Author's note: This part is a bit long, sorry about that. We're on the final stretch, so buckle up, I guess! And thank you so much for you wonderful reviews, they mean the world to me!
Claire rubbed the corners of her eyes, heaving a relieved sigh. Almost done. About 10 miles of spreadsheets, a 50-page report on the past financial year plus the analysis of the prognosis vs. actual outcome, and a PowerPoint presentation to sum it up. The only thing missing was perhaps an interpretative dancing, but this was as far as Claire's initiative went. Well, that and Owen's data he never sent it, but she decided to work it in later, not having it in her to delay finishing the rest of it any longer.
She double-checked everything, then archived all documents and sent them to Mr. Masrani for approval, hoping he would be satisfied with the end result.
The time was nearing 11 PM, and there was nothing she wanted more than to go home and fall asleep for the next 20 hours and maybe forget the back-and-forth she had with Owen earlier this afternoon. Instead, she pulled out the folder with the incident reports that came in this week. Might as well get that out of her way now.
There usually was half a dozen of them a week, hardly anything extraordinary for an island full of wild and sometime vicious animals. There was always someone who'd end up with a bruise or a cut, often caused by underestimating the dinosaurs they were dealing with. Just because most of them were herbivore didn't meant they were safe, their diet not making their claws and horns and teeth any less threatening, the sheer mass of some of them posing more danger than anything else.
The one on the top of the stack made Claire frown. The Indominus-Rex again. There hardly was a week without someone reporting a problem from Paddock 11, and despite the enthusiasm she was more than eager to express in front of the potential investors, the thing living behind 40-foot tall concrete walls was giving her chills. She appreciated Simon's excitement about the new project – they did, after all, create a whole new species, however reckless it was, but if she were to consider all issues they'd already faced with that animal, Claire would probably suggest not opening it for public until they moved their security system to a whole new level.
Quite frankly, she could hardly consider it a dinosaur. As much as she generally viewed them all as one and the same, she didn't have it in her to compare that thing to a Triceratops or an Apatosaurus with their mellow attitude and almost gentle nature, the I-Rex's dangerously narrowed eyes always making her wish she'd never have to visit that paddock ever again. Claire hated the idea of discussing it with Simon again, but she'd have to add it to her next week's agenda before every single handler manning that cage quit, which was something they simply couldn't afford.
She let out a long breath. This was a problem they needed to face globally, not just in a matter of one complaint. In nearly six years on this island, she had never had to deal with any other animal this often and to such an extent. Frankly, it was unnerving.
Alas, it definitely was something she couldn't solve on her own.
She made a mental note to bring it up as soon as possible. Everything was wrong with this project, from the fact that this animal ate her sibling - and Claire couldn't remember a single case of cannibalism in all of her time spent here - to a string of never-ending reports from the handlers, and that was also a first.
Having to deal with Owen on top of this all was… well, inconvenient, to put it mildly.
Sometime around midnight, Claire finally pushed the door to her suite open and stifled a yawn, exhausted to the bone and wanting nothing more than to plant her face in the pillow for as long as she could. With the last spurt of energy, she wiggled out of her clothes and promised to herself to never take sleep for granted ever again.
Her phone emitted a series of demanding chirps just as she started to drift off.
Startled, Claire groaned and reached for it without opening her eyes, hoping against all hope it was nothing but a dream.
"Dearing," she muttered, not recognizing the caller ID, blinking on the screen.
"Can I use your chopper?" Owen's voice sounded somewhat distant, but clear and awake enough, considering the hour.
"What?" She rubbed her eyes, struggling to understand what it was that he wanted, separate words making sense to her, but their combination remaining incomprehensible.
"Hoskins took InGen's chopper when he left this evening. Is yours still around?" His tone was urgent, and Claire could hear the crunching of the gravel under his feet on the other end of the line.
"I don't under-"
"Is it?" Owen interjected.
She racked her brain for a moment, before breathing out, "Yes."
"Can I take it?"
"Not until you tell me-"
"One of the raptors is sick, we need to send someone for the meds the lab doesn't have."
Claire sat up in bed and reached for the reading lamp on the bedside table. "What happened?"
"Claire!"
"Yes, take it, but I still need to…"
He hung up before she had time to finish her question, and Claire cursed quietly before kicking off her blanket and reached for her jeans draped over the back of the chair, barely managing to keep her eyes open. So much for a night of decent sleep.
Twenty minutes later, she found him sitting outside of the lab, elbows propped on his knees as he stared absently into space. With his rumpled hair and a rather notable stubble, he looked disheveled and more than a little lost, and hell if she didn't feel a pang of sympathy mixed with the familiar desire to fix whatever was troubling him somewhere deep in her gut.
Owen glanced up when her shadow fell over him, his eyes bloodshot in the bright fluorescent light of the halogen lamps overhead.
He blinked at her, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
His voice was hoarse and thick, nearly swallowed by the ever-present hum of something or another around here, from fridges to lamps to god only knew what else.
"You asked to use the company's property," she explained in that flat voice that implied that it was a pretty stupid question, even coming from him. "I must know why."
"I needed it," Owen replied in kind. "You didn't have to come."
"Actually, in the light of Mr. Masrani's recent request, I think I did. What happened? You said something about an asset being sick? Is it okay?"
"It's a she. And she's not an assent, Claire. She's a living being." Claire only quirked an eyebrow in response, still waiting for a proper answer. "I don't know," he admitted when simply glaring at her grew old. "They're not dogs, their immune systems are different."
It was one of the handlers that noticed that Echo seemed to be off. She was disoriented, her breathing ragged and heavy, and her skin uncharacteristically warm. The man panicked and called Owen, and when Owen didn't pick up, what with the whole let's-turn-off-the-phone-and-get-hammered plan being set in motion, he dialed Barry who was currently outside trying to contact Hoskins. Earlier, after he dragged Owen's half-conscious ass to the lab, he made him chug down two cups of black coffee and then left him here to wait for the news. A memoir-worthy night, really.
From his vantage point, Owen could see Echo through the glass, her sides heaving as she breathed. Wu's preliminary diagnosis was infection, but she was small, just a baby, and the scientist was hesitant to pump her with whatever they used on the grown species, fearing it would be too strong. Hence the need for something milder, something they didn't happen to have at the moment. As soon as Claire gave a green light to using their chopper, one of the lab techs was sent to the mainland, and Owen was asked to wait outside.
He gave Claire the basics, more to get her off his back than anything else, and then rubbed his chin as he watched Wu and a couple of people in white coats discuss something, their lips moving fast, but the glass wall was keeping out of his earshot. His stomach churned with guilt and fear. If he didn't take the rest of the day off, if he was there, if he bothered not to switch his phone off—
The list went on and on, doing nothing to sate him or give him peace. They were his responsibility, and however miserable and pathetic he felt because of his personal shit, he had no right to neglect it. There still was enough alcohol in his system to somewhat numb his worry, but it wouldn't last, and if something happened to Echo…
Claire lowered herself down into the chair next to his and let out a long weary sigh. He darted a quick glance in her direction, resisting the urge to drag his chair further away just for the hell of it.
"You smell like a distillery," she observed after a moment or two.
"Well, you smell-" he started automatically and then cut himself off with a huff. She smelled great, if he were honest with himself. So fucking great he wanted to bury his face in her hair and inhale her whole. "I was kinda in the middle of a party when this happened," he finished, choosing to omit the part where the party was mostly in his mind and Claire was an active participant of it, the traitorous colour creeping up his face. "You don't have to stay."
"I really don't think I have a choice," she responded evenly. "Mr. Masrani would want to have a full report."
"Or, alternatively, you could admit that you actually care," he suggested.
"Yes, please, tell me how I feel," she hummed, practically daring him to do it.
"I wasn't trying to-Not everything is an attack, Claire," Owen noted, slumping against the back of his chair and rubbing his eyes.
They stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching the commotion in the lab – Owen's eyes barely ever leaving the figures in white while Claire's attention remained divided between Wu and his team and her phone as she sought a much needed distraction from the fact that her very skin was tingling from being this close to him. The air, despite being cool down here, felt heavy and electrified around them, and it was only her pride that she wore like a shield that stopped her from dragging her chair toward the opposite wall just to make a point.
"How on earth did you end up here?" Claire breathed out after a while, not really addressing Owen, mostly just thinking out loud.
"They promised me dinosaurs. And the cabin in the woods sealed the deal," he deadpanned. She ignored the quip entirely, and he added almost despite himself, "I worked with marine mammals for a while. There's not much difference between a dolphin and a Velociraptor, apparently."
He didn't see so much as feel Claire pause, her focus shifting, anchored on him now. Very much aware of his dirty shirt and mud-caked boots, and quite possibly the rest of Jack Daniels coming out of his pores all of a sudden, Owen scowled at himself for caring. Despite Masrani's request, she didn't have to stay, and if she chose to – well, it was her problem, not his.
Except it was Claire fucking Dearing, and Owen could yell and scream about being over her for close to a decade now, and it would hardly change the fact that she could walk into the room, knock all wind out of him with a single glance, and leave him breathless and shattered without batting an eyelash, and there was no cure for that. Never had been, for all he knew. Being in love with her was like riding a goddamn bicycle apparently, and he hopped right back on it. Shocker.
"Were you really not going to tell me?" He asked quietly when the silence got too much to bear.
She didn't respond at once, and Owen didn't dare turn to her, half scared of what he might see in her eyes before she so much as opened her mouth, and half worried she'd bolt out of this bright-white place without giving him any sort of an answer, which somehow felt like a matter of life and death all of a sudden. Only yesterday, having Claire within a five-mile radius from him felt like a sucker punch that left him in a gasping heap on the floor. And now he practically longed for having to deal with just that, the irony of wishing for simpler times not lost on him.
"I don't know," Claire admitted honestly, not looking at him either. "It stopped being an issue before I could make a decision."
"I'm sorry," he rasped, his tongue dry, the words lodged in his throat like a tight ball of barbwire that made every sound coming out of his mouth garbled and distorted somehow, sounding odd and hollow and wrong even to his own ears. He scrubbed a hand down his face, wondering if the gaping black hole in his chest was going to turn him inside out at last.
"Me, too," she muttered under her breath.
"I mean it," Owen added after a moment or two, leaning forward again and staring down unseeingly at his clasped hands. "If I could go back and take it away, bear it all instead of you…" his voice dropped, his gaze remained cast down. "I'd do it. I'd do it in a second."
"What difference does it make which one of us went through it?" She shook her head.
"My pain I don't care about." He turned to her, his face crossed with resigned determination. "Yours I can't stand the idea of."
If there was anything else Owen could possibly add, he was either too tired, or too drunk, or too shocked, or maybe too stuck in that goddamn dream still to know what it was.
There was a sudden flurry of commotion at the door, and then the corridor filled with people that talked over each other, hurrying toward the lab, the man Claire remembered as Barry a few steps behind them – with them, but not really. He paused when he spotted her and Owen, his eyes darting between the two of them, unasked questions so visible on his face it was almost comical. He composed himself quickly though, offering Claire an uncertain nod before turning to Owen who uncurled from his chair not without a bit of a struggle.
"It's fine. I got ahold of Hoskins," Barry explained. "He said to go with whatever Dr. Wu says."
"So, did you get what you needed?" Claire asked if a little hesitantly, joining them.
Barry's eyebrows quirked in surprise, and it occurred to Owen that if Hoskins didn't explain the new order of things to everyone, which he probably didn't deem necessary, her presence here probably made little sense to him. He cleared his throat and caught another man up to date, a bit more aware of Claire standing right next to him than he liked to admit.
"You should go home," Owen told him in the end. "No need for both of us to be stuck here all night."
Barry hesitated, his eyes flickering almost involuntarily toward Claire in a silent assumption as to why his company wasn't welcome, and Owen's scowl deepened. Mercifully, she had her nose buried in a text message or something equally exciting, missing their telepathic conversation entirely. But still…
"If you say so," Barry agreed without a fight, his gaze shifting toward Wu.
Owen glanced at the scientist over his shoulder. "I'll call you or something when there's news," he offered, and Barry nodded before waving his goodbye and disappearing around the corner. Seconds later, a soft hum of the elevator announced his departure, and it was the two of them again, in that stifling place between wanting to avoid one another at all costs and barely holding back from going for each other's throats.
Owen slumped heavily back into his chair and let out a long breath, already starting to feel the ill effects of his reckless decision to drown in whiskey while Claire chose to pace the width of the hallway, seemingly unaware of doing it, and suddenly he wished he could send her home, too. Except there was no way she'd do it if he asked – if there was anything he knew about Claire Dearing at all, it was that she didn't appreciate being ordered around.
It wasn't for another half hour that Wu finally cracked the door to the lab open and waved Owen in, the lines on his face relaxed, and the proverbial weight lifted off Owen's shoulders - so much so, he thought he'd soar up into the air. He leaped up to his feet promptly, and then paused, turning to Claire.
"You wanna…" He started, jerking his chin toward Wu.
"Go," she shook her head, not quite looking at him. "I'll… I think I better go find us some coffee." Her eyebrows knitted together as she considered something before address Wu directly. "Henry, can I have a word?"
Owen glanced at her one last time before stepping almost reluctantly into the lab, assaulted momentarily by that chemical, medical smell he so detested about the hospitals and everything that was sterile white.
One of the lab techs explained to him that it wasn't an infection after all. Echo apparently had an allergic reaction to something she ate, most likely a plant in the paddock and not the food that was carefully monitored while they were this young. However, while the flora of the island was supposed to be a safe environment for the animals, it was impossible to eliminate the individual intolerance entirely, and baby raptors were not much different from baby anything else in their desire to taste the world around them.
It was a good sign that none of the other raptors exhibited the same symptoms, which made dealing with this one case easier than trying to get an epidemic under control. Nonetheless, Owen was told what to check the paddock for while keeping an eye on all animals for a while.
Echo was in a plastic crate, scraping the walls with her claws, and maybe it was only Owen's wishful thinking, or the late hour mixed with more alcohol than he had at once since college, but he could have sworn she perked up when he walked over to her.
"Hey there," he breathed out, only now realizing how tight his chest had been with worry this whole time. Unable to hold back a relieved smile, he reached into the crate and scratched her under the chin, like a puppy, mostly for lack of better ideas. Echo emitted a low creaky sound and made a lunge for his finger, not really meaning it though.
They wanted to keep her under observation for a few more hours and run some tests on the other three raptors, but as far as everyone was concerned, she was going to be fine.
When Owen finally stumbled into the corridor again, so tired he could probably fall asleep standing, Claire was nowhere to be found. There was, however, a paper cup of coffee sitting on his chair, the air cloaking him still smelled like her.
xoox
"Owen Grady? The Owen Grady?"
Claire could hear Karen's jaw hit the floor from several thousand miles away.
"The one and only," Claire panted as she upped the speed of the treadmill by another 5 miles, eager to pound the hell out of this thing until her muscles dissolved and her lungs started to burn.
There were certain perks to hitting the Hilton's gym at the crack of dawn – the guests rarely showed up here at all, set on spending their vacation time in a more pleasant way that attacking the machines, and the staff general did it after work, eager to catch an extra hour of sleep in the morning. As a result, she had the whole room to herself more often than not, using it to burn off the stress, reveling in the simplicity of movement that didn't require any mental effort on her part.
The sun just peeked over the treetops behind the large windows that took up two walls of the gym, flooding the room with soft glow striped with long distorted shadows. If it wasn't for the hum of the cooling system, Claire would almost believe she was cutting across the park, battering packed dirt and a layer of foliage on the ground with her sneakers. That, and her sister's voice in her earpiece that felt oddly out of place.
"You're joking," Karen uttered.
"I wouldn't be able to make that up even if I wanted to."
Karen didn't know everything, but she did know more than anyone else. Between their father's undisclosed desire to skin Owen alive and their mother's tight-lipped silent treatment, it was her sister with her 7-month baby bump that stroked Claire's hair while she cried her heart out, wishing she could fold in on herself and disappear. Karen was the one who knew how much it hurt and how desperately Claire wanted to stop existing in those days. Still a few weeks before she noticed the changes in her own body, Claire would bury her face in her sister's shoulder and let the tears come.
And then Zach – who they didn't know was a boy yet and who was lovingly referred to as Pickle at the time for the reasons Claire couldn't remember – would kick, and Karen would place Claire's palm on her belly, and sometimes, the tears would go away.
Maybe calling her wasn't the wisest decision Claire had ever made, but she needed to tell someone – someone who understood – and there was no else she could turn to. Confused and disoriented, she was starting to feel like she was losing her mind. And watching Owen croon over a dinosaur the other night – there was no other word for what she saw when she returned with their coffee – had left her more than a little on edge. The softness around him was unfamiliar now, the sharp angles of his face and the wariness of his gaze morphed into an expression of perpetual wonder that left her with wobbly knees and a hot lump in her throat until she couldn't bear stay in the bright lights of the lab any longer.
"So what's the plan?" Karen asked almost cautiously as if fearing that a careless word or even the tone of her voice would sent Claire into a downward spiral all over again. They did, after all, put a ban on mentioning Owen or that summer for a decade and a half. Doing it now felt like brushing the cobwebs off the old furniture in an abandoned house. Awkward and odd and surreal.
"Right now I mostly hope that I'll wake up one morning and none of this will be real anymore," Claire admitted, slowing down to a steady jog to catch her breath before she passed out or fell off the treadmill.
"Okay," her sister drawled. "And realistically speaking?"
Claire puffed out a breath. "We end up yelling at each other every time we talk, so I think not doing that would be a start," she grimaced inwardly. "Trust me, all I want to do is keep going on with my work, but…"
"What?"
"I don't know. It's like wherever I turn, he's right there, with his bike and his raptors and his… everything," she huffed with exasperation for good measure, knowing for a fact Karen wouldn't buy it.
And she didn't, most likely.
"What's he like?"
An impossible asshole, Claire wanted to say even though it clearly wasn't what her sister wanted to know. However, any other answer felt just as insane – for one thing, she couldn't remember if Karen even met him, socially. Sure they all knew about the less fortunate Grady family, but Karen moved out at 18, when Owen was still in middle school or something like that, and her memories of the scrawny boy ended right there.
In fact, when Claire finally fessed up – mostly because there was no way she could get the marriage annulment without her parents finding out about it and it seemed like a wiser choice to tell them herself than have them hear about it from the family lawyer – Karen asked her if it was the 'blond guy with Chevy' who lived two streets away and who used to push their lawnmower a few years back because neither of the Grady sisters was capable of operating it. So yeah, whatever she and Owen did to hide their short-lived relationship worked out well enough.
"He's… broader in the shoulders than I remember," she offered, uncertain of what else to add and wincing at how stupid it sounded. He was, though. "I don't know, Karen. It's been 16 years and it's not like we've been taking trips down the memory lane and reminiscing about the past. Or, god forbid, catching up." She paused to inhale deeply and then exhale slowly. Okay, it did feel good to talk it out. Maybe she'd feel less on edge once she got it off her chest. Or at least some of it. "He's as happy with our work arrangements as I am, so there's that."
What was he like, though?
Claire had to admit it was rather hard to be objective when her irritation inevitably hit another level whenever she so much as thought about him, which was making it impossible to see the whole picture. If she were honest with herself, however… Guarded. Wary. He seemed like the kind of person who had seen enough to look both ways before crossing a one-way street. Before, he could look into her eyes and see her very soul because he was infatuated with her; now he would try to do that because it was a matter of survival, an unbeatable instinct ingrained into him.
Even after all this time, it shocked her to see his gaze so sharp, his jackass comments barely anything but a shield he was hiding behind. The raw pain she saw in his eyes a few days ago when they were sitting outside the lab, his voice breaking with unsaid words, crushed under the weight of the world and everything his life had thrown at him. The lines around his eyes were deeper, the curve of his lips more cynical. It seemed like someone pulled him apart and then assembled him back together in haste, without any regard as to how the parts were supposed to fit.
She wondered if she looked the same way to him, and either answer felt equally unnerving.
"And is that a good thing?" She could hear Karen frown all the way through the phone.
"Probably." Claire slowed down to a walk and grabbed a towel to dab her heated face. "Look, I'm sorry I woke you. It was… a really weird couple of weeks, and I didn't know…"
She hit the pause and stopped, her chest still heaving and her heart pumping in earnest. Outside the window, the sunbeds around the pool were slowly filling with particularly enthusiastic guests, and soon, she knew, the area would be buzzing with activity and kids running around.
"Are you okay?" Karen asked after a brief hesitation.
"This is my job. I guess I'll figure out how to do it," Claire responded absently, watching a man in his late 40's spread a towel over the sunbed before diving into the cool blue water.
"It's not what I meant."
"I know."
"So?"
"It happened a very long time ago," Claire said at last, summoning whatever little logic she still had in her. "We're not the same people and it's not the same situation, and frankly, I do hope it'll just go away."
"Well, at least now I know where to find him if he ever breaks your heart again."
"He's not going to-" She stepped off the treadmill and grabbed her towel and water bottle, ready to hit the shower before she headed to the office, still antsy and restless even after covering 14,5 miles in her futile attempt to run away from herself. "It's not like that."
"Just… be careful, okay?"
"Of course. I mean, there's nothing to be careful about."
"Claire, I am still traumatized-"
"Well, like I said, it's just a job with… complications. And anyway, this extracurricular thing is only for this week." She rubbed her forehead. "Then his own boss will be back and I won't have to see him more than necessary."
Karen hummed skeptically. "I demand a picture anyway."
"Karen!"
"What? You were married to a guy and I never even saw his face!"
"Google him," Claire suggested dryly.
"I hate you sometimes."
"Yeah, I love you, too."
xoox
The concrete walls towering over the treetops appeared from behind a curve in the road, and Claire's jaw clenched instinctively. It was turning into a goddamn habit – she visited this place more times than any of the park's attractions, and it was getting on her last nerve. Sadly, it had been three days since their magical midnight talk, and Claire was starting to suspect that keeping an eye on this InGen project didn't necessarily mean ignoring Owen to the best of her ability.
She needed an update.
He wasn't picking up his phone.
Those trips to the paddock that kept eating up chunks of her already precious time were starting to feel a little old.
To his credit, Owen did send her the required reports. Eventually. Which only made this particular visit feel even more pointless, mostly because she had other things to do, and not at all because of the nervous flurry in her chest. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. It should've taken more than a past flame to knock the ground from under her feet and leave her suspended in midair, and yet here she was, desperately trying to pack her schedule with pointless tasks, like inventory, all to avoid a boy.
Jesus…
Coward she was not, but the familiar twinge in the pit of her stomach left her more than a little nauseated nonetheless. It turned out that putting something that she never thought was truly over to rest was an impossible task.
Basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, Barry waved at her in an almost familiar way, which Claire didn't know how to place – as a woman in a position of power, she was keenly aware of how people perceived her, knowing that any sign of softness and openness on her part would be interpreted as weakness. Being considered stone-cold and devoid of any emotion was an inevitable side-effect of keeping her true feelings under control. Thus, heartfelt greetings from the employees were few and far between, which left Claire with a mixture of appreciation and concern over how much Owen let on about their… situation. It was one thing to have a certain image by choice, and something else entirely to be a butt of crass jokes between the handlers.
Still, she waved back, and Barry hollered over his shoulder, "Owen!" to have the latter pop up from behind one of the trailers clustered to the left from where Claire parked her car.
He paused, confused, his hand reaching automatically for a stained rag to wipe his hands with. "Hey," he offered her a curt nod that could mean anything from Thanks for stopping by to Drop dead, for all she knew. It wasn't particularly easy to read him these days.
Claire cleared her throat and willed herself to look as detached and disinterested, and maybe a little bit annoyed for good measure as she could, which wasn't all that hard, save for the fact that she wasn't really any of those things. Not to a significant extent at least.
She nodded back, taking her time to compose herself by observing the people around them, very much apprehensive of their attention. "Mr. Masrani will be waiting for my status update tomorrow," Claire started in a painfully formal voice. "I assume he would want an update from you, as well."
"'Kay," Owen shrugged. "We're good." He grimaced a little when she arched an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "Look, I don't know what Hoskins puts in those reports. Everything's fine. We start training the next week."
"Good." Okay, she could probably pull up earlier updates submitted by Hoskins and see what she could compile, using them as a template. Admittedly, Owen's response still was not helpful at all. "And… ah, what about the asset you had a trouble with? Is everything okay with it?"
He frowned at her, his jaw clenched in frustration. "With her. Her name is Echo." He breathed out through his nose. "She's fine." And then, "Wanna see for yourself?"
"What?" Claire blinked and all but took a step back, almost expecting him to throw her into the cage if she was close enough for him to grab her. "Thank you, but I think I'm good."
The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly, and for the first time, there was a glint of genuine humor in his gaze. "C'mon. You're in too deep anyway, might as well know what you're dealing with."
Mindful of the handlers who were giving them curious looks, Claire followed him toward the paddock. She expected him to head straight for the stairs leading to the catwalk, but instead he walked right past them on his way to the cage entrance, equipped with inch-thick bars and a double door just to be safe.
Claire hesitated when he pulled the first one open. "Is it safe?" She inquired skeptically, eyeing the four raptors on the other side of the second gate with wary distrust. They were growing fast, and what could easily fit in Owen's hands only a few day ago was now nearly twice as big and, quite possibly, twice as toothy. Not that they looked particularly vicious, she had to admit that much, but far be it from her to trust them.
"No," Owen said easily, giving her a quick cheeky grin. "You coming?"
With a pointed sigh, Claire allowed him to shut the first door before he pressed a couple of buttons on the panel attached to the wall of the inner cage. The whole thing looked exactly like the Indominus Rex's paddock which she visited while it was still under construction and before the animal was moved there – open area in the front, allowing to observe the raptors from the bridges and catwalks above, and a piece of jungle in the back.
As if on cue, four shadows darted from the thick greenery with croaky screeches, pushing one another and barreling into Owen's legs, their tails wagging and their claws scratching at his jeans as if they were trying to climb up his frame, which probably wasn't that far from the truth. Chuckling, he crouched down amidst them, pushing them off playfully only to have them try to latch onto him again. In this moment, they looked like overly excited dogs whose owner finally came home, except they were not, and Claire stopped by the iron gate, uncertain as to what the protocol was.
Not that they noticed her at all. Not at first, at least. It wasn't until one of the animals whipped its head around, sniffing the air, that the others followed suit, their snake-like eyes with slightly unsettling vertical pupils fixed on her. She had to admit it felt a little unsettling. Not as bad as when the I-Rex was staring at her from her hiding spot behind the tree, so still Claire wondered half the time if she was even alive, but she still couldn't help but feel like this was lunch time and she was the main item on the menu. Except the raptors were only a foot tall and almost comically uncoordinated still, their feet seemingly too large for their bodies. Mixed signals all over.
"Behave," Owen told them with a warning as he uncurled from his squat while his pack started to inch toward Claire, growling low in their throats.
She was tempted to remind him that they were not likely to listen to him, the easiness with which he acted around them left her both fascinated and maybe a little envious.
Instead, she asked which one was which. He introduced them quickly while they circled around her, their tails brushing against her legs and their snouts bumping into the feet, making her worry about the safety of her toes.
"They all look the same to me," she admitted with a grimace, earning a scornful snort in response.
"That's 'cause you see them as things, not living beings," Owen pointed out, scooping one of the raptors in his hands.
"What exactly is a point of this, again?" She asked, eyeing the animal in his arms with caution, half expecting it to go straight for Owen's jugular. Funny looking they might be, but safe they were definitely not.
"You work in a place that defies the laws of nature, and you don't even know even know what you have here."
She bristled at his comment. "Are you seriously calling me unprofessional right now?" She gaped at him, hoping that one of the animals would bite him. "Need I remind you-"
"I'm not calling you anything," he interjected, but without malice. "I'm just sayin' you only see one side of the coin, is all."
"Oh, and you're an expert at seeing the whole picture, right?"
"Are we still talking about the park?" He was standing barely a foot away from her, basically towering over her. The raptor stirred in his arms, emitting a low, guttural sound of protest. Owen looked down, as if only now remembering he was still holding it – her - and Claire had to summon all of her willpower so as not to step back, transfixed by the small but undoubtedly sharp teeth peeking from under pulled-back lips. "This is Delta," he said, nodding down. "Wanna hold her?"
Claire's eyes widened. Well, no. For one thing, those teeth. And then there was a matter of her pale chiffon blouse she didn't want to stain, or tear, or…
"I think I'm good," she said stiffly, her eyes not leaving the wiggling creature that she probably never saw this close before – not without a glass between them, which worked just fine for her, truth be told. She did trust Owen's judgement, which came as surprise in and of itself, but if there was anything she'd learned in the years she spent in this place, it was that even herbivore species could be unpredictable and deadly. Anything with an appetite for blood, however small, was to be stayed away from, period.
"Honestly, she's like a puppy," Owen insisted. "She's not gonna-"
Claire gasped when a sting of sharp pain pierced her right leg above the ankle, more shocked by the suddenness of it than anything else.
"—bite," Owen finished automatically. "Shit," he muttered at the sight of Blue tugging at the leg of Claire's beige pants. "Blue!" he barked sharply, setting Delta down. He flicked the other raptor on the nose with his fingers and she unclenched her jaw if a little reluctantly, hissing at him, all righteous indignation. "Claire…"
"I'm fine," Claire muttered numbly as she watched droplets of blood seep through the thin material, mildly nauseated from the adrenaline rush.
"Shit," Owen repeated. He shooed his charge away and nudged her toward the exit. "Come on, we need to take care of it."
The office that he pulled her into a minute later was nothing but a glorified trailer stuffed with two cluttered desks, a few chairs, a couch taking up most of one of the walls and a mini-fridge. It was dark and stuffy, smelling of dust, papers, and potato chips, which, for a place that no one probably cleaned in months, wasn't all that bad. Claire spotted three laptops, several coffee mugs and a microwave sitting on top of the fridge. The fans mounted on the walls were turned off, which she considered a blessing – god only knew what kind of dust storm they would set off.
"Sit," Owen ordered, pointing at one of the chairs.
She remained standing on principle. Owen scowled at her from the other end of the room where he was rummaging through a cupboard.
"We need to disinfect it," he said in a mock patient voice that made her own frown deepen. Now that the initial surprise started to wane, she could feel a dull tug in the pierced spot.
"I can do that at the infirmary," she protested, wishing she were more persistent in her attempt to leave before he had a chance to get her here. If nothing else, she trusted the cleanness of the First Aid station more than this place. And she could be halfway to the resort by now.
"Or I can do it right now." He slammed the cupboard door, a small bag with a dull red cross in his hands.
She regarded the offered chair dubiously, wondering if it was clean enough. Then again, stained with blood and ripped by the dinosaur's teeth, her pants were taking a trip to the dumpster anyway, so what did it matter? She sat down gingerly and extended her hand to Owen, palm open.
"I can do it."
"You could also sit tight for two minutes and be on your merry way in three," he countered, lowering down in front of her.
Owen pulled her foot onto his lap and undid the clasp on her black strappy sandal before pulling it off and setting it aside. He rolled up the pant leg of her suit pants, wondering for the umpteenth time why on earth would anyone wear anything light around here. Granted, Claire didn't live in the middle of the jungle and probably didn't have to plow through mud on a daily basis, but it hardly changed the fact that it was highly impractical.
There were a few puncture marks on her pale skin, pink around the edges but no longer bleeding. He inspected them closely, relieved to see that however this, the fabric of her pants saved her from a bigger trouble.
"Sorry," he murmured when her breath hitched, thinking that he inadvertently hurt her, very much aware all of sudden of having her foot in his lap. Her skin was smooth and cool, bringing back the memory of how her feet used to be cold all the time, which she used shamelessly to shock him awake on the afternoons spent, well, not doing much outside of his house. "It might sting a bit," he warned her softly, soaking a cotton ball with sharply-smelling antiseptic before brushing it gently to the bite mark, careful to clean each of the small wounds.
"I'll live," Claire breathed out, as if she wasn't gripping the edge of the chair so tight her knuckles had turned white.
"'Course you will." Owen showed her one of his forearms crisscrossed with hearing scratches. "They're babies, Claire. They were just playing."
"Well, your baby just cost me a $500 pair of pants," she retorted.
"Maybe it'll teach you not to throw your money away," he shrugged. Jesus, his whole life cost less than her outfit.
"Not everyone can pull off the I woke up like this look with flying colours," she retorted.
"Wait, did you just compliment me?" An eyebrow cocked quizzically, he tossed the cotton ball into the trash.
Her cheeks flushed with colour. "Are you done?"
"As a matter of fact…"
He allowed her to put her shoe back on, watching her tuck her hair behind her ear every few seconds only to have to fall on her cheek again straight away.
"Good as new, huh?" He hummed, offering her his hand, which Claire accepted without protest, and pulling her up to her feet.
And then she was suddenly nearly pressed to his chest, eyes wide and lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something but forgot what it was supposed to be. He could feel her breath brushing his chin, the vein on her neck fluttering with escalated pulse. She smelled of peaches and something floral, a familiar scent he carried on his clothes for so long after he left it all but seeped into his skin. Claire's fingers flexed around his, and Owen's gaze dropped to her lips painted pale pink. He heard her swallow, the sound barely registering through the blood rush in his ears.
As if against his own will, he reached over to push her hair back from her face, his fingertips brushing against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and then his palm cupped her jaw and his mouth found hers. Hands pushing through her hair, running over her arms, her shoulders, digging into her back, Owen moaned lowly his throat, too distracted by the feel of her to notice that Claire went completely still, momentarily dumbfounded by this sudden progression. He was about to pull back and apologize, and then probably move to Greenland or something - whichever continent was far enough away from South America to make the horror of this moment go away – when her lips parted at long last, her fingers gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling his down to her.
His tongue darted into her mouth and the sound that escaped her chest all but left him undone.
Owen pushed her against of the desks, the sharp edge digging into her thighs, and she tugged at his hair, pressing to his chest, his taut muscles rippling under the fabric of his shirt. The kiss was hard and hungry and demanding. He tasted the same, the smell of his skin mixing with the scent of this room, and god, she was pretty damn certain it was not a gun in his pocket. Her own heart made a flip and shot all the way into outer space.
Panting, Owen pulled back when there was no air left between them, his mouth pressing slow, sloppy kisses to her forehead, her temples, his breath on her skin making Claire shiver as she clung to his shirt, scared to let go.
"Come with me," he rasped into her ear, sending a tingling sensation down her spine.
No, she thought, the remnants of her commons sense screaming at her to get out before it was too late.
She looked up at him and nodded.
xoox
They took her car, but Owen slid into the driver's seat. For one thing, he knew the shortcut to his bungalow that didn't require getting back on the main road and taking a detour, and also because all Claire cold do was stare out the windshield and the narrow, winding road snaking between the trees, her fingers pressed to her lips that still burned with his kiss. If she found herself behind a wheel at this moment, she wouldn't know what to do.
His bungalow was small and messy, but more in a lived-in than neglected way.
Not that Claire had time to notice or consider any of this because the moment she stepped in, Owen's arms were around her and he was kissing her again with reckless abandon, his lips firm and warm, and she was melting into him, her mind pleasantly empty and numb. There was nothing but the touch of his hands, sliding over her body, sending zaps of electric current along her skin.
He pulled her blouse from the waistband of her pants before his fingers edged under the hem of it, skimming over her soft, flat belly, making her gasp and sink her teeth into his bottom lip. Feeling unhinged and wild somehow, she trailed her tongue along it, pushing his leather vest down his shoulders and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, tempted to tear it off of him. Blood hammered in her temples, soft warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach, making her legs weak and cottony, and god… the voice in the back of her mind had finally shut up, succumbed to the moment.
"Wait, there's a…" she breathed out, reaching to undo a small button at the nape of her neck before Owen slipped her thin, weightless blouse over her head, tossing it aside.
He paused to take her in, to trail his fingers along the straps of her beige bra, cupping one of her breasts with the palm of his hand while another slid around Claire neck as he drew her in to press another hot kiss to her mouth. His skin felt rough and calloused against hers, and so hot she feared he would leave searing burns all over her.
She whimpered when his thumb brushed against her nipple through the thin, delicate lace, trembling and dizzy, and Owen yanked her closer to him in a desperate urge to devour her whole, his tongue hot and demanding in her mouth. In a tangle of arms and legs, they tumbled into the bedroom, only by miracle not tripping over the patches of mismatched rugs on the floor, and Claire finally managing to tug his shirt off of him, her nails digging into his shoulders, scraping his skin.
"Want you so bad, Claire," he chuffed against her neck, trailing his way down her throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses as he lowered her down, spreading her on the bed, transfixed and aching for her.
She reached for the button on his jeans, her hand sliding inside, and he was groaning mid-kiss, bunching the sheets near her head with his fist, feeling like his heart might burst from deep, consuming need.
Palms framing his face, Claire drew him in again, a plea morphing into a moan when his fingers slipped under the straps of her bra, tracing the shape of her breasts before he reached for the clasp in the get rid of it. Immediately, his mouth replaced his hands, making her shudder, her body welcoming his familiar touch. Claire threw her hard back, her teeth biting into her lip as his mouth closed around one rosy peak and then another, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin, relief and anticipation flowing in her blood stream.
Owen nuzzled into her belly, breathing her in, filled with such primitive need to be in her it hurt. Years of longing and missing and dreaming of this moment tore into him, Claire's short, laboured breathing igniting him from the inside, an undercurrent of desire rippling beneath his skin. Fingers clumsy on the small hook on the front of her pants, he practically ripped them off of her, only pausing just long enough to kick off his own boots before pulling off her elegant shoes, taking his time to kiss the inside of her ankles, brush his lips to the bite mark, his gaze never leaving hers. Absently, he wondered if it was the right time to tell her she was a part of the pack now, marked by Blue.
Elated to finally have access to more of her skin, his gaze skimmed the length of her legs, slowly taking in the curve of her hips, the flat plain of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, past the tender whiteness of her neck and a bow of her parted lips, finally fastening on the sea-green of her eyes that were pulling him in like a magnet.
He leaned in, his index finger slipping into the waistband of her panties, and Claire pushed up to sit, reaching again for his jeans, tugging them down. His boxers followed suit, and Owen stepped out of the mass of fabric pooled at his ankles before fitting his mouth over hers again, tilting her back, sliding his hand between her thighs to tease the soft achy folds at her core. Claire's hand fell on his side, her nails leaving pale-pink half-moon marks on his tan skin when he touched her, tender and more than ready for him.
And then it hit him.
"Fuck," Owen muttered, his chest heaving as he pressed his forehead into her throat, feeling utterly cheated.
"What?" Claire murmured, cupping his face in her hands, his eyes searching her face, and god, she was so beautiful, so his he thought he was going to die.
"I don't…" he swallowed, grimaced, squeezed his eyes tight. "I don't have anything, I didn't… didn't plan this."
"IUD," she breathed out, thumbs running over his stubbled cheeks. "Unless you…"
"Clean as a whistle."
Owen let out a shaky, relieved laugh, kissing her again, removing the flimsy piece of fabric that was her panties in one swift motion, a knee braced between Claire's legs, his eyes wide and dark with want.
In silent reassurance, her hand mapped a path down his stomach, stroking the whole length of him, guiding him home. Her gasp when he sank into her shot a spurt of fire right through Owen, and he groaned into her neck when her walls closed around him, hot and wet and pulsing, unable to resist another thrust to slide in deeper, fill her whole, stealing another moan of acceptance from her. Back arched, Claire gripped the hair on the back of his head, her hips rising to meet him, closer, everywhere inside and around her, her body responding to the touch it ached for for too long.
"Please," she whispered breathily, the tight knot in her lower belly throbbing with hot need.
Owen chuckled, kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly. He caught one of her wrists and pressed it into the pillow over her head for a delicious stretch, his hips settling into a steady rock, sliding in and out of her, losing himself in the sheer delight of being with her, feeling her, tasting her.
Legs wrapped around him, she nuzzled into his neck, nipping at his earlobe, consuming, claiming, leaving him hungry for more, his skin hot and sweat-slick, his heartbeat racing against Claire's. Lips dancing over his face, she coaxed him into quickening their pace, his vision tunneled, zeroed in on the waves of immense pleasure washing over them. He shivered, spinning away, spiraling into a bliss. Thoughts blurred, Owen plunged into her, burying himself in her depths time and time again, branding her with his hands, lips, teeth, until she was quaking apart beneath him, whimpering against his skin, clenched tightly around him. His own relief zinged along his body, tearing him to pieces, ripping a cry of satisfaction from him as the universe shattered around them with her name on his lips.
"Thank you," Owen mumbled into her shoulder, panting and spent, and finally whole again. Propped up on the elbow, still inside her, he pushed her bangs damp with sweat from her forehead. Her gaze still glazed over, barely focused, Claire blinked dazedly and leaned into his touch, brushing her lips to his palm, to the inside of his wrist. "God, I missed you," he murmured, dropping his head against hers and rolling them over so as not to crush her with the weight his body, melting into the sweet, sparkling contentment.
Arms locked around her, he cradled her to his chest, every curve of her body fitting against every curve of his like no time had passed at all, breathing in the scent of her skin and the musk of sex wrapped around them, feeling so alive.
And then Claire's breath caught in her throat, and she was pushing away from him and scrambling out of bed. With trembling fingers she reached for the first item of clothing she saw on the floor, which appeared to be Owen's discarded shirt, her chest tight, rendering breathing near impossible.
"Claire?"
"I can't," she muttered, gulping for air, lightheaded and scared. "I can't so this…"
Owen rolled off the bed in a blur of motion, standing right before her in a heartbeat. "What's going-"
"Don't touch me!" She pressed a hand to her mouth, stepping back before he could reach for her, a forced sob rising from her chest. Eyes squeezed tight, she gave up on trying to button up his shirt, choosing to wrap it around herself instead. "Don't… please don't, I can't go through this again."
"Claire, what…"
She was not looking at him, couldn't bring herself to raise her eyes, her chest heaving convulsively. Owen's presence was almost palpable though, impossible to ignore. Suffocating. She bit into her bottom lip and took another step back, her legs wobbly and her insides coiled into a tight knot.
"When you left… I thought I'd die, Owen. I wished I would." She inhaled sharply. "I hoped I would." The words tumbled out of her mouth, scattering around them. "I hated you, hated you so much. Not for leaving but for… for giving me everything I ever wanted and then taking away." Her voice was trembling, breaking with every inhale. "And I didn't want to tell you about the baby because I thought you'd take it away from me, too. And I couldn't—I couldn't…"
"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm so sorry, Claire."
"I can't do it again," she repeated, still backing away. "We should never have-"
Her small fist hit him in the chest when he took a step closer to her, and then again, but she didn't resist when he pulled her into his arms, her hands trapped between their bodies while she shook with sobs, so endlessly tired of carrying this fear and pain inside her. So very tired…
"Shh," Owen murmured, pressing small, soft kisses to the top of her head, his hands running soothingly up and down her back, stroking her tangled hair that were framing her face in gentle waves. "I'm sorry. I am so very sorry for… this, for everything."
"I never forgave you for it," she whispered into his chest, her voice muffled and so quiet he almost missed it. "For giving me everything and leaving me with nothing. And I never will."
Owen closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest, a bruise left by her words. "S'okay." His whole body squeezed around her in a fierce protectiveness. "I'll never forgive myself either." They stayed right there, standing in the middle of his small bedroom that barely had enough space for a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand near the window – him murmuring words of comfort and her crying her soul out - until Claire quieted and her breath stopped coming out in short rasps. "You want me to take you home?" Owen asked at last.
She stilled in his arms, then sniffled and shook her head. "No."
"Okay. C'mere." He pulled her back toward the bed and crouched in front of her when Claire sat down on the edge of it. "I'm sorry," Owen repeated, clasping her hands between his. "I shouldn't have…" he started and faltered, his thumbs running over her knuckles. "I should've talked to you. What I did, then… you're right, it was stupid and selfish, and, god help me, I can't blame you for hating me."
He offered her a wistful not-quite-smile.
"I wanted to do the right thing, and back then, I really didn't think if I had a choice." Owen reached over to brush a strand of hair from her tear-stained cheek. "Leaving you near killed me." Her eyes locked with his, gleaming in the fading light, that impossibly ethereal green that never failed to take his breath away. "I wish I knew about the baby, Claire. I don't know if it'd've changed anything, I really don't, but-but I'd never make you go through it on your own."
"I really wanted it," she whispered, blinking fast, and looked away. "And if it lived, I'd love it more than life."
After he left, after the baby was gone, Claire climbed into this invisible box, pulled a lid over her head, folded in on herself and screamed her guts out until there was nothing but numbness left. But now it was wide open again, the lid ripped out of this, the contents of the old Claire spilled at their feet, and she didn't know how to deal with it, how to pull them back together.
"I know," Owen breathed out. And she was crying again, quietly, her tears dropping on the knot of their hands. "Oh, baby. Don't. Please…" He pressed her fingers to mouth, his lips soft and warm against her skin. "I'm sorry… I have never stopped loving you. Not for one day." His voice was low and hoarse, going straight to her bones. His thumb ran over her cheekbone, wiping her tears away. Then his index finger slid down to her chin and Owen lifted her face up, his eyes searching hers. "But if you want me to leave, I will." A pause. "It's just a job. And if this… all of this, if it's too much… I'll be gone. Tomorrow, if you want me to. There's nothing, not a single thing I wouldn't do for you, Claire." He swallowed. "Do you want me gone?"
She shook her head vigorously, her hands of his face, pulling him toward her. "No, I don't want that. I want…" She pressed her lips to his, and then one more time, still out of breath, her thoughts a tangled mess, words slipping away from her reach.
Owen got the clue, though. His hand snaked around her neck as Claire moved back, giving him room to follow her. He kissed her, deeply and slowly, tasting the salt on her skin. His fingers undid the two buttons she managed to get to in her earlier hasty attempt, pushing his shirt down and letting the gravity take it. His hand fell down to her breast, skimming lower over her ribs and around her waist, his name on her lips filling the cracks running through him with white-hot desire.
Claire's hand roamed up his neck and into his hair, tugging and pulling, her tongue tracing the shape of his mouth, a primitive sound full of need in the back of his throat echoing deep inside her. Breathless, she trailed a string of kisses along his cheek, arching into him, her nimble fingers scaling the lines of his chest, set on a determined quest of their own. Owen groaned into her ear when they reached their destination, impossibly hard already, and she hadn't even done much more than kiss him. He gathered her then, and she slipped into his lap, taking him into her with a sigh that ricocheted right through his core, longing mixed with lust mixed with possessive satisfaction.
"How do you still feel the same?" He uttered against her shoulder, panting, his hands digging into her hips, splayed on her back, seemingly everywhere at once.
"I missed you, too," Claire mouthed, allowing her eyes to drop shut when she started to move, his fingers on the small of her back setting the rhythm.
They took it slower this time, savouring the sensation of filling and being filled. Owen's mouth closed around one of her breasts, claiming every inch of her, his tongue doing amazing things while she was barely capable of anything but holding on for dear like, her nails leaving pink lines on his sun-bathed skin while he pushed deeper with every thrust, hot and real inside her.
Close, she thought as her breath grew erratic while Owen's lips latched on to her throat, dropping small kisses alone her collarbone. She framed his face with her hands, kissing his half-smile, and his thumb slipped down between them, finding the sweet spot to send her right over the edge, capturing her outcry with his mouth. His own orgasm ripped through him, setting his blood on fire, making him feel completely liquefied. He wrapped his arms around her shuddering body, taking Claire down with him as he fell back onto the sheets, her face nestled into the crook of his neck and her ragged breathing prickling his heated skin, the world spinning backwards around them.
Sprawled over his chest, her awareness still dimmed and somewhere on the periphery of the drowsy afterglow, Claire nuzzled into his collarbone, kissing whatever skin she could reach without moving. "Don't go," she muttered. "I don't want you to leave."
"Not going," Owen promised, his breath still to be found somewhere here. "Not this time. Not for the goddamn world."
"No one called me baby after… you know, you," she added a few minutes later when he already began to suspect she'd dozed off.
He chuckled, his fingers threading lazily through her hair, seemingly unable to stop touching her, tracing the lines of her back, her arms, her face as the sun outside the small window finally sunk behind the trees, pale stars flickering to life in the indigo sky, and the heat of the day finally let up. "'Course they didn't," he responded, filled with so much affection it could drown them both. "No one's got any right to do it but me."
Claire fell asleep soon afterwards, curled into him, while Owen stayed awake for another hour, listening to her breathe, scared and dumbfounded and ecstatic for all the right reasons before drifting off as well, worn out and blissful, just as the pale crescent of the moon crept from behind the trees.
To be continued...
A/N: Well, one more part to go! Hope you're having please don't forget to let me know what you think!