A/N: This story can definitely be read on its own, but it is intended to be the sequel to (the story I posted a ridiculously long time ago entitled) "Sometimes What is, is Meant to Be." So I'd love it if you read that one first, but you don't have to to be able to follow this.

Spoilers for Fallen Kingdom, and as with the previous story, the title's taken from lyrics in the Broadway Musical "Waitress" (a show that has absolutely nothing to do with Clawen or Jurassic World, but I've been listening to the soundtrack for four whole months, so there we go.)

Ride the Gyrospheres!

In a dark city full of bright yellow lights, the tattered billboard in downtown San Francisco caught the pale green eyes of the woman who'd once and for a long time called Jurassic World home. Maybe it was the flickering light on the dinosaur, the bulb clearly going the way of the park itself; maybe it was the depiction of the two happy people enjoying a ride in one of the vehicles that she herself had once test-driven, the same vehicles that had very nearly become her dark, watery grave, forgotten off the coast of a place that history would never forget. Whatever it was that had caught Claire's attention in the sun-worn poster, she found herself mesmerized.

Vintage travel posters had been a staple of their print advertising; they always polled highly with the focus groups. Smaller versions of that very billboard sold well in Jurassic World's various stores, both on-site and online. Was she the one who had signed off on the campaign that placed that billboard on the side of that building, or had it been there longer than those decisions had been hers? Did her former status with the place it was advertising, the place that now lie melted and mangled beneath piles of lava, give her any ability to have it taken down? Had anyone motivated by that billboard to visit her park been there that day?

Had they made it back home?

The car that was perhaps miraculously carrying her home glided down the street past the billboard, leaving it and its depiction of her past life behind her. Her head turned slowly, following the advertisement until the cartoon slipped from her eyes, and a longing for things to have ended differently twisted painfully in her stomach as she settled back into the passenger seat.

"Claire," Owen's voice said again, pulling her away from her thoughts. He spoke at a hushed volume so as not to disturb the sleeping little girl in the backseat. "I don't really know where I'm going here," he reminded her.

"Oh, um…turn left up there," she said, pointing to the next streetlight ahead of them. "We're almost there."

Claire's complex was in a bustling part of the city, but her building within the complex was in the back corner, far away from the larger street that served as her address, and the parking lot was quiet when Owen pulled into a guest space and shut off the ignition. Things seemed still – a stillness that would've once been welcoming but now seemed eerie, given the events of the past few days – but it wasn't so late that the world was asleep, light spilling through the blinds of several apartments around the parking lot. Claire glanced at the building that contained her home and sighed.

"I'm a couple floors up," she told him. "There's no elevator."

"Okay," Owen said. They both turned to glance at the still soundly sleeping girl in the backseat.

"Do we wake her up?" Claire asked. Owen thought about it for a minute.

"No," he said, climbing out of the driver's seat. He swung the backdoor open and leaned his whole body into the car, ready to scoop Maisie into his arms.

"Isn't she too old to be carried?" Claire asked from the passenger seat.

"Probably," Owen said simply.

He picked Maisie up, dragging her out of the car as gently as he could; she stirred but didn't fully wake, becoming just conscious enough to realize someone was holding her and wrap her arms around Owen's neck. He shifted until she was nearly sitting on one of his arms, her knees on either side of his chest, and Claire gathered their remaining shopping bags from the night before from the other side of the backseat. She walked with a limp towards the front of the car, a dull ache still radiating from the wound in her leg. Owen tried to let her lead the way – he'd never been to this home of hers before – but she lingered until he was walking by her side instead of behind her as they slowly headed towards the stairs.

"I don't have anything," Claire whispered.

"What do you mean?" Owen asked.

"For kids," Claire said, her voice worried. "Clothes or toys or probably even kid-friendly food."

"That's okay," Owen whispered calmly. She looked over at him, and he shook his head, wordlessly telling her to let that anxiety go for tonight.

"There might be a stuffed animal or two somewhere," Claire continued. "Maybe a band shirt or something of Zach's; he goes to college nearby."

"Really?" Owen asked.

"That was the compromise," Claire chuckled. "Karen begrudgingly let him leave Wisconsin, but only because he picked a school near me. He leaves things here sometimes."

"We'll worry about this tomorrow, alright?" Owen asked. Claire nodded.

"I guess that sort of thing is easily fixed," Claire admitted, momentarily forgetting that problems with easy solutions even existed.

"Maybe we can go back and get some of her things when the cops clear the crime scene," Owen suggested. "Maybe before, if they'll let us."

"Do you think she'd even want anything?" Claire asked. She hadn't seen Maisie's room herself, but Owen had told her what happened. It was anyone's guess as to whether anything in there was even salvageable.

"We'll ask her in a few days," Owen offered. Claire nodded, reaching for the stairwell railing.

Owen only made it up a couple steps before the lanky nine-year-old began to slip out of his arms, despite the slow climbing pace set by Claire's injury. The beginnings of a curse word formed on his lips as he lost his hold on her, censoring himself before the whole word made it out, and Claire stopped on the step above him as he tried to hike her back up into his arms. Maisie had begun to stir again as soon as they'd hit the stairs, and she gasped slightly, fully waking as Owen tried to re-position her.

"Where are we?" she asked groggily.

"We're at Claire's," Owen told her, sliding her down until her feet hit the wooden stairs. Maisie briefly searched for Claire, holding her eyes on her for a moment before leaning into Owen's side. "We're just heading upstairs."

"Don't you live here, too?" Maisie sleepily mumbled, looking up at him.

Owen and Claire shared a look above Maisie's head. As promised, they'd told her their story, or at least a kid-friendly version of it, on the way home from the northern part of the state – from their meeting, years ago, at Jurassic World to their deciding to be together again the night before – but clearly, the girl had been more interested in the dinosaur parts of their romance than the little details like when they were and were not together.

Claire touched Maisie's shoulder in reassurance as she promised, "Owen's not going anywhere; he'll still be here when you wake up tomorrow, okay?"

Satisfied with that answer, Maisie nodded and closed her eyes as her head snuggled a little further into Owen's side. Claire was the only one who had gotten any decent sleep in the hotel, her antibiotics all but guaranteeing that, and Maisie had run herself ragged at the beach they'd taken a break at that afternoon, the sand and smells as new as the superstore they'd taken her to the night before. Owen sympathetically placed a hand on the girl's back.

"Think you can walk, kid?" Owen asked.

"Okay," Maisie mumbled.

Claire pulled out her keys when they reached her unit (thank god she dropped them into one of the secure pockets on her pants and not in the backpack she took to the island) and let them in, turning on the overhead light fixture as she entered the home. Maisie groaned, her eyes scrunched tight against the new, harsh light, burying her face in Owen's shirt. Owen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and looked at Claire.

"Bedrooms?" Owen whispered.

"Down there," Claire said, pointing down a hallway off the living room they'd walked into. "Second door's the spare."

Owen headed down the hallway with Maisie as Claire hung her keys on the hook by the door and dropped the shopping bags at her feet to deal with in the morning. She reached down to pull her boots off and smiled sweetly to herself as she heard Owen pointing out her room so Maisie would know how to find them if she woke up again. She hadn't crawled in bed with them the night before, but Claire knew all too well that it could take a day or two for the adrenaline to fully fade and for the nightmares to really start.

She crossed the room slowly, glancing around as she headed for the counter that separated the living area from the kitchen. Everything in her home looked the same, and an indescribable mix of comfort and strangeness overtook her; Claire knew she hadn't been gone that long, and while she was calmed by being back in her own home, she didn't feel like the same person who had walked out her door just a few days ago. The events at Lockwood Manor dug up her sins from the park's past and sent them churning through her mind all over again, only to amplify them in the end. Three years ago, it was just an island. Now it was the whole world, and like a few other dinosaur-related, defining moments in her life, she knew that in at least some way, she'd never be the same again.

Mourning the woman she was, again, would have to wait, however, as heavy footsteps reached her ears, louder and louder as Owen made his way back down the hall. He turned the corner, just a few feet from where she leant against her counter, and let himself fall against the edge of the wall, taking her in.

"She out?" Claire asked.

"Oh yeah," Owen said with a nod. "She's out."

A hushed tranquility settled across the room as Claire's eyes held Owen's gaze, a silent so what do we do now? hanging in the air between them. Without a word, Owen pushed himself off the wall, reaching for Claire's waist at the same moment Claire moved to wrap one arm around his shoulders, their lips parting to meet the other's in a hard kiss. Her other hand cupped his face, sliding down to grasp at his neck, their kisses softening until they were feverishly slow but simmering with a gluttonous heat as he nearly bent her backwards with want.

They'd held hands a little in the car on the long drive down the Pacific Coast Highway – Owen's finding hers when she couldn't stop looking at or for the Pteranodons and then not letting go for forty more miles, her pulse racing beneath her wrist – but the only kiss they'd shared, the brief brush of lips when they'd woken up together that morning, as well as the recounting of their relationship for Maisie that afternoon had left them both yearning for more.

"I can stay tonight?" Owen nearly sighed the question as he let Claire go and cupped her face in his palms, pressing the wisps of red hair that framed her face against her pale skin.

Claire's hands slipped from either side of Owen's neck to his chest as he held her face. "You can stay every night," she muttered.

Owen's mouth found hers again, Claire matching the passion behind his kiss, and he slid his hands slowly down her sides as she wrapped both arms around his shoulders this time, elongating her body against his. His hands gripped her hips with just the right amount of pressure, and he began inching them towards the couch behind her, his blind movements a bit clumsy around the foreign terrain. When a thought struck him, he stopped suddenly, breaking their kiss and leaning his forehead against hers as his hands slid to the small of her back to keep her tucked into his body.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Is it okay if we…keep going?" he started, his voice still at a whisper.

Claire grinned, thinking he was simply asking for her consent, and thread her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, squeezing slightly. "Yes," she promised with a gentle kiss.

"With Maisie here?" Owen hissed, a hint of disbelief in his tone as he took a step back.

Claire dropped her hold on him and rolled her eyes as she realized what he was really asking. "Owen, how do you think second children get made?"

He looked as if he were actually thinking about it for a moment, causing a muted laughter to escape Claire's throat.

"It's fine, Owen; she'll never know," she sighed. Claire hoped those wouldn't turn out to be famous last words as she glanced into the living room behind her. "But maybe not on the couch anymore?" she considered, speaking her thoughts out loud.

"So…" Owen prompted, trailing off so she could dictate what happened next.

A small, almost bashful grin settled on Claire's face. She reached out and curled her hand into his, letting her thumb simply caress his skin for a moment before she moved past him and pulled him behind her, guiding him to her bedroom.

Claire grabbed onto the side of her opened door for stability as they entered, letting Owen walk past her. The building-controlled lights outside of her unit cast an illuminating yellow glow across the room, so she didn't turn on another as she quietly closed the door behind him and slid the lock into place. Before she walked away, Claire turned the knob and pulled, testing the lock's functionality. She wasn't sure her bedroom door had ever even been closed all the way since she'd lived there, let alone locked, another subtle sign that everything was different now.

Before she could spiral too far into that thought, she forced herself to turn around, where she found Owen sprawled out in the middle of her bed, lying on the mattress with his hands behind his head like he was just waiting for her to walk over and climb on top of him. Her mouth opened a little in surprise as her eyes traveled down his body. At least he'd taken his shoes off first.

"Oh no," she said matter-of-factly, meeting his gaze. With a slight shake of her head, she added, "That's not going to work."

"What?" he asked.

"You just laying there like that."

"Uh, excuse me, Ms. Control Freak," he said lightheartedly, using his elbows to prop himself up on the mattress. "I seem to remember arguments about how I don't let you lead enough."

"I…yes," Claire conceded with a nod.

"And I'm trying here," he said, his tone a bit more serious.

Claire's mouth curled into a soft smile on the exhale of her sigh. "And that's sweet, but I can barely walk, Owen," she said with a laugh, limping towards the bed as if to punctuate her point.

He sat all the way up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, catching her by the waist as she made it over to him. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips just barely brushing against warm, bare skin, and looked up at her.

"Raincheck, then," he said with an impish grin.

With a slight nod, Claire let herself take a moment to memorize how fondly he was looking up at her before leaning down to meet his lips again. Owen pulled her towards him as they kissed, wanting to hold Claire in his lap, but as soon as her knees bent to straddle him, the bend of her leg and the stretch of her jeans pulled uncomfortably at her wound, causing a sharp gasp to escape her throat.

"Ow, ow, ow," Claire quickly gasped, wincing.

"Shit," Owen muttered. He stood up quickly, taking Claire with him, giving her room to wrap her good leg around his body. When he sat them back down on the side of the bed, Claire's other leg stretched out behind him, her hands on his shoulders. "Better?" he whispered. She nodded. "Are you okay?" She nodded again, her eyes still squeezed shut. "Maybe we should stop," he realized, frustration creeping into his tone. Claire's eyes slid open as she considered his words.

"It is supposed to be different this time, right?" she replied.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"Owen…" she said with a smile, tilting her head to the side. A giggle escaped her throat as she said, "This is exactly what we did last time."

Owen thought about it for a minute before he chuckled, too. "Well, this sure isn't how we did it last time."

The memory bubbled another bout of laughter to the surface of Claire's lips as she said, "No, but it's the same – zero to sex as soon as we found a room to be alone in; it just…took longer to find the room." She sighed and, with a hint of defeat in her voice, murmured, "Nothing here's really changed, has it?"

"Oh, yes it has," Owen said, his hands firm on her hips. Her head had fallen as she'd finished her last statement and he leaned his down and towards her, drawing her eyes back up once he'd caught her attention. When she was looking at him again, his voice dropped as he seriously said, "It's different this time."

"Because of Maisie," Claire whispered.

"Because I'm never letting you go again," he said.

He said it the same way he'd said he couldn't leave her in Lockwood's diorama, breathless and almost shocked that she could even think anything to the contrary, and Claire's face melted a little as something inside her stomach twisted again. This was different; they were different. The weight of responsibility after the park had almost entirely been her burden to bear, but this was something they shared now. She kissed him in response, her hands softly curling around the back of his head and through his hair as her lips moved against his.

"Hey," he whispered between kisses. He waited until Claire's eyes opened to glance down at her leg and ask, "Should we hold off on this?"

"I don't want to," Claire whispered honestly.

"I don't want to, either," he admitted.

Decision made, Claire slid her hands down to his chest and began slowly slipping the buttons of his flannel shirt through their loops, and he did the same to hers, their heavy breaths filling the silence between them. Halfway down, Owen glanced up at her, the movement of his head catching Claire's attention. Their hands stilled against the other's chest, their eyes dancing in silent conversation before they moved back together. Not quite ready to move on, they captured the other's lips again, their shirts forgotten in favor of making up for lost kisses, and Owen spread his hands across her back to hold her in place on his lap while Claire weaved hers into the opening of his shirt, caressing his t-shirt clad chest. Her hands moved seductively up his chest and past his neck and ears until her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders again, and he held her as close as he could, her body locked in his embrace. Owen gently caught her lower lip with his teeth when Claire opened her mouth to breathe against his lips; he tugged on her lip, his tongue smoothing over the sensitive flesh as her breath hitched before sliding in to meet hers again, and Claire rocked in his lap, causing Owen to break their kiss on a groan.

"Shh," Claire muttered, placing a single finger against his lips as a smile teased against the edges of hers.

Instead of responding, Owen kissed the finger against his lips and stood with Claire in his arms again, turning them to lay her back on her bed. They both reached up to position a pillow behind her head, and once she was settled, Owen used a feather-light touch to rub his finger over the denim-concealed bandage covering the place where the Indoraptor had pierced her skin.

"You tell me if anything hurts," he said seriously.

"I think you'll know," Claire said, rolling her eyes at how distinctly she had gasped before.

"I mean it, Claire," he said. "If something we're doing hurts you, you tell me, so we can figure out how to make you more comfortable."

Claire blinked a few times – she had expected him to say so they could stop – before nodding against the pillow and muttering, "Okay."

He grabbed her other thigh, hitching her untouched leg up around his hip, and Claire's eyes squeezed shut as his fierce kiss pushed her back into the pillow; he made no move to continue where he'd left off with undressing her, and neither did she as her hands firmly clutched his sides, and a distant thought that they shouldn't be taking so much time briefly filtered across her mind. Little hands could knock at her door at any moment; someone other than Owen could need her in a way she wasn't used to being needed at any moment, and they wouldn't be able to tell her to come back later.

Before she could say anything, Owen brushed her long hair off one shoulder and used his head to gently nudge hers to the side, and all thoughts of hurrying things along faded as the skin on Claire's neck began tingling beneath Owen's mouth. She curled one hand into his hair, her nails lightly scratching against his scalp, and he peppered hot kisses along her jawline on his way to kissing her mouth just once more. A little more of his weight fell against her as he returned to her neck, and Claire ran her hands down his back; she slid her leg down his thigh, leaving room to slip each of her hands into Owen's back pockets. Claire pulled him in, his hips pressing into hers as his lips made their way down her throat, and even with the layers of denim between them, the pressure against her brought a quiet moan to her lips. Owen shifted all his weight to one of his forearms and used his newly freed hand to guide her face towards his and bring their lips together again, before dropping it to linger against her breast as he pushed against her again, the whispers of another soft moan ghosting across Claire's lips.

It had been long enough since he'd been in her bed that Claire didn't want to hurry anything. She wanted to savor his kisses and feel the familiar passion burning beneath every shared touch, and from the way he was treating her, she was pretty sure Owen shared that sentiment, too. If that meant risking an interruption they couldn't come back from that evening…well, she was willing to live with that.

That interruption never came, and later, after heartbeats settled and the glow of reconciliation faded into the darkening night, Claire and Owen rested beside each other in a comfortable silence. Their clothes still littered the bottom of the mattress and either side of the floor, and they cuddled together in the middle of the bed, Claire's back curled in front of Owen's chest, her red hair tickling his nose as he periodically made small movements to place slow kisses along the back of her shoulder and the base of her neck. One of his arms was slung loosely around her, just above the place where the cool sheet, haphazardly pulled over them, had settled around their waists, and Claire affectionately played with their entwined hands, her fingers toying with his.

It would've been a perfect moment, Claire thought, with the soft light spilling through her blinds and Owen's warm skin against hers, but having Owen wrapped around her wasn't nearly enough to stop her from succumbing to her own mind. The quiet darkness permeated both the inside and the outside of her little dwelling, and she was home and comfortable for the first time in days, which ultimately meant she finally had time to slow down and think rather than keep pushing herself forward.

The feelings building within her chest were familiar, strikingly similar to the ones she'd felt when, over a full day later, the devastating weight of what had happened at Jurassic World had finally hit her. The man holding her now had been there then, too, and as if Owen sensed her growing distress, he tugged her just a little bit closer and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"How's your leg?" he asked quietly, in a raspy voice that made Claire think he might be a little tortured tonight, too.

"Hurts," Claire admitted. She didn't look at him, her eyes instead focusing on their joined hands in front of her. "The medicine helps."

"I told you we needed to go to the hospital," he said.

Claire rolled her eyes, despite the fact he couldn't see, and replied, "You might've had one good idea. It was bound to happen eventually."

Rather than taking the bait, Owen momentarily buried his face in her hair and muttered, in a muffled voice, "I'm never gonna get that scream out of my head."

Claire thought about what he said for a second before realizing, "…mine?"

Owen nodded against the back of her head. They'd fallen on opposite sides of the diorama when the window crashed to pieces around them, and he hadn't had a clear view, but he knew her, and when a noise he'd never heard before tore from her throat, he didn't need to see to know what had happened.

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered, truly regretful that her guttural scream of shock and pain was going to haunt him.

Owen nuzzled her wavy hair with his nose and tried to change the subject. "I like your hair like this," he said. Claire simply hummed in response. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

"I'm feeling a little on edge," she admitted tersely.

"Aren't things supposed to be different this time?" he teased. That remark earned him the expected glare, Claire contorting her neck into an awkward position to meet his eyes. He snickered, keeping his lips pressed together to contain a larger smile, and he only felt a little bit bad for laughing at her expense as he cupped her chin long enough to peck her lips in apology. When she turned back around, he protectively pulled her back into his chest and in a low voice against her ear, asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Do you?" she asked, threading their fingers together again. She suspected the punishing serenity had gotten to him, too, and she felt Owen's deep breath against her back before his chin dropped to the top of her head, and he nodded. For a while, Claire said nothing, playing with their hands as she found herself at a bit of a loss of where to start. Finally, she sighed, "Everything I've been doing this past year…it's all been for nothing."

Claire knew that wasn't quite true. The dinosaurs weren't all dead; the fact that any of them made it off the island at all was a bit of a victory, but it still felt like she'd ultimately lost. She closed her eyes as she felt Owen breathe behind her, letting the rise and fall of his chest move her, too. Owen squeezed the hand tangled up with his. He didn't know what to say as much as Claire hadn't known where to begin; she wasn't exactly wrong, but she wasn't exactly right, either, and she hadn't known Eli Mills was using her and her cause as a pawn in his ruthless game.

"You were right, Owen," Claire breathed. "We should've just kept running…left it all behind."

"That's not you," Owen said.

"Maybe it should be."

"No, Claire, come on," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Wanting to take the worst things that have ever happened to you and turn them into something good…that's one of the things I love about you."

"That's not what you said last year," she replied.

"And we've already established I'm an idiot," Owen said, lifting his head a bit to see her face as he tried to make her laugh. He didn't quite succeed, but a smile teased the edges of Claire's lips, so he'd take it. "We dealt with the news of the volcano in different ways," he said, snuggling against her again. "I don't think either way was very healthy."

"And we destroyed us in the process," Claire said wistfully.

"Hey," Owen whispered. "We're here, aren't we? We didn't destroy us."

The comfortable but melancholy silence settled over them again as Claire dropped her forehead against their joined hands. Owen took the opportunity to lean forward and place another small kiss on the back of her neck. She returned the show of affection, brushing her lips against the back of his hand as she picked her head back up, leaning into him instead.

"One of the things you love about me?" she asked. Her whole body shifted a little; Claire wanted to look him in the eye as she asked, "Present tense?"

"You think I would've been back on that island if I didn't love you?" he asked honestly.

"Well, yes, you…" Claire stuttered. "You went for Blue."

"Yeah," Owen shrugged. "But if they had asked me to go, I would've told them to go fuck themselves. If you weren't going, I would've told them to go fuck themselves…and they knew that."

"So you…?" Claire started.

"I didn't want you to go back there alone," he said softly. "And there was…no talking you out of that."

"You were right about that, too," Claire said, rolling back to her side to fit herself back into Owen's cozy embrace. "This never would've happened without my hand print."

"They would've found another way," Owen insisted.

"I know," Claire admitted. "I just made it so easy for them."

"Yeah, well…so did I," Owen sighed. After a moment of heavy silence, he asked, "Is this how you felt after the park?"

"Like I helped wreck the whole world without even realizing that's what I'd been doing?" Claire muttered dejectedly.

"Something like that," Owen murmured in response.

"Not the whole world…not then, anyway, but…yeah," she acknowledged.

Owen stilled against her for a moment before sinking back down to kiss her shoulder again, holding her just a little bit tighter still as his lips lingered against her bare skin, and she smiled a bittersweet smile as she thought that was his little way of telling her he understood her in a whole new way now.

When his lips left her, Claire asked, "What was it that Eli called us?"

"The parents of the new world," Owen replied. The phrase had taken up residence in his brain, making a permanent home for itself right next to the sounds of Claire's screams.

"He was right, wasn't he?" Claire whispered.

Owen snickered. "The first human clone is sleeping in your guest bedroom right now."

"Owen," Claire said seriously.

When he didn't say anything else, she shifted towards laying on her back again, her body slanted between the mattress and his chest as she kept a firm grip on his hand. She found him breathing steadily and looking blankly at what was the back of her head. Owen's eyes shifted and held hers for a few silent moments before he blinked and looked away.

"Yeah," Owen muttered. "He was right."

He spoke the answer that she didn't want but had already known was true, and Claire's eyes began to look a little watery as she asked, her hushed voice shaky, "What did we do, Owen?"

Owen immediately shook his head and wiggled his hand out of hers. Vulnerable, she inhaled sharply and tried to reach for him again, her eyes wide at the surprise loss of contact, but it only took a few seconds for him to pull the sheet up and climb over her. She couldn't roll over without laying on her wounded leg, so he simply moved to her other side, putting them face-to-face as he pulled the sheet a little higher around their bodies. He ducked his arm underneath to slide it securely around Claire's waist and gently tangled his legs with hers, remaining mindful of her injury.

"We can't do that," he said softly. "Claire, the guilt will eat us alive if we do that."

"So what do we do?" Claire breathed. "What should the plan be?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Part of me thinks we need to be all in trying to fix it."

"And the other part?"

"Wants to finish that house near the lake, move in with you and Maisie, and never see a dinosaur again," he honestly answered.

"Except Blue," she knowingly replied. Owen's lips closed, and he nodded slightly, acquiescing to her thought. Claire sighed, glanced at the digital clock over his shoulder, and said, "We should probably get dressed."

"No," Owen groaned softly. He slid his hand down her side until he was grasping her bare hip.

"We have to unlock the door before we go to sleep in case Maisie needs us," Claire reminded him, though neither of them made any move towards actually climbing out of the warm cocoon they'd made for themselves in her bed.

Owen shifted himself a little bit closer to her and whispered her name. When her eyes met his, he continued, "You know that as shitty as everything else seems right now…this isn't…you're not part of…"

"I know," she said softly, ending his stuttering.

"I'd want to be here no matter how that…" he started.

"I know," she said again. She pulled his hand off her hip and brought his palm to her mouth for a kiss before adding, "I love you."

Owen leaned in and caught her mouth in a soft kiss. He slid his hand soothingly up her back, and she let hers come up to cup his face in her palm, her fingers gently stroking his ear as she returned his affection. When their lips separated with a gentle smack, Owen nestled her close to him one last time.

"Love you, too," he whispered against her forehead.

He forced himself to roll out of bed then, telling Claire to stay where she was as he grabbed his boxers from the foot of the mattress. He wandered out of her bedroom, Claire pulling the sheet closer around herself as he left the door cracked open, and returned only half a minute later with the pajamas they'd picked up from the store before finding a hotel the night before. Owen closed the door again, leaving it unlocked this time, and pulled just his pajama bottoms on before tossing Claire's clothes to her so she wouldn't have to get up and aggravate her leg all over again. He picked up their discarded day clothes as she awkwardly got dressed, tossing them in a pile against one of her bedroom walls.

Claire fell back to the mattress once she'd finished putting her pajamas on, her expression still a little troubled. Owen crouched down, bending at the knee to level himself with her face against her pillows, and leaned in to kiss her. The bottomless pool of remorse in her stomach was coming and going like an ocean's tides, but since their first shared rodeo with the dinosaurs, he'd always been able to read her better than she'd ever been able to conceal anything.

"Tomorrow's a new day, babe," he whispered, crawling back in bed behind her.

Claire's eyes narrowed as he grabbed her hip again. "When did you become the optimistic one here?" she asked, glancing at him.

Owen chuckled, their role-reversal seemingly not having hit him until she vocalized it herself. "I guess things really are different now, huh?" he teased again.

Claire felt his chuckle against her back as she blithely rolled her eyes again, and Owen placed one more kiss against her shoulder, pulling her into his chest for a better night's sleep.

Any and all feedback is appreciated - thank you for reading!