Keeping You in the Aftermath

A/N: Takes place immediately after "Jurassic World." Thanks for reading!

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Chapter 1

"I can't…."

"What?"

"I'm not ready for that…them…and all of those…"

Claire pointed at the slew of news reporters and camera men converging onto the entrance of the park, just as they stepped out of the make-shift resting compound. The raucous was joined by a multitude of flashing lights, from the swarm of cameras huddled like hungry masses upon the tantalizing piece of meat. Owen placed his hand gently on her back, "Well, here comes the new breed of raptors."

"Let's not joke about new breeds…it's too early."

"Right…sorry…"

Claire had yet to take another step forward, her feet firmly glued in absolute resistance to the scene before them. Soon, it was inevitable that they will reach her, and perhaps demand a statement, if not at worst barrage her with questions she had yet to understand herself. Owen examined her face, in all of its furrowed brows and ashen countenance, "Claire…"

"Yes…?"

"Why don't you come to my cabin? For a little while? You don't have to face them, not today."

"Owen…I can't just disappear."

"Yes, you can. You're in no condition to talk to them. You need to rest, and…" He wiped a smudge of dirt on her cheek with his calloused fingers, "…you need to get yourself cleaned up."

"Your cabin…?"

"Yes, my cottage, shack, bungalow, a man cave…or whatever you wanna call it. Just don't call it a crib." Then he looked around the surroundings, and upon spotting his friend Barry by his Jeep, he guided her with his hand upon her back, "Come on…let's get out of here."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Welcome to my humble abode…"

With a sigh of relief and respite, Owen opened the door of his cabin and stepped aside for Claire to enter. She poked her head in first, to which he protested, "Hey, nothing is alive in there…you'll be surprised how clean it is."

Indeed, he was right. She stood at the doorway and gingerly studied the cozy space, consisting of a small couch in the center, a kitchenette in the left corner, and a door to the right, which presumably led to his bedroom and perhaps a bathroom. She was surprised to find that everything was kept to a functional minimum, and the clutter that she had expected was pleasantly not existent. Rather, even the kitchenette boasted of order and method, with rows of cups and plates neatly stacked in its rightful place.

"What were you expecting…beer bottles everywhere? Dirty boxers on the couch? Playboy magazines strewn about?"

"Owen…"

He laughed with a deep gusto, and walked over to the kitchenette, opening the small fridge. He pulled out two cold bottles of beer, and offered one to Claire, "You're gonna appreciate this…"

"I'm really not a beer drinker…"

"Oh, Claire…" She was sure he had just rolled his eyes at her, but was immediately distracted by him uncapping a bottle in one swoop, and taking a long swig of the beer. He must've gulped down the entire bottle, if not most, and didn't even flinch as some oozed down his neck. Claire decided she wasn't going to be concerned with how his shoulder muscles seemed to relax, and even his arm muscles as they flexed leaning against the fridge. No, she decided she'd rather concern herself with how the oozing beer was ruining his shirt. How disgusting and filthy.

"You want some?" Owen's voice jolted her out of the fleeting revelry, and as she locked eyes with Owen, she squirmed under the rushing heat rising to her cheeks. "Claire, you alright?"

"Yeah…"

"Here…" He offered her the bottle he had just drank from, "Take a sip. You know you want some…come on, live on the wild side once in a while."

"You're offering me the bottle you just slobbered on…"

"Claire, with all that we've been through, you should be able to drink my own saliva if it'd help you survive."

"That's…that's disgusting."

"We could practice later, if it'd help."

"No."

He laughed again, and drank the last of his beer, then looked at her squarely, "So…do you wanna go first, or should I?"

"What?"

"Shower…you do want to shower, don't you?"

"I don't…have anything…"

"No worries…" He sauntered toward the closed door on the right side of the cabin, "You can borrow my stuff."

She followed him into his small bedroom, feeling shy and hesitant at first, but he showed no qualms as he opened a drawer of a tall wardrobe by the bed. Then he produced what looked to be a white T-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, "I don't know if the pants will fit you…but these are the best I can do."

"Thanks…"

"Claire…oh, Jesus Christ…"

"What?"

"Yes, you're in my bedroom and yes, that's my bed. Don't get so weirded out…we're not some damn teenagers."

"I'm not weirded out…"

"Relax, Claire. Look, we're practically…" He paused with a glint in his eyes, "We went out on a date…we kissed…so that makes us…"

"One busted first daters."

"We can kiss again if you want to be convinced of that…"

"Owen…" She threw him a warning glare, and snatched the clothes from his hands, "Where the hell is the shower?"

"Alright, alright…" He raised his hands in a mimicked surrender, but the smirk on his face told otherwise, "It's the door on your left."

She turned to the door in an instant, not giving him any more satisfaction of her annoyance, and definitely not wanting to see that smirk lingering on his smug face.

. . . . . . . . .

Claire didn't know how long she was in the shower, or how long she had stood under the steady streaming of hot water, washing her clean of all the dirt, the anxiety and the terrors of the day. She closed her eyes and allowed the memories to course back to her mind, being released from the walls that she had reinforced in the company of others. She was afraid…that once she started to feel…or remember…then, she would be reduced to tears and to admit that she was scared to death of what was going to happen next. The terrors of the Indominus Rex was over…but what about now? What happens now? And how would she able to handle it?

And even at the moment she told herself she had to be strong, her tears formed quickly and streamed down her face, and she didn't even try to muffle the sobs that escaped to the surface. The truth was that she didn't feel strong…but she'd be damned if she let herself seem weak and incompetent. With the death of Masrani, it'd be expected that she shoulder the consequences and responsibilities, with no one else to share it. This was her problem now, and she had to handle it…alone.

Claire turned off the shower with determination, wiping herself dry with the firm resolve that that was the last time she'd cry over the situation. This was her mess, and she'd never allow herself to be the damsel in distress whose tears are used to garner sympathy. No, she'd never become that.

She picked up the clothes that Owen had given her, and allowed her fingers to linger over the soft cotton. She looked over the white T-shirt, choosing not to focus on the surprising fact that he had retained the shirt in its white, and instead, she brought it to her nose and took a deep inhale of its scent. It smelled of freshly laundered cotton, but also a hint of dark musk, that of a man. What she sensed was Owen…this was his scent, a mixture of laundry soap, engine grease, grass, and a healthy dollop of his after-shave thrown in.

"Snap out of it." She told herself, as she put on the shirt with hurried zeal. It was wrong…or ridiculous…to even entertain the idea of Owen, as their little thing, or their little making-house, was all but temporary. Their retreat will soon end, and he will no longer be needed in her world. He's got no business in what awaits her, and if it was left entirely up to her, he'd never have to see her ever again.

Claire stepped out of the bedroom, all but tempted to ask Owen if he had a clean comb lying around, but he was gone. Instead, she found a note attached on the fridge.

Claire,

Went to get some food. Be back in thirty. Don't panic and don't miss me too much.

Owen.

Claire snorted in muffled laughter and shook her head…he's always had an unexpected way of making her laugh, even with that ridiculous machismo act. She set down the note on the counter, but skipped her breath a slight as soon as she spotted a coffee maker, with freshly brewed coffee. Owen had made coffee for her…and it was exactly what she needed…

"Oh, Owen…I love you…" Claire muttered to herself, but immediately caught the words with her hand cupped over her mouth, lest anyone hears it as the words materialize in the tangible world. She gulped hard at the shock of the escaped sentiment…surely, it wasn't literally that she loved Owen, it was more of an appreciation for the coffee…

"Hey, what's going on?" Then as on cue, Owen appeared at the door, carrying two large brown bags.

"Nothing…I'm just…thanks for the coffee." She turned away from him to pour herself a cup, but it was really to hide the remnant of her blushing, if it was called that.

"Not a problem. And those pants fit you well enough."

"Yup…"

"The shower felt good, didn't it?"

"Sure did…"

He set the bags on the counter and just as he was rummaging through it, he eyed her attempting to comb her hair with her fingers. "Claire…your hair…leave it alone."

"What?"

"I like your hair all messed up and natural…you look softer, more approachable. Definitely more attractive." He dared forward, "Not like that straightened up and uptight…you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't know what you mean…"

"You're a beautiful woman, Claire. But most men are not gonna go for that boarding school head master look…"

"Really…it sure didn't stop you…"

"I'm not like most men."

"Actually, you're very typical, a dime a dozen."

Owen let out a hearty laughter, and set out several cans of food, along with a loaf of bread and some fruits, "I scrounged what I can from the park kitchen…but it was a mess."

"What's going on out there?"

"Just…relax and enjoy your coffee."

"Owen…" Claire set down her mug of coffee on the counter, "Stop it…"

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to protect me."

"Claire…"

"That was…my park, my job, my responsibility. And I have to deal with what happened…" She then looked around the cabin, "You have a TV, don't you?"

"Right behind you."

She turned around, and found a small portable TV on the counter, "If you're not going to tell me, then I'll look at it myself."

And just as she clicked on the power knob, Owen reached with his hand and clicked it off. She faced him with fuming anger, "What the hell…"

"Claire, calm down…"

"Don't tell me to calm down…"

"Here's what we're gonna do…I'm going to take a shower, because I stink like a raptor's breath. And you're going to wait until I come out of the shower, and we're gonna watch together. Got that?"

"You can't order me around like I'm some ridiculous teenager…"

"Claire…I'm asking you." He brushed away a wisp of hair that had fallen across her face, "Please…"

She eyed him petulantly, feeling every bit a teenager whose crush was standing a breath away from her, and it didn't help that his eyes flickered quickly to her lips, "Fine."

"Good. I won't take long, so just wait."

"I said, fine."

He smiled at her, finding some contentment in her response, then made his way toward the bedroom. And as soon as he closed the door, and she heard the shower running, she quickly turned on the TV.

"The hell I'm gonna wait for you…" She muttered to herself as she turned the control knob, and it wasn't difficult to find news coverage of the Jurassic World, as it was plastered just about every channel. She settled on the national news cast, with the reporter broadcasting on sight.

"So, what you have here is a complete break down of safety and security, as well as any viable means of defensive and offensive mechanism. As of now, the park is still in the process of capturing a velociraptor, a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and a whole horde of other pre-historic species that were released due to this absolute horrific event. It is safe to say that this park, once heralded as the ultimate interactive entertainment, will not be seeing its heyday of open grandeur any time soon."

"It is reported that the CEO and the owner of the Jurassic World, Mr. Simon Masrani, is deceased from an accident. The specifics are still unknown, but it is believed that he was operating a helicopter that went down in the pterosaur aviary shortly after the event started."

"The park's remaining employees have been identified and released with their cognizance, such as one Mr. Lowery Cruthers, the park's technician and operator. And we will be bringing you an interview with Mr. Cruthers tomorrow at noon."

"We have yet to confirm the location of Ms. Claire Dearing, the park's operation manager, as well as Dr. Henry Wu, the chief geneticist and engineer. We certainly hope that both are safe, and we do seek a statement from both regarding the events of yesterday."

"Damn it, Claire."

She turned around instantly, finding Owen glaring at her with his hair sopping wet, "You said you'll wait…son of a…"

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone." She stuck out her hand in demand of it, not wanting to waste time arguing over some insipid broken deal, regardless of how his eyes glistened in anger.

"Why?"

"I need to call Lowery."

"And why would you do that?"

"He's giving an interview tomorrow. I'm going to make a statement then."

"Claire…" His softened tone startled her, "Do you really want to do that?"

"Yes…I need to."

With a heave of fitful sigh, Owen opened a drawer by the kitchen counter, and produced a small cordless black phone. And he handed it to her reluctantly, "Are you sure?"

"Yes…I'm sure."

She took the phone without hesitation, and dialed Lowery's number from memory. He picked up immediately as it rang, "Lowery?"

"Claire? Where the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter. You're giving an interview tomorrow…"

"KPIX station, at noon."

"I'm gonna be there, with a statement."

"Claire…everyone is looking for you."

"I know…"

"They're also looking for Dr. Wu. They're looking to blame this whole thing on someone, and with Masrani dead…"

"Lowery, I know…"

"If I were you, I'd keep a low profile tonight. And hopefully Dr. Wu will show up…this Indominus Rex crap is all his doing…"

"Lowery, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right."

Claire handed the phone back to Owen with a sheepish pause, and he took it with a stony face. He was upset…still upset…about her breaking their promise. "Owen…I'm sorry…"

"Claire, I'm not gonna fight with you over every damn little thing."

"I needed to do that…"

"I know you needed to do that…but you don't trust me."

"Owen, I trust you…"

"That's a load of bull…"

"You saved my life…and the lives of my nephews and whole lotta people in that park."

"Gratitude and trust are two very different things, Claire."

It was then that she grabbed the nape of his neck and kissed him, herself not knowing why she did that, and certainly throwing all caution to the wind in absolute reckless abandon. She nestled into his broad chest, her arm wrapping itself around his shoulder, while her other hand remained on his neck, caressing the soft wet dirty blond hair. It look him a few seconds to take in what was happening, and once he was aware, he instantly grabbed her waist, drawing her closer and tighter into him. She sensed a satisfied growl from somewhere deep within him, just as he kissed her back with hungry ardor, suckling her lips with a teasing pull that perhaps drove her crazy if she let herself. Their first kiss at the park was quick and of circumstance…but this second kiss was of two people behind closed doors, in release of longing and desire, and could certainly lead to more.

"Claire…" He breathlessly whispered her name as they parted, as he inhaled in the scent of her skin, "If you think kissing me would make me forget that I'm mad at you…actually, I've already forgotten what we were talking about."

She giggled in amusement, and released her arms from him, but he was quite reluctant to let her go, "No, that wasn't my intention…"

"But I'm not opposed to your methods…not at all…"

"You're easier than I thought, Owen Grady."

"Oh, I'm easy…and proud of it."

Claire looked away from his eyes, as it was obvious he wanted to resume kissing again, and picked up a slice of bread and bit into it, "I told Lowery I'm ready to give a statement…"

"I heard…"

"Tomorrow, at noon…KPIX station."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Oh, God no." She brushed the bread crumbs off her fingers, as if scoffing at the very idea, "I gotta do this on my own, by myself."

"Claire, I'm coming with you."

"No…don't…"

"And why not? Why can't you ever need someone with you?"

"Because this is my mess, Owen. And it's up to me…only me…to clean it up."

He shook his head, but locked eyes with her in fierce assurance, "I get that you think this is your mess and all that blah, blah, blah. First of all, Claire, this isn't your mess."

"Owen…" She walked away from him, not wanting to discuss it further, but he followed her without losing a beat.

"And second of all, this isn't a mess you have to clean up." He pressed on, "There was a lot of things that went wrong yesterday, but none of it is your fault and certainly not your responsibility. All you did was survive it."

"Owen, I can handle this on my own."

"Damn it, Claire…"

"I don't need anyone to hold my hand and make me feel better about it, because it's not gonna get better for a very long time…"

"Claire…" He waited until she turned around to face him, "I want to be there for you…why can't you let me?"

"Owen, you don't want to be sucked into this mess."

"We can suck together…"

"Don't try to make me laugh…" She warned him with steely eyes, "Owen, your part in this is…done."

"My part? What does that suppose to mean?"

"I've decided to sign immunity for your employment, you're let go of any responsibilities or repercussions of the events that…"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Owen…your record will be clean. You can get another job somewhere else…"

"Claire…" His wide eyes startled her, and he held her shoulders with both of his hands, "The hell I'm not done with this park. And the hell I'm not leaving you…"

"Owen…as much as you've protected me, you gotta let me protect you."

"Protecting me doesn't mean kicking me out of this park. Claire, you don't want to see me walk out that door."

"It's what's best."

"How can you say that? Claire...how can you not know how I feel about you?"

"Owen, I'm sorry...but I have made up my mind."

His hands dropped to his side, as if he was completely robbed of his strength, "Don't do this, Claire. Don't shut me out."

"It's what's best for both of us."

"And that's the thing, Claire. I don't think you know what's best for you, and hell you don't know what's best for me."

"Owen…"

"And that's why I'm not giving up on you."

. . . . . . . . . .

Claire woke up with a jolt, after a fitful night of sleep on Owen's bed. They had decided that she take his bed, and he was relegated to the couch, but sleep came difficult for Claire as her mind raced in all thousands of different directions. But most of all, it was difficult to settle with her heavy heart, as she couldn't explain even to herself why she felt suffocated with heavy dread as she replayed her argument with Owen…and the words she said to him. She was still firmly convicted that him released from the park was what was best for him. But he was right…she didn't want to see him walk out the door, and certainly she didn't want to be done with him. But her wants and her desires had to come second to protecting him.

She got up from the bed and gathered her clothes, and carefully tiptoed out of the bedroom. She spotted Owen's hulking figure on the couch, snoring slightly in deep slumber. She dared to crouch next to him, to sneak a peek at his face, of his peaceful sleeping face. And she was beyond tempted to caress his cheek and brush away that wild curly hair, and to give him a kiss on his forehead.

But she thought better of it, and quietly made herself toward the kitchen counter. On there she found a notepad and a pen, and she wrote him a note.

Owen,

Thanks for the room and the shower. I'm sorry, but I have to do this on my own. Good bye.

Claire

She set the note by the coffee maker, and as she opened the door of the cabin, she couldn't help the last look at him, wishing that they had existed under different circumstances.

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