeah. Just… this guy, he, uh… he didn't…" The sentence died off again, and there was little effort to try and pick it up again.
"It's okay, we get it," Jessie replied quickly.
A smile, tighter than before, appeared on Owen's face. His lips rolled in a bit, a silent 'thank you.'
Gwyn was quietly stricken by this fleeting interaction. Because it was evident that they were used to noting when something prodded a sensitive spot for Owen. They were vigilant in making sure that he didn't address anything he didn't want to. But didn't go about any of this like they were walking on eggshells; this was something they'd grown accustomed to. They swerved around it knowingly, just in the same way Gwyn and Alan jerked around their sensitive issues. This was evidence of a time of family hardship, and she had a pretty good idea that it was centered around Owen's deployment, and the effects of it.
This situation was dishearteningly familiar. It was terrible how quickly the mood of a room could be turned with just the simplest slip of conversation topic. Gwyn had always found it uncomfortable, and at times embarrassing, when she could pin that it was her reaction to something that caused such a drastic shift. And judging by the way Owen's hand had started to tensely rub her arm, he felt much the same way. So she cleared her throat quietly and brightened her expression a little.
"So, Jessie, Owen told me you became an EMT last year. How long did you have to train?" Gwyn asked.
Jessie's eyes lingered on her brother for a moment before they switched their attention to Gwyn. "Oh, um…" she shook her head a little, like it would jostle the right information loose, "it's a two year program, four if you count getting an associates in emergency care, nothing nearly as long as what you did."
"I can't imagine taking even a semester's worth of what you had to learn. I'm useless with first aid unless it's got anything to do with a bandaid," she drawled. A light ripple of laughter echoed through the room. Gwyn smiled broadly and reclined back into Owen a little bit. "I'm serious. I spent months recovering from a massive laceration, and I learned nothing from it. What was it like? The training?"
As they started to discuss the nuances of training––for an EMT, a sommelier, and a paleontologist––Gwyn gave Owen's knee a little squeeze. It was a quiet little reminder that she was there, and that she understood. The tension in his body eased up a little. His rubbing of her arm had stopped, but a slow, steady swiping of his thumb took its place. It was a nice little gesture, small but sweet. A wordless 'thank you,' a subtle show of gratitude. Owen eventually re-entered the conversation with an anecdote about how Jessie used to put bandaids on her dolls. His smile returned, and so did his laughter. Slowly but surely, that little bump in the road was far past them, and the focus of their conversation was something miles beyond it.
But Owen's gratitude did not fade. As they moved to convene at the table for dinner, he made a point of making sure he and Gwyn were the last one's up. And once both his sisters were half way out of the room, he pulled Gwyn in close and stole a lingering kiss. When that broke, his lips rose to press against her forehead.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Gwyn smiled lovingly, and her hand rose to rest over his heart. "Of course."
"C'mon, lovebirds!" Kristi called from the next room. "The chicken's gonna get cold!"
Afterword: With the amount of videos I watched about navy recruit training, and my googling reminders about studying paleontology, I'm gonna be getting some very interesting internet ads. This chapter was a pain to piece together, but the last few days have been stressful, and I used that stress to work all this out. I finally got this chapter to a place I liked, it just took longer than I thought. But I didn't want to serve a lukewarm wash of how I picture the Grady family, so I took the time to get something to y'all that you'll––hopefully––like!
Review Replies!
NicoleR85: This is my little intro to how I see the Gradys! We'll see more of them, too, now that I've finally got to writing them in (you best believe all the girls are gonna have a group text). I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
MsRosePetal: I'm a big sucker for reunions. Whenever I realize I get to write/can write one, I get so excited. 'Cause there are so many ways they can go, and they're so telling… anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (and sorry for the wait!)! Thanks again!
ChildishAssassin: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
AlchemyWriter: I'm glad you think so! I have tons of fun writing them as a couple, and I look forward to developing their relationship dynamic going forward. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
TenebrisSaggitarius: Getting to write Owen and Gwyn being disgustingly sweet is tons of fun; 'cause they deserve it after all that they've been through. And we've still got a ways to go till FK, so you've still got time to decide when (or if) you'll watch the movie. It was a blast getting to introduce my idea of the Grady family, and I look forward to writing more of them. I wanted to write more of 'em this chapter, but it ended up being more of an intro to them this time 'round. But we shall see more of them for sure! And, eventually, the Gradys have got to meet Alan and Ellie; and that's gonna be fun. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
AmericanNidiot: The hot steamy times are coming… very soon… I promise! ; ) I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
Lmv16: I'm glad the last chapter got you smiling like a goof! I love a good reunion. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Angel JJK: There's something about people reuniting at an airport that's just… extra romance novel/rom-com to me, and it delights me to no end (see both airport scenes between Owen and Gwyn). Her meeting with the Gradys went off pretty well! I want to get some more of them in the next chapter, where we'll maybe see some more serious conversations, rather than just that initial 'it's so lovely to meet you and have you here.' I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
xenocanaan: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Guest 1: I'm glad that you've been enjoying the story, and enjoyed their reunion last chapter! It was a blast to write. I hope you enjoyed the newest installment; thanks again!
AkariWolfPrincess: I almost took the car thing out, but in good conscience, I couldn't take something like that away from Owen. It is absolutely something he'd do; and something his mother would hate to find out he did. I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! I had a blast writing the Gradys, and to write more of Owen and Gwyn as a couple. Thanks again!
MageVicky: I think it's imperative for their relationship to develop outside of the park/island, and before their next rendezvous with Isla Nublar arrives. They're gonna face some other character development too; they're about to enter an era where people wanna save the dinosaurs, and they're gonna have to find their stances on it. I had to add that car bit in, 'cause it's so totally something he would do; and I, too, was anxious just thinking of being in that kind of situation. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
EnJay: I'm really happy you enjoyed the last chapter! I had so much fun with it, and despite how difficult this chapter was, I enjoyed writing it, too. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!
Fidjie: Ahh, thank you so much! I love writing these two dorks, and it makes me so happy to hear that y'all are enjoying it, too! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!
RJNorth: I've got plans for Billy's wedding; and you best believe Gwyn sweeping in to calm him down is gonna happen. I hadn't planned to include the wedding till recently, and with what I've got planned, I am now very, very excited that it's coming up soon!
Gwyn (and Owen's) struggle with the media and their own unwitting media presence is gonna start playing a big role in this story. 'Cause we all know Gwyn isn't a 'sit around and take it' kinda girl. Once things start escalating––with the Dinosaur Protection Group, the Lockwood Estate, the general aftermath of JW––she's gonna start getting ideas. And using the media to her advantage… that might just be something she has to do.
Back on my Tim Murphy shit (who am I kidding, I'm always on my Tim Murphy shit)––I've got a running list of plans/headcanons, now, for Tim falling for an elementary school teacher. I'm talking about Tim offering worksheets and museum scavenger hunts for the kids, the teacher wearing cute dinosaur jewelry, and the two of them being soft nerds in a coffee shop. And I love the idea so much, that it might become an aspect of this story, as well as manifest itself in, like, a quasi-companion piece/story. 'Cause Tim deserves to be happy; that poor man is probably so stressed all the time. And to have someone that would help him with that would just be… ugh, he just deserves to be loved and happy. (And touch-starved Tim, don't get m d.)
Also, if you ever wanna just shoot me a PM about Tim, please do, I will gush about him anytime, anywhere.
And we'll see more of Gwyn being a little softer than usual; but that deadpan is still gonna go strong. We see it less in this chapter 'cause she's trying to be careful not to come on too strong, too fast with the Gradys. But that sweet, sweet deadpan will never disappear!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again for your lovely review, and thank you for being so patient! Hope you're doing well!
BriellaJ: Thank you so much!
starrat: Ahh, thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Gabriella Elaine: Thank you, so much! I hope that you enjoyed the newest chapter!
Guest 2: Finally, an update! I hope that you enjoyed it!
And thank you to those that added this to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!
I have to thank you all for continuing to be so wonderfully patient! My creative drive has been all wibbly-wobbly lately, but I've been trying to make time to focus on my writing more. Life is a big ball of stress right now, and I usually find solace in my writing, so hopefully more is soon to come! Thanks again, everyone, you all rock!
~Mary