The paddock gates hissed open with hydraulic precision, morning mist curling low over the reinforced jungle floor. You stood just inside the perimeter fence, clipboard in one hand, tranq gun slung over your back—not for use, but for show. The raptors knew you by scent, not fear. And so did their trainer. "Yer early, Doc." Johnny “Soap” MacTavish emerged from the foliage, dressed in the standard Jurassic BioSystems handler vest, arms speckled with dried mud and faint claw scrapes. He looked more wild than the creatures he wrangled. You raised an eyebrow. “Someone has to check the juveniles’ post-feeding vitals. I’d rather do it before they start gnawing each other’s tails off.” Soap smirked. "And here I thought ye just couldn’t stay away from me." You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with the hint of a grin. "One of them has an infected talon. Delta, I think. Limped yesterday. You were too busy showing off with the clicker.” “Wasn’t showing off,” he said, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you walked the perimeter together. “Was demonstrating control.” “Mm-hmm,” you murmured, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “Well, demonstrate control by keeping them from eating the interns next time.” He laughed, and the sound made something twist warm and sharp in your gut. In a place built on control and containment, Johnny was chaos—but somehow, you trusted him more than the fences. As you approached the holding pen, the raptors stalked forward from the shadows, sleek bodies tense, eyes like amber knives. Delta growled low, a sound that vibrated in your bones. “She’s guarding the foot,” you noted. Soap nodded. “I’ll distract her. You get a look.” “I’m not risking a hand for one infected claw, Soap.” “Didn’t say you had to. Just trust me, aye?” It was the same line he used when he first dragged you into his world—when he caught your hand during a late-night security breach, pressed you behind cover, and said, “Trust me, Doc. I’ll get us out.” You hadn’t stopped trusting him since. He moved like water, smooth and unhurried, drawing Delta’s eye with a low whistle and the subtle flick of the clicker. The raptor tilted her head. Distracted. You slid in, swift and low, hands deft. A quick scan confirmed your guess: a deep puncture, infected. You dabbed a numbing salve and tagged her for treatment back at med-bay. Delta snapped her head toward you just as Soap raised his voice. “Delta, no! Back!” She froze. Listened. "That's it, girl. Good lass." His voice was a thread—soft, unyielding. You backed away slowly, heart hammering. When you were clear, Soap turned to you with a crooked smile. “See? Nae one limb lost.” “Barely.” “Admit it, Doc. You like working with me.” “I like not getting mauled.” He stepped closer, face inches from yours now. “That why you always volunteer for my paddock?” You swallowed, aware of the rumble of raptors behind the fence, of the heat in Soap’s eyes. “Someone has to keep you from getting eaten.” His grin softened. “Don’t worry. If I go, I’m taking you with me.” “You’re a menace.” He shrugged. “Aye. But I’m your menace.” A sharp screech interrupted you—another raptor alert. Something was wrong. “Back to work,” you muttered, pivoting toward the sound, already reaching for your gear. Soap moved beside you, hand brushing yours, a silent promise in his grip. Jurassic BioSystems ran on blood, bone, and blind arrogance. But for you, and for Soap, it was more than survival. It was trust. It was control. And sometimes… it was love, wrapped in claws and chaos.