ALONE TOGETHER I OWEN GRADY

Jump Then Fall

Jump Then Fall

I like the way I can't keep my focus

I watch you talk, you didn't notice...

"Are you ready?" Claire asked Owen irritably, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. "Because you sure as hell don't look ready." She gestured contemptuously at where he was now sitting on an upturned metal bucket, his large hand nursing a glass Coke bottle, stubbled face surly.

"I'm waiting for you to finish up your many phone calls," Owen retorted, "and while I'm waiting, I'm employing my time profitably by fixing my motorbike whilst enjoying a cold beverage."

"Where's my sister?"

"She's sulking in my kitchen."

"What you call a kitchen."

At this, Cassandra rolled her eyes again as she watched them from behind the dusty blinds, shamelessly eavesdropping on their argument as they continued to bicker, her rubbernecking aided by the window that was winched up slightly to let some air in. Owen's original intention of leaving had been scuppered by Claire, who had proceeded to make another slew of calls, retreating to the road so they couldn't hear what she was saying. At this, Owen had tiredly told Cassandra to go back inside and rest, Cassandra suspecting he didn't want to be around her any more than necessary, the thought strangely stinging.

She stared out of the window again, watching Owen knock back his Coke like it was tequila before resuming tinkering with his motorbike, head bent, broad shoulders hunched. She knew she had to tell him about Morgan, she didn't need Claire to tell her that, or did she? But she was terrified he would reject his daughter. She didn't know Owen and he didn't know her. All she could glean was that he was a lone wolf living as a perennial bachelor in his bungalow out in the middle of nowhere. In the training enclosure, he had shown he was brave, and she sensed uncertainly that a better man might exist behind the bluster. But she just didn't know.

She glanced around her, mind in turmoil, replaying Claire's words over and over like a broken record. Was it true that she'd become closed off? Was that why Zach had said what he'd said? Did her family think she'd shut the father of her child out like she'd shut them out? Yet it didn't matter now if Scott had said it or her mother or anyone, or if it was just Zach's personal opinion. Even as she hadn't shut Owen out, circumstance separating them from each other instead, was she shutting him out right now?

As she thought this, Owen suddenly glanced up, his grey gaze meeting hers, making Cassandra start violently. She shot up out of the chair, cheeks flaming. She'd been watching him on and off ever since she'd went back inside, thinking herself safe in the shadows, but now she wasn't so sure. Beating a limping retreat to the claustrophobic bathroom, Cassandra locked herself in, collapsing down on the edge of the chipped enamel bath. She grabbed her head between her hands, fingers becoming entangled in her hair, only to discover a leaf caught in it.

Standing up again, she plucked it out, dumping down the toilet before turning to leave, not knowing if she were coming or going, only to catch sight of her reflection in the cracked flyspotted mirror. The side of her face had a long scratch running down it, whilst her hair was like a bird's nest, Scott's T-shirt now torn up, revealing slashes of bare skin. But it wasn't that which disturbed her, it was the expression on her face, rendering her almost unrecognizable. Her eyes were empty, her features falling into hunted lines, lending her a wild look.

Disturbed, Cassandra leaned forwards on the sink, trying to get a grip of herself, taking the moment to catch a couple of deep breaths. Straightening up, she fingercombed her hair until it was vaguely presentable again, before splashing some water on her face. Gritting her teeth, she had to then physically force herself leave the relative shelter of the bathroom, expecting to find Owen waiting for her, but to her terrible relief, he was still outside.

Glancing around, Cassandra spotted a grey T-shirt cast carelessly over the handcarved wooden headboard of Owen's bed, almost identical to the one she was wearing. She stood there staring at the untidy bed, trying and failing not think of the conquests he'd probably made on its counterpane, herself merely another notch on his metaphorical bedpost. Biting her lip, she hesitated before suddenly darting over and snatching the shirt up, figuring Owen wouldn't miss one measly T-shirt out of the maelstrom that constituted what was basically his man cave.

She knew she was being underhand, but the needs of the many outweighed those of the few, or so she tried to convince her conscience. Within seconds, she had hidden Scott's torn T-shirt under Owen's bed and donned its replacement which stank of sweat and Old Spice, making her nostrils wrinkle in disgust, not that she smelled any better.

"Are you coming or not!?" Claire snapped from the front door, nearly startling Cassandra out of her skin. "I've been shouting on you for the past five minutes!"

"Sorry, I was in the bathroom."

"And you survived the experience?" Claire scoffed. "I'm astonished." She then turned on her heel and made to leave, only to hesitate at the last moment. "And yes, the boys are okay," she slung over her shoulder, ignoring Owen who was now waiting on the stoop, arms folded across his broad chest. "Just in case you were about to ask, which you probably were, knowing you."

Cassandra followed Claire out of the door, grateful for her sister's discretion, omitting any mention of Morgan. "I was just going to say we've spent more time together today than for the past six years put together," she said quietly, making Claire look away, shoulders hunching. "I'm... glad."

At this, her sister hesitated again, as if she was going to say something, before suddenly straightening up and tottering on over to the Jeep instead without a backwards glance. Owen watched her go with raised eyebrows, his gaze speculative. But Cassandra just stood there, knowing Claire didn't do sentimentality, but she always understood the words her sister left unspoken.

"We're wasting daylight," Owen then said abruptly to Cassandra. "You done resting on your laurels?"

"Absolutely," Cassandra said equally as abruptly, making to sweep past him, only for Owen to block her.

"Nice view, huh?" he said, gesturing about them, confusing Cassandra.

"Yeah, I suppose," she frowned, glancing around at the jade coloured landscape, the vividness of the verdure almost overwhelming.

"Absolutely gorgeous," Owen continued, "especially from the kitchen window."

Cassandra stiffened, realising too late he had been watching her watching him after all. "Really?" she said sarcastically, recovering herself. "I didn't notice anything particularly special about it."

"Probably because you've lost your specs."

"What?"

"Your specs – you lost them back at the training enclosure, right?"

Cassandra stared at him, before it clicked. "Oh, no, no," she laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "A few years ago I happened to discover contacts."

"Oh," Owen said, wrongfooted.

"Nothing wrong with my eyesight, flyboy," Cassandra smiled sweetly, too sweetly.