Now

Claire can feel her bruises throb-but not with pain, or aches. No. It is a soft stinging sensation, a gentle, delicious shock made from the imprint of Owen's lips and tongue.

It is the first night away, and the third since Owen found out. How he managed to ease their schedule for six months, Claire didn't know, nor was she surprised. It was so like Owen to clear her pathway so easily, with nothing asked of her in return. Except - well... their deal.

She looks down at him from her position by the window. Even in his sleep, Owen still bears that frown, and she wonders, not for the first time, if her name should be tattooed there instead. Unable to think any more of it, she turns to the window and stares out. She closes her eyes as her mind is dragged back to yesterday; she is unable to fight it on her own. Mr. Smith has taken her strength, and she knows that when she gains it back it will not be her own, at least not straight away. Owen has and will continue to give much to her, and that is the burden the both of them bear. He has attempted to shut down her guilty thoughts on the matter, with calm but firm assurances that it is just a shift of balance. Owen thinks it is temporary, but Claire knows it is permanent.

Yesterday

She sits at the bar, tapping fingers hidden in Owen's jumper against the empty bottle. She has finished her third glass of wine, and is beginning to feel the effects of it.

Good. She wants to forget, she wants to let go. Owen knows now, and any pretense of control she had is gone. She has the hood up, and she is pressed tightly into the back corner of the bar. It is late-or early morning, but when she woke up Owen was gone with a note informing her that he had some work to do, and Lowery was on the couch. A poor substitute. She had easily sneaked past the snoring man, and had high tailed it to the only place she knew was still open.

It was one that Zara had suggested not so long ago-to down her sorrows after her failure of a date with Owen.

And that had been a reason why she had ordered the bottle of wine instead of just a glass.

She raised her hand to signal for another bottle, and someone appeared beside her table, setting it down obediently.

"Shall I have a drink with you?" The voice is velvet, and beautiful, and Claire is suddenly cold. Her hands clench and she sucks in a breath and doesn't know how she is going to release it when she is so frozen and all she wants to is head past him and out the door-

But she can't move.

"Cat got your tongue? Here, have another drink. I've heard it loosens lips." Mr. Smith-she had recently learned that his first name was Harold-smoothly tips some wine into her glass, and then slips himself into the chair opposite her. He regards her for a moment, and his smile stretches even further.

"My, my. How the mighty have fallen." He purrs, and Claire looks at him coolly. At least, she hopes that her gaze comes across that she is rather indifferent. She's had too much to drink, and besides - Owen was right.

Their dynamic has changed.

Claire forces herself to respond.

"If you say so. I just happen to be cold."

"And out at a bar, and covered."

"You said it," Claire says, and reaches for the glass. Mr. Smith cocks his head as he watches her drink it, and only speaks when she puts the glass back onto the table.

"I know it. I've been watching you. You're like a shell of your old self, a ghost. Seems only fair, doesn't it?"

Claire's hands begin to shake, and she drops them to her side and out of view. But he has seen, and now he is smirking again.

But it is she who speaks.

"No matter what I say, I have already lost, haven't I? The rules are decided by you. But you are no referee, no head coach. You have no real authority over me."

Claire takes another sip, and Mr. Smith doesn't wait for her to put her glass down this time.

"If you say so. But, Mrs. Grady. This is no game, this is life. You committed an unforgivable act, and since you went unpunished for so long, it only seems fair that I deliver your rightful sentence myself. In fact, you're still alive." The glint in his eyes bounces off her glass. "Well, for the most part."

Claire tries not to react, but he still sees her flinch at his cruelness.

"Just because I felt guilty did not mean I was. And you are no judge, no God. For now you've started something that is surely going to come back to you. Maybe with your son."

Claire knows that this man does not only love his daughter. No powerful man like this would cast aside a son, regardless of his worth. Perhaps it was even better for Harold - he could mold George into what he wanted.

"Are you threatening my son, Mrs. Grady? Was not killing one enough for you?"

Claire stands up, wobbling slightly.

"This is over. I am done with this. You dealt your punishment. You didn't just hurt me. You destroyed me. I was already-you just never saw-couldn't understand-couldn't see past your own grief. Couldn't see how much Zara's death effected me too. Had you but asked. Had you but sat down with me and spoken it out with me. No, don't speak. I am not finished. But this is. There is no more you can do to hurt me, Mr. Smith. Owen knows and so you should go while you can. And now, I'm going too." She goes to move past him, but he is as quick as he was last time, his hand whipping out in a flash. Claire makes a distressed, frightened noise, but before she can react any further Owen is there.

"Claire." It is a breath, a relief, a prayer of thanks. He takes her in his arms, holds her for a few moments, before moving her gently away.

"Ashley, do you mind?" Owen doesn't wait for a response from the bartender, instead he deposits Claire into the surprised woman's arms. Ashley's arms tighten around Claire, and Owen turns from them.

"Owen wait -"

Claire tries to lunge out of Ashley's arm, but the woman's grip is relentless. Where was she before? Is it only because of Owen that she is doing this?

"You knew this would happen, Claire. Ashley, can you please get her out of here?"

"Of course. Thanks for showing up in time." Ashley says, and then tugs Claire towards the door.

"Owen-"

"Bye, Claire. I'll see you at home." He doesn't even spare her a glance, and Ashley succeeds in getting her out of the door.

"Oh now you care?" Claire spits, and Ashley turns to face her, still holding onto her shoulders.

"I cared enough to call Owen as soon as he walked through the door. You're welcome." And then they pause as Owen's voice filters from inside.

"So you like dealing out karma? Same here. The only difference, that is huge enough to separate us as species -as human and monster- is that yours is completely, utterly unjustifiable. There is nothing, nothing that Claire could ever do, that would warrant what you have done to her. The fact that she was still grieving over your daughter should have told you the person she was. The fact that she just fucking stood there and took it should also tell you. And the fact that you're still hassling my wife-that you dared speak such lies to her, that you dare lay your hands on her-is why what I'm about to do is completely, utterly justifiable."

And then Ashley is hauling her towards her car, and Claire sees and hears no more.

Now

"Honey?" A sleepy voice interrupts her, and Claire is painfully brought back to the present. She cannot stop the gasp, and Owen goes still beside her.

"Sorry, I-"

"It's alright. Will you come back to bed?" His voice is soft and throaty with concern; she ignores it and turns back to look outside.

"No."

"Alright," He sighs, as if he knew that was going to be her answer.

"Would you like some tea?" He asks next and Claire directly turns to face him now. He doesn't say anything else, but drapes the quilt around her shivering frame. She grasps the corners in her hands, tightening it in an attempt to stop the trembling.

But it is a coldness from within, and no material can fight against that. Claire still hasn't responded, and Owen eyes her for a moment longer before he wraps an arm around her shoulder and guides her to the main room of the apartment they are in.

"Sit." He pushes her very gently down onto the couch. She then watches as Owen busies himself in the kitchen. Claire knows that he is aware of what she is going to ask him, as she has been the past day. Now that they are here and away, he has no choice but to answer her.

The kettle doesn't take long to boil, and both are silent as Owen completes his task and then comes back to her side. He sets the steaming cup down on the table, and then sits beside her. Owen puts his arm around the couch, giving the choice to her, and she takes it, scooting into his side. She rests her head on his shoulder, and grips his shirt in one hand.

"Tell me," Claire says, and so he does.

Yesterday

He knows before he gets the phone call, that it is about Claire. He's already seeing red, and it breaks into a blackness that threatens to consume his world. His instincts take over; one moment he's collecting tape, and the next he's on his bike. With the distance closing every second, his heart picks up, pounds, answering Claire's own. The raw primal urge to protect, to avenge, is so strong that he gives all of his senses to the one. He is no longer Owen Grady, but Alpha. And Claire is his partner. He doesn't remember parking his bike, nor how fast he ran.

He collides through the door, takes but a few seconds to find them; sees a hand coming out and moves.

He pulls Claire away, taking her gently in his arms and turning her away, shielding her. He whispers her name over and over, and he feels the tension leave her body. Only then does he move her gently away, looking over to Ashly. She's standing with her arms folded to the side, waiting on his call.

"Ashley, do you mind?"

Of course Claire fights him.

"Owen, wait-"

"You knew this would happen, Claire. Ashley, can you please get her out of here?"

"Of course. Thanks for showing up in time." Ashley says, and then turns to Claire. He hears his wife spit out something, and in any other circumstance might be amused. He would definitely turn around to watch. But he needs her gone. Ashley handles her own, and then he is turning back to the man he's been waiting to talk to for weeks now. In the face of the elder, all he sees Claire bruised and broken. It is so deeply imprinted in his mind that he thinks it will never be removed. It may fade and crinkle at the edges, but it will still be there. Such a deep wound that has been inflicted not to Claire, but to him as well.

"So you like dealing out karma? Same here. The only difference, that is huge enough to separate us as species -as human and monster- is that yours is completely, utterly unjustifiable. There is nothing, nothing that Claire could ever do, that would warrant what you have done to her. The fact that she was still grieving over your daughter should have told you the person she was. The fact that she just fucking stood there and took it should also tell you. And the fact that you're still hassling my wife-that you dared speak such lies to her, that you dare lay your hands on her-is why what I'm about to do is completely, utterly justifiable."

Harold blinks at the dedicated speech, looking almost taken aback by it. Then he is smiling, and Owen cocks his head at this, unsure why the other is not taking him seriously. He is deadly serious, and Harold is about to find this out.

"Oh? I believe Claire and I aren't even square yet. I was quite merciful, wasn't I? An eye for an eye - not quite yet. A man such as yourself-"

"Do not finish that sentence. Someone by the likes of yourself cannot fit in the equation against another human, as you're not one. I can see that you have no remorse for your actions. If you had even a shred of good in you, then you would not have touched Claire. You had to know that I would find out. You cannot be so stupid to think that I wouldn't? That when I did-I would just let this slide?" Owen begins to pace before him, his eyes dark and feral. Mr. Smith matches him step by step, though they both keep the distance.

"Then you are a hypocrite. For as you said, you're here for her."

"I'm here because of what I am. You must not have done your research so well."

"Perhaps I was too focused on Claire."

Owen succeeds in not letting the other man know just how much that comment bothers him.

"Just another error in your many."

There is a silence, where the other falters for a moment. And then he bounces back.

"In the end she was right. Nothing can bring back Zara. I've done what I can, and that was enough for me."

Owen stops pacing and looks closely at him. Mr. Smith stares back evenly, expression blank and neutral to the untrained eye. But this is Owen's specialty, working with monsters.

Except he doesn't think of his animals as such things. It would be an insult to them, if he compared them to Harold.

"Right. It's a waste of time going back and forth on this, though I will say this. The moment I heard that you had touched my wife, I wanted to come swinging. But Claire asked me not to. She thought this was a battle she could win. I made a terrible error in judgement with compromising on the matter with her. You have started a war. And your mistake was thinking that you'd won just because the other side was down. But I'm here now to help, and eliminate you. I can see that there is no changing your thoughts on what you did. That's fine. This is retribution. This is me fighting back for her. This is me protecting my own and harming anyone who harms my own." Owen strides forward and Mr. Smith is suddenly against the wall. He has made no protest, although his mouth now opens and closes as he attempts to. Owen doesn't want to hear it.

"What, you don't like it? You don't like someone pinning you against a wall, leaving you defenseless while they hurt you and strip you down, huh?" Owen's voice raises, and he succeeds in his task to intimate the other. Harold flinches, and it is enough to give Owen some satisfaction.

It is enough to have him wanting more of the man's fear.

"I don't care what you think or say. It's done, isn't it? And that's what gets you the most. Knowing that no matter what you do-you can't undo what I've done." There's that damn smugness again, but it slowly fades Harold takes notice of Owen's expression. It is an expression that goes past fury. It is this moment, that Mr. Smith understands what he's up against. Owen does not look entirely human here-but like some beast. Like a wolf - an alpha.

And then Owen speaks, in a voice that is so quiet that it commands surrounding noises to be still, so it can be heard.

"I am not a savage, I will not go after someone you love. This time. Make no mistake-what's happening now is personal. But it will be bigger. It will not just be public for us, but worldwide. Your name will be tarnished-your son's, too. Everything you worked for will be gone." It is not a threat, but a promise.

"You have nothing. Hear say, she say." But Mr. Smith is scared, scared of what Owen had not yet said, because somebody couldn't sound so convincing without evidence-could they?

Owen's lips stretch in a mocking, cruel grin.

"Did you forget that every room has cameras? I have seen the footage. That's what I was doing tonight before I got the call from Ashley. Ah, yes there it is. Fear. I've done enough talking. I think I've gotten my point across." Owen releases him and steps back, mouth tight and brows high as he waits for Mr. Smith to speak, who is struggling to find words again. Owen smiles.

"Cat got your tongue? I hear that's a favorite of yours." He says coolly.

Mr. Smith swallows.

"If you hurt me, then you are no better than I." He tries, and Owen almost scoffs at how pathetic he sounds.

"Well, I'm not going to kill you. And that alone makes me better. I think anyone would say fair's fair, right? But who cares about fairness here? You never did. You made the rules, I'm just being a true man and sticking to them. You can try and twist this anyway you want, but I am better. You can try and fight me, but I will win." And with that said, Owen lifts his fist and slams it into Mr. Smith's face.

Now

Claire shudders, and Owen's arm drops from the couch and goes around her.

"And then?" She whispers.

"I won't speak of it. But he'll be fit for the trial. I made sure of that." Owen drops a kiss on her hair, and Claire is silent for so long that Owen wonders if she's mad at him.

"Do-does there have to be a trial?" Claire's voice is almost soft enough that Owen barely catches her question. In fact, he has to ask her to repeat it because he's sure that he has misheard.

"Yes. You understand what he did was wrong, don't you?"

"It's not as simple as-"

"Yes, it is. It doesn't matter that he was grieving. That is like blaming alcohol for your lack of conscious thought process. In the end, you still decided to pick up the drink, and then do it." Claire rolls her eyes at this.

"Fine. It's like building a genetic hybrid, keeping it isolated in captivity, and being surprised that it escapes and kills everything it sets it's eyes on." Owen says flatly, and Claire cannot find it in her to argue against him on that one. Owen does not say it to be cruel-facts are facts. He is just trying to make her see. And she does see. But it's not as easy as that, and she tells him.

"Owen, I do know. But it's not as easy as that. He was a father, and he lost a daughter."

"Claire," Owen growls, and Claire goes to move. His arm tightens and he bends down to meet her gaze. She almost shrinks away from him, and instead of that angering him, it just makes him sad. He feels as if they have lost so much, but knows that they are still here and are together. They have survived before, and they will again.

"I know this will take time. How do you feel about what I've just told you?"

"Mm. I don't know how to feel about it." She does not say thank you. She knows, that he knows she is grateful.

"I know. Come on, drink your tea." And Claire leans forward and takes the warm cup. She shifts so that her back is to Owen, and he moves so that she can lie on his chest and drink comfortably. Both are remembering the aftermath of the particular tale Owen has just finished telling, and both drift to sleep with it on their mind, but not before Owen takes the cup that is still half full away from Claire, lest she spill it on them both.

Yesterday

Claire jumps up as soon as the door opens. She ignores Lowery, who makes a hasty retreat into the bathroom. Claire forgets her aches and pains, her fear of closeness in this moment; all she can feel is the relief that he is okay, and that he is here. They stare at each other, and then both are moving to embrace the other.

"Why did you go out, Claire? What else did he say to you? Did he hurt? Tell me, Claire." Owen's breathing questions into her ear, and she tightens her arms around him.

"I'm sorry. You came just in time, Owen. Thank you." Owen pulls back to cup the sides of her face, his own inches away. His eyes are narrowed as he looks into her watery ones, trying to find any other truths that she may not have spoken.

Owen leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead.

"It's done, Claire."

"It'll never be done." Her voice breaks, and she pulls in a shuddering breath. He stills above her, and then looks back done.

"We'll survive Claire. I promise I will not leave you alone - I'll be here every step of the way."

"I'm sorry." She breathes out again, hoping that he knows what she's sorry for. It's little and not enough, but she does not have it in her to say anymore. Owen presses another kiss against her head.

"It's okay, honey. It's going to be okay."