So here it is: the sequel to my unexpectedly-popular Jurassic World fic In Loco Parentis! Get ready for more of Claire and Owen doing what they do best - dinosaur-packed action fun! For those of you who have not read In Loco Parentis...you might want to give it at least a quick skim so you understand who the surly, sarcastic teenager lurking in these pages is. Don't worry - I've been told he grows on people ;).

Welcome to the madness! - Tyler


Prologue (excerpt from In Loco Parentis):

"When the ferries came in from Isla Nublar," Gray prattled excitedly as they walked, "word got out that some of the Costa Rican security guards and captains were on the take."

"What?" Owen squinted, "What do you mean?"

"People said they were paid to smuggle baby dinosaurs…herbivores, of course…off the island." Gray fished Karen's car keys out of his pocket as they approached her ride, "Rich people wanted them as pets or something."

Owen stopped in his tracks, exchanged a wide-eyed look with Stan, and cleared his throat. "How exactly do you know this, Gray?"

The little boy turned soft, earnest eyes on him, "You have to promise not to tell my mom."

The words were like a herald of doom. Owen felt Stan's eyes on him, watching and waiting for his father's response. He felt a slither of dread in his gut and wished desperately that he'd said no when Gray had asked if they 'wanted to see something'.

Owen knew – he just knew – what that something was.

Refusing to bind himself to any promise, he simply gave Gray a wink and a pat on the back. "Let's see what you got, huh?"

The boy unlocked the trunk of the car without another word. Shoving aside several duffel bags and empty shopping bags, Gray pulled back a tarp to reveal a cardboard box riddled with breathing holes.

Stan sucked in a breath beside his father. "I'm guessing that's not a frog for Biology Class." He whispered tensely.

Owen moved forward, placing a hand on Gray's shoulder as the boy carefully lifted the lid off the box.

There, nestled in the warmth of a pile of vegetables (and its own excrement) was an infant Triceratops. Its bulbous eyelids fluttered in sleep, unaware of its audience.

"I rescued him." Gray announced proudly, "One of mom's executive friends has a boyfriend from Dubai. He's like this millionaire person who collects exotic animals as pets. We were at her house for dinner when some guys dropped this off for him." He stroked the tiny creature's heaving back, "I knew there was an animal in the box. I was curious, you know? But when I found this little guy…I knew I had to get him out of there and get him to you, Uncle Owen. You can help him, right?"

Stan whistled under his breath and leaned in to his father, "Can I just say how glad I am that Baby Three-Horns is totally taking the heat off me right now?"

"Well, don't get too comfy," Owen muttered as he took in the sleeping dinosaur with mounting panic, "'cause by the time you get through helping me with Baby Three-Horns, as you call him…" He cast Stan a wry look, "…you're gonna wish I'd grounded you."


San Diego, California

Thirty minutes later:

Claire looked up, eyes shooting daggers at Owen as the trio returned to the warmth of the house.

"Where have you guys been?" The question was an accusation – and it was levelled at Owen. She rose to her feet and sauntered to face him.

"Where's Karen?" Her boyfriend glanced furtively around the front room.

"In the bathroom, hopefully draining all the alcohol from her body. Why? What's going on?" Claire lowered her voice as Owen placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her into the kitchen.

Once she'd heard what was going on, she took a moment to compose herself with several, decisive breaths.

"Well." Claire stated matter-of-factly, "I'm going to need more wine." She reached for fridge, only to have Owen fretting all over her hands.

"Ah! And I'm going to need you sober! Claire," He raised his eyebrows as she glared at him, "I'm in way over my head here. Please."

Sighing heavily, the redhead nodded. "This is insane." She muttered, eyes closed as though hoping to be woken from a nightmare.

"Tell me about it." Owen was as thrown by the revelation as his girlfriend. He rested both hands on the kitchen counter and stared at the patterns in the marble, "I'm guessin' we should call Jolene."

"Jolene?" Claire's eyes snapped open, "As in Fisher? What help do you think she's going to be?"

"She's a federal agent, Claire! This kind of thing's her turf!"

"Oh, is it? Well, I'd raise a hand in favor of that motion, but my elbow's still recovering from the last time she helped us out!"

Owen eyed her critically, "I don't think I like Drunk Claire." He declared after a moment of silence.

"I am not drunk, Owen. I am angry." She clarified, "We were done with that island!"

"Exactly! So let's hand it over to the feds and stay done!"

"The same feds who locked us up and let Tucker run wild in the name of political correctness?" Claire crossed her arms, "You know what they'll do, Owen. Fisher will make a couple of busts and dig until she finds a scapegoat the public are happy with. There'll be touching footage of the animals released back into their habitat, and that will be the end of it, except that it won't!"

"So what, then?" Owen didn't disagree with Claire's prediction. He didn't – but something was hiding behind it.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Claire's shoulders were back, her chin was up, her manner one of irritated resignation, "We have to go to Costa Rica and get to the bottom of this ourselves."

"What?!" His eyebrows hit the roof, "Where did you even…I mean, how is that obvious?"

"It's the only…"

"No! You know what?" Owen stabbed an indignant finger at his partner, "What's obvious is that you either have a death wish, or too much Merlot in your system, and I'm hoping it's the latter!"

"What chance do you think those smuggled infants have of survival in even a best-case scenario, Owen?" Claire moved his finger and invaded his personal space, "Even if Fisher manages a few rescues and shuts some people down, who knows how many helpless animals will die before the real perpetrators are caught?"

His mouth clenched shut, nostrils flaring as he looked at her in frustration. Her eyes rose upwards, meeting Owen's steadily, stubbornly.

A crash and a giggle, followed by some violent 'shushing' announced Karen's exit from the bathroom.

"Good thing she booked a hotel for the night." Owen muttered, "Seriously, when you two get together…"

"One week." Claire's petition was wrapped as a statement, "One week in Costa Rica to get answers; that's all I'm asking."

He palmed his forehead, "Claire…"

"If we don't make any headway after seven days, then we'll hand it over to Jolene and do whatever we can to help her." Her voice was entreating.

"And if we do make headway?"

She squared her shoulders purposefully, "Then Jolene will do whatever she can to help us."

A part of Owen – the part that was grounded, protective, logical – screamed at him to refuse. But there was another part of Owen Grady – the part that awakened only when pursuing a challenge, the part that had thrived in the Navy as it had on Isla Nublar. That part of him was suffocating under the cozy suburban blanket they'd knit for themselves.

That part of him said yes. Hell Yes.

And Claire knew, she knew – when he dipped his head and met her gaze with a cautious excitement in his eyes – which part of him had won.


Deciding on a course of action was a good deal easier than enacting that decision. Both Claire and Owen knew that from experience. However, that knowledge didn't make their most pressing task (dealing with the baby triceratops in Karen's car trunk) any less difficult.

The first thing Owen did was call Barry. After returning from Isla Nublar, Barry had retired from the animal behavior field and taken a job in Salem giving seminars to local schools. He'd answered on the first ring.

Getting Baby Three-Horns from Karen's car to Claire's walk-in closet was a whole other feat in itself. Claire played decoy, distracting a now-sober Karen with Netflix rom-coms while Owen and Stan heaved the box with Gray on vigilante duty.

Zach was blissfully unaware of the entire operation. He was too busy texting the latest love of his life – according to Gray, at any rate.

At one point, Stan had asked Gray – between puffs of breath – exactly how the kid had managed to lug the baby triceratops one step, let alone one block. Gray had replied matter-of-factly that the box had been wheeled in on a trolley which he'd simply appropriated.

Owen had had to give it to Claire's youngest nephew. The kid had spunk.

The rest of the evening had been comparatively uneventful (although, that was a rather large curve to grade on). Karen had thanked them for a wonderful time and allowed Owen to drop her and the boys three blocks away at her chosen hotel. She'd been pleasantly surprised at the offer of a breakfast meet from Claire for the following morning.

Gray had begged them to 'take good care of Macey' (as he'd dubbed the female infant). He'd been loath to leave her, but conceded she was better off in the far more capable hands of Owen than hiding under his bed.

Fresh trouble came with the morning, however, as Owen and Claire shared the details of their plan with Stanley.

"I don't believe it. You guys are nuts!" The teenager stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, face pale with indignation as he watched Claire and Owen pack their things.

"People visit Costa Rica all the time, Stanley. We'll be fine." Claire attempted to reassure him, "Think of it as a…spontaneous vacation!"

"Then why is he bringing those?" Stan stabbed a finger at an assortment of menacing-looking knives that Owen was tossing into lock cases.

His father looked up, eyes wide at being caught off-guard. "What, these? These are for…cooking." He finished lamely.

Claire closed her eyes at the unhelpful reply.

"What are you gonna cook?" Stan hissed, "Smuggler meat?"

"Make all the jokes you want, Stan." Owen grunted as he dug under their bed for a missing boot, "You still ain't coming with us."

"Come with you? Why would I want to do that? I'll be having heaps of fun with the oh-so-friendly Mitchells!" That was the bitterest pill Stan had been given to swallow – the fact that he was being sent to stay with Karen and her sons for the duration of Owen and Claire's recon trip.

Karen had been surprised, to say the least, when Claire had explained the situation (leaving out the minor detail of Gray's involvement) over breakfast and asked her sister if Stan could stay with them. She'd agreed somewhat hesitantly, worried about more than just the fact she didn't know the kid from Adam. Karen had been concerned over Claire's barely-contained eagerness to get back on her white charger.

If the words 'adrenalin junkie' had been thrown out over steaming mugs of coffee, they had been ignored.

"Hey, they aren't so bad once you get to know them." Claire argued in defense of her family.

"Then how come you always have to nurse a wine bottle whenever they show up?"

"Excuse me?" Claire's eyebrows rose. It was rare that Stan snapped at her these days. She really hadn't missed it.

"Why can't I stay here with Barry?"

"Barry needs to focus on caring for the infant." She explained in what she hoped was a patient voice, "And since that infant was technically stolen from her owner – however illegally they acquired her – if they decided to come looking for it, things could get dangerous. It's better if you're not involved."

"You left out the fact that someone has a history of bailing on his babysitters!" Owen called from the bathroom as he filled up his toiletry bag, "Barry wasn't too stoked on the idea after you sicced Phil on him last time."

"Dad!" Stan continued, knowing his only chance was re-directing the argument, "If you guys are gonna charge headlong into stupidity, you could at least let me come along to do some damage control!"

"No one's charging into anything." Owen dismissed the claim even as he browsed the rack of his closet and tossed several shirts onto the bed, "We'll be gone a week, tops. If you survived a week of Isla Nublar, seven days with Karen isn't gonna kill you. Might kill her, though." He added with an eyebrow raise.

"Is it because I got arrested?" Stan was growing desperate now, "Is that it? It's your way of getting back at me for…"

"No!" His father sighed in exasperation, casting his eyes skyward, "It's not because you got arrested. Now would you listen for a minute?"

The boy bunched his fists and glared, "Fine. I'm listening."

"Good." Owen nodded, "We don't know anything about the people running this operation. All we know at this point is that they exist. We have to find'em and we have to set'em up for Fisher, and that might sound exciting, but it's probably just gonna be a whole lot of digging and not much else."

"That's no reason to leave me behind! I could help or I could stay out of your way. You won't even know I'm there…"

"Stan." Owen's tone had been reasonable up till that point. Now it was no less calm, but there was a gravity behind it as he paused to make eye contact with his son, "You're not coming."

"But you're not…"

"Stanley!" Owen silenced the young man's protests with an abrupt bark, "That's just the way it is."


Barry's flight came in an hour later. His taxi pulled in just as Claire and Owen were loading up outside the house. Karen's car was blocking the drive and she was waving enthusiastically at Stan from her window. Stan forced a tight smile in return – after Claire poked him in the side with her nail, of course.

After an enthusiastic reunion, Owen handed Barry the keys (along with three pages of 'minor details' from Claire about the running of the house). Barry clapped Owen on the back.

"Are you sure you don't need me to come with you?"

"Nah, it's just a recon visit. We'll probably hit a wall and end up drownin' our failure in tacos and margaritas."

"Hey." Barry eyed him earnestly, "If you need me, you call me. Alright?"

His friend nodded, sealing the promise with a back-clap of his own.

Claire set down her tote bag to pull Barry into a warm embrace, "Thanks for all your help."

"I know you will be careful. Try not to let him go too crazy." He returned with a wink, and she smiled wryly.

"I will do my very best."

"Need any help?" Owen had his hands in his belt loops, face set in consternation as Stan heaved a weighty rucksack onto his shoulder.

"I'm fine." The monotone words rode a viciously hostile undercurrent. The young man made a beeline for Karen's waiting vehicle, "Have a nice trip."

"Hey, hold on." Owen snagged his arm, stopped him in tracks. Stan grit his jaw but kept his eyes on the car.

"Look, I know this is tough for you." His father murmured in his ear, "And I'm sorry you can't come with us. I mean that."

"It was only a matter of time." Stan's matter-of-fact assertion made Owen frown.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Cold eyes finally moved upwards to meet him, "I knew from the second we met the novelty would eventually wear off and I'd end up couch-surfing with your relatives."

Owen's frown deepened, "That is not what this is."

"Whatever." Stan turned away in contempt, "Have fun on your latest joyride. Maybe you can use my bedroom as a shrine to Isla Nublar – if you even bother coming back."

The moment the words left Stan's mouth, it was clear he had crossed a line. Owen released his grip on the boy's arm and glared at him so forcefully that Stan actually shrank away.

Karen's horn beeped. "Stan!" She called out cheerily, "Come on! We've got to beat the traffic!"

Owen managed to get a lid on his temper, sucking in a breath before he met Stan's now-wary eyes with a dip of his head.

"I know you're angry, Stan. So for now, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that last part. But here's the thing; I am coming back. And when I do, you and me are gonna talk." Owen's eyes flashed briefly with pain, "And hopefully you can explain to me exactly how I screwed up bad enough for you think so goddamn low of me."

If the words stung, Stan's deadpan expression did nothing to show it. Instead, he shifted his bag further up his arm.

"They're waiting for me."

Owen waved an arm in front of him, inviting Stan to pass. His son moved slowly, jaw set tightly as he looked straight ahead.

"One more thing." Owen's mutter made him pause. The man's eyes were trained on the ground, hands returning to his belt loops, "You pull any stupid risks while I'm gone, I will personally build a new career out of making you regret it. Are we clear?"

The boy grit his jaw, chafing against the response he knew his dad expected.

"Yes, sir."

It was not the parting conversation either had desired, and its bitterness lingered in Owen's face as he shut the car door behind his child. Karen smiled sympathetically from behind the wheel.

"He'll be fine, Owen. I promise."

Warmed by her sincerity, he flashed a lopsided grin, "Thanks, Karen. For everything."

"You are welcome." Karen patted the hand he was resting on the open glass of her window, "Look after my sister, will you? Claire always gets so focused on her quests for justice, I worry she forgets herself sometimes."

Owen's grin widened, "Eh, it's all in the job description."

"Yes." Karen's eyes softened, a sadness taking hold of her features as she squeezed Owen's hand gently, "I guess it is."

"Owen!" Claire called from across the drive, "We're going to miss our flight!"

"Go on now." Her older sister's smile was back, "Go save the world again. We'll be here when you get back!"

Claire watched her partner silently as he waved Karen off and shuffled into the driver's seat of their vehicle.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yep." He snatched up the hand she'd laid on his shoulder long enough to press it to his lips before he dropped it in favor of the steering wheel, "You ready for this?"

"You know what?" Claire caught her reflection in the rear-view and saw a light she hadn't seen in a while, "I think I'm more than ready."

Owen's grin was back, as fond as it was excited. "Well, good." He put the car in gear and hiked up Aerosmith's Back in the Saddle, "Costa Rica, here we come."


Having spent most of the night on various phone calls and a scramble for leads, they spent most of the plane trip sleeping. Well, Owen did, at any rate. Claire felt his head slump against her shoulder and smiled gently to herself as she scrolled through her phone. She had no intention of flying blind with only one week to root out those responsible for exploiting and trafficking the vulnerable infants of Isla Nublar.

When the plane touched down in Puntarenas, Owen was well-rested and Claire was well-organized. This put them both in an exceptionally agreeable mood, which softened the blow of the humidity that hit them as they left the airport.

"So I did some digging." Claire said as Owen hefted their bags to the designated taxi spot, "Karen said that her friend's boyfriend is called Richard Dougal. He owns several nightclubs in Dubai, and he was here last week to meet with a potential investor."

"Okay." Owen had stripped down to his staple white t-shirt in protest against the heat. His well-muscled body would have distracted Claire on an ordinary day. But today Miss Dearing was on a mission.

"I called in a favor from a friend of mine at American Airlines…"

"You have a friend in American Airlines?"

She gave her boyfriend a patronizing look, "Why do you think we got bumped up to first class?"

"Well, up till now I was puttin' it down to my rugged good looks." Owen's response earned him an affectionate eye-roll, "So what'd you find out?"

"Dougal flew to Puntarenas, just as we suspected." Claire removed her broad-rim hat and used it to fan herself, "I called around all the local hotels. Apparently he checked into one called Los Sueños Marriott and was there about four days. I figure that's a good place to start." She waved an arm, whistled sharply and moved forward as a cab pulled in, "Taxi!"

Owen merely stared as she moved past. "Sometimes you scare me."

Los Sueños was a sprawling four-star joint with all the amenities two hundred dollars a night could buy. Owen tipped their driver generously while Claire directed the hotel porter handling their luggage in perfect Spanish. They were greeted at the reception desk by a young woman who blushed under her rich olive skin as she caught sight of Owen.

"Bienvenidos al Hotel Los Sueños. My name is Mayte. How can I help you?"

"Mucho gusto, Mayte. We'd like a room for the week, please. Oh, and…could you put us in the same room Richard Dougal used last week?" Claire wore her best PR smile as she spoke, "He's a good friend of mine. He said he had the best ocean view from your terrace."

Mayte beamed, "Let me check if it's available." Her fingers clacked away, but her eyes jumped nervously between the pair.

Claire rocked back on her heels, hands folded in front of her and waited. Owen looked amusedly impressed. It had been a while since he'd witnessed Claire Dearing work her magic.

"Yes, that's fine. It's a Deluxe Room, ocean view, king-sized bed. Is this alright for you?"

"Perfect. Thank you so much, Mayte. Oh," Claire snapped her fingers in remembrance, "You wouldn't happen to know the name of the local restaurant he frequented, would you? Richard would not stop yapping about that place. Right, sweetie?" She raised her eyebrows at Owen.

"Right. Right. Real…food junkie, that…Richard." He hastily took the cue, shrugging in apology when Claire squinted, unimpressed.

Mayte was processing Claire's credit card, "I know he used to like La Condesa." She spoke in a low voice, as though the information was classified, "It's a mariscos restaurant about a mile from here. You can find it on the tourist map in the lobby. Here is your key." She returned her voice to normal as she handed Claire a card, "Enjoy your stay in Los Sueños."

"We'll do our best." Claire pressed a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter top and turned away before a red-faced Mayte could protest. She linked arms with Owen as they followed the porter to the lift.

"What?" Claire asked after enduring several unreadable glances from her man.

"Just picturing you in a suit." He answered, "You could be on one of those detective shows. CSI Costa Rica or somethin'."

"Oh, stop it." She dismissed the comment, but hid a satisfied smile under her copper locks.

"No, really. That was some hardcore sleuthing you did back there." Owen's praise, though laced with teasing, was genuine, "You know, scrap the suit. I'm thinking Ninja's more up your alleyway. You could…whoa." He nearly tripped as Claire yanked them both to halt, "Okay, we've mastered stealthy. Now let's work on graceful."

"Owen," Her hand squeezed his bicep tightly, "Look. Over there by the bar!"

His eyes followed her directions, and narrowed into slits as they took in the disheveled man stirring a cocktail. Heavily sunburned and sporting dirty, wrinkled clothing, he pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.

Claire looked up at Owen, "Tell me that isn't who I think it is."

"Oh it's him alright." Owen said grimly, "So tell me, Sherlock; just what the hell is Lowery doing here?"


Costa Rica, aqui vamos! Things are just getting warmed up, people. Hang onto your seats! - Ty