Day One - First Meeting

Claire hated flying.

She hated it with every fiber of her being. She hated having to sit for countless hours in a seat, her hands gripping the armrests the entire way until she couldn't feel them anymore. She hated the way the roar of the plane and the pressure in the air pounded in her ears. She hated sitting where she could see the ground below, thousands of feet separating her from steady earth. She hated when the plane bounced at the turbulence. Her stomach would twist, a bile would rise in her throat, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, adding to the loud symphony that was the noisy airplane.

Her hatred was terribly inconvenient, as in her line of work, she had to do a lot of jumping around, and now, just finishing a corporate meeting with Masrani Global in San Francisco, she was on a nearly six hour flight from LAX to San José. To her utter joy (please note her sarcasm) she would be boarding a boat soon after to get back to the island. Oh how wonderful.

She wasn't entirely sure if she'd be able to last.

Getting through security hadn't been too difficult; the TSA agents had been relatively friendly to her, save for the man at the front of the line who had been so cold and callous as he handed her the boarding pass.

Waiting at the gate had been absolute torture. Her leg shook nervously, bouncing up and down as her fingers knit together in her lap. The time came for her to board the plane, the beat of her heart increasing in tempo as she handed the stewardess her ticket. She took, slow, deep breaths as she moved through the aerobridge, her carry-on suitcase trailing behind her.

12A.

Her seat was 12A. She hoped to God that there wasn't a person in the seat next to her. The "A" meant that she would be on the right side of the plane and in a window seat, something she in no way had any desire to be part of. The less likely she was to see what was below, the better off she was. Her heart sank as she stepped into the plane, walking down the aisle, seeing a man putting an old suitcase into the compartment above his seat.

In row twelve.

He must have been 12B.

She stopped as she reached their seats, her hand gripping the handle of her suitcase tightly. The man had just sat down when he looked up at her.

Claire decided the best way out of this was to bargain. She gave a forced smile, her facade failing to completely hide her frazzled state. "Excuse me, sir, do you think I could sit there?" She pointed to the aisle seat, trying to make her voice sound as friendly as she could.

He gave a small smirk, something that cause a pang of both irritation and some unidentifiable spark within her. He looked to his side at the window, before turning back to her. "Nervous flier?"

Had she really been so transparent? She only responded with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. For a moment, she was afraid that he wouldn't budge, that he would say something along the lines of 'don't be such a baby,' 'are you kidding? Scared of a plane?'. That damn smirk still plastered on his face, he rose to his full height, towering above her (and standing much too close for comfort, she might add. She could smell his cologne enough without him invading her personal bubble, thank you very much). To her relief and gratitude, he shifted to the window seat, lowering himself into the leather, his eyes never leaving hers.

Without any hesitation, she plopped into the now empty seat next to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him turn to her, his lips widening into a genuine smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. "I'm Owen," he stated, extending a large hand out to her. She looked at him, her eyes watching him warily. He was devastatingly good-looking, almost unfairly so, and she found her cheeks growing warm as she took in his appearance. She took his hand, her stomach fluttering (she wasn't entirely sure whether it was from the nerves from flying, or from how nice his warm, rough hand felt on hers). He looked to be incredibly fit, though not in the way she had been used to. His physique was impressive—very impressive—but he didn't seem like the kind of meat head that spent every waking hour in the gym. He looked like a man that could really handle himself in any situation.

The roughness of his hands told her that he was a hard worker; a true outdoorsman. He wore dark, tight-fitting jeans, his feet clad in a worn pair of work boots. The buttons of his off-white shirt were straining slightly against his toned chest, almost as if they would pop off at any slight movement.

At her silence, his smile faded back into a predatory smirk.

She instantly pulled her hand away, realizing that she had been holding his for far too long. "Uh, nice to meet you," she stammered, trying in vain to hide the blush that had crept up to her cheeks. She was alarmed at her own voice. Claire Dearing did not stammer, nor was she ever so bothered by a man, for God's sake. Oh, God. Now she was flustered and scared out of her mind. When would this hell end?

Not anytime soon, apparently. She felt her heart racing again, the blood rushing to her ears nearly muffling the voice over the intercom telling them to fasten their seat belts, the green light above their seats only repeating the request. She could only suppress the shaking of her hand so much as she pulled the belt across her body, struggling for a moment to actually get the damn thing buckled. A sigh escaped her as she leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"You know, if you get too scared, you can hold my hand," Owen's teasing voice spoke from next to her.

She cracked her eyes open, her brows furrowing into an irritated glare as she looked at him incredulously. Frustration bubbled within her as she felt the uncalled for heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, still not having recovered from her previous blunder.

"I don't mind," He said with a shake of his head, his eyes tinted in humor.

This was going to be a long six hours.

He talked way too much for a man she'd only just met. Really, it was beginning to drive her insane. So much so, that she almost forgot how terrified she was because she was too focused on being irritated with his incessant babbling. All she wanted to do, was sit in silence, and wallow in her own fear. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

After an extensive story on his time as a dolphin trainer in the Navy (a story which, though Claire would never admit, she found extremely fascinating, even in her current state of mind), he turned fully to her, his head tilting in curiosity. "So where are you heading? Meeting someone? A ladies' trip on the beach?" He wiggled an eyebrow at her and she almost scoffed.

She was so exasperated at this point, she didn't even care if he knew or not. Maybe telling him would get him to shut up and leave her alone, because her silence sure as hell wasn't working. "Well, after San José, if you must know, I'm getting on a boat for Isla Nublar," she said, her tone clipped.

His eyes lit up.

Oh, no.

"What a coincidence!"

No.

"I'm also going to the 'island of the clouds!'"

What a cheesy line. So he knew how to use google translate, big deal. Good for him. Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes, still wanting to maintain at least some sense of politeness. Really, if she weren't so frazzled by the damn plane ride, she would have been less annoyed with this guy. His company wasn't all that bad. It was just that he was picking the wrong time to push her buttons. "Really?" Her voice uncharacteristically high, the tension evident.

"I'm not even kidding. The folks over at Jurassic World asked me to come down and work with some of the animals in a new program; behavioral research and what not."

How eloquent. So this was the man that InGen had hired for the raptor program. Really, what were the chances?

She nodded in understanding, hoping the gesture would dismiss anymore conversation. "You must be good at handling animals," she said absently.

Wrong choice of words. That damn smirk came back, his voice lowering an octave. "Oh, I'm good at a lot of things."

Her jaw dropped at the not-so-subtle remark, folding her arms across her chest. His brash statement causing her already blushing cheeks to turn even more red, the color clashing against her copper hair.

He seemed to be satisfied with her reaction, continuing the conversation as she stared at him in stunned silence. "So, what do you do, Miss…?" He trailed off, his eyebrows raising in question.

She ignored the unspoken inquiry of her name, choosing only to answer the first part. "I'm the Park Operations Manager." Her voice only stammered slightly this time; she found she was even more annoyingly flustered at his blatant come on.

He whistled, his brows shooting up in surprise. "Alright. Well, remind me never to piss you off."

Claire actually felt a laugh bubbling at the surface; she didn't let it out, settling for an amused, and only slightly condescending, smile. His eyes met hers in a moment of silence. Once again, she felt the fluttering in her abdomen, the feeling not entirely unwelcome at this point.

The moment was short-lived as she felt the plane hitch minutely as it came into a bout of turbulence, causing her stomach to leap into her chest. She gasped in surprised, her hands gripping the armrests, her nails digging into the leather. God, how much longer was this flight?

She felt a warm hand on her arm. Turning, she saw Owen watching her with concern. "Hey," he said, his voice steady and firm. "It's fine. Just a bit of—"

"Turbulence, I know!" She spat.

For the first time during the whole flight, he actually seemed annoyed with her. His hand dropped from her arm. "Relax. Here's what you do. Just imagine; you're not on a plane, you're on a bus on a busy city street. And the turbulence is just potholes in the road, alright?"

She gave him a wary side-eye glance, before she nodded her head vigorously. She closed her eyes, taking his advice into mind. He left out the part where they were literally thousands of feet in the air, but she didn't want to test his patience; he had already shown that he was intimidating enough. To her surprise, his little method was working. She opened her eyes, seeing that he'd closed the shutter to the window, preventing her from having to see the ground below. It took a while, but slowly, her heart rate slowed, her stomach settling. Even if only a little bit, her fears were alleviated.

Claire turned to look at Owen, who was now reading the magazine he'd brought in his bag.

"Claire," she found herself saying. He looked up at her, confusion evident in his expression. To that, she gave a shy smile. "My name is Claire Dearing." She extended her hand out to him, wanting to redeem herself for her earlier behavior.

His lips curved into a large grin as he took her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Perhaps she could survive the next few hours.