Work Text:
Yaz doesn’t run anymore.
She hates it, hates it.
When they arrived back home, she had begged her mother to pull her out of track. No questions asked, effective immediately. Her mom had been a little confused, but did as she asked. Yaz later explained that running, even as a hobby, really didn’t help with what she could finally admit to being night terrors.
With her emotional psyche being as fragile as it was, her mom really wasn’t in any position to deny her anything either. Besides, having ‘track-star’ be the main facet of her personality was kind of getting redundant, anyway.
She started doing other kinds of sports, still needing to stay active, to stay moving. Yaz might've gone through hell getting off Isla Nublar and Mantah Corp, but she’s still the high achieving athlete at heart. Just… not with running.
At first, she began working on other body parts in the gym—mostly upper body, because if her experience on Isla Nublar taught her anything, it’s that she could definitely stand to bulk up a little there. Upper body training wasn’t as awful as she’d thought, and she started looking into upper-body sports.
Rowing was a pass, immediately. There was—and still is—no way she was getting on anything that resembled a boat, not with their luck with water-based flotation devices. Swimming was turned down for the same reason. No way was she getting near a large body of water, even with all those diving lessons she’d taken in the past. Not when every shadow is a mosasaurus, waiting to capsize her into its mouth, when every boat is infested with pachys, where there’s nowhere to run.
Her trauma therapist—because, yes, she has one of those—suggested taking up a sport that had some echoes of Isla Nublar, so that she could confront the nightmares that followed her everywhere, but nothing serious enough to trigger a panic attack.
So she tried climbing.
Or bouldering, actually, is probably closer to what she did. It was fun, it was fine. But not really for her. Plus, the people who went were just plain rude, staring and whispering behind her back. It’s not her fault she skipped the first semester of sophomore year. Not her fault she was a survivor on an island with dinosaurs and poorly thought out evacuation plans.
And all that climbing kind of reminded her of scrambling up walls and ledges, just reaching out for the next place to hide away, the nearest tree to climb, barely making it before jaws lined with sharp, nightmarish teeth could sink into flesh.
Tennis, she wasn’t great at. She could play, but was only a little better than average, at least. And she needed that sports scholarship to guarantee herself a good college—at least, that’s what her counsellor said.
Her therapist—her regular one, this time—suggested she try team sports. Apparently, she needed an extra push in the… making friends direction, even after everything with Camp Cretaceous. Or maybe especially because of it.
Volleyball was fun, really fun. But it hurt her arms a lot, left bruises, and while it wasn’t really a big deal, Yaz wasn’t really about that. She stopped doing it after a few months.
Basketball was eventually what she ended up with. It was fun, and it honestly opened up a lot more scholarship prospects than track did to begin with. And while her mom was concerned about what it might mean for Yaz, starting a new sport so late, it was clear—thanks to her therapy and also, you know, the news—that her PTSD had something to do with her dropping track, and that it wasn’t just, like, laziness or something.
Her doctors also wrote a letter, so that helped.
She ended up accepting University of Southern California’s offer of scholarship—and not just because Sammy was also going to California (UC Davis is pretty far from SoCal, anyway). She and Sammy weren’t even dating at the time anyway.
They’d made it through four years of High School as long-distance friends, though Yasmina could feel their friendship rapidly hurtling towards change, even through texts and late night calls.
Everything really changed the moment she saw Sammy in person, though, as cliche and sappy and gross as that sounds. That was her ‘oh’ moment.
Since they were both in California, they’d decided to meet up over orientation weekend. And after years of a visit maybe once every few months which turned into once every few years, it was a huge step forwards. Yaz remembers feeling so, so anxious about it, scared that it’s been too long, that she’s changed too much, that it won’t be the same as before.
She still remembers the moment she’d spotted Sammy in that little cafe they’d agreed on, looking just like she used to, but not quite. Where time (and training) had stretched Yaz out, made her leaner and broader, Sammy had grown into her own.
She's shorter than her, now—Yaz assumes because she’d been mostly done with her growth spurt at the camp. By no means did she tower over her, but there was definitely a clear difference.
Which made Yaz feel some sort of way.
Sammy had been wearing skinny jeans and an oversized UC Davis quarter-zip. Her hair had grown long enough to be braided into two plaits, framing her beaming face so prettily. She’s just so pretty.
And when she smiled? Yaz felt her heart flutter the same way it did from that first moment on Isla Nublar, when Sammy had tried so hard to be her friend. As it flutters like it does every moment after. And she hadn’t known it yet, but she was falling, further and faster for the wonderful, amazing woman that was Sammy.
And, well, the rest is history.
“Why’re you still here?” her girlfriend of many years sighs into her pillow, head covered by a pale purple comforter, when Yaz rejoins her in the bed. It’s adorable, and Yaz takes the opportunity to wrap and arm around her waist and start kissing the woman’s back, bare in her nightgown.
“What? I can’t want extra cuddle time with my girl? You love cuddle time.”
The other woman giggles, turning around in her arms, and Yaz would feel almost overwhelmed by the love that floods her system if she didn’t feel it every damn day. Sammy’s eyes are so deeply beautiful, so genuine and adoring, that she just melts. “I do love cuddle time,” she concedes. “But you gotta admit, you’re usually out of bed at this time.”
She smiles at her as Sammy cups Yaz’s face with soft, warm hands. Her accent is stronger in the mornings, her voice still a little dry from sleep, so everything comes out in a whisper. Yaz is so, completely endeared.
“Yeah well,” she shrugs, placing a kiss on Sammy’s nose, “Gavin cancelled today. And I’m not in the mood to train solo, so I thought I’d treat myself to a few extra minutes with you.”
“Aw,” Sammy coos, “that’s sweet.”
Yaz is over at Sammy’s for the Easter break. Mostly because Sammy’s housemates, Maiki and Carmen, are out the entire break, and they have the whole house to themselves. Not that it’s huge—just a tiny three-bedroom apartment, which is, to be honest, just shy of too small for the three of them.
“You’re sweet.”
“Smooth-talker,” Sammy snorts.
“Only for you,” Yaz grins back. She moves forward, wanting to kiss Sammy properly, but the woman leans back, a finger to Yaz’s pouting lips.
“Nuh-uh,” she says, “I gotta brush my teeth first, babe. Don’t look at me like that, you’ll get your kisses after.” She should have known. Sammy’s very strict about this kind of thing, and she also knows that Yaz has already gotten ready for the day. Her girlfriend always wants to be prepared to jumpstart the day, to be able to leave at a moment’s notice.
She supposes that’s another side effect of Jurassic World. After months of stewing in their own sweat and blood and dirt, she can’t fault Sammy for wanting to always be clean, nowadays.
Sammy gets up, leaving Yaz sprawled on the bed, facing the ceiling, and secretly wondering how her life has managed to get to this fantastic point. She thinks about it sometimes, what would have happened if she hadn’t gone on that trip to Isla Nublar. If they hadn’t got stuck, if Sammy hadn’t been so determined to be her friend. If Yaz hadn’t let her in.
She wonders if they’d be here, if she’d ever have found a happiness like this.
Of course, it’s not all perfect. She wouldn’t expect it to be, especially not after all they’ve been through.
Some nights, she needs melatonin to sleep. Sammy doesn’t like it, but she leaves it be, generally—though Yaz has stopped taking it as regularly as she used to in high school. Mostly on anniversaries, thunderstorms, late nights, things like that.
Her night terrors haven’t disappeared, though she’s been told not to expect them to. Sometimes, Yaz will wake up screaming, the sheets soaked with sweat and Sammy shaking her shoulders. Those times, she lets Sammy hold her close, leans her head on Sammy’s chest and listens to her steady heartbeat. Those times, neither gets much sleep.
It’s awful when Sammy isn’t with her. But she’s taken to sleeping with a baseball bat right by her nightstand and 9-1-1 on speed dial. For peace of mind.
Other times, she tosses and turns in the bed, trying not to wake anyone—especially if Sammy is sleeping beside her. Her sleep is fitful, and her dreams are scarce, but she prefers that to nightmares.
Sammy’s night terrors are a little different. She wakes up with a jolt, and Yaz can always tell when she’s had one. It’s just the specific way she shakes herself out of sleep, and she always wakes up crying anyway. When that happens, Yaz leaves to make a cup of tea (chamomile, piping hot), because Sammy always needs to be alone for a moment, after Yaz kisses her and reassures her that everything’s alright. After that, they talk until neither can fight the sleep anymore.
But Yaz knows about the survival kit Sammy keeps tucked under the bed, and the fact that she keeps her room key always within arms reach, if not tucked into her pocket or attached to her bra-strap or belt loop. Just in case they need to make a quick getaway.
The following night, Yaz can’t sleep again.
She’s pretty sure Sammy is only barely sleeping, judging from the lack of light snoring. Something her girlfriend will vehemently deny until her very last breath. Yaz doesn’t mind though. Like most things Sammy does, it’s adorable.
But from previous experience, she knows not to move too much, and to wait until she’s in a deeper sleep before shifting around. Especially in this position, with Sammy’s head on her chest and her arm across Yasmina’s waist. Yaz’s hand is curled upwards to stroke the strands of hair falling out of Sammy’s ponytail, her cheek resting on her head.
The game she’s playing on her phone is mostly just to keep her brain occupied. It’s not that she’s super invested, but, the thing is, she’s also fiercely competitive by nature, and is admittedly a little pissed when a text from the groupchat ‘camp trauma’ stops her from beating her previous high score.
The chat name had been Kenji’s doing, of course.
[TODAY]
Kenj, 12:22 am:
so
“Jesus.” Yaz sighs to herself, hoping this isn’t one of Kenji’s antics that really could be better handled in the morning. She’s not exactly sure how far ahead Seattle is from California, but she’s pretty sure he should still be sleeping.
[TODAY]
yazmina, 12:22 am:
please please don’t be drunk
Kenj, 12:22 am:
literally why do u only exist to bully me
yazmina, 12:23 am:
because you’re a little bitch boy
yazmina, 12:23 am:
and you were drunk last time so,,,
Kenji, 12:23 am:
fvuk ya life
The movement of her shoulders as she tries to contain a laugh must jostle Sammy a little, because her girlfriend rubs her nose into Yaz’s shoulder and blinks up at her.
“What is it?” she asks, and Yaz smiles.
“Just Kenji. Go back to sleep, baby.”
Nodding like that’s all the explanation she needs—it probably is—she answers in a semi-coherent, sleepy mumble. “Mmm, okay. Love you.”
With a kiss on her forehead, Yaz whispers back, “love you too,” before refocusing on the new messages that had just popped up on her lock screen, covering the mid-laugh Sammy’s forehead and part of Yaz’s chin resting on her head.
Brooks ⭐️💕, 12:23 am:
Kenji, you were saying??
Kenj, 12:24 am:
right right
Kenj, 12:24 am:
so anyway before i was RUDELY interupted
Kenj, 12:24 am:
as you jnow our seven year anniversary is coming up soon
so yall know what that means
yazmina, 12:25 am:
…
yazmina, 12:25 am:
no?
yazmina, 12:25 am:
i actually have no idea what you’re talking about
Brooks ⭐️💕, 12:25 am:
If we’re quiet, maybe he’ll go back to sleep.
yazmina, 12:26 am:
BAHAHAHAHA
Kenj, 12:26 am:
REUNION TIME!!!!
Kenj, 12:26 am:
also FUCK you gusy
[1:26 am: User Kenj has changed the subject to “camp fam bam-yam”]
yazmina, 12:26 am:
gussy
Kenj, 12:26 am:
SHIT typo wait
Kenj, 12:26 am:
also fuck right offf
yazmina, 12:26 am:
🍠 🍠 🍠
Kenj, 12:27 am:
i hate you so muxh
[12:28 am: User Kenj has changed the subject to “camp fam bam-bam”]
Darius, 12:30 am:
Guys, seriously?? I was in CLASS
Kenj, 12:31 am:
oops sorry dino man :(
Kenj, 12:31 am:
thats my bad
yazmina, 12:32 am:
sorry king
“So he wants to have it at his?” Sammy asks as they stroll through the streets, hand in hand. They’re on their way to brunch, having woken up later than usual and not in the mood to make breakfast themselves.
“Yeah. Probably doesn’t want to make the trip down,” Yaz says, pulling a face and making Sammy laugh. She squeezes her hand.
“Yup, sounds like Kenji. I just don’t get why we have to do this reunion. We see each other all the time. Even if it ain’t exactly in person. An’ we’ve never really done a real reunion before.”
“That’s what Brooklyn said. But apparently it’s the seven year anniversary of us getting of the island so he wants to do something special.”
“Why seven years though?”
She shrugs the best she can with another hand in her own. Honestly, she’d chalked it up to another ‘Kenji has his reasons but Kenji won’t tell anyone what those reasons are’ type of thing. So she hadn’t bothered asking. “I don’t know. I just think that if he really wants this, he can compromise. It’s like a two hour flight, and it’s not as if he’s not still loaded.”
“Did you tell him that?” Sammy asks, sounding like she knows the answer. She probably does.
“...No. It’s ok, Brooklyn’s got it handled.”
“Baby—”
“Oh look, we’re here.”
And that’s the end of that.
Two weeks later sees them sitting in a diner opposite Kenji, who is staying at Yaz’ flat even though he has the money to stay in a decent hotel. It’s annoying, but also, she’ll admit, a little sweet, since she knows it’s only cause he misses hanging around them all.
“So,” Kenji starts once they’ve waved away the waitress for a third time, and are sheepishly nursing their drinks as they wait for the rest to arrive. “How have you guys been?”
“Good,” Yaz says.
“Great,” Sammy says, at the same time, and they catch each other’s eye and laugh, Sammy finding her hand under the table.
Kenji scoffs, but not in the mean way he would have done, all those years ago. His scoff is full of fond amusement, happiness at their happiness, but surface-level annoyance for his image’s sake. “Still as adorable as ever,” he grouses. “Can’t believe you cost me my wingman,” he then teases at Sammy, who laughs.
“No offense, honey, but I don’t think she was doing all that great a job.”
Kenji laughs too, and the atmosphere eases, and everything is back to normal, back to the way it was. Like no time has been lost between them.
“No, yeah, that’s totally fair. I still can’t believe Ben thought you had a crush on him .”
“Hey, I still got you and Brooklyn together!”
“And we broke up a month later,” Kenji says playfully, making it clear that there are no hard feelings. “I call that: job not well done.”
“And you blame me?” Yaz asks incredulously, and Kenji nods emphatically, teasing grin still on his face. “Not the fact that you were both teenagers who ultimately only bonded that way due to emotional trauma?”
“I—uh… well, when you put it that way…”
“Plus, you guys weren’t right for each other, anyway,” she adds, and this time Kenji agrees more genuinely.
“Not like you and Sam-Sam over here,” Kenji says, and even after all these years, both Yaz and Sammy blush happily. She pulls Sammy closer, loving the way she so easily slots into the space under Yaz’s arm—thrown across the back of the booth.
She kisses her forehead, and Kenji gags. “Ew.”
“Homophobe,” Yaz snipes back, not missing a beat.
Kenji snorts, as he does every time they do this. “How did you know?”
Just then, the bell to the diner jingles, and a brown haired, ex-teenage-superstar enters.
Being the one to face the door, Kenji is the first one to greet her. “Hey, there’s Miss Berkely!”
“Please don’t call me that,” Brooklyn sighs as she slots into the seat next to him. Sammy gets up to greet her with a hug, and Yaz just offers a lazy but familiar wave. “Oh, and Darius and Ben called—they said they’d be a little late so we could get started without them.”
“They’re coming together?”
“Oh yeah. Darius thought he could make a detour on the way down, visit his brother and pick up Ben.”
“Oh okay. That’s… good,” Yaz says, feeling awkward about it but having no idea why. As always, Sammy jumps in to save her, and when she leans forwards, Yaz is overtaken by her sweet, slightly tangy perfume and is sufficiently distracted.
“So, how’ve you been, Brooklyn? How’s your first year in college been? Tell me all about it!”
“Okay, okay!” Brooklyn laughs, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, but loving it anyway. “It’s been good, great, actually! I learn something new everyday—and not in like the cliche way, either. We look at robotics and AI devs from a totally new perspective in one of my classes, they implement techniques from other fields and even other majors! It’s just, so cool,” she finishes with a sigh.
“Aw,” Sammy coos, “sounds like it’s goin’ really great! I’m so glad you’ve found somethin’ you love like that!”
Brooklyn sighs happily. “Yeah.”
“Sounds like it’s a real snooze-fest,” Kenji says with a fake snore, and winces when Brooklyn punches him in the arm. “Not my fault you’re a total nerd.”
“Yeah well, this nerd can still beat you up so mind your manners.”
Yaz snorts when Kenji turns to her for help. “Don’t look at me, best I can do is not join in,” she says with a sly smile, and Sammy smacks her thigh, chastising, as she gives Brooklyn a high five over the table.
She gives them all a look, including Kenji, and he pouts. “They started it! They’re bullying me.”
“C’mon now, you three. Play nice.’
“We are playing nice,” Brooklyn says.
Yaz just noses at her girlfriend's ear instead of answering out loud, whispers something that makes her cheeks turn an adorable shade of red, and curls a hand just a little possessively around her waist.
The look Kenji and Brooklyn share is age-old and long-suffering, but this time, they don’t have to groan silently about the mutual pining.
Ben and Darius arrive about ten minutes later, with stories about the traffic and Darius’ brother’s job—whatever it is, Yaz doesn’t really have the capacity to understand whatever science thing they’re going on about.
They look good, not much different to the last time she saw them, though Darius has grown even more now. She sees Ben more often than Darius, though. Sometimes they play games together, when he’s in town or, more often, when Yaz is visiting her mother during the summer. She always wins, of course, but Ben is agile and light on his feet, and he has a surprisingly good arm.
The rest of the evening kind of passes in a blur for Yaz, to be completely honest. There’s nothing to really differentiate it from any of the hangouts they have together—even if one or two of them are absent sometimes.
People say you don’t keep your high school friendships, that, at the time, they feel lifelong but they really aren’t. And Yaz supposes that’s true, to an extent. But with what she's been through with these people, what they've been through together? There’s nothing that could ever tear them apart.
All in all, it’s a good day, and Yaz just smiles and revels in the comfort of it all, knowing she’ll get to go home with Sammy at the end of it, taking their time. They’ve got all the time in the world.