Author's note: Well, this story has been finished for over 2 years now, so hopefully, there's no such thing as the bad time to post the last chapter :)

Huge thanks to akaJB and Elise-Collier for asking and begging and hinting and insisting that I get my shit together. You guys have these two lovely ladies to thank for this update.

Please have fun, enjoy the ride, and watch Claire and Owen ride off into the sunset!

Two days after she'd found out about the baby, Claire was on her way to the clinic for the first consult when Zach's school called. They couldn't reach Karen, so they opted for her, asking her to come and pick him up and promising to explain everything when she got there.

Zach was sulking in the hallway outside of the Principal's office when she rushed in 20 minutes later, pointedly staring at the floor even when Claire demanded to know what happened. He offered her a halfhearted shrug without looking up. She stormed past him and into the waiting area where the secretary explained to her that apparently, he had started a fight. Again. And this time, they were not going to be as lenient about it as before. It was the third time this semester, and if he was going to keep on—

Claire nodded and hummed through the rest of it, and then through the second round when the Principal took the stage. The words 'expulsion' and 'permanent record' were tossed around, and there was only so much she could do to not scream, asking them to give him a goddamn break.

"You didn't have to do this," Zach muttered when she ushered him outside and toward her car, fuming for reasons she couldn't quite explain. She was mad at Zach who broke someone's nose and it was a goddamn miracle she talked them out of expelling him; at Karen for being too busy to pick up her phone and dragging Claire in this mess instead, however unintentionally, when she was trying so hard to hide from the rest of the world; at herself for feeling that way.

"You didn't have to fight," she countered, fumbling for her keys with shaking fingers.

"I did, actually," he shot back, his chin raised stubbornly, challenging her to disagree. "You don't know what it was about."

And oh, how easy it was for Claire to swallow that bait.

"It doesn't matter, Zach! They could have expelled you," she snapped, then pursed her lips together and huffed through her nose, counting to five in her mind before she said something else - something she'd probably regret. And then to ten, for good measure.

"So what?" He glared at her out of the corner of his eye, and it was only now that she finally noticed a bruise on his jaw that was starting to turn purple.

Claire slumped against the back of the seat without staring the engine, so tired all of a sudden that even breathing felt like too much effort. The day was cold and crisp, the air so clear that the whole world looked sharper than usual. The parking lot was empty, some of the classes still in session, and she could hear a dull pounding of a basketball against the gym floor on the other side of the wall to the left from them.

"What do you want me to say, Zach?" She asked at last. "I'm trying. We all do-"

"No one's trying," he shook his head in disgust and turned away to stare out of his window. "Why are you even here? You've spent the past eight years hiding away from everyone on this fucking island, and now there's no ocean between you and everyone else, but nothing's changed." His gaze, when he looked at her again, was hard and uncompromising. He'd never looked this old to Claire before, and it struck her now that it was something she hadn't noticed because she was too busy building shields and armour around herself. "Why do you even bother-" he threw his arms up in the air, "—with all this?"

For a moment, Claire's hand reached almost instinctively for her belly. She looked away and started the car at last, backing out of her spot and hoping she wouldn't run over anything, what with her hands shaking and her ears ringing. It didn't even cross her mind to reprimand him for his language that would have had him grounded for a month if Karen had heard it.

His words hurt but they both knew that he was right, just like they knew that yet another 'I'm sorry' wouldn't cut it this time. The problem was, there was no point. She knew it, and the only difference between the two of them was that Zach was honest about it while she chose to keep lying to herself. How could she blame him for speaking the words she'd been trying to run away from her whole life?

xoox

A miscarriage.

Sitting in a hard, plastic chair in the waiting room, Owen kept turning the word in his head, pulling it apart letter by letter and putting it back together until it lost its meaning and became an empty sound echoing in his head. He wanted it so badly to mean nothing.

Claire was lucky, the doctor had told him a few hours ago. It was a miscarriage, not a rapture of one of her fallopian tubes, which could have resulted in a fatal internal bleeding or severe complications. She was lucky, the doctor repeated, that it happened now, at an early stage, before it could cause irreversible damage. Owen was pretty sure he blanked out after the word 'fatal' came up, the blood rush in his ears rendering him deaf to the rest of the world. The mere notion of 'lucky' applied to this situation made him want to laugh.

Did they know Claire was pregnant, he had asked Owen. No. Were they trying for a baby? Again, no. He felt so stupid and useless, answering those questions, trying to read the man's face, his curt nods and brief answers. Owen's fingers curled into fists. Among the buzz of the busy waiting room, he had to force himself to take deliberately slow breaths, in and out, before he punched a wall or started to scream.

She was in the ICU now, had been for the past two hours. They were running tests to eliminate the risk factors and prep her for surgery should it be required – the words that landed on Owen like blows when the nurse rattled out a list of procedures to him, barely pausing to acknowledge his questions. She might need a blood transfusion, too, Owen was told, and if he could just wait—

Across the hall from him, Karen was staring vacantly into space, her eyes red-rimmed and panicky. Under any other circumstances, she'd probably tear the whole place apart, trying to get someone to explain to her what the hell was going on with her sister, but right now, she looked frightened, and Owen wondered if she was as terrified of what they might hear as he was.

She asked him something, the sound swallowed by the crowd milling around the nurses' station at the end of the hallway, and he shook his head, hoping it was a yes or no question. He didn't want or need anything, except maybe to get out of the shirt he was wearing under his jacket that was still smeared with Claire's blood. His fingers clenched together, he was staring at the grey and beige patterns on the linoleum, trying and failing to block out the sounds of the hospital, and most of all, the sound of his own thoughts.

xoox

Claire ended up needing microsurgery and was released two days later, on Friday.

As Owen was driving her home, it was hard not to notice the ghostly pallor of her cheeks, and the way she was reaching absently, most likely without knowing, for her spot on her belly where a white square bandage was hiding under her sweater. She was staring at the first flashes of green on the trees, an optimistic move on nature's part, considering the possibility of at least one more blizzard before the spring was due to settle in for good. Not that he could blame it, Owen mused. God knew they all needed a bit of hope now and then.

They barely said two words to one another ever since he walked into her room this afternoon, and as Claire unlocked the front door, and he pushed it open, following her inside, Owen was suddenly struck by this silence, uncertain of what to do next. Yesterday, he had found her distant and withdrawn when he came over to the hospital, but he wrote it off to the post-surgery discomfort, the shock of what had happened slowly starting to take shape inside her head.

Now, without the buffer of the medical stuff and her family, he didn't know what to do, or say, every possible step feeling like he was walking on thin ice that could break under the weight of his body any moment, and the lack of any sort of protocol for this kind of situation wasn't making it any easier.

"Are you leaving?" Claire asked quietly when she took her coat off and turned around to find him lingering by the door, not making any attempts to remove his jacket. He'd never heard her sound so small, his heart splintering at the sight of her looking back at him with mistrust. Like she was expecting another blow from life with a tired resignation, bracing herself for it as best she could.

He cleared his throat, feeling foolish for making this about him. A-fucking-gain. She was scared, probably still hurting. He might as well try not to be an ass.

"Not if you want me to stay," he said, watching her features relax.

She nodded without hesitation, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his relief so profound that Owen thought it might knock him off his feet. He pulled his jacket off, leaving it on the peg by the door, and dropped a kiss on her hair on his way to the kitchen to make her some tea.

The next few days progressed in slow, odd agony. Claire took some time off work to ensure her incision had healed enough before she went back. However, following the recommendation of her GP to resume her regular activities in order to facilitate a smoother recovery, and feeling guilty over missing Zach's birthday, she took him out to lunch to give him her present and ask him about the party, which he mostly avoided discussing, much to her amusement.

"You only turn 18 once," he told her mysteriously, and Claire laughed, marvelling in the light easiness between them – something she feared would never happen.

Owen's schedule was packed, and even though he wanted to clear it, Claire insisted he didn't need to do it. He never quite left, or at least never spent the night at his own house, but he might have as well been gone. In the moments when he was around, he was doting on her like she could fall apart at any moment, but it barely ever went past making sure that she was comfortable, asking her if she was cold or hungry or thirsty. He seemed distracted, his attention fleeting, and Claire suspected that he was glad to have those hours piled up to have an excuse to not have to spend more time around her than necessary.

In the days following her brief stay at the hospital, he went out of his way to eliminate any sort of physical contact with her, most of it happening by accident when their hands would brush against one another now and then, never quite acknowledging it. It made her wonder if maybe he was waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass to have an excuse to put this whole story behind him for good.

They barely spoke, too.

Not that she had much to say to him, choosing to step back as well, never brave enough to let him go but hardly having it in her to keep trying if this clearly was a one-sided battle. She couldn't sleep, her stitches tugging at her lower abdomen uncomfortable whenever she moved, keeping her awake for hours on end as she watched the shift of shadows on the wall, counting the minutes till dawn – her ultimate escape from the prison of her mind and black, suffocating silence.

She would scoot to the very edge of her side of the bed lest she roll habitually into Owen (fearing he would fall to the floor if she did so), listening to his deep, even breathing in the night, her cheeks burning with tears and her throat tight. If he ever heard her, he showed no sign of it, and even if he asked her what was wrong, Claire wouldn't know what to say. Every night, she would promise herself to tell him that he didn't need to stay around, that she was fine, but it always turned out being an impossible task the next day, leading to another excruciating night and hours of halfhearted promises to herself to fix it that never amounted to anything.

Her panic over losing Owen was at war with her fear of his eventual resentment, and Claire didn't know which outcome was bound to hurt more.

xoox

"Hey, I need to swing by my place to grab some spare clothes," Owen said one evening about two weeks later, poking his head into the living room where she was reading – as much as staring at the page without seeing any words qualified as reading, a blanket draped over her legs. "Want me to drop by that Chinese spot that you like on the way back to get something for dinner?"

Claire's fingers flexed on the book, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

When she was eight, Karen challenged her to take a dive from a twenty-foot rock outcropping and into the Crater Lake during their summer trip to Oregon. She could still remember it – the water below her was deep-blue. It seemed bottomless from where she was standing, her lips pressed together with stubborn determination, and the 10-second fall felt like it lasted forever. Halfway through it, Claire decided that it was not worth it and Karen could just go to hell with her taunting, but it was too late, and before she knew it, frigid water closed over her head, shocking her with how cold it was even on one the hottest days of the year.

She was feeling the same way now, knowing that she needed to take that jump, and knowing also that once she stepped off the ledge, there would be no going back - and yet eager, in a way, to get it over with.

"You don't have to do it," she said without looking at up him.

"It's no problem," Owen shrugged. "We could order in, but I thought it'd be faster-"

"No, I mean, you don't have to come back."

There was a long pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw him go completely still. Even the air suddenly felt electrified, like the sparks were going to start flying at any moment.

"What's going on?" He asked at last, and she noticed that she'd been holding her breath this whole time.

"Why are you here, Owen?" She asked, still staring straight ahead. What was meant to feel like ripping a BandAid off and putting this uncertain situation to rest was turning into something slow and excruciatingly painful.

He crossed the room slowly and lowered heavily onto the low coffee table in front of the couch, trying to catch her eyes. She didn't look at him, choosing to trace the pattern on the blanket with her fingertips instead. A square within a square within a square. Up, right, down, left, the fabric soft and smooth to the touch.

"Here, on Earth?" Owen asked almost jokingly, but it fell flat, and she knew that even he didn't smile. "Here, in Wisconsin? In your living room?" A pause. "In this conversation?"

"Either," she murmured. "All."

"Well, I don't have an answer to the first one," he admitted. "Few people do, I believe. I'm here in Wisconsin because on one very dreary Californian morning it occurred to me that I needed you more than I needed living near the ocean." He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I'm in your living room because it's where I want to be." He stayed quiet for a while before adding, "And I'm in this conversation because I hope you'll tell me what's been going on with you these past ten days."

Up, right, down, left.

"Is this true?"

"What?"

"That you want to be here?" Her hand curled almost imperceptibly into a fist.

"Of course. Why would you-"

"Because you might as well not be. You wouldn't touch me, would barely even look at me." She pursed her lips into a thin line. "You treat me like I have a plague."

Owen heaved a long sigh. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. "I was scared I'd make it worse. What if I hugged you and your stitches ripped open? You were hurt." A pause. "Because of me, too. Again. I didn't know—I didn't know what to do. If there even was anything I could do, and-" He shook his head, his gaze now fixed on the Oriental rug on the floor. "That time, months ago, I should've… we should've been more careful."

He swallowed, cutting himself off midsentence.

"I should've told you I went off the pill." She glanced at him, but saw only the ruffled his hair on the top on his head. "Should've remembered I went off of it," she breathed out and pinched the bridge of her nose, hating the traitorous edge in her voice. "But I didn't want you to leave and—I forgot. It was my fault."

Owen nodded absently, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he didn't know what he wanted to do with them. He ran his hand over his face, but he lowered it, she was looking out the window, her expression unreadable.

"Talk to me, Claire. Tell me what is it that I don't see. God knows, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and if you want me gone-"

"When I went to the clinic for the first time, they told me about the possible consequences. Short term, long term, the most common complications. Everything." She pulled up her knees closer to her chest, her fingers picking at the stray thread near the edge of the blanket. "And it wasn't that I didn't care. I did. I really did. But it wasn't the point of my concern at the moment. Something as small as a paper cut can have complications, or a common cold. Anything." Claire trailed off. "I knew what I was doing, I knew the risks."

Outside the bay window, the sky was turning purple. And she was crying quietly now, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and leaving glistening streaks on her cheeks, although Owen didn't think she noticed.

He knew she had IUD now, and Claire explained to him that coupled with getting an abortion in the past, it was a risk factor for a planned conception in the future. A miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy, her doctor had told her as they discussed her release, could easily lead to another one, and another one, and there was a strong chance she might not be able to conceive at all. Or, at least, not without help.

Intricate medical terms were falling effortlessly from her lips as if she'd already practiced that speech, and, knowing Claire, Owen was certain she had. They scattered around, barely registering in his mind, and disappeared in the corners of the quiet room. Owen couldn't help but feel that the more information she poured on him, the emptier his mind got.

"I thought you didn't want kids," he said carefully when she fell silent after a few minutes.

"I didn't. I don't," Claire admitted. "I just… I never thought I wouldn't have an option."

Her face crumpled at that and she hid it in her palms, her shoulders trembling slightly, her hair veiling her face.

Owen's heart clenched fiercely, and he crouched down near the couch and reached for her.

"I fucked it up," she pressed her hand to her mouth. "I did this to myself, and why would you want to…"

"Hey." He brushed her hair from her wet cheek. "You don't know anything for sure yet." His hand curled tightly around hers and he kissed her fingers that tasted of salt, his eyes searching her face. "And whatever the answer is, it's alright," he promised her. "I want to be with you. I want you." A kiss on the palm of her hand. "I love you. Whatever you can and want to give, I'll take it."

Claire turned to him, tears clinging to her eyelashes, and Owen ran his thumb over her cheekbone, his fingers threading through her hair. Her lips were quivering, her breathing uneven. He had never seen her so small and vulnerable before.

"You don't have to do this because you feel obliged-" She started.

"Do you want me to leave?" Owen interjected, holding her gaze, his voice firm.

Her fingers flexed around his. "No."

His lips curved into a small smile. "Move over." When she did, he slipped behind her, wrapping his arm around Claire's waist, careful not to press on the spot on her belly that he knew was still sore. She sank willingly into his chest, her hand clasped around her wrist, and Owen brushed a kiss to the top of her head, marvelling in the familiar weight of her body nestled against his, its comfortable warmth, her delicate scents invading his senses, making him ache all over with how much he'd missed that feeling.

"Are you mad?" Claire asked quietly.

Owen ran his hand up and down her arm and kissed her hair again, feeling her muscles relax against him, curve to curve. "No, of course, not. Wish you'd told me sooner." His fingers trailed along her forearm. "I hate knowing that you've been carrying it inside you all this time."

"I needed to… process it," she said. "On my own."

He nodded then without objection. "Look, I can tell you this much – whether or not you want to have a baby has never been and never will be a deal-breaker, okay? Whatever we decide in the future, we'll deal with it. Together. Until then… man, if I have to pretend that I don't want to put my hands all over you for another day, you might as well just shoot me now."

She nearly choked on a snort and elbowed him – unsuccessfully – in the ribs. "Don't even joke about it."

And he laughed, holding her as close as he could, careful not to hurt her. He loved the way she was letting her hair grow out, allowing it to flow in gentle waves instead of keeping it in a straight, sharp bob. Loved the way it felt against his skin, between his fingers. It was such a ridiculous thing – to miss her even when she was right there – but he couldn't help it. It was like there was never enough of her. Like he could wrap himself around her and still need more.

They stayed like that for a while, mostly talking, until Claire wriggled around to basically sprawl herself over him to the best of her capabilities, and pressed her lips to his, her fingers curling in his hair. Breathless, Owen pressed her nose to her cheek when she pulled away. "Don't scare me like this ever again."

She nodded. And then her stomach growled, making her giggle and bury her face in his chest. "What was it that you said about Chinese food?"

xoox

There were many things Claire Dearing was used to being, things that people grew to expect of her – professional, efficient, responsible. Diligent. Smart. Successful. There were labels and expectations that she was happy to step into more often than not. Some of those things Claire considered her accomplishments, others she took for granted, not quite sure how to separate them from the rest of herself – so firmly they were ingrained into her personality. However, there was the one thing no one ever taught Claire – how to be needed.

With Owen, she felt like it was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that consumed her wholly and completely. He made her feel wanted and needed and she craved beyond comprehension. There were days when she was downright delirious with the contentment of being with him, feeling him with every cell of her body, as if attuned to his wavelength.

The guilt and regret were still there, a gnawing pang deep inside of her, the ever-present feeling that she wasn't enough, would stop being enough at some point, mixed with the fear that it was too good to be true.

She tried not to listen to it.

"You're staring," Owen mumbled without opening his eyes, and Claire's lips stretched so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

"You were smiling," she whispered, touching a spot on his cheek that would crease into a dimple beneath his beard whenever his mouth curved in amusement. "Good dream?"

"Mm-hm," Owen hummed, and opened one eye, and then the other, blinking at her in the early-morning-sunlight. "Still seeing it."

Claire never thought of it that way before, but there was a special kind of magic in basking in those moments as the morning stretched lazily before them. Now, she cherished them more than anything else in the world.

She'd spent the past hour tracing the lines of his face with her fingertips – along his broad forehead and down the bridge of his nose, her touch feather-light so as not to disturb him. Over the rough stubble on his cheeks and through the baby-soft hair on his temple, her fingers danced across his firm jawline, smoothing out the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes. It was just her luck the man slept like a rock, his chest rising and falling slowly under her palm.

She loved the softness about him, the way his ragged edges looked smoother in his sleep, the boyish vulnerability that he kept hidden in his waking hours – the side effect of life, she assumed.

"You do that a lot?" Owen asked meanwhile, squinting suspiciously at her.

"Only when you snore," she informed him gravelly, struggling to keep a straight face.

"I do not!" His jaw dropped in mock shock, and she giggled and buried her face in his shoulder, her body quivering with uncontrolled laughter, her breath tickling his skin.

"You do, too."

"I would know-" And then she lifted her face again, her eyes bright, and suddenly nothing was funny. "Hi," he breathed out, watching her face split into a grin.

"Hi." Claire stretched lazily, the lines of her body pressed closely against his, as her arms wound tightly around him against the morning chill, the tip of her nose touching his, eyes watching him quizzically.

Owen rolled them over in one fluid motion and pinned her to the sheets with the weight of his body, her hands pressed into the pillow above her head, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from Claire that morphed into a moan when his mouth latched onto hers, his hand sliding under the hem of her top. His fingers skimmed over her ribs, and Claire burst into giggles, squirming beneath him and tugging at his hair, trying to kiss whatever skin she could reach.

He wiggled out of his own shirt and pulled off Claire's head over her head, his mouth trailing slowly over her shoulders, down her chest and along her sternum, his hands tugging and pulling impatiently at the remaining garments of their clothes, hungry for her skin. She let out a shuddered breath, her eyes fluttering closed against waves of pleasure surging through her. Owen's lips brushed ever so gently against the small pink scar between he left hip and her navel, and she wondered how he knew which spot still hurt and which ones were okay to apply more pressure to.

Her back arched when his breath grazed the inside of her thigh, her fists gripping the sheets. He huffed with amusement, and a quiet whimper escaped her chest, light tremor rippling along her skin.

"Wait," Claire mouthed in a barely audible whisper. She was still testing her limitations after her bill of health was cleared but a certain layer of caution still lurked in the back of her mind.

In the bright morning light, Owen's eyes were clouded with so much need and longing that his gaze seared right through her when she pushed up and slid into his lap instead, arms weaving around his shoulders and mouth pressed urgently to his. He groaned, fingers digging into Claire's thighs, gripping her waist when her walls closed around him, her breathing catching momentarily.

"Better," she murmured, cupping his face with her palms, his chest heaving against hers.

"You okay?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice, frowning in concern.

Claire smiled – grinned – and nodded, reaching to smooth the crease between his eyebrows with her fingers. Her hand curled around her jaw. He kissed her, hard, drinking her up, drowning with and inside of her. His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair, his awareness tunnelling until there was nothing left but Claire, her body feeling like heaven.

She didn't last long, pulsing around him, shuddering in his hands. Owen's thumb slid between their bodies, and then she was falling apart, holding and tugging and trembling, gripping his shoulders with the weak fingers. Owen laughed, swallowing her hungry, greedy gasp, his hips still rocking steadily as he fell down, taking her with him, cradling her close as she relaxed into him, her breathing ragged. A few more rocks, and a bright spurt of delight and fire was surging through him, washing over him in tidal waves, and he was spinning and falling, breathless and blissful. Drunk on her.

Claire stirred, peppering his chest with small kisses as the world came slowly back into focus around them, and then buried her face into his neck, her head tucked neatly under his chin.

Owen dropped a kiss on her hair, pulling her closer until she was draped over him, sweet weight and delicious warmth, tucked neatly into the crooks and curves of him, a collection of oddities and a kaleidoscope of feelings, flaring up with every colour.

And then Claire was chuckling against his skin, the sound vibrating right through him.

"What?" Owen asked, curious, his hand stroking her hair, his fingers weaving through soft waves.

"I'm happy, you know?" She told him quietly. "Really happy."

It came out as a revelation, surprising in its simplicity for both of them, not the fact so much as the obvious clarity of it, something that seemed to have always been there, unnoticed until now. Like a secret that wasn't really a secret.

He lifted her chin to press a soft kiss to her lips, her body melting into him. "Me, too."

xoox

Gray's middle school graduation took place in mid-June, the soccer field behind his school packed with white plastic chairs and weepy parents. He told them all it was no big deal – he was going to high school in the fall with the exact same people anyway, but Karen was still tearing up during the speeches.

Claire's hand covered hers and she squeezed it in encouragement, making Karen break into a teary smile. It was odd to see Gray so serious and grown up. In a few months, he would be as tall as Claire, in a few more – he would be towering over her, not at all eager to express any sort of affection, closed off and distant, she was thinking. Claire hoped there was still time to make up for at least some of the things she'd missed out on over the years. She promised to herself she would try.

Afterwards, Gray took off to spend the afternoon with his friends at the arcade, and Karen was rolling her eyes in a feigned exasperation – because it was easier than accepting the fact that her sweet baby was a teenager, and there was no going back, and it was terrifying. Still, Gray insisted they all go to the amusement park the following weekend, to celebrate the end of the year properly – there was no way he was going to miss out on the rides.

The three of them were waiting for her and Owen at the gates on Sunday morning, the boys all but bouncing and buzzing with excitement, tickets in hands, eagerness to seize the world on their fingertips. Even Zach dropped his newly found brood and was grinning in happy anticipation.

Claire stepped out of the car and paused, her chest tightening instantly.

It wasn't the same, of course. And yet, the tall gates made her heartbeat stutter and her eyes dart around. Maybe they should have thought this through after all. The crowds milling around them were making her anxious, her skin crawling at the sound of screams coming from the rides, the music was too loud, the voices – louder still. Not the same, but close enough, she thought. It was hard to shake off the feeling of an impending danger lurking around them, waiting. She wondered if she was ready for this. Wondered if she was ever going to be ready.

The day was hot, dry wind chasing stray grass and handfuls of dust around them, adding another layer of surrealism to this situation. A roar of a mechanic animal somewhere in the depths of the park echoed over the crowd, followed by outbursts of laughter.

Claire exhaled slowly.

She glanced at Owen, trying to read his expression. Was he feeling the same? His eyes were narrowed, although whether it was because of the sun or because he was scouting for the safe exit, she couldn't tell. And then, he looked at her and smiled.

"Ready?" His hand found hers and squeezed it.

She nodded, squeezed his fingers back. "Yes."

The end

A/N: This story is and always will be one of my most favourite works and I hope you enjoyed following it as much.

Thank you for your patience and for sticking around. I'm sorry for taking forever to post the last part but I appreciate your patience!

Feedback and comments will be much appreciated. You've made it this far anyway, right? :)