Sunlight, meadows, a lake, a trailer... and Owen, currently crafting a villa with his bare hands.
Is this actually legal, or just a code violation in progress?
Claire stepped out of the car, shut the door, and walked slowly toward the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of construction.
"Though that light is slowly fading behind me..."
Owen hummed a little tune as he stood on a wooden ladder, building his house. He looked remarkably content.
"Hey... Owen..."
Claire adjusted her hair, which had been ruffled by the wind, and called out softly.
"When morning comes~ I'll still love you~"
Owen seemed lost in his own world, his hammer repeatedly striking iron nails into wooden planks. Or perhaps he had noticed the car long ago and was simply choosing to ignore her?
"Owen!"
Claire raised her voice, successfully snapping him out of his focus.
"Good god," Owen muttered to himself. Why was it Claire? He had assumed it was those people from before again. He set his hammer down and slowly turned to face her.
"Hi..." Claire started, seemingly unsure of how to open the conversation, so she settled for a simple greeting.
"Looking for trouble again?" Owen asked with a chuckle. It was a teasing remark, but also a subtle probe into her intentions.
If an ex-girlfriend you haven't seen in ages suddenly reaches out, what good could possibly come of it? At least the last time Claire contacted Owen, an Indominus rex had torn through the south of Isla Nublar, only to be hunted back across the island by Carlo.
"Let me buy you a drink."
Claire couldn't deny she was there "looking for trouble," so she clumsily pivoted, deciding to reminisce a bit before asking for his help. It was the classic move of a friend who hasn't spoken to you in years suddenly reaching out with a "favor."
"Did you bring the beer... or are we going out?" Owen asked, leaning casually against the villa he was hand-building.
…
The bar was quiet, save for the sound of billiard balls clacking on the table. Under the red neon lights, the atmosphere felt... intimate? But also tinged with a certain melancholy. It was the perfect place for a "bitter-drink-for-a-bitter-heart" moment, until...
"Hahaha... ah-hahaha!"
Claire's laughter shattered the mood. Over the past few years, she seemed to have smoothed out her sharp edges; she lacked the rigid authority she once held while working at Jurassic World.
"No way... you actually think you dumped me? That's unbelievable."
The two had fallen into discussing the past, specifically the circumstances of their breakup.
Focus, you two! The dinosaurs on Isla Nublar are in mortal peril!
"Let's recap the situation, shall we?" Owen, just as stubborn as Claire, began to dissect the history. "You said, 'If you want to live in a van like a hobo, then be my guest, Owen.' And I said, 'Fine.'"
"So how does that count as you dumping me?" Claire asked, genuinely perplexed.
"Because I left. I walked away from you," Owen said, pointing a finger at himself and then at Claire.
"No, you left because I told you to go. That's why you left."
"But the result was I left. Because you didn't want to live in a van by the side of the road, remember?"
Owen stood his ground, leaving Claire momentarily stunned as she tried to reorganize the cluttered memories in her head.
"No... no, no, no. I left because you wouldn't let me drive that damn bucket of bolts. Not even for five minutes."
The topic veered off course again, landing on the "Claire wants to drive but Owen won't let her touch his precious truck" argument.
"That's called being a gentleman. What did you want me to do?" Owen offered as an excuse. In reality, he was just terrified Claire would drive his home into a ditch.
"It's called being stubborn," Claire retorted helplessly.
Owen rested his forehead in his hand for a moment, seemingly nursing a headache. He didn't want to continue circling their relationship issues, so he changed the subject.
"Fine. Well, look at you now. Dedicated to saving the world."
Claire knew this was the opening she needed. She adjusted her posture, looking more professional. "At least I'm trying. You can't just run away every time something happens, Owen."
Owen relaxed, having guessed her intent from her reaction. He made one last-ditch effort to dodge the topic.
"So, what's your dating life like these days? Seeing an accountant? An actuary? Your skin looks great... a dermatologist?"
His deflection made Claire's blood pressure spike; she felt like strangling the non-committal version of Owen.
"Owen."
"Does he check your moles?"
"Stop it."
"Is he a ventriloquist?"
"I didn't come here to discuss my love life."
Owen adopted a "What can you do? Kill me?" attitude, muttering to himself until Claire held her head in both hands in frustration.
"I know why you're here," Owen said suddenly, dropping the act. "Lockwood's lackey already came to see me. Talked about the rescue op. Saving dinosaurs from an island that's about to go 'boom.' What could possibly go wrong?"
Claire looked at him and simply said: "I'm going."
"Don't," Owen replied. He knew her well enough to know she'd stick her nose into this, and he wanted to warn her against a death trap.
"I don't have a choice."
"Nonsense. You always have a choice."
"So what am I supposed to do? Build a little cabin, play pool, and drink beer all day while I watch these animals go extinct?"
"Yeah. I happen to love pool."
Claire looked at Owen's defeatist state and played her ace.
"Blue is still alive... and your other three raptors... they're all still alive."
Owen froze mid-sip, nearly choking on his beer.
"God, you really have no rock bottom, do you?" Since when had Claire become so good at playing the emotional card? She used to be so detached from human sentiment.
"You raised them, Owen. You spent years researching them. Are you really going to just watch them die on that island?"
Owen went quiet for a long beat. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Faced with this version of Owen, Claire was at a loss. She could only offer: "Please. You're a better man than you think you are."
"Mmm... you should go write for fortune cookies."
Owen remained impenetrable. Claire sighed and scribbled some information on a piece of paper.
"The charter flight leaves tomorrow morning. Your name is on the manifest. I'm just here to let you know. Whether you show up is up to you."
She handed him the note, gathered her things, and walked out of the bar, leaving Owen sitting there alone.
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