The request makes his throat go dry. This was supposed to be an easy weekend with the two of you gathering tangible evidence for a housewife whose husband was cheating on her with his secretary. It was as open and shut as cases come, especially when the wife, Mrs. Watson, provided the booking information on where her husband would be staying on his “work” trip. But you? You were making this case much harder than it needed to be. 

First, you confiscated his flask when he picked you up and made him promise not to drink so he’d have a “sound mind” while working (whatever that means). Then, you told the desk clerk not to worry when he sheepishly told you there was a double booking and that the two of you would share. And now this…how was he supposed to keep a level head when you were half naked in front of him? How was he supposed to focus on anything, knowing he’d be sleeping beside you over the next two days? 

It felt like you were doing it on purpose to fuck with him; you had to be. He knew that you knew about his less-than-subtle crush on you, but having you so close and seeing you like this without the ability to act on it felt like a punishment.  

“Holland?” The sound of your voice and the wave of your free hand in front of his face bring him back to reality. “Mhm? What’d you say?” He asks, his eyes trailing over your figure.  

You turn and glance at him from over your shoulder before repeating yourself, “Can you help me tie my bikini? It doesn’t feel secure enough when I do it.” 

“I can help you take it off, too,” he mumbles while grabbing hold of the strings. Flirty remarks from him were the norm, drunken or not, his attraction and need to be around you were always apparent. Compliments, suggestive comments, and light touches were far from unusual. He liked you and made it known, and given that you never passed up the chance to make him blush, you liked him too.  

“If you keep your promise to lay off the booze this weekend, I just might let you.” Your teasing prompts a groan to escape his lips as he pulls and knots the strings together. A part of you is grateful that he’s seemingly caught up in envisioning the scene to notice the slight shiver that travels down your spine from his fingers grazing the skin of your back. “Well, in that case, Sweetheart, I’ll be on my best behavior.”  

“I’ll hold you to that, Honey,” you hum, turning around to face him and tying your matching sarong around your waist.  

“Jesus,” he says under his breath as he gives you a one over again. 

“Now, I know this is a difficult thing to ask, but can you stop staring at my tits so we can go over the game plan? Just for a second?” You watch Holland’s eyes dart up from your chest and to your face, the pink hue that had already covered his face darkening. Despite his flushed cheeks, he remained quick on his feet even if he did stumble a bit, “They looked at me first.” The excuse, as quick and idiotic as it was, made you smile. This man was a fool, and you couldn’t help but love it. “And I remember the plan,” he states with enough conviction that you believe him.  

—  

The plan in question was simple and admittedly formed last minute while checking in and overhearing the affair partners discussing their plans for the day which consisted of only three things: going to the beach, dinner at Rossini’s, a fancy and popular Italian restaurant that you was unable to book a reservation after finding the number in yellow pages and giving it a call, and of course, sex!  

Strategizing was easy and followed the standard protocol that you and Holland often followed after taking on affair cases, with the two of you agreeing that your best bet would be following them to the beach and sneaking pictures of them canoodling under the guise of taking photos of each other, and then staking out the restaurant for more evidence. 

Everything was going smoothly, excluding Holland’s constant complaining about the sand burning the soles of his feet after refusing to keep his flip flops on after almost tripping while carrying the webbed chairs Holly insisted he pack. The beach was big, but spotting the couple wasn’t as difficult as you both anticipated due to them choosing to stray too far from the entrance of the beach.  

You and Holland opted to set up camp a few feet ahead of them to ensure clear shots of any lewd behavior. The wait, as it turns out, wasn’t very long. Mr. Watson proved to be a rather handsy man, fondling his mistress mere minutes after you and Holland settled into the folding chair. Holland stood, taking off his sunglasses and stuffing them into the breast pocket of his short-sleeved button down, and brought the camera up to his eye as he pretended to take a shot of you.  

Maybe it was instinctive because there was a camera around, but you felt the need to smile and pose even if you knew the focus wasn’t on you. “Big smile, Sweetheart, big smile,” Holland ribs, egging you on.  

“Are you getting them?”  

His face contorts into a disgusted scowl from observing Mr. Watson slip his hand through the cutout of his mistress’s swimsuit to cop a feel, “I feel like I’m shooting the start of a bad porno.”  

You turn your head just enough to catch a glimpse of the woman’s hand dipping under the waistband of shorts through your periphery before looking back at your partner, “Didn’t realize there were good pornos.” 

“They exist. You're just not a connoisseur like I am.” If you weren’t preoccupied with attempting to hide the laugh bubbling to the surface, you would’ve noticed the frequent clicks of the camera and the soft smile that brightened Holland’s face as he watched you giggle.  

It wasn’t until the sizzling afternoon slowly started to simmer once the sun began disappearing over the horizon that the lovers packed up their belongings and headed back to the motel, with you and Holland waiting a few minutes before following their lead.  

The walk back to the motel was short, the only highlight of it being Holland nearly walking into oncoming traffic, and you hold his hand the rest of the way back. “How come I’ve never seen you wear this before?” The inquiry fell from his lips once you made it to the parking lot to pack the folding chairs back into the trunk of his car. 

“It’s new, I ordered it from the Sears catalog a few weeks back,” you answer.  

He puts a cigarette between his lips, lighting it and taking a drag before speaking, “Suits you.” 

“Thank you.” You stretch your hand out for him to take. “You have the key to the room, right?”  

He fishes the key out of his pocket and takes your hand again, allowing you to lead him up the steps. “Do you want to shower first?”  

“No, you should go first. I know you well enough to know you’ll want to sit or lie down on the bed, and if I find any sand in my sheets tonight, I will kill you.”  

“You can do whatever you want to me, Sweetheart. I don't mind.” He flirts, unlocking your shared room and motioning for you to enter first.  

“Careful, one of these days I might just take you up on that.”  

“A man can dream,” he mumbles, walking in behind you and closing the door. “You sure you don’t want to shower first?”  

“I’m sure, Holls.”  

He hums and b-lines for the bathroom, closing the door and then opening it back up just enough to poke his head out, “And you’re sure you don’t want to join me? I won’t bite…unless you like.” 

You walk over to the bathroom, and for a second, you can see his face light up. The spark, however, dims when you push his head back. “Go shower, their dinner reservation is in less than an hour.”  

He lets out a huff, retreating fully into the bathroom and closing the door with a pout. 

–  

You sink into the driver’s seat and let the camera hang around your neck. You and Holland had been parked across the street from the restaurant for about forty-five minutes, and the only bit of evidence worth snapping a photo was of the pair entering the restaurant, arm in arm, and the kiss on the cheek Mr. Watson received after pulling out the chair for his mistress.  

Holland had left you to get dinner from the takeout spot he saw when turning onto the street. He’d been gone for a while, and a part of you hoped there was just a long wait, but you’d also spotted a bar neighboring the store, so you had your doubts and were bracing yourself for disappointment just in case your partner came back tipsy with no food in hand.  

You drummed your fingers on the steering wheel, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the couple inside. “Why are you in my spot?” You nearly jumped out of your skin upon hearing Holland’s voice.  

“Jesus! You scared me,” you say, pressing a hand to your chest.  

“You put the roof up,” he points out after rounding the front of the car and climbing into the passenger’s side, a white plastic bag in hand. “Did you get any more shots of them?” 

“No, they've surprisingly been modest so far.” 

He nods and reaches into the bag, the plastic rustling as he unpacks the takeout containers. “Did you get–” 

“Chicken and broccoli with white rice?” He finishes for you, passing you two of the white boxes. “One of them might be the chicken fried rice I ordered, but I did get it.”  

“What about–”  

“I got your extra fortune cookie and sauce packets too, Sweetheart. Asked the guy at the counter for ‘em. He said no, but I nabbed it when he wasn’t looking.”  

“Thanks, honey.”  

“Of course.” 

A comfortable silence falls over the car as you both start to dig into your meals. You nudge him slightly, extending a forkful of white and chicken to him, which he happily accepts, offering up a sip of his soda in return. His gaze was fixed on you, more than usual, as if he were trying to read your mind. “I didn’t go into the bar, y’know. I’m keeping my promise to you.”  

“I appreciate that, March.”  

Another wave of silence falls over the car, this one more tense than the last. You could tell that he was hurt by your lack of faith in him. “I know you're trying.” You weren’t sure if your words would provide comfort, but you wanted to make it clear that you understood that he was putting in the effort.  

When he doesn’t respond and instead lights up another cigarette, you worry that this would be how the rest of the stakeout would go, with your usually chatting partner now sulking in the passenger seat. 

“Are you ever going to let me take you out?”  

You stare at him for several moments, your mind reeling as you attempt to process what he just blurted out. “W-what?”  

“Are you ever going to let me take you out?” He repeats. “You know I’m in love with you, and always flirt back. I know you don’t want a drunk of a boyfriend, but I think I’m getting better at managing my drinking.” 

A part of you is almost bewildered by what he’s telling you. Yes, he flirted with you, but you didn’t realize just how deep his feelings ran. “You love me?”  

“Probably too much.”  

“I didn’t know that.”  

He squints his eyes at you, “You know I have a crush on you.”  

“Yeah, but I thought it was because you just wanted to fuck me. A crush and being in love with someone are very different,” you explain, your mind reeling as you replay your interactions with him. Had you been mistaking love for lust this entire time? 

“I do want to fuck you, but I want more. I want everything.” Your entire demeanor softens as you listen to him speak sincerely. “You just make everything better for me and Holly. I just want that forever, I want you forever,” he adds.  

Acting without thinking was more of Holland’s thing, but you couldn’t help but take a page out of his book as you carefully set down the drink and takeout box on the dashboard and leaned over to the passenger seat to kiss him. You could tell that he was caught off guard by the way he froze for a moment, and you're almost worried you made the wrong move, but then he melts into the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your neck to deepen the kiss.  

When you pull away, he starts to chase your lips in search of another kiss, his eyes are half shut, and his lips are curved into a dopey smile. You were just about to lean in again when his eyes flickered past you to the window of the restaurant, “Oh! Oh! They’re kissing!” He scrambles for the camera on your lap, leaning half his body on top of you to get the shot.  

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he says, sinking back into the passenger seat. You nod, “I think we have enough for the entire trip.”  

“Oh…do you want to go home in the morning?”  

You shake your head, “No…I think we should stay.”  

“Oh…and what do you want to do with our day off?”  

“Thought you wanted to take me out?”  

The corner of his mouth curls up, “You’ll let me?” 

“If we manage to make it out of our room,” you tease. 

There’s an undeniable spark in his eyes at the implication, “Oh really? Got big plans for me, Sweetheart?” 

You angle your body towards him, getting close and whispering, “Well, you did say I could do anything I wanted to you.”  

You didn't mean to. He was just too cute. Too charming. Too damn perfect for his own good. But you behaved yourself, keeping your crush silent and focusing on the project at hand.

That's why the knock on the door is so out of the blue. You had specifically booked the lab this morning just for the two of you to work on your project. You glance at Ryland next to you, who's draped in a white lab coat and a set of blue nitrile gloves.

"I wonder who that could be," you state quizically, your brows drawing together in confusion as you break the silence. The blonde-haired scientist spins to face you more directly, beginning to peel off his gloves as he replies, "Yeah, I don't know. You did book the lab this morning, right?"

It's an innocent enough question, and you just nod and shrug, "Yeah, like I always do." Ryland hums in confusion just as another set of knocks bounces through the locked door. He juts his chin up toward it and rises to his feet, offering, "I'll check to see who it is, you just keep working at it."

You flash him a grateful smile, calling over your shoulder, "Thanks, Ry!" The nickname is one that you started calling him after you got over the "Doctor" phase of introductions. People with PhDs can be weird. Thankfully, Ryland was not one of them.

"You got it," he chuckles, shooting you a finger gun with one hand, the other guiding him around the black lab table. The smile on your face slowly softens to a look of content, and you turn to peer back through the optics of your microscope as Ryland makes his way to the door.

It's quiet for a few seconds until Ryland gets to the other side of the lab. He carefully opens the heavy door, but is quickly pushed to the side. "Hey, man!" Ryland grunts, annoyed as he stumbles back a step. A medium-framed older gentleman comes hustling into the lab room, a cane in hand and a grin on his bearded face.

"You can't be in here," Ryland calls as he trails after the intruder, a frown of frustration settling over his angled features. "Yes, I can," the older gentleman chuckles out, his accented voice clicking in your head as Scottish.

At the sound of the intrusion, you immediately pulled back from your work, standing up to face the stranger in your laboratory. You frown as you reiterate Ryland's previous words, "I'm sorry, sir, this is a private lab. You can't be in here without prior authorization."

The older gentleman hobbles over to your lab table, Ryland close on his heels as his smile widens. He stops in front of you, resting both hands on his cane as he chitters, "Already done, my dear. I talked to the lab director this morning."

You shoot a quick, confused glance at Ryland, whose lips pull downwards as he shrugs at you. "My name is John Hammond, delighted to meet you," the older gentleman offers, beaming a wide grin at you and Ryland.

"Excuse me for being blunt," you cut in, your voice monotonous and laced with annoyance, "But why are you here?" The older gentleman, Hammond, picks up his cane and points at you with it. You lean back to get away from it, your eyes narrowing as your gaze flits over him.

"Yes, yes, I'll get right to the point," he starts. "I need both of you to help me. You see, I'm a massive fan of your work," he glances at Ryland before continuing, "Both of you."

Ryland walks around Hammond to return to your side, tucking his hands into the pockets of his lab coat as he watches the older gentleman with interest. "What could you need us for?" he asks when you don't say anything. "We're a private lab. We don't really do charity work."

Hammond nods and then swings his cane toward Ryland, "Why yes! Dr. Grace - you wouldn't be doing charity work. You see, I own an island off the coast of Costa Rica." Ryland jumps back at the intrusion of the cane into his personal space, but he doesn't say anything as Hammond continues.

"Well, you see, doctors, I've set up a sort of... biological preserve of sorts," Hammond eventually says. He glances back at you with a cheerful smile and states, "I have no doubt the attractions will have kids runnin' around, going out of their minds!"

"So why do you need us?" you butt in, placing your hands on your hips as you roll around the new information in your head. Hammond drops his cane back to a resting position before tapping it excitedly on the ground.

"I have to deal with lawyers, leasing the island from the government," Hammond says, shaking his head disappointedly, but then replies, "But they represent my investors, and they said it would be best to get outside opinions on the matter."

"Whose opinions?" Ryland scoffs lightly, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly to glance up at Hammond. The older gentleman takes one hand off his cane and gestures to the two of you, and then hums out, "Well, you two, of course."

Hammond looks between you and Ryland and pushes, "Let's face it, you two are some of the best minds in your respective fields, your opinion means a lot. If I could convince you to sign off on the park, I could get the whole thing back on schedule!"

There's excitement in the older gentleman's eyes, but confusion in your gaze and Ryland's. "Why would they care what we think?" you ask, moving your hands from your hips so your arms can fold across your chest instead. Ryland takes a step closer to you, backing you up in questioning, "What kind of biological park?"

Hammond's gaze flits between the two of you and then rolls his shoulders, proposing, "You know what, why don't the two of you come see it for the weekend? Everything will be paid for; there's no strings attached. Come see it for yourself."

You glance up at Ryland, panic setting in as you quickly rush out, "I'm s-sorry, Mr. Hammond, but there's no way we can just leave the lab for the weekend. I mean, we just started a timed experiment this morning, and we-" "I can fully compensate both of your salaries," the older gentleman cuts in.

Your mouth clamps shut as you process his words, and just as Ryland opens his mouth to ask a question, Hammond speaks again, "And I can fund the lab for an additional 3 years of research."

Ryland's mouth opens and closes a few times as he processes Hammond's words, glancing down at you to gauge your reaction. You aren't much better, turning to face Ryland with a shrug. The blonde-haired scientist shrugs back at you silently before you both turn to face Hammond.

"So, how do we get there?" you giggle nervously, carefully pulling at the sleeves of your lab coat. Hammond taps his cane on the ground in excitement again and then replies excitedly, "I have a plane waiting at the airport for you. Clean up and join me as soon as you can!"

At that, the older gentleman turns on his heel and starts to make his way to the door. You and Ryland both watch him lumber off, a small pep in Hammond's step as he opens the lab door, walks out, and it swings shut behind him.

This is going to be interesting.

The blades from the helicopter throw pieces of your (colored) locks into your eyes as you wait for the pilot to pass back headphones for everyone on the crew to wear. The flight from San Francisco to Costa Rica had been surprisingly quick, and before you knew it, you had been shipped off on a helicopter when you landed.

Much to your dismay, you've never been in a helicopter before, and apparently, neither has Ryland. And it sucks. It's loud, wobbly, and you can't speak to anyone without the headphones. Anxiety is coursing through your veins, and your hands are clenched into tight fists next to your sides.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ryland motion to you with one of his hands, causing you to fully turn to face him. He's sat on the outermost seat, per your silent request. The blonde-haired scientist didn't want to admit to you that he's just as scared of heights as you. Being hundreds of feet in the air with only a seatbelt holding him in has Ryland's stomach twisting in knots with the urge to vomit.

Sitting at the edge of the craft, you can see two sets of headphones held in his hands, and he offers you a pair with a kind yet timid smile. He can see right through your nervousness and watches as you shakily take a pair from him and set them on your head. You take a moment to tuck a few strands of hair out of your face, staring straight ahead. The blonde-haired scientist quickly puts on his own pair of headphones and looks over his shoulder to see the thick, wild jungle below.

Then, as the helicopter pushes forward into the air, you feel his right hand bump against your thigh gently, palm up. You glance down at it rapidly, and without thinking, lace your fingers through his and squeeze with all your might. You feel like your body is vibrating with anxiousness - you had never wanted to be on the ground more than that very moment.

But with Ryland's hand clamped tightly in your own, you manage to survive the short flight. Instead, you tried to focus on the new people on the helicopter with you and not the swirling jungle below. Two other scientists had been recruited by Hammond - you learned their names were Ellie and Alan. The paleontology crew.

Both were very nice and just as confused as you and Ryland as to why you would all be recruited for "opinions". There was another man on board the helicopter, easily identifiable as one of Hammond's lawyers based on his finely pressed suit and dark leather briefcase. On the other side of him - an attractive man with olive skin and dark hair.

You had learned his name was Ian Malcolm, and he was immediately charismatic and easygoing. He chatted with you and Ellie as the helicopter made its way inland, Ryland remaining fairly quiet beside you.

The blonde-haired scientist watched you out of the corner of his eye, noting the way you eagerly conversed with Ian and Ellie. He tried to focus on the way your hand felt in his, and the way its grip slowly loosened as you got more comfortable.

He immediately did not like Ian. In fairness to the mathematician, Ryland was harboring the world's largest crush on you. And seeing the way you two kicked it off on the short helicopter ride had Ryland pooling with self-doubt.

Thankfully, he didn't have to dwell on it too long as the helicopter landed and everyone climbed out to stand on their own two feet again. Ryland helped you down the stairs and out from under the slowing spinning blades of the chopper, following in Alan and Ellie's footsteps.

Hammond is in the lead, with the paleontologists just behind him. Then you and Ryland follow suit, Ian and the lawyer bringing up the rear. Only when you come to a stop outside of the park's center do you tug your hand from Ryland's, carefully itching your nose as you take in your surroundings.

"Alright, everyone," Hammond chimes as he stops to face the group, "Let me give you a tour of the park. It is best that you split up into two groups. The jeeps are waiting!" Cheerily, the older gentleman makes his way over to the open-topped jeeps - drivers waiting for instructions nearby.

You turn to face Ryland with a nervous smile and propose, "Want to ride with me?" The blonde-haired scientist almost flinches at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide as he takes in all the sights and sounds of the jungle.

"Y-yeah, I think that would be good," he stutters out, bringing himself to face you. A lopsided smile of his own curls on the corner of his mouth, and you glance away as heat floods your cheeks. Damn, he's cute.

Ryland had opted to change into a pair of clothes Hammond offered on the plane ride, just as you had. The tactical clothing was much more user-friendly for what you were going to be doing - a deep green t-shirt with a tan vest slung over top. It had pockets everywhere.

He also dons a pair of dark khaki pants that seem to match the vest and a pair of heavy-duty work boots covering his feet. His glasses sit delicately on his nose, as they always do, his curls fluffy and untamed in the way that makes your stomach flip. The outfit is out of the norm for the scientist, but you can't deny it. He looks good in it.

You have to tear your eyes away from him, butterflies settling low in your stomach as you watch Alan, Ellie, and Ian all opt to go with Hammond in the first jeep. That leaves you, Ryland, and the lawyer to pile into the other vehicle. Then once everyone is safely tucked inside, you descend into the thick, dark undergrowth.

The jungle itself is perhaps more terrifying than the helicopter ride over it. The leaves on some of the trees are as large as the jeep, easily capable of hiding a large cat or an angered monkey. There's a constant thrum that fills the air - bugs flying by, birds singing their songs.

The driver carefully maneuvers the car over the gravel path, following the first vehicle closely. As you make your way away from the center and into the heart of the tropics, you notice tall, high-tensile barbed wire fencing with angry red signs hanging from it.

"Ry, why would they need 50 miles of barbed wire fence?" you murmur quietly as you stare out the window. When he doesn't answer after a second, you turn to face him, emphasising, "10,000 volts of electricity run through that fence."

Ryland's face is drawn in pensive thought, and he brings one hand up to scratch at the stubble on his face as he mumbles back, "I'm not sure. They're likely trying to keep something in or prevent it from getting out."

You nod silently in response, turning back to look out the window of the jeep as it makes its way out of the densest part of the island. Up ahead, you can see more sunlight shining through the trees.

The dark green canopy gives way to a large, open meadow where birds and small butterflies whisk by. The jeeps turn to the left slightly, following the split in the road to venture out in the open rather than in the cramped woods.

Your gaze is drawn to the jeep in front of you, slowing to a stop, and suddenly you see Hammond's frame standing up out of the top of the vehicle. This makes you straighten up in your seat, your eyes narrowing with interest as you pat Ryland on the shoulder to get his attention.

He hums at you, slowly looking up as you climb up to peep out the top of the vehicle. Ryland does a double-take as he watches, stuttering out, "H-hey, what are you doing? Be caref-" "Ryland, look," is all you can breathe.

The air is sucked out of your lungs as your knees lock in amazement, excitement, and an underlying fear. Your heart has lurched to your throat, your fingers growing clammy as they grip onto the edge of the sunroof to steady yourself.

"What do you mean look, I am looking," he grumbles as he peers around your legs and out the windows of the jeep. His blue eyes flit over the tall trees in the distance to focus on the brush right outside the vehicle.

Shyly, his gaze is drawn to the curve of your ass in his face, a blush starting to creep on his cheeks as one of your hands comes free from the sunroof. He rapidly blinks as you swing your arm at his head, reiterating a little louder, "Ryland, look."

The blonde-haired scientist frowns up at you, but is interrupted as a yelp flies from his lips. You grab his arm and yank him up from his seat, pulling him to stand up next to you. "What are yo-" Ryland starts as he straightens, his hands clambering to hold himself steady.

His next words are cut off as the air in his lungs stills and his mouth parts open in awe. You aren't any better; your lips are parted, air shakily sliding in and out of your throat as you look in front of you.

“Am I dreaming? Or is that a dinosaur? Please tell me it’s not a dinosaur,” Ryland blurts out as he stares ahead of the jeep, his blue eyes wide. You huff out a quick breath, a smile growing on your lips as Ryland's words float through the air.

Up ahead, you can see Alan rush out of the jeep, his voice carrying on the wind, "That's a brachiosaur!" Your stomach does a flip inside your gut, and you turn to Ryland in amazement, repeating, "It's a brachiosaur! A dinosaur!"

Then you hear Hammond's voice chime in theatrically, "Welcome to Jurassic Park!"

The center is perhaps one of the most scientifically advanced and public-friendly places you have ever seen. You don't have much time to soak everything in, as Hammond is ushering all of you to a room that looks like a small movie theater.

There, you learn about how the dinosaurs in the park were created. Dinosaur DNA extracted from blood-sucking mosquitoes was preserved in amber. Then, missing genetic alleles were filled in with frog genes to make a complete set of double helices.

To say the least, it was incredible.

During the whole presentation, Ryland is sitting next to you, his blue eyes shining wide with a million unasked questions. The one that you both share in common, "Can we see the lab?" You say it at almost the exact same time, your gazes set on Hammond at the front of the room.

You hear Ellie snicker in front of you at the overlapping question, and you realize how in tune you are with the blonde-haired scientist. Thankfully, Hammond takes your enthusiasm in stride, claiming, "Why yes, Dr. L/n, Dr. Grace! Follow me!"

At that, you scramble out of your seat, slightly undignified as you get up to follow the older gentleman. Ryland is right behind you, although more careful in his movements. Ellie and Alan are only a few seconds behind the two of you, with Ian and the lawyer bringing up the rear.

A few sets of gray stairs lead you to the lab, where you are instantly amazed. There are incubators, nurseries, and familiar lab equipment everywhere. Tables with microscopes, PCR machines, gel electrophoresis runners, and racks upon racks of test tubes line the walls, filling the room.

An appreciative chuckle falls from your mouth as you take in all of the sights, and when you turn to face Ryland, the blonde is already looking at you. There's a soft look in his eye, one that you don't immediately clock, but there's a smile on his face.

"Do you see this?" you almost squeal as you step further into the lab, ducking around the resident scientists to see what they are working on. "I bet they are using the most advanced sequencing models," you begin to ramble as you peer into some of the incubators. Inside, you can see several small eggs on racks, held at a constant temperature and rotated on a timer.

A wide grin has spread over your mouth, and you continue, "I wonder if they modeled the heating setup after other avian species, or if they found more success with reptilian techniques. I mean, I know birds descend from the same clade as the dinosaurs and have hard-shelled eggs, but-" "Y/n," Ryland gently cuts you off, resting one hand on your bare shoulder.

His touch is warm and delicate, as though not to disrupt your excitement. You turn to face him, your (colored) eyes bright with amazement and interest. Ryland swears his heart almost stops with the way you look at him in that moment.

He's quick to recover, clearing his throat to murmur, "Hammond wants us all to see this," is all he says. Then, the blonde-haired scientist releases his grip on you, taking a step back and motioning to a sectioned-off portion of the lab room.

You give him a silent nod, your bottom lip getting caught between your teeth as you chew on it nervously. You step away from the incubators and toward the sliding glass doors where you can see Ellie, Alan, Hammond, Ian, and the lawyer waiting.

Soon, your gaze settles on what you can only describe as a hatchery nest - a large table resembling the jungle has a cluster of eggs in the middle, all roughly the size of an ostrich egg. Hammond motions for you and Ryland to get closer when he sees you approach, and you do as he says, your heart fluttering faster in your chest.

Then - you see it. A crack in the egg closest to Hammond. It starts out as a small splinter, but then as seconds speed by, it grows. Flakes of eggshell splinter off, the air sac going with it. Realization sets in as to what you are witnessing, and you grab onto Ryland's arm without thinking.

"This is incredible," you whisper, more to yourself than anyone around you. Hammond is quick to agree, though, "Yes, my dear. You are quite right. Every animal on the island has imprinted on me from the moment they hatch. It is truly remarkable."

A low whistle slides out of Ryland's mouth as everyone watches the small dinosaur pop out of the egg, staring up at Hammond. The small creature blinks wearily as it takes in the new world, its eyes wide and so very, very alive.

One of the lab's lead scientists comes over as Hammond picks up the dinosaur, a smile on his face as he watches the interaction. Ryland turns to him and immediately asks, "Aren't you guys worried about the adults breeding out in the wild once they reach maturity?"

You glance at Ryland with a raised eyebrow. An interesting thought. The lead scientist gives Ryland a quizzical glance and then scoffs, "Well, no. Since everything is artificially created, we have engineered every embryo to be a female. There's no worry about breeding."

This time, Ellie pipes in, "So they all have XX chromosomes?" The lead scientist looks at the blonde woman and nods, "Correct. It's pretty incredible, isn't it? We made it that way so they won't get aggressive."

You straighten as you sigh with a chuckle of, "Yeah, the last thing you need is hormonal dinosaurs running around because they can't get laid." Ian, moving away from the group, catches your attention, but then he speaks dismissively, gaining the attention of the whole party, "That isn't possible. Years of evolution have shown that life cannot be contained or restricted."

"You're suggesting that an island full of female animals will... breed?" the lead scientist asks rhetorically, his voice full of disbelief as he looks at Ian. The mathematician's gaze washes over the group as he shakes his head, and then, wetting his lips, he stutters out, "No, no, I'm simply saying that life, uh, finds a way."

The whole group goes quiet as they soak in Ian's perspective, but then you can't help but blurt out, "He's right, you know. Life will find a way." Everyone in the group turns to face you in surprise, Ryland more so than everyone else.

A flash of emotion spreads over the blonde-haired scientist's face, and you just barely register it as you explain, "Millions of years of evolution have shown us that nothing can be contained in a box. Or in this case, an island. You're playing with laws that have never been messed with. Something unexpected is bound to happen."

At the end of your words, you look at Ian, who gives you a nod of thanks and a knowing smirk. The whole group remains quiet as they mull over your words, a slight tension flooding through the air. Thankfully, Hammond is the one who breaks the silence with a question of, "Well, who's ready for some lunch?"

Lunch passed by with some tension as Hammond prepared all of you to experience the tour as it would be presented to the public. Ryland had been unusually quiet next to you, picking at his food and sipping on his soda without joining in on the discussion.

At first, you thought he was just overwhelmed with all of... this. You knew he wasn't the biggest people person, and then with all of the science he was bombarded with in the last few hours, well, it would be enough to short-circuit even the greatest scientific minds.

"Ry?" you probe quietly as everyone starts to push off the table, "We're all heading for the jeeps." Ryland seems to snap out of his daze, his blue gaze flashing up to meet yours. He quickly nods and wipes his mouth with a napkin, standing up next to you with a sigh blowing out of his nose.

He motions for you to lead the way, and you fall into step behind Ellie and Alan. Just outside the center doors, you can hear excited screaming and the figure of Hammond getting viciously attacked by two children.

It draws a smile back to your face as you watch the young boy and girl hug their grandfather. The older girl, Lex, asks, "Can we join them on the tour, please?" Hammond opens his mouth to respond, but then the boy, Tim, cuts in, "Yeah, grandpa, please?"

Hammond chuckles, knowing he is outnumbered, and then replies, "As long as there is enough room for all of you in the two jeeps." The whole party stops near the two jeeps hooked up to the track, counting off how many people there are.

"From my count," Alan states, "There should be 9 of us, so it would be a tight squeeze." Hammond waves his hand at the paleontologist, replying, "Oh, I won't be joining you. I will be in the control room while you all go on the tour."

"So 8 then," Ellie says, glancing around at the group. Everyone nods silently in agreement, and then the lawyer cuts in, "Everyone should be able to go then." At that, the children start skipping and cheering, rambling to themselves and to Alan as they ask unending questions.

You motion to the second jeep where the lawyer and kids are headed, and to Ryland, you muse, "I can go with the kids, if you want." He turns to face you, confusion on his face as he parts his mouth to interject, but you stop him with a quick wave of your hand.

"I insist," you urge as you look over your shoulder to the keep with Ellie, Alan, and Ian. You glance back at Ryland and rest one hand on his shoulder, and with a smile, you urge, "You should talk science with them."

His blue gaze flits over your face for a few silent seconds, and then he decides he doesn't see any deception in your eyes. A sigh slides from his nose, and he nods at you once, but then confirms, "You sure you're good with the kids and lawyer? I can-" "I got it," you brush him off lightly, squeezing his shoulder before dropping your hand to your side.

You take a small step back and give him a toothy smile, then carefully twist on your heel and duck your way into the front seat of the second jeep. Ryland watches you go for a moment and then smiles to himself, turning the opposite way to sit in the back seat next to Ian. Great.

Once everyone is settled into the jeeps, the program begins. The first vehicle lurches forward, carrying Ellie, Alan, Ian, and Ryland down the track. A few seconds later, the second car moves, with you, the lawyer, and the two kids tucked inside.

In the first jeep, Ryland is already regretting letting you go with the kids. Ellie and Alan sit in the front seats, filling the air with talks of paleontology, paleobotany, the dinosaurs, general science, you name it. Ian... is already getting on his nerves.

Focused on looking out the jeep's window to catch sight of Dilophosaurus, Ryland tries to hide from the feeling of Ian's gaze set on him. It's a burning feeling, and Ryland knows he only has a few seconds before his peace, if you can even call it that, is disturbed.

A tap on the shoulder. An internal curse rises through Ryland's mind as he turns over his shoulder to look at the mathematician. A smirk rests on his lips, and if Ryland were a more violent man, he would slap the look right off Ian's face.

Instead, he clears his throat and raises an eyebrow at the man, waiting for him to speak. "So, Dr. Grace," Ian starts out, his smooth voice quiet as he glances over the blonde-haired scientist. Ryland's hands slowly start fiddling with the tan tactical vest slung over his shoulders, his hands dipping into the pockets to find nothing of interest.

Ian pauses for a moment as the two men lock eyes, and then his smile widens as he lifts his chin and drawls, "What's the deal with Dr. L/n?" Ryland's stomach lurches at the sound of your name. Just what he knew was coming.

He remains calm, though, and asks another question in return, "What about Dr. L/n?" Ryland opts to use your professional name rather than your first, trying to not give anything away to the man sitting across from him.

Ian is smart, though, and his smile grows wider as he scoffs, "Oh, c'mon, man. Guy to guy, here, listen, is she single?" Ryland immediately wants the conversation to end, his crush on you swelling at the forefront of his mind as he pictures the way you defended Ian earlier that morning.

Ryland breaks eye contact with Ian as he glances down, overcome with a wave of self-consciousness. He replies disheartedly, "Yeah, I think so." The blonde-haired scientist grows quieter yet as his words settle in Ian's mind.

The mathematician nods once in understanding, and then he tuts out, "That's a shocker. She seems very intelligent and capable of handling herself. Not to mention, she's absolutely gorgeous." Ryland's mouth draws in a tight line as he nods curtly toward Ian, then sets his gaze on the thick jungle outside.

No Dilophosaurus. Ryland wishes there was something more entertaining outside the jeep than Ian's interest in you. To Ryland's luck, the program from the computer states that it was directing them to the Tyrannosaurus' paddock.

The whole vehicle grows quiet as it approaches the high fence, a goat sitting just on the other side of the electrified wire. The vehicles sit there for a while, tension growing in the air as they wait for a glimpse of the carnivore. After a while, everyone gives up, and the program continues.

The lush greenery of Isla Nublar passes by as the vehicles guide the group further and further into the jungle. Not one dinosaur had been seen since you had first gotten to the island, and everyone in the vehicles is beginning to grow weary.

That is, until Ellie forces the first vehicle to a stop at the sight of a crew of scientists in a field up ahead. All of the scientists launch out of the first jeep, and you watch them for a moment before turning to the lawyer and the kids.

"Wait right here, I'm going to see what's happening," you order as you unbuckle yourself from the seat. The kids go to complain, but you give them a sharp look and they grow quiet. The lawyer just offers a silent nod, and you duck away from the vehicle, shutting the door before setting off after the other scientists.

Ellie is the first one to approach the crew. Alan and Ian are just behind her, with Ryland bringing up the back. You catch up to him at a light jog, panting out, "What is it?" Ryland's head snaps over to see you, and he has to bring a hand up to straighten out his glasses.

He swallows thickly and then motions, "It sounds like a sick dinosaur. I think they said it looks like a Triceratops." Your gaze follows the bulky figure up ahead, and you nod apprehensively, asking, "Should we join them?"

Ryland shrugs but then takes a step forward, and you both set off after the rest of the group. As you approach the downed dinosaur, you can see Ellie talking with the science crew that was there, working. Her hands wave excitedly as she points to the plant life around the area, and you assume she's teaching them something.

Alan watches Ellie with fond amusement, while Ian puts his hands on his hips and looks around. You duck down next to the triceratops' head, running your hand over its frill with awe in your eyes. Ryland is off to the side, his hand resting on her shoulder as he takes in the rough, leathery consistency of her skin.

"I want to stay with the trike," you hear Ellie say to Alan on the other side of the dinosaur, and your ears immediately perk up. "You're not finishing the tour?" you call lightly, trying not to startle the drowsy animal in front of you.

Ellie walks around the front of the triceratops and offers you a smile, huffing, "No, I think I want to help these guys get her out of here and to somewhere they can take care of her." A wave of excitement washes over you, and you consider out loud, "Mind if I join you?"

The blonde's smile widens, and she clasps her hands together in front of her, chuckling, "That would be great!" You hear Ryland's feet shuffle next to you as he steps on some dried twigs, and you turn to see an unsure look on his face.

"You don't want to see the rest of the park?" He asks quietly, his voice unsure as he glances from you to the dinosaur next to you. You stand up straight and give him a soft smile, gently replying, "I do want to see the rest of the park, but I also want to make sure they take care of this girl."

Ryland nods to himself for a moment, with Ellie taking a few steps back to give you both a bit of space. Then, his gaze finds yours again, and he offers, "Well, I could join you and Ellie, you know. I could help out with the triceratops."

His hand brushes over the sick dinosaur's shoulder again, and the animal groans lightly before releasing a heavy sigh. His proposal makes your heart skip in your chest for a moment, a thrill of excitement shooting up your spine. But then you stop yourself.

"You should go see the rest of the park for the both of us," you tell him, taking a calculated step toward him around the trike's head. Ryland's blue gaze carefully watches you approach, his stomach sinking at your easy letdown.

You stop in front of him, pausing for a moment before grabbing a part of his tan vest that is beginning to slide off his shoulder. Quietly, you tug it back into place, and you whisper with a light smile, "I want to hear all about it when you guys get back to the center."

The blonde-haired scientist once again doesn't see any deception or misdirection in your (colored) gaze, so he lets a sigh of defeat slip out of his nose as he watches you. With a raised eyebrow, he questions, "Promise you won't have too much fun without me?"

Your smile spreads into a grin as you release your hand from his vest, your gaze flitting to your hand as you chuckle, "No promises there, Ry." He's smiling back at you now, and his brows furrow a little as he requests, "You will be careful, right?"

You catch his bright blue gaze glittering in the afternoon sun, worry dancing in his eyes. The simple expression has the air sucking out of your lungs, and you rock back on your heels, breathing out, "Yeah, yeah, I will."

After clearing your throat, you swallow thickly and ask in turn, "You'll be careful too?" Ryland's gaze brightens with interest at your question, and diverting his eyes, he nods, "You can count on it." A pleasant silence fills the air between the two of you, your hands interlocking in front of you.

A call from the jeeps has both of you turning your heads, and you can see Alan waving to the two of you from the first vehicle. Without another word, Ryland dips his chin toward you, awkwardly fixing his glasses, and makes his way back to the track.

The sun is sinking over the mountainous jungle terrain as you and Ellie hop out of the jeeps, stones crunching underfoot. The evening air is thick and hazy, with warm orange rays trying to cut through dark, emerald green foliage.

There are bugs floating in the air, buzzing around to flood the sky with a dull thrum. You can't deny that it's a pleasant sound that makes you want to curl up and fall asleep on a hammock, but you push yourself toward the center's doors.

Ellie is right alongside you, an expression of fatigue lacing her delicate features. Her eyes are still bright, though, and as the two of you pick your way up the stairs into the center, you hear her voice smooth out teasingly, "So, I guess we both are into nerdy blonde scientists, huh?"

It takes less than a millisecond for you to whip around and face her, surprise and mortification on your face. "W-what?!" you stutter out as your heart rate spikes, your nervous system shoving into overdrive as butterflies prick at your stomach.

Just as your hands begin to nervously fiddle in front of you, Ellie laughs as her gaze pulls away from you. She's leading the way to the laboratory, but she doesn't relent as she scoffs, "Oh come on, Y/n! You can't tell me that there's nothing going on between you and Dr. Grace!"

Heat blazes across your cheeks as you look away from her, focusing on the bright gray tiling under your feet. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ellie. We are friends! Coworkers!" you rush out. The blonde tutts next to you before mocking, "So Ryland wanting to come with the trike was nothing?"

Your heart flutters in your chest as you picture the slightly disappointed look on Ryland's face when you told him to enjoy the rest of the tour. He did kind of look like a kicked puppy. A sharp sigh slides from your nose as you glance back at Ellie.

She's got one eyebrow cocked and a knowing look on her face, patiently waiting for you to respond. You groan and rub at your face with your hands, and a giggle falls from her lips at your silent admittance.

"Okay, fine, I may have a small crush on him," you grumble quietly into your hands, avoiding what you know is an ecstatic look on Ellie's face. You take a deep breath before dropping your hands from your burning cheeks, mumbling, "But there's no way he likes me back. We are lab partners, and that is it."

Your voice is more definitive this time, and Ellie raises her hands in a silent surrender as you make it to the laboratory door. She gives you a cheeky grin and giggles, "Whatever you say, Y/n. Whatever you say." You get the urge to stick your tongue out at her, but you refrain, instead motioning to the door and changing the subject.

"Let's go look at some embryos."

The afternoon had easily faded into the darkness of night - the trees that once shone bright in the light of day now crowded and threatening with the sun gone. The thick canopy is impenetrable by the moonlight, which lights up the tracks of the jeeps outside one of the dinosaur pens.

The fence is tall - still set at 10,000 volts for the intimidating T. rex. The goat that had once been on the platform is now gone, and Ryland narrows his eyes at the depths of the enclosure. The small animal's disappearance has him sitting up with intrigue, his eyes sparking awake.

"Guys," he states lightly, getting Ian and Alan's attention, "The goat is gone." Ian turns to look at him, slightly unimpressed as he repeats monotonously, "The goat is gone? So what?" Ryland's brows pull into an annoyed furrow, an expression that resembles a pout sliding across his lips.

But then Alan pipes up with uncertainty, "Did you feel that?" Ryland glances away from Ian in the backseat next to him to make eye contact with the paleontologist. He raises an eyebrow and then presses, "Feel what?"

The jeep goes quiet as the three men silently look around, waiting. A few seconds pass without any noise being made, and Ian shrugs, "I don't feel anything." Ryland's scowl returns to his face at the mathematician's comment, so he ignores him and turns to Alan, asking, "What did you feel?"

Alan looks out the jeep windows at the jeep behind them, but remains quiet. Then, everyone in the jeep feels it. It's a low thrum - so low their ears can barely pick up on it. Ryland swears he feels it in his core, the sound igniting a deep, primal fear in him that he's never experienced.

And that's when they see it - the Tyrannosaur next to the high voltage fence, its short arms and gigantic mouth tearing at its enclosure. "It's, it's, it's not stopping," Ian breathes out as the three men watch it destroy the fencing. "It's not stopping," Alan repeats, his eyes wide with fear as the carnivore frees itself from the fence.

With its jaws widening, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth, the T. rex takes a deep breath before releasing a ground-shaking roar. Ryland swears his heart is either going to stop or jump out of his chest. And he could have pissed his pants.

The three men sit still as statues as they watch the dinosaur lumber forward past the first jeep, its feet slamming into the ground with each step. The T. rex bypasses the first vehicle, and the three men turn to watch it approach the second.

Ryland immediately sees what drew the T. rex away from their vehicle - a high-powered flashlight. Thankfully, the kids manage to turn it off, but it's too late; the carnivore releases a few soft guttural sounds before slamming its head into the jeep.

Ryland and Alan both lurch toward the second jeep from within the confines of their own, panic beginning to take over logical thinking. "The kids," Ryland whimpers as he watches the T. rex reel back and then slam its head into the vehicle again.

Then, one of the doors to the jeep swings open. Ryland's blood turns to ice as he watches a figure crawl out and start running. It's the lawyer. The man sets off away from the jeep, running to the nearby bathroom to hide.

The T. rex doesn't notice, too busy trying to roll the vehicle. With a heavy stomp, the dinosaur smashes the windshield, the thick glass splintering and shattering over the two terrified kids. Ryland can hear their screams of terror, and he knows he can't sit by any longer.

"This is some serious bull-pucky," Ryland curses as he unstraps himself from the back seat, Alan and Ian watching him in awe. He looks at the two men and exclaims, "Those two kids are going to die if we don't do something!"

"You're going to get yourself killed," Ian chastises as he watches Ryland zip up his vest and fumble for the release on the door handle. Ryland doesn't bother to look at Ian as he peers out the window one more time, and then he whispers, "Better me than them."

At that, he lunges out of the jeep, swinging the door shut behind him. His legs work as fast as they can, shooting toward the same building the lawyer disappeared into. But that's not Ryland's goal - he's aiming for the emergency supply kit at the top of the stairs.

His long legs carry him up the staircase, treading lightly as the air rushes out of his lungs. He only has a few seconds to get this right. His fingers pull at the plastic case, throwing it off to the side as he fumbles through the supplies, his eyes rapidly scanning and searching until they find what he wants.

Bingo.

Ryland quickly grabs it, whipping around on his feet to face the almost 40-foot-long dinosaur. His heart is racing faster than it ever has, slamming against his ribcage hard enough that he thinks one of his ribs will crack.

With a silent prayer that this will work, Ryland leans down, striking the flare clasped in his hand against the concrete under his feet. Thankfully, the red flame ignites, throwing off red smoke and a bright flame that couldn't help but be noticed.

Then, he jogs down the stairs he had just launched up, and skirts around the edge of the tree line to approach the second jeep. The carnivore is still digging at the front of the vehicle, preoccupied with the children screaming inside.

"H-Hey!" Ryland calls, his voice breaking with nerves, the flare held high in his right hand. Immediately, the large prehistoric head swings toward him, a low grumble falling from the T. rex's mouth as it catches sight of his flare. Then, with a deafening roar, it moves.

An unabashed scream of terror rips its way from Ryland's lungs as he turns and runs. The T. rex follows in pursuit - its long, heavy legs crash into the ground with thundering steps, the sound shaking the air.

Perhaps he hadn't thought this through thoroughly.

Running on terrified instincts, Ryland's body races away from the downed jeep, away from the T. rex's paddock, and out into the wide open space. Out of the corner of Ryland's hazy vision, he can see Alan grabbing the kids out of the vehicle, and a short wave of relief washes over him.

It doesn't last long - he's brought right back into the moment when his right foot catches on an upturned vine and he stumbles. A yell of fear rips its way out of his throat as he catches himself on his hands, the flare threatening to get snuffed out in the loose dirt.

The air around him rumbles as the dinosaur lets out another deafening roar, kickstarting the blonde-haired scientist to get his ass in gear. But he doesn't know what to do. All he can think to do is run - but he'll only be able to do that for so long before it outruns him.

Ryland scrambles to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins and sweat dripping down his brow. Thankfully, his glasses didn't fall off in his momentary stumble, and he ducks away from the wide open dirt patch and toward the trees. Maybe if he can get it stuck in the foliage, he can escape.

He cuts into the thick jungle, spiderwebs catching on his shirt and vest, dampening the material with dew from the middle of the night. Vines catch on his arm as he ducks under a branch, and he curses internally when he realizes he should have dropped the flare.

Instead, Ryland slips behind one of the large tree trunks and drops the flare at his feet. He stomps on it as fast as he can, the carnivore's heavy footsteps growing increasingly closer. He kicks dirt onto the wick, keeping it from blowing out more smoke and light in an attempt to conceal his location.

The heavy footsteps pause as Ryland flattens his back against the tree trunk, and he takes a deep breath before holding it. The air is thick with electricity and fear - the blonde-haired scientist doesn't know much about the dinosaur's hearing, but he hopes it can't pick up on human heart rhythms.

His hands rest shakily on the rough bark of the tree behind him, giving him something to lean against as his body threatens to drop. It's the shock response. He knows he's hopped up on adrenaline, but the "deer in headlights" saying is a biological fear response. And it's not just for deer.

It's quiet for another few seconds, and Ryland silently hopes that Alan has gotten the two kids out of the jeep and is getting as far away as possible. A moment passes, and he hears it. The deep, guttural thrum.

Then - his world goes flying. The T. rex swings its large head around the base of the tree where Ryland is hiding, the wood splintering and cracking under the immense pressure. The rough, leathery skin hits Ryland like a bus, sending him soaring through the air, back out into the open pad of dirt.

The razor-sharp teeth jutting out of the carnivore's mouth slash at Ryland's clothes and arms. A cry of pain pushes its way out of Ryland's mouth as his arm catches on one of the jagged teeth, slicing through his soft flesh.

Blood pours from the wound as he crashes onto the ground, his glasses flying from his face and landing somewhere in the thick underbrush. He faceplants into the brown soil, a rock ripping his cheek open for blood to ooze down the side of his face.

The wind is knocked from his lungs - he can't breathe. Not only is he out of air, covered in dirt, and out in the open; he's bleeding. There is one thing Ryland knows about prehistoric predators: they thrive on the scent of their prey's blood.

The loud, thunderous footsteps resume as Ryland shakily crawls to his hands and knees, the world fuzzy and pain-ridden as he tries to gauge his surroundings. Fuck. His arm is spewing blood, the thick red liquid mixing with dirt as it races down his forearm, coating the tanned skin.

His nervous system is completely shot. He's riddled with pain in ways he never thought he could experience, and he's pretty sure he's moments away from being eaten alive. The blonde-haired scientist manages to get on his feet, his knees locking as he comes face to face with the most terrifying thing he's ever seen.

The face of a Tyrannosaurus rex is in front of him, its muzzle smeared with the blood from his arm. The blackness of the night leaves only the moonlight and the spotty lights from the fence and buildings to shine down on the massive creature. Ryland can see its eyes glint - primal fear shooting up his spine as he stares up at the massive creature, frozen.

"Hey!" A deep yell comes from Ryland's right, but he can't take his eyes off the T. rex. There's a flash of light that goes streaking through the air before it hits the dinosaur on the shoulder. A growling bellow comes from the carnivore as it swings its head in the direction of the flying object, pissed off.

Its eyes leave Ryland's, and that's when he hears the voice again, "Grace, run!" And that's all it takes for him to break out of his fear-induced daze. Ryland is brought back to his senses as pain floods over him, his terror spiking as another round of adrenaline shoots through his veins.

He turns and starts to run, but finds that the most he can do is hobble and limp. Shit, that's not good. When Ryland looks down at his khaki tactical pants, he sees they are shredded from the tree branches and the scuffle with the dinosaur. Yeah, really not good.

"Ryland!" Another shout comes, this time from the direction of the first vehicle. Ryland's blurry vision hones in on the figure, and he can make out the figure he can pin as Alan just outside the jeep. Thundering steps fill the air as the pissed off carnivore chases after another light. It's another flare.

Ryland can't see who has it, but he has to assume it's Ian - Alan was with the kids. Damn, Ian saved him. He doesn't have time to think about it; he needs to get to safety. As best as he can, he stumbles and shuffles hastily toward the jeep, Alan meeting him halfway.

The paleontologist helps him to the vehicle, shuttling him into the passenger's seat as groans of pain escape Ryland's mouth. His blood coats the interior of the vehicle, slick from sweat, making it easier to spread.

Lex, the girl, helps him out of his vest and, using the tan material to wrap around his arm, attempts to stop the most violent of the bleeding. "You saved us," she whispers, her voice full of fear, quiet and sullen.

Ryland blinks through his hazy pain and, turning to the young girl, smiles. He can see the terror coating her features plain as day, so he replies, "I just wanted to see what T. rex looked like up close, is all." The joke has the girl cracking a small smile, but the boy, Tim, is frozen in fear next to his sister.

The young boy is looking out the window, watching as Alan attempts to help Ian stay clear of the T. rex. Before Ryland can stop him, the young boy ducks out of the car, leaving the door open behind him. "Wait!" Ryland calls after him, shuffling with a gasp of pain as he tries to follow the boy.

"I'll get him," the girl breathes out, following her brother into the open, shutting the car door behind her. Ryland watches in panic and pain as the two kids run off after Alan, cursing, "Shit, they cannot listen!" He knows his harsh language stems from his fear. They are kids; they shouldn't be facing a full-grown T. rex!

No one should, he muses as he shuffles to watch them run. He knows he's dead if he tries to go out there and help - he's too close to bleeding out to be useful. Besides, his adrenaline is starting to wear off, and exhaustion and soreness are setting in.

The next few seconds are a blur - Ryland can see a man's figure holding a flare running toward the building where the lawyer disappeared and where the supplies came from. He throws the flare toward the building, the T. rex following it as it sniffs out a new scent.

Then, the male figure beelines for the jeep at a dead sprint, aiming right for the driver's seat. That's when Ryland recognizes the man as Ian, no Alan or kids in sight. "Where are the others?" the blonde-haired scientist rushes out, his words slurring together slightly due to his blood loss.

Ian slams the jeep door shut behind him, twisting the key to the engine to bring it to life. The carnivore crashes into the building in a hunt for the lawyer as Ian starts to move the vehicle out of park, huffing, "I mean, at least a thank you would be nice for saving your life."

"The kids! Alan!" Ryland urges as he faces the mathematician, panic lacing his features as he looks at Ian incredulously. Ian floors the vehicle, setting off for the center before calmly responding, "They are gone - they ran off the side of the cliff. We would be dead before we ever got to them."

Ryland feels tears pushing at the back of his eyes. The kids. Alan. You. Fuck, you. Where were you? Back at the center? Were there other dinosaurs out? Did the fence shut off? Are they dead?

Ryland can't respond to Ian as his vision grows spotty - black pushing at the edges of his sight. Not good. Not good at all.

The laboratory doors swing shut behind you and Ellie as you make your way back to the main control room. There's a pep to your step, a smile on your face as the scientific discoveries you experienced float through your mind.

This is truly an incredible facility, you think to yourself as Ellie pushes the door open to the control room. You follow her in, your gaze floating over the room before landing on a group of people crowding around a monitor.

This makes your smile falter slightly as you both walk over to them, Hammond hidden in the middle of the people. You can see the tech team's gazes fluttering over the screens and downed cameras, angrily typing away to try to fix something.

Your brows pull together into a frown at the realization. Uh oh. Ellie stops next to Hammond and, resting her hands on her hips, she inquires, "What's going on?" You glance around the people in the control room before letting your gaze flit to the clock on the wall.

Crap, it's later than I realized. Ryland and the jeeps should be back by now. I wonder if they're down in the cafeteria, you ponder as you look back to gauge Hammond's response to Ellie. The older gentleman is quiet as he steps back from a display panel, and, grabbing Ellie by the shoulder, lets out a sigh.

"Somehow, someone turned the electric fences off to the enclosures," he states, his voice low with thought. Surprise dances in your eyes as you watch the older gentleman, while Ellie's mouth parts open in shock.

"Well, everyone should be back by now, so that shouldn't be a concern," you state calmly as your (colored) gaze flits over Hammond's. "We just need to figure out a way to get the fences back online."

"I mean, the animals should know to respect the fences, right? They've lived here almost their entire lives," Ellie chimes in, offering Hammond an encouraging smile. The two of you watch him tensely, but the expression on his face never falters.

A pit begins to form deep in your stomach as silence washes over the three of you. Your face drops while realization settles in, and one of your hands comes up to cover your mouth in horror. "Hammond," you croak out, "The jeeps are back, aren't they?" "And none of the dinosaurs have gotten out, right?" Ellie adds in, trying to catch Hammond's gaze.

The older gentleman turns to face you, opening his mouth to respond as his hand slips off Ellie's shoulder. He pauses as he tries to come up with the right words to say, and a sob tears its way out of your throat before you can stop it.

Suddenly, tears threaten to well up at the corner of your eyes. They aren't back yet. Ryland is not back yet. They are still out there. Dinosaurs are out there.

"As far as we know," Hammond manages to mumble, "The raptors' enclosure is still electrified and they have not escaped." Hammond rests both of his hands on his cane as he turns to face you, a solemn look on his face as he shakes his head and replies quietly, "But no, they have not returned yet."

His words have your vision blurring, but you force yourself to wipe at your eyes with a harsh sniffle. "Ryland is out there," you mutter into your hands, more to yourself than anyone else. "Alan and Ian are out there too," Ellie says quietly, looking at her feet.

"And so are my grandkids," Hammond cuts in, glancing between the two of you. "We will get them back safe and sound. I will not rest until they are back here at the center." You blink rapidly to clear your vision, your mind racing with solutions to the situation.

Depending on where they are in the park, they might not know the fence isn't being powered. They could be blissfully ignorant, you mull over as your feet move on their own accord. Before you can stop yourself, you are pacing up and down the length of the control room, Hammond and Ellie watching you.

Or, if they were stopped at one of the enclosures, perhaps they heard the electricity fizzle out - at 10,00 volts, maybe they heard the current. You reason as you turn on your heel and walk in the direction you had just come from. But maybe not.

One of your hands comes up to rub at your face, smearing the tears across the skin of your cheeks. Another thought hits you. Ryland is out there. He doesn't have macroorganism experience; he's a microbiologist. He'll be relying on Ian and Alan to help him. The lawyer and kids will be no help to him.

At least he's resourceful, you tell yourself. He's one of the smartest men you've ever met. He'll be okay. But then you picture the way he offered his hand to you on the helicopter ride, fear dancing in his eyes, but offering you reassurance at the same time.

You can't leave him out there. Not if something went wrong and they need help.

Your feet come to a halt with your back facing Ellie and Hammond, your gaze set on the door that would lead you to the main lobby of the center. You pull a deep breath in through your nose before you sigh out, "I'm going out there."

You can hear Ellie shuffle behind you, likely resting her hands on her hips, and when you glance over your shoulder to look at her and Hammond, you confirm your suspicions. The two of them are watching you with disbelief on their faces, but that doesn't stop you from what you're about to say next.

"They need as much help as they can get," you urge with a certainty to your voice. "I am going to take one of the jeeps and find them. If they ran out of gas or one got destroyed, they won't have a way of making it back here," you reason.

"It's dangerous out there, Y/n," Ellie scolds as she steps toward you, her voice a little firm. You turn to face her head-on and reply, "It's dangerous everywhere, Ellie. Nowhere is safe if there are loose dinosaurs around."

Hammond chimes in, "We don't know if they are loose. Let's not get ahead of ourselves and go rushing out there. They will get back." You shoot a withering glare at him, and parting your mouth, you rush, "I am not going to sit around here, waiting on my ass while my-" you pause as you try to come up with the right word, "-coworker gets eaten by your dinosaurs, Hammond."

You glance between the two of them and state with finality, "You don't have to come with me, but you aren't stopping me." At that, you spin away and push through the control room door. You don't hear footsteps rushing after you, so you set out with determination in your eyes and fear coursing through your body.

With calculated strides, you make your way out of the main lobby's entrance to where the jeeps departed hours ago. A few jeeps are waiting in the queue to leave, presumably for when there would be more guests ready for a tour.

You pick your way towards the one at the front, your head swiveling as the wild sounds of the jungle settle over you. You can hear monkeys howling in the trees, bugs zipping by through the night air.

At a molecular level, you know your core is shaken. Everything about the day was both a scientist's dream and an absolute nightmare. You know that if you pinched yourself, you wouldn't be waking up.

You quickly slide into the driver's seat and slam the door shut behind you firmly. Then, you turn the key to start the engine, flicking on the headlights so you can see on the darkened jungle path. With a silent prayer that everything will be okay, you set off onto the track you had only taken once before, the image of Ryland's smile in the back of your mind.

As you pass the enclosure for Dilophosaurus, you feel panic welling in the back of your throat at the slack you can see in the fencing. It wasn't torn down, but it also wasn't holding back a feral dinosaur. You push onwards, trying to focus on scouting for your people.

You drive in silence for a while, your eyes peeled wide open as you cut through fields and forests, following the track. The jeep climbs over the dips and rises with no problems, giving you the opportunity to take in the moonlit land. There are no herbivores in sight - the meadow is completely barren of animals.

You blink as exhaustion threatens to tug at your eyelids, and you scold yourself, Now is not the time to be tired. There could be predators out here. You guide the jeep over another hill on the moor as you approach a tree line, and that's when it starts to sputter.

The engine rumbles to a jolting stop, sending you flying in the driver's seat as it lurches. You have to tighten your grip on the steering wheel to not go flying into the windshield, a curse rushing from your lips as you flop back down into the seat.

Quickly, your eyes analyze the smoke pouring out of the front of the vehicle, and your eyes widen. "Shit, no, no, no, no," you rush out as you clamber out of the seat, swinging the door open and pulling the latch to the hood of the vehicle.

The hood is burning hot to the touch as you pry it open, smoke pluming out thickly into the night. You wipe at your face in frustration as you take in the look of the jeep. There's no way it's getting out of here. You glance around at your surroundings again, and you take a deep breath to help center yourself.

It's okay. It's o-kay. There's no immediate threat, so walking on foot will have to do. Just follow the treeline so you can duck out of sight as needed. Your logical train of thought helps calm your nerves, and you quickly duck into the jeep to see if there are any supplies you can take with you.

Inside the glove box, you find a high-powered flashlight and a small coil of rope. An odd combination to have, but it'll work, you think to yourself as you grab both items. You secure the flashlight on your waist, threading it through the belt holding your tactical pants up.

The rope, you opt to hold in your hands - it wasn't a very long or thick rope, but it could prove useful for something. When you don't find anything else in the jeep, you take a breath and set off away from it, arbitrarily choosing to follow the treeline on your left side, deeper into the heart of the park.

You wander along the edge of the thick jungle, your feet dragging you through the tall grasses lining the forest. Again - exhaustion burns at your eyes as you tread as lightly as you can, the creepy sounds from next to you keeping you alert.

I hope everyone is okay. The thought washes over you while you crunch plant matter under your boots. Then, another thought hits you, one that you can't deny, that makes your stomach flip. I hope Ryland is okay.

There's something eating at you. The way his name comes to the front of your mind at every topic. The way you want to turn around and see him standing there, smiling at you. The way everywhere you look, you want the blonde-haired scientist to be there.

Internally - there's a reason. You know it. Frankly, you know it too well. And somehow, it's more terrifying than the loose dinosaurs you know are running around. It's stronger than the fear, shooting adrenaline up your spine in the middle of the night. It's...

No, you stop yourself, shaking your head side to side before resuming your (colored) gaze on the pitch black horizon. I can't say it. Not when I don't know where he is. You force the spiralling thoughts out of your head, instead trying to focus on where you are going and if you could see signs of your lost groupmates.

Then, a quiet sound up ahead pings out - one that makes you stop in your tracks. You instinctively hunch over to lower yourself into the tall weeds, slowly creeping forward as the sound tuts out every few seconds.

At first, you think it's a dinosaur calling, likely a young herbivore, as the sound is higher-pitched and quiet. Regardless of whatever made the noise, it has you wide awake now. A tremble returns to your fingers as you walk by the moonlight, carefully picking your way forward toward the sound.

It grows louder and more frequent as you get closer, and your heart rate starts to pick up and slam in your ribcage with fear. It could be anything, you mull, A herbivore, a small mammal, it could even be an injured monk-

"Alan?"

The word escapes you before you can register the sight before you, but an immense relief washes over you. There, at the base of a massive tree, Alan and the two kids stand, mainly unharmed. They all look a little frazzled and scared, but no major injuries to account for.

"Oh my gosh, Alan!" you yelp out as you lunge forward, crossing from the field into the jungle with large, bounding strides. The paleontologist whips around to look at you, surprise dusting his features in turn.

"Y/n? What are you doing out here?!" he asks as you rush forward, offering him a hug. It's a fear thing - being out in the middle of the jungle with loose dinosaurs alone is terrifying. He quickly wraps his arms around you, but pulls back to look at your face, still in shock.

"Where is everyone?!" you ask hurriedly, brushing off his question as you tighten your grip on him. You're really asking: Where's Ryland?, but neither of you comments on it. Alan squeezes your shoulders for a moment but then releases you, replying, "W-well, it's me, Lex, and Tim here."

You pull away from him, a pang of horror flooding through you as your eyes grow wild with panic. "And what about Ryland?" you blurt out, your eyes dancing between Alan's in a nervous lilt. The paleontologist looks down at you before sighing, dropping his hands to his sides.

Now, your eyes grow untamed as your voice gets darker, and you repeat slower and quieter, "What about Ryland?" Alan's gaze flutters to the kids before snapping back to you, and he whispers, "I'm not sure, Y/n. The last I saw, he and Ian made it to one of the jeeps. They are probably headed back to the center."

"You're not sure?" Your voice cracks as you watch Alan, a deep-set fear splintering through your blood like ice. Alan shrugs, but doesn't say anything. There isn't anything to say. He's somewhere out there.

Then, you realize something. As you glance between the three of them, you see their clothes are torn, wet, and muddy. The kids have dirt and grime smeared across their cheeks, their eyes wide with interest as they watch you.

"W-why do you guys look like shit?" you ask shakily but bluntly, a small part of you cringing at using the curse word in front of the kids. Alan frowns at you, his hands coming to rest on his hips before he replies, "Well, the T. rex got out, and we think the others likely have too."

Pure terror floods your face. The T. rex?! Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to process his words, and you utter, "It... chased you?" Alan nods once, but then his frown turns into confusion, and he probes, "Wait, you never answered my question. What are you doing here?"

You swallow thickly as you step over to the kids, offering them small hugs of comfort as you reply exhaustedly, "The electricity to the fences is down all over the park, and you guys didn't return. I figured you needed some help."

Alan's eyes light up in the dark of the night before he rushes, "Wait, you came here with a jeep?" Your shoulders slump as you step back from the kids, and you scratch at the base of your nape before responding, "I did, but the engine gave out on my way here. I walked for about an hour before I found you guys."

You can see the hope die out in Alan's eyes as a sigh of defeat slides through his mouth. A pang of guilt hits you, even though you know it's not your fault.

You look up at the tree next to the four of you, and you ask, "Were you guys trying to scale this?" At the end of your words, you motion to the thick trunk, and Tim cuts in, his voice small and timid, "Yeah, we did. It's too hard to get up."

Tactfully, you slip the rope off your shoulder and offer it to Alan, humming, "This should help. We can set out in the morning, I think we all need some rest." You can see some relief in Alan's eyes as he takes the loop from you in silent thanks, and you move to tug the high-powered flashlight off your belt.

Just as you go to flick it on, Lex stops you. "No! No light, the T. rex will find us. It likes light." You instantly pause at her panic, and you gaze down at her with surprise. You flash a glance at Alan, who has just finished securing the rope to the tree.

He nods once, and you turn back to face Lex, slowly returning the flashlight to your belt. "Okay," you reply gently to the young girl, "No flashlight. Just be careful when you climb, alright?"

Lex gives you a small smile before she turns and walks over to Alan, who is showing Tim how to climb the rope. Then, with a pit still hanging low in your stomach, you prepare yourself for a long, gruelling night.

There's movement in front of you - the morning sunlight dappling through the trees goes dark through your closed eyelids. Instantly, your eyes snap open, and it takes everything in you to not scream.

There, reaching above where you, Alan, and the two kids are resting, is a brachiosaur reaching for leaves. Its large head is gaping open wide, its mouth reaching for a large cluster of plant matter above you. A thrum from deep in its throat fills the air, your senses snapping awake.

"G-guys," you stammer as you look up, drawing your knees to your chest to sit up straighter. Next to you, you can hear the kids shuffle before they freeze, and Alan whispers, "Oh my gosh..." Your companions have the same reaction as you - their eyes wide and full of awe and wonder as they gaze up at the massive beast.

It closes its mouth around the leaves, drawing its head back and moving its jaw to chew. Then, it notices the group of you dwelling in the trees, and another, higher-pitched hum comes from the brachiosaur. It blinks slowly as it leans forward toward the four of you, inquisitive.

A huff of amazement falls from your lips as you stand up, your heart slamming in your ribcage while your hand reaches out toward the dinosaur. Your fingers graze over its leathery skin, gently rubbing your fingers up and down its nose as the kids rise to their feet.

Lex stands close to you, and, shooting you a quick glance, asks, "Can I pet it?" You shrug with a smile and giggle, "I don't see why not! Here, take my spot." At the end of your words, you drop your hand from the brachiosaur and take a step back, making room for the young girl.

Alan shuffles into your place behind the girl, steadying Tim as the boy also tries to pet the dinosaur. You gladly give them room, watching with amazement as the dinosaur blinks softly at them. Lex turns to give you a wide smile, pure joy emanating from her.

Then, the dinosaur is drawing back and shutting its eyes. None of you move as it does - but then it lets out the biggest sneeze you have ever seen. Green clumps of snot fling into Lex's face, and your mouth parts in laughter as shock floods the girl's features. "Looks like you've got a friend," you chuckle as Lex tries to wipe at her face, the dinosaur withdrawing to return to its herd. That's the moment you notice the other large herbivores meandering below you, making their way out into the open field you had trekked through the night prior. Within moments, the herd of brachiosaurs has disappeared toward the rising sun, setting out to graze. You turn to face Alan and the kids, awe still lacing your features, a smile resting on your lips. You clear your throat lightly before humming out, "That was amazing!"

Alan nods and replies, "Yeah, yeah, it was." He then glances at Lex and Tim, who are watching the two of you curiously. Then, Alan frowns. "We need to get back to the center," he states gruffly, the happiness in his voice iced over as the task at hand comes to the front of his mind.

A sigh slides out of your nose as the realization settles over you, and you move over to the rope tied around the trunk of the tree. "Best we get moving, then," you say matter-of-factly, your gaze narrowing as you picture Ryland in the back of your mind. You have no idea where he is or if he's okay.

Grabbing the rope in your hands, you instruct, "I'll climb down first, then the kids, then you, Alan." With a quick glance to make sure everyone listened, you tug on the rope to ensure it is still tied tightly.

You carefully rappel down the rope, the ground below getting closer and closer until your feet firmly plant on the damp soil. You turn to look up the trunk of the tree and call, "All good down here! Send Tim down!"

It only takes a few minutes before everyone in the group is on the ground, the rope still attached to the tree. There's no getting it back now. We just need to keep moving. A quick assessment of the area gives you a small piece of mind. Nothing dangerous is immediately nearby.

"Hey, Y/n," you hear Alan chime a few yards away, "I think you may want to see this." With your interest piqued, you pick your way over to him, your (colored) eyes wide with wonder as they land on his discovery.

There, in front of Alan, is what can only be described as one thing. A nest. Inside the wooden and leafy nest are cracked eggshells - the pale-toned, calcified structures glinting in the morning light. A gasp of surprise curls up your throat as you kneel down next to it, the dirt soaking into your pants.

"Eggs?" you ask to no one in particular, grabbing one of the broken shells and turning it over in your hand. You catch the edge of Alan's gaze and whisper, "Life finds a way." He stares at you in disbelief, and then echoes your words, "Life... finds a way."

Lex and Tim don't seem to grasp the severity of your discovery, but you think that is for the best. Brushing the dirt off your hands using the material of your tactical pants, you stand up straight and shake your head. Wild. Truly fantastical discoveries.

"We should get moving," Alan's voice cuts into your thoughts, the palentologist looking around your surroundings as you had moments before. You walk over to him and prompt, "Which way? If we follow the trees, we can get to my jeep, but that's out in the open, and it's broken. Not the safest from predators."

Alan mulls over your words, a thoughtful look tugging on his brows before he responds, "I think there's a fence nearby, we could crawl over it and get out of this enclosure. There's no telling if there's anything escaped on the other side, but it's worth a try."

You cock your head before noting, "The fences were off last night, so we should be good this morning. We can throw a stick at it, and if it zaps, we'll know the power is back." Alan nods and glances around the group, sighing, "Let's do it."

The four of you set out, with Alan leading the pack. Lex and Tim follow close behind the paleontologist, with you bringing up the rear. You wander deeper into the jungle, the undergrowth becoming thick and obscuring your vision.

It makes the anxiety build up in your chest. Anything could be on the other side. Anything. You try not to think about it, instead putting one foot in front of the other and smacking at bugs.

Alan guides the group for about half an hour before calling out, "Just up ahead! I can see the fence!" This makes everyone pick up the pace, footsteps changing from a quiet shuffle to rapid footfall, scampering forward.

There, you can see the tall, electric barbed-wire fence in its full glory. You quickly grab a broken piece of vine as you make your way to the small clearing. A pit sits low in your stomach. Hopefully, there aren't 10,000 volts coursing through this fence.

The thought seems a little backwards from how you felt yesterday - praying that nothing was getting out. Now, you didn't want to be trapped in. So, with bated breath, you step in front of Alan, who is closest to the fence.

With a targeted throw, you toss the dead vine toward the fence where one of the hot wires runs. You all watch for a moment, waiting for yellow and orange sparks to fly into the sky and for the stick to start smoldering.

But it never happens. A relieved breath pulls from your throat as you turn to face Alan with a smile, nodding toward the fence. "We should be good to go," you say lightly, then you push, "You should go up first, Alan. I will help the kids get started."

Alan doesn't hesitate; he steps forward and latches onto the fence with his hands, pulling himself up. When he doesn't get electrocuted, a deeper part of you releases tension. Thank goodness.

Once Alan carefully flips himself over the top and scales down the far side, you help Lex start climbing. She was a little nervous about the height of the fence, but with reassurance from you and Alan, she did it. Alan gracefully caught her when she stumbled the last few feet, a small yelp falling from her lips.

You then help Tim get started, showing him how to grip onto the wire with his hands to pull his small body up. He takes his time crawling up your side of the fence, definitely more timid than his sister. When he gets to the top, he pauses, fear coating his face.

"Come on, Tim, you got this," you call to the boy frozen at the top. He doesn't reply, so Alan speaks up instead, "Let's go, bud!" Tim shakes his head and opens his mouth to complain, but right as he goes to do so, smoke and sparks fly from the top of the fence where the small boy's body made contact with it.

"No!" you shout as Tim falls through the air, unresponsive. Alan rushes forward to catch the boy in his arms, carefully laying him down in the grass while calling his name, "Tim, Tim, come on Timmy, wake up!"

Lex starts crying next to Alan as she shakes her brother's small figure, and panic floods over you. "Check his pulse!" you instruct, rushing toward the fence but stopping before touching the hot wire. Shit!

Alan's hands flutter up to the young boy's throat, where he pauses to concentrate on his neck. Then, a look of relief washes over his face as he grunts out, "He's got a pulse. It's faint, but it's there." You let out a shaky sigh and nod, your cheeks puffing as you try to regain your breath.

"You need to get back to the center as soon as possible," you urge, glancing from the unresponsive boy to Alan and Lex. Lex's eyes widen as she cries, "You're on the wrong side of the fence, Y/n!" Immediately, your stomach drops at her words.

You glance at the metal separating you from Alan and the kids, your heart rate picking up and your throat going dry. You give her a fake smile, plastering it onto your face before instructing, "I'll be fine, you guys need to go, now!"

Alan rushes over to you, leaving Lex with Tim as he searches your eyes. "No, no, we aren't leaving you out here," Alan states, his voice thick as he looks around for something. Anything.

You shake your head, "Alan. Listen to me. Get Lex and Tim back to the center. I will follow the fence down further until I find a gate. I will be okay." Your words are meant to reassure him, and you hope he can't hear the quiver in your voice. You are lying straight through your teeth.

You point to Tim on the ground and urge, "He needs medical attention now, Alan. I will be fine." You can see the defeat in Alan's eyes as his mouth opens and closes, trying to deny your words. But he knows you are telling the truth.

He clamps his mouth shut and clenches his jaw, giving you a nod, "We'll get back and send a jeep out for you." You take a step away from the fence and motion away from it, "Yes, yes, now go!"

Alan gives you one last pleading glance before reaching down to grab Tim, hoisting the young boy over his shoulder. Lex helps situate him before turning to face you. She gives you a scared look, and you call to her, "Be brave, Lex, you guys will be just fine."

She dips her chin in recognition, and Alan turns to see you one last time. There's a hardness to his gaze now - one of a survivor. Then, he states, "Stay safe, Y/n." You give him a nod and a mock salute, stepping even further away from the fence.

At that, your group turns away from you and sets off toward the center, leaving you alone on the far side of the fence. As their figures grow smaller, you turn away and start picking your way up the length of the enclosure.

Each footstep draws you further from them - sending your heart racing and fluttering in your ribcage. Just when you thought everything was going to be okay, it wasn't. Fear creeps along your arms and legs now, your body on high alert.

It's just you against the park now.

Your feet ache. There are probably several small rocks that slipped into your sneakers, and now they aggravate your feet as you follow the fenceline. The sun had risen high into the afternoon - but now it sinks lower and lower, painting the sky in a mirage of warm-toned colors.

It's an unsettling feeling, being out in the jungle by yourself, the sun sliding through the sky as seconds tick along. It shows you just how far from people you are - there's no one around the help you.

So, you did all you could do and pushed onwards. Your skin is slick with sweat from your exertion, dripping off your forehead and arms. Your vision grew hazy a while ago, fighting off the heat with no water to drink.

You force yourself to push on, though. There's one driving force in your mind. Ryland. You hoped and prayed he made it back to the center and is safe. There's no telling what shape he could be in, or if he - No. You can't think like that.

You blink to try to clear your thoughts, letting your eyes scan the fence line up ahead. The metal had remained intact for all of your walk - no droops or sags anywhere. Until now. Now, the fence comes to a gaping hole, where the wires had been torn to shreds, and a large rip penetrated the enclosure.

Instantly, it seems like your exhaustion is pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes light up as the now familiar feeling of fear creeps up your spine. It could be around. It could be anywhere.

You try to gauge your surroundings and remember what each enclosure looked like on the first half of the tour. The thick jungle and underbrush made you want to think this is Dilophosaurus's pen. Close to the center.

But the thought has the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up. Those dinosaurs are venomous. They can launch their venom feet through the air to hit their prey. And you sure as hell didn't want to find out what happens after that.

With your energy renewed by the thought of being eaten alive, your feet work faster than before. Your working walk now becomes a slow jog, vines catching on your arms and roots tripping your feet. Low-hanging leaves and twigs catch in your hair, mussing it up.

You push through the foliage, your breathing becoming rushed as you exert yourself. Your lungs burn with the need for oxygen, your heart slamming rhythmically against your ribcage. You can feel the blood pulsing through your veins, roaring in your ears.

Then, you see something. Two sets of wide metal 11's in front of you. The jeep track. You slow down for a second as a huff of relief slips out of your lips, and you look both ways. There aren't any signs around - either way could lead you back to the center.

You opt to follow the curve off to the right, as it arcs away from the high fencing, and the path seems to widen slightly. You force yourself to take a deep breath, resuming your jog between the tracks on the ground.

The track brings an obvious relief with it, yes, but it makes navigating much easier. You don't have to worry about tripping on upturned roots or ducking under branches. You just set your eyes in front of you, and push yourself toward what you hope is the center of the park.

All you can think of is the blonde-haired scientist you arrived with. You are scared out of your mind, running from prehistoric creatures you didn't know existed until the day before. He wasn't any different - he was experiencing this all for the first time like you.

But you need him. You need him by your side, holding your hand. You need Ryland to brush the hair out of your face, to look deep into your eyes. You need to see him every day. Every morning when you wake up, every evening when you fall asleep.

With the pressure of an invisible carnivorous predator potentially hunting you down, these are the thoughts that come to mind. These are the thoughts that plague you as you run for your life, praying that you aren't about to run into hidden, awaiting jaws.

Your body forces you to slow to a walk when it can't keep up anymore. Your chest rises and falls faster than it ever has, your lungs heaving for oxygen and praying for respite. Your heart is past racing. It feels like it could burst at any moment, your hands shaking from the adrenaline coursing through you.

Cramps overtake your stomach as you force yourself to walk on, your mouth parted open to suck in as much humid air as it can. A pained frown pulls your eyebrows taut, your calves aching from running the furthest they've ever carried you.

Your vision blurs with sweat and exhaustion, the figures of the trees in front of you growing blurry. Everything merges into a hazy green, but you internally scold yourself. Just a little further. Just keep going.

Your eyelids blink rapidly, trying to focus on the trees in front of you. Things are... less green. You blink again, bringing one sweaty hand up to rub at your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision. It's more gray. There are more tracks in front of me.

Your feet pause as you bring both hands up to rub at your eyes, dropping them a moment later to take in your surroundings. Your (colored) gaze narrows as it focuses on the distance, a lump forming in your throat as recognition hits you.

The sunlight makes it hard to see, but you know what you're seeing. Or better, who you're seeing. Hammond is at the front of the center, Lex wrapped up in his arms as he looks out into the jungle. There's a forlorn expression on his face as he looks around, scouting from a distance.

Not fair from Hammond are Ellie and Alan, sitting next to each other on the stairs leading into the center, tending to each other's wounds. Neither of them looks drastically hurt, which is good. Among them are a few of the center's IT control and lab members, faces you recognize seeing and talking to over the last day or two.

Then, on the back of one of the jeeps, you can see Ian lying out. He's shirtless, his head thrown back in pain, with a tourniquet wrapped around his leg. Other than that, he seemed unharmed.

Your eyes dash around all of these faces, all of these familiar faces, looking for the one you want to see the most. Panic starts to creep in as you look, your eyes blinking faster, the lump in your throat swelling as they dash over the crowd of people.

Then, you hear a young girl's voice. It's Lex. "Everyone, look!" she yells, pointing in your general direction. Immediately, everyone whips around, guns drawn in your general direction. You raise your hands as you limp forward, your body dragging one foot in front of the other.

As everyone freezes at the entrance to the center, one person moves. He appears from sitting in the front seat of the jeep, the door swinging wide open as he lurches out. Immediately, you recognize the fluffy blonde hair and his tall, lean, and familiar frame.

Your heart jumps to your throat as your vision threatens to blur again - but this time with tears instead of exhaustion. You don't let them fall, though. No, all you can do is focus on him. Ryland.

Your feet still in place as you take in his appearance. He's beat to absolute shit. Blood cakes half of his face from where his cheek was cut open on a rock and then dried down with dust and dirt shoved into it.

His vest is gone - leaving him in his dark green t-shirt that has been shredded, one of the sleeves completely missing. The material waves in the air, completely tattered as he stands up to his full height. The arm where his sleeve ripped is completely red.

Blood.

It's bandaged now, the white gauze stained with dark red streaks of dried blood and dirt. His tactical pants are busted and cut up from his scrap with the T. rex, mud and grime covering his lower half and work boots.

It makes your heart skip. He could have died. He looks like he's on death's doorstep, and you never told him your true feelings. You never told him that you-

But he's standing. Looking at you.

His blue eyes are wide with fear. Pure terror. That is, until he takes a step forward. "Wait," he says quietly, no one from the center moving a muscle. He takes another step forward - but it's a limp, not a sound step.

It makes a sob tear from your throat at the sight of him being injured, but then your body moves on its own accord. Your legs, which ache from dragging yourself through the jungle in fear of being hunted, now cover ground with lengthy strides.

At your movement, Ryland lurches forward. Everyone surrounding him drops their guns, sitting up with amazed recognition. Ryland runs as fast as his limp will let him, hobbling toward you with misty eyes of his own. He can't let the sob out of his mouth - he can't.

His arm burns as it pumps forward and back, trying to propel him forward. He wants to cry out in pain, but he won't. Not when you are racing toward him, looking like all hell has tried to take you down. He's thankful he doesn't see any major wounds, just minor scrapes from trees and thistles.

But the hundreds of feet become just a couple, your legs aching as relief floods over you. You're sure your knees are about to give out as you force yourself to close the gap, your vision completely giving up. All shapes disappear as your eyes snap closed, tears sliding down your cheeks and flinging into the air behind you.

With your arms wide, you launch forward in one final push. Ryland is right there to catch your embrace, his arms open as he crashes into you. Your arms wrap around Ryland like it's second nature, looping around his neck and pulling him flush against you. He stumbles, unsteady on only one leg, but with a grunt and some effort, he stays upright.

Your chin rests on his shoulder as you launch into his grasp, one of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist and the other scooping under your thighs. Your legs interlock around his waist like a vice; you barely need the support from his hands with the force you are holding onto him.

You barely register the groan of pain that pulls from Ryland's mouth near your ear, too overtaken by your own emotions and the feeling of him under your touch. He's here. He's real. He's safe for the moment.

Tears from your cheeks soak into the tattered green material of his shirt, but neither of you cares as he clings to you as tightly as you hold onto him. Blood from his arm smears against your shirt as he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling your chest flush against his.

You don't seem to mind; more focused on his firm and warm body underneath your own. A sob rips from your throat before you can stop it, and that's when Ryland's hand slips from under your thighs to rub up and down your waist. It's a soothing touch, one that helps bring you back to reality.

Then, you unlock your legs from around his waist, letting your arms loosen around his neck. You pull back to rest your feet on the ground, your body slipping through Ryland's hands with ease. Before you have time to think, you're being pulled tight against him again.

Your eyes don't have the chance to open before Ryland is ducking his head down, one of his hands coming free from your waist to cup your cheek. Without hesitating, he smashes his lips against your own in a fervent kiss.

A breath you didn't know you were holding slips out as your lips mold against his. His mouth is warm and soft against your own, his pretty pink lips slightly chapped. Ryland's brows draw together as he pours every ounce of feeling and emotion into the kiss, his hand tightening on your cheek.

His mouth is sweet to the taste, lined with the bitter ring of copper that you know comes from blood. You don't care. Everything about his taste is so Ryland. So perfect. You let your lips slide over his passionately, your heart pouring onto your sleeve.

His grip on your waist is nothing less than firm, and if you were in any other situation, it might have hurt, but you didn't care. Not when your lips are slotting over his, your noses bumping, and teeth clashing. The energy of the kiss has one of your hands sliding from his neck up to the thick, fluffy blonde locks, threading your fingers through them.

This kiss is anything but delicate. It is raw with emotions from both of you. You pour your fear, longing, and heart into the kiss. Ryland infuses it with strength, pining, and an unwavering sense of support.

His mouth completely drowns out the world around you, the stubble on his cheeks tickling the skin on your face. He tilts his head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss, laying his heart in front of you with nothing stopping him.

You can only reciprocate, chasing after his mouth like he is the reason you can breathe oxygen. Your hold on him tightens as your lungs start to burn, but you can't bring yourself to pull away from him. You can't. He can't.

You're too enraptured with one another to even attempt pulling away.

That is, until you hear someone whistle and a few cheers ring out. You can pick out Ellie and Alan hollering and clapping, and it draws a bit of a smile to your mouth as the kiss starts to slow down. There's a confused male voice you don't quite pick up on that asks the group, "I thought you said she was single?"

Hammond responds to Ian as he watches the two of you, sighing, "Dr. Malcolm, neither of them was single." The older gentleman smiles as Ryland pulls you closer yet, leaning into you a few more inches to make your back arch deliciously into him.

The blonde-haired scientist brings the hungry kiss into one that is more tender and sweet, his mouth slowing down and becoming languid. You easily follow his lead, allowing your arm around his neck to slip down and rest on the tattered material of his shirt stretched across his chest.

Ryland groans appreciatively into the kiss; it's a quiet sound that makes butterflies swarm in your stomach and your nerves alight with apprehension. His hand squeezes your waist unknowingly, and it makes you gasp up into his mouth at the force behind it.

But the gasp is enough for you to realize you're going dizzy due to the lack of oxygen from his kiss and from running to get back to the center. With your lips burning and plump from the initial passion of the kiss, you slowly draw back.

Ryland follows your mouth for a moment. He just got to taste your mouth after pining over you for so long; he needs it. He presses a chaste peck to your lips before his lungs force him to take a deep breath to recover the oxygen he had lost, dipping his chin away from yours to break the kiss.

Neither of you pulls back very far. He immediately knocks his forehead against yours as his thumb swipes the wet tears off your cheek. His chest is heaving as his eyes flutter open, taking in the dirt streaking across your cheeks and the fullness of your abused lips.

"This, this is horrible timing," he pants out in a ragged whisper, "But you scared the shit out of me, getting stuck out there like that." The curse word is a surprise to you as it rushes from his mouth, but it's an indicator of his true feelings on the matter.

His eyebrows soften from the frown they had been drawn into, a huff curling his mouth into a smile before he confesses, "God, I love you." The words falling from his mouth make you lean forward in a rush of emotion, capturing his mouth in another soft kiss. Ryland grunts as your hand tugs at his blonde locks, but gleefully accepts your mouth on his.

After a moment, you pull back quickly, leaning your forehead against his again as your eyes flit between his and you rush out, "You scared the shit out of me, Ry! You're bleeding and injured, and-" You cut yourself off as you look over him, panic edging your voice as it grows thick with emotion.

Ryland gently soothes you, humming, "Shh, shh, I'm okay, I'm right here." His thumb swipes circles on your cheek as the hand on your waist works up and down your back. Your (colored) gaze finds his blue one with a small sniffle coming from your nose.

You lock eyes with the blonde-haired scientist, a smile spreading on your lips with tears in your eyes as you whisper, "-and I love you too." A happy chuckle falls from Ryland's mouth at your words, and you realize that his blue eyes have grown misty.

Tears threaten to slip down his cheeks as his hold on you shifts, and you duck your head away from his to bury it in his chest. His arms, as best they can with his injuries, wrap around you like a blanket, firm and unwavering.

The two of you embrace, the cheers from your friends dying down as the wild sounds of the jungle take over. The creaking and snapping of branches that once would have made you nervous now seem to fade with the safety that Ryland's embrace brings.

And with his arms wrapped around you, the prehistoric creatures filling the jungle don't seem to be any scarier than the legends you grew up on.

Six does not like fireworks.

He’s never stated this fact. But Claire knows. She sees the careful blankness he retreats into whenever a sports team wins and the neighbors across the street launch those big rockets that shake the windows and definitely aren’t legal. But they don’t call the cops about it — Six is pretty staunchly anti-cop, and perhaps that comes with being a convict — or with being a puppet for law enforcement at the highest level. 

Six prides himself on being unshakable. He rolls with the punches instead of being surprised. He pastes over his ghosts like masonry in the walls he’s built up around himself. He’s seen everything. And the Sierra program didn’t just select him for his invisibility; they selected him for mental fortitude — and then trained it into him. How to separate himself from his feelings. How to cut away his humanity until he was little more than a robot of his masters, following their commands as they bid him.

Except, Six is human. That’s why Claire is alive. Sentimentality. That’s why they’ve been staying in this city, laying low under fake names in a one-bedroom apartment. Six says it’s easier to be invisible in a crowd — that they’d stick out more in the country and besides, what kind of a life would that be for her?

Not that that’s anything. Claire lived in isolation with her nurse and video called a tutor. That’s what being being Fitzroy’s ward meant — and it hadn’t worked, so maybe there’s something in Six’s thinking.

But that means there are nights when she wanders out into the living room in sleepless pursuit of ice cream, to find him staring down his demons after a car backfired or the toxic romance down the street started screaming at each other. He can carry on a conversation, but the moment his attention isn’t required, he sinks back into that look of bitter contemplation. He is not a man of strong emotion. He has a constitution of steel that doesn’t bend for anything. 

That means navigating a teenager has been a challenge for him. He seems confused and bewildered by her outbursts, then returns the energy right back at her. Arguing with him is like arguing with the boys at school. It forces them both to confront the fact that…he’d been locked away for his whole life, too. Either in jail, or in a life forced to isolate, forced to avoid attachment or relationships. That he’d been around her age before being cut off from the world, and that was where his emotional intelligence had stagnated.

It’s not like he’s unaware of the fact. He knows he isn’t normal, that regular people don’t solve their interpersonal problems with guns or fists. And he patently refuses to become his father. Even if he doesn’t know what to do differently. He brings her a gift after every argument, especially if he raised his voice. Claire isn’t afraid of him; she knows he doesn’t yell to control her, it’s just where he puts his emotion because he hasn’t learned to use another option. He’ll say something sharp or ornery, they’ll sulk in their respective corners, and then they’ll make up and talk it out. It never ends with shouting. And she can see when he’s trying; when he’ll bite something down rather than firing back. And sometimes she does it on purpose, trying to rile him up. Trying to get him to break, just to make him feel something. Why does she do that? He shouldn’t have to be upset, especially not with her. Maybe it’s that she misses her parents. And Donald. And her nurse. And Six isn’t anything close to any of those people. Being with him is like having a brother rather than a parent. Even if he is her ‘dad’ at all the parent-teacher meetings.

It’s not bad being with him. Claire loves Six. And she’s pretty sure he loves her back, as much as he knows how. They bicker good naturedly, trading quips and puns. Wordplay is probably their best bonding point. He keeps her in supply of ice cream and she slips a pack of gum into his pocket every now and then. He gave her the bedroom and had been sleeping on the couch since they moved in here — at least until Claire (and the ache in his back) convinced him to at least get a cot. He’s putting her through school, which she had bitterly fought against at first. She’d been tutored her whole life. But now that it’s been a few months and she has friends, and some teachers she likes, and subjects that interest her, she can admit it’s not so bad.

She’s caught him with his nose in a parenting book more than once, too. Seen him actively trying to change the way he communicates with her. He trusts her, for the most part — as far as his paranoia about either of them being discovered will allow. He tries to give her her freedom, some control over her life; wants so badly for her to have friends despite the terrible risk of it all. 

He’d do anything for her. Anything to help her. Anything to give her a good life, be a good guardian for her.

Anything for her, and nothing for himself.

Because he is nobody, and has been for a very long time.

And that’s why the fireworks bother Claire so much.

And like, fireworks are pretty awful anyway. Dr Grace always rants about them this time of year — how they disrupt bird migrations and confuse the fireflies (where did all the fireflies go?), and freak out dogs and wildlife and people. But Dr Grace is big on how complaints aren’t solutions, and about finding answers. He is always encouraging students to open their eyes.

So Claire’s been doing research justlike Six has. And in a sense, her research is also about parenting.

***

Claire comes home from a friend’s house late that evening. It’s after ten. The lights are still on, so Six is still up — he always waits up for her, but he’s generally not asleep by this time anyway. He tends to be as much of an insomniac as she does. It’s crazy — after all those years of snatching sleep wherever he could, now he has the leisure to do so and cannot. Like his body won’t let his awareness waver, even when there is no danger.

Her greeting dies before making it past her teeth. The neighbors are fighting again. The window is open to the cool night air, and someone else’s drama. Shouting. Something breaks out on the street.

“Good time at Holly’s?” her companion’s low rumble barely overlays the noise.

Claire turns, setting down her bag on the counter as she carefully assesses him. He’s leaning against the desk, his eyes fixed on her. “Yeah. We were working on our project, and it’s kind of getting exciting. We’re ready for the final step, and it’s gonna be…”

He nods along as she explains what they’re doing, but she can see his focus is divided. His awareness is on threats first, always. He is always on high alert. Hyper-aware of everything going on, always noticing every detail and instinctively anticipating the consequences. She watches his eyes flicker back toward the window; the way he keeps running his thumbnail along the pads of his fingers. It’s not a nervous tic — he’s too unshakable for that. It’s the itch to grab his gun. One of many he keeps under lock and key and well-hidden, but they both know are there. She wonders who he hears in that shouting. Is it his dad? Does it sound the way his parents used to?

Does he regret picking up that gun, now that he knows how his life turned out? He hadn’t really answered the last time she asked him. No use wondering who I’d be if I hadn’t. I’m just me.

The ‘me’ who still goes by Six behind closed doors rather than take up his birth name. (And themed his alias around it. Seriously, what kind of name is Cecil? And how could it possibly be ‘better than my last one’?) 

Claire goes over and shuts the window. The room will turn tepid very quickly even with the fan on, but she can’t see a reason for them to be letting in all this noise. Six starts to protest, probably to expostulate these very points, but she cuts him off. “I wanna go see fireworks on the Fourth.”

This was very much not what Six was expecting. The blankness of reverie turns to a blankness of uncertainty. She can see him weigh several responses, his tongue running across his teeth behind his lips. Trying to be careful about his words the way he has been recently. “Friends going?”

She shakes her head. “No. You and me. We should really take in some of the local culture together. And you know, formative youth experiences.”

It’s a crapshoot whether he’ll agree immediately or need convincing.

His eyes narrow at her, fingers drumming against the edge of the desk. “Have you ever seen fireworks?”

“Not up close,” Claire admits with a grin. New experiences are something Six likes to give her! “Have you seen fireworks up close?”

“Too close, some might say.”

Mmm, she’d mostly been thinking about the noise, not the light. How many explosions has he…? She hurriedly pushes away the memory of a grenade on a parapet. “What’s the assessment?”

He lifts one shoulder and drops it, looking more like he’s assessing her. 

Unhelpful. “All the more reason for us to go,” she insists. “Please?”

“Think your ticker can take it?”

It’s a lot of noise, lot of people, lot of everything. He doesn’t usually use her condition against her. Is it defensive, or protective? Two things can be true, but still.

“Yeah. Definitely,” she tells him with the same steely gaze he’s giving her. He pushes his lips out like a duck. Claire rolls her eyes. “I mean, what else are you doing that day? Sleeping?” 

Last Fourth, Six had departed from his usual hyperawareness with a couple sleeping pills and a complaint about patriotism, and told her to wake him if there was trouble. That was when things started to make sense for Claire.

Six shrugs with both shoulders this time. He’s being entirely useless right now. But he isn’t saying no. “So we’re going, then.” He just keeps staring at her. It’s so frustrating! “What?”

He shakes his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable as he averts his eyes. “I just thought you hated fireworks.”

This is very much not what she was expecting him to say. “What?” she manages. “Why– why?”

“Every time someone sets ‘em off, Mark Lindsay’s playin’ so loud the windows rattle.”

Claire stares at him. It’s true that she has tried to drown out the noise, but she hadn’t realized how obvious it was until now. But it would be pretty obvious, she has to admit. “No I don’t,” she says anyway, as much to refute his earlier claim as to throw him off the current one.

“We got a noise complaint,” he presses.

“From the lady who claims we’re always doing construction.” Six’s mouth tilts. That accusation repeats intermittently, and continues to baffle the both of them.

“Doesn’t change the point.”

“I don’t turn up the music because I hate fireworks. I turn it up because…” Because you hate them. She doesn’t say it. Acknowledging it will make it seem like she’s inviting him to something he hates on purpose. And she is, but also she would never. It’s just that she has a plan. And she wants to do something for him, and also with him. Because she’s pretty sure he’s missed out on just as many formative youth experiences as she has. “Because I can’t hear the words over the noise.”

Six is very hard to read, but Claire has gotten used to his stoicism, his curated blankness. A silence here is uncertainty, a nod there is dissent, a blank stare is a fight he’s trying not to have. She’s pretty sure the excuse fell flat. He doesn’t believe her. “Why do you wanna go so bad?”

Maybe it’s time to use her secret weapon. “It just seems like a father-daughter kind of activity, y’know?”

I’m not your dad, he’s said in the past. Gentle, but frank.

Not what it says in the lease.

“Where you thinking?” Score.

“Just the one at school. It shouldn’t be super crowded, and you already know all the entry points.”

***

Six is as unflappable as ever as they make their way into the bleachers. (It’s instinct by now to take an end seat for quick escapes.) Maybe at this point, this is just another Thursday. It’s just that it sounds like his entire life has been Thursdays.

His demeanor is the sort of tense-relaxed he always has in public. He really only sheds that in the apartment, and even then it’s never for long. “Sure you’re gonna be alright?” he can’t resist checking.

“Yeah,” Claire replies, at the risk of spoiling the surprise, “and you will be too.” She waves at a friend, ignoring the quizzical look he turns on her. “I gotta do something real fast, save my seat!” And she gets up before he can protest and scurries down the steps with her buddy to disappear into the darkness.

Which means Six is alone when a speaker walks out onto the field with a microphone. He’s pretty sure fireworks displays don’t have announcements beforehand, at least not public ones. What is this?

“As many of you are aware, this year we are celebrating a little differently. While many of us can agree that explosions and fireballs are a quintessential part of the American spirit, we can also agree that they often come with unintended consequences, including pollution, upset pets, and harm to the men and women who preserve the very freedom we are celebrating on this anniversary of our country’s independence. Allow me to turn it over to our Head of Life Sciences, Dr Ryland Grace.”

It’s a scattered bit of clapping that greets the nerd in the jeans-and-blazer combination. Six assesses what he can of the man at this distance. Do middle school teachers usually wear ties? Claire talks about him often; they seem to get along, so he can’t be as lame as his fashion sense. (Not that Six has room to talk. He’s literally wearing New Balances to blend in.)

“Hey, folks, I won’t take up much time — we all wanna see the show, right?” This does not encourage the audience participation he is fishing for, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Guy’s used to working with teenagers, who are notoriously unresponsive, so it’s probably all the same to him. “This year several students opened up a discussion about the shortcomings of fireworks and wanted to explore a solution — whether it was a light show, or an altered kind of firework that didn’t make noise, or something else entirely — that could allow us to celebrate without causing the level of harm our superintendent has described. I won’t go on about bird migrations and lightning bugs, or we’ll be here for hours, but suffice it to say that a coalition of students formed in the pursuit of this idea, and it has grown from there into tonight’s show. They researched, organized, and raised funds for everything you’ll see tonight, in collaboration with several environmental and cultural groups based in the city, and most of them will be active participants. So without further ado, please enjoy the show and Happy Fourth of July!”

The spotlight cuts out, and a bit of music begins. One lone light in the center of the field, floating. It rises swiftly into the sky like the launch of a rocket. Six braces himself instinctively, but the burst is silent except for the instruments on the speakers. The scattering of lights don’t burn like he is used to seeing. They don’t taper; they are all an even size. A drone show.

The lights imitate fireworks, then shifting auroras and shooting stars, and then a flock of birds murmurating through the skies. The birds become rain that drops to the field, where there are tiny yellow lights flashing in slow intervals, like fireflies. They’re electric lanterns, Six figures, each being operated by a person. The lanterns move together in a formation — is the marching band in on this? — and when they converge, something larger suddenly blooms: huge, glowing flowers on the fields. Bigger lanterns, blossoming like fireworks, except they’re actual blossoms. These precede larger and more intricate floats, all lit from within. Eagles and bison and the Torch of Liberty, American flags with dozens of individual stars spinning across the field; the drones accentuate national monuments, like the Grand Canyon and Arches, redwood forests, purple mountains majesty (the song is playing in the background). There’s nothing of the rocket show of Courtland Gentry’s youth in this, but there’s a surge of nostalgic patriotism anyway as he remembers what it felt like. Ma’s apple pie, the smell of Pop’s celebratory cigar, franks sizzling on the grill. The things you miss about a life lived in between all the ugliness. A familiar little sting of grief for what could have been. Six is used to all that. Used to picking it up and setting it back down, like any number of knick knacks a person might accumulate over the years, useless possessions they can never seem to get rid of. Sentimental value. Like Pop’s granddad’s ball mitt. No useful purpose but to remember. And memories like those haven’t served Six in his life.

Not until a star fell from the sky to sit beside him.

That’s literal. That’s a literal thing. Because here is Claire, climbing back into the stands to her seat. She has two sticks, each with a dangling yellow-white star aglow in the night. She hands one to him as she sits, which he patiently receives. And for just a second, the show is Claire. Her face beaming, lit by the flashes of the drone lights and the kaleidoscopic patterns from the lantern floats. Lighthearted and young, still so miraculously young, in spite of everything.

“You did this?” Six dips his head to ask in her ear.

“Yeah. You like it?”

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Six wonders if all of this is somehow to do with him. “It’s different. New.”

“Sure is. Don’t have to attach it to any old memories.”

Ah.

Six doesn’t have anything to say to that. He knocks his lantern against hers with a smirk. She leans her shoulder into his, and they just sit with each other in the moment, taking in the show.

When the eagle lantern abruptly takes off from the field — a specially timed maneuver where the lantern shut off and the drones turned on — the crowd is in awe as it flaps into the sky; the drones cast tails of fire (actual fire, not just drone-lights) and like a phoenix the eagle spirals faster until it bursts in a bright red-white-and-blue finale. The crowd erupts in applause.

***

The drone-and-lantern show ends up being a crazy popular fad after that. Part of it is novelty. Part of it is the flexibility of expression and the invitation of community participation. Dr Grace writes a whole article on everything they did and how they tried to keep it environmentally friendly as well as accessible to its viewers.

Drones are more expensive than fireworks. Bang-bangs in the air are comparatively simple, and traditional, and most of the time that’s what people want. But because of its reception, there is no shortage of donors who are willing to fund the show for next year, and Dr Grace is working on getting a grant from the city.

The applause continues to fall on the students who took initiative and got it all going. Six is getting used to hearing about it. Getting used to other parents approaching him to say: “You must be so proud of your daughter.”

“No. No no, I understand,” she sighed into the phone. “I just…the last three months have been hard, and even though we’re going there, I was at least looking forward to…” she paused as she listened, clearly interrupted, and Colt had a sickening feeling he knew who she was talking to. That douche of a boyfriend of hers. 

Really though, Colt could not for the life of him understand why she was with that guy to begin with. She was amazing. So kind and funny and smart. She was a rockstar behind the scenes of the few movies he got to work with her on so far, and to say he had developed a crush for her in that timeframe was an understatement.

From what he had learned from her, she got tired of her 9-5 job and really wanted to do something more challenging. So she started working for a company to build props, fixed broken props (when they could be fixed), and work behind the scenes, learning as she went. She wasn’t high up in the business, but she was proving more and more to be a reliable, creative worker in the business. Which was incredible to Colt. She was incredible. 

Her boyfriend though…

Colt wanted to give him the finger every time he saw the boyfriend. 

And he wanted to scoop her up and take her away from the douche every time he saw them together. She deserved so much more than what she had. If given the chance, Colt could do waaaaaay better for her than her current boyfriend was doing for her. He could at least show her she deserved better. She totally deserves better than me, but if she’d let me, I’d do everything I could to give her everything she deserves…

“Okay…” she nodded repeatedly, ready to get the conversation over with. “Okay yeah fine.” She paused to listen. “No,” she answered a bit sharply, “I don’t think so.” Another pause. “Probably not.” One more pause. “Yeah, it’s called being annoyed and disappointed; you should be very familiar with how those things sound. I gotta go. Boss man is calling me,” she added the fib to end the conversation sooner before hanging up without giving him a chance to say anything more. 

Colt couldn’t help but smirk a bit at that. She could be a little snarky when needed. Another thing he loved about her. 

“I swear,” she mumbled to herself as she started collecting her things to leave. Her part of working on the film was finished, and she had no further legal reasons to stay. “I should just…” Then she sighed, plopped into a nearby seat, and massaged her eyes, looking so…trapped. 

Colt couldn’t bear to see her so disheartened, and before his brain could register what his heart was up to, he found himself walking towards her. “What’s up, MacGyver?” Colt gently asked, using his nickname for her. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

She looked up at him and dropped her hand from her face. The look she gave him…gosh, what was running through her mind right now? Was that longing or was his hopeless romantic imagination seeing things? 

“Oh, hey, my favorite boat jumper,” she greeted with a warm smile, which brought a smile to his own face. He loved that smile. And the whole “my favorite” thing too. That was just for him, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “I…” she sighed, warmth fading some. “I really could use a vacation. That’s what I need.”

Colt tilted his head a bit and gave her a curious look, though pieces were starting to fall into place in his head. “Thought you had one in the works already with that guy you’re seeing.”

Her countenance darkened some, that disappointment returning in force. “Oh. Well…Plans have changed. As in they’re not happening anymore.” She shrugged and brushed it off. “All for the better, I guess. I didn’t even want to go to the slopes anyway. I’m not a slopes kinda girl anyway.”

“So what kinda girl are you?”

A dreamy smile spread across her face. “I’m a beach girl. Sun, surf, the salty air, a good book under the shade of an umbrella, best seafood around?” She closed her eyes and hummed like she was there and savoring it all. “But he said the beach is boring, so somehow fun, relaxing warm beach vacation turned into frigid slopes and skiing. Which is fine if you’re into that,” she added quickly, in case it was something Colt liked to do. “I just like the beach far more.”

What a prick, Colt thought. He could practically hear the conversation between them, her heavenly voice asking, “Can we go to the beach this time? Working this movie had been pretty strenuous, and I will relax the best at the beach.” And then her douche bf answering in a dumb voice, “But babe, I like the slopes and I’m totally cold to your feelings so that’s really fitting for me and the sun revolves around me soooooo yeah the slopes.”

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Colt found himself asking, “What about if we go to the beach instead?”

Her head whipped in his direction, and she blinked at him a few times. “Huh?”

“Let’s go,” he said before he got too shy and backtracked. “I love the beach, and we’re both done with our parts for the movie. Let’s go find sun and surf and awesome seafood. Ultimate relaxation. I totally think you deserve it, and it sounds pretty good to me too.” He smiled a soft, warm smile to her, almost pleading with her to hear what he’s not saying out loud.

She, meanwhile, could only stare in awe at him. This man was just too much. From the moment she met him, she was instantly drawn to that crooked grin and bright gaze. And he was so easy to become friends with. So kind and funny and so attentive to her that of course she developed a crush on him. How could she not? But she was already with someone when they met. If she wasn’t at the time then maybe…but no. No, there was no way a man like Colt would be interested in her. 

Right?

“So what’d ya say?” he asked quietly. 

In that instant, she knew she had to make another phone call. She wouldn’t do it over text, but there’s no way she was going to wait to do it face to face. If this trip was happening, she was most certainly going unattached. Coming back? Well a girl could hope, right?