Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Jurassic Park and Jurassic World characters. I simply borrow them to have some fun.

Author's Note: So I have been a long time fan of the Owen and Claire relationship (see "Sticking Together For Survival") and really enjoyed the conclusion of their arc in Dominion. I never wrote anything immediately after Fallen Kingdom because any plot bunnies I would have wanted to explore were already being brilliantly realized by Imagination-Parade and her series of Clawen one-shots. However, after Dominion, a few ideas came to me, this scene in particular. It takes place immediately after Fallen Kingdom, but for me is more about filling in the gap between FC and Dominion. Hope you enjoy.

The Missing Chapters of Maisie, Owen, and Claire

"No Rulebook"

Maisie couldn't stop glancing out the window as she and Claire killed time in the quaint little gift shop at the edge of the millworks. It seemed like Owen was taking forever, and the girl started to worry they might never get back on the road. "Do you think there's a problem?" she finally asked out loud as Claire came around the narrow aisle that separated the displays of homemade jewelry from the small racks of vintage toys Maisie was pretending to browse.

Claire followed Maisie's anxious gaze out across the mill to where Owen stood, talking to the owner. "Nah," she replied. "They're just ironing out details. Whadya think of this one?" she held out a silver-plated chain she'd been admiring with a small teal heart pendant at its center.

Maisie gave it a second's worth of consideration and shrugged. "Very pretty," she muttered before looking back to the window.

Claire rolled her eyes and sighed, setting the necklace aside. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she lied, as her little hands gripped the windowsill, eyes fixed on Owen. The two men were shaking hands now, and Owen seemed to be laughing. Maybe he was finally wrapping up?

Claire placed a steady hand on the girl's shoulder and chuckled at the rapidly bouncing little leg propped up on a step stool that sat along the wall. Sheesh, thought Claire. Maisie looked about ready to tap dance out of here. "He'll be done soon, ok? And we're only forty minutes away."

"I know but–" Maisie whirled around and checked the clock hanging behind the glass counter where a clerk watched them with mild interest. "What if they close early? It is Friday."

"Maisie," Claire looked down in mock sternness. "It's not even 1:00. We'll have the entire afternoon."

Maisie couldn't suppress her grin as she thought of the magnificent building they'd soon be visiting. At their last stop before leaving California, they'd grabbed a few maps and brochures for Oregon. And she'd barely leafed through a handful before she announced their next destination: The Multnomah County Central Library–17 miles of bookshelf space, more than 130 computers, a giant storybook tree in the center of the children's section and 1,994,541 books. She'd practically been bouncing ever since, and Owen's insistence on stopping at nearly every lumber yard from Medford to Portland was – in Maisie's eyes – a quite unpardonable delay.

Claire had picked up the necklace again and was now comparing it to an earth pendant dangling on a simple brown string instead of a chain. Maisie bit her lip, not wanting to seem impertinent, but chanced the subject anyway. "I still think it seems like an awful lot of trouble, Claire."

"What's that?"

"This," she raised her arms to her sides as if presenting the gift shop for inspection. "Buying all this wood from all these little towns? Shan't we get started sooner if we just do one big order?"

Claire took a deep breath and flashed the goofiest grin she could fake, "Well where's the fun in that, Mais? And what's your hurry?" For good measure, she placed her hands on her hips and looked at her squarely. "Besides, buying reclaimed wood is…"

"Better for the environment," Maisie's voice dropped into a sing-songy droll. She loved Claire, but the woman could turn absolutely anything into a "teachable moment."

"Because?" Claire prompted.

Maisie started ticking them off on her fingers, one by one: "Helps stop deforestation, keeps wood out of landfills, fewer emissions than logging–"

"Uh oh," came Owen's voice behind her, and Maisie gave a little jump. "Did you get pop-quizzed again, kid?"

Maisie spun around, nearly bouncing out of her shoes. "Are we done? Can we go?"

Owen gave her hair a tousle. "We are done."

"Yes!" she leaped out of the small gift shop and raced toward their camper, braided pigtails flying behind her.

Owen chuckled and looked down at Claire as she returned both necklaces to their racks. "That one's pretty," he nodded at the teal heart pendant, propping his elbow up on the glass counter beside her.

She nodded. "It reminds me of one I had back on the island," she mused, more to herself than to Owen. His gaze lingered on her a bit longer than he realized and when she looked up, she startled at his entranced expression. "What?"

He shook his head as if snapping to, and said, "Buy it."

She rolled her eyes. "It's forty-five dollars."

Owen inhaled on a wince, "Yikes."

"Yeah," she said, letting it dangle gently on its rack, then turning to glance over his shoulder to where their ward had skipped outside, "So…are we done?"

He nodded. "Three shipments, three different dates, three separate trucking companies."
Claire's eyes went wide. "Wow! Did they–" she hesitated, glancing up at the young clerk who had been watching her and Maisie with vague interest before but had been fixing her hair and ogling Owen since he'd walked inside. She cleared her throat and moved him toward the door. "Did they ask questions?" she finished in hushed tones.

"Yeah, he had questions."

"And?...did he…buy our story?" After so many of these stops, she wasn't all that hopeful, but she still asked every time.

Owen snorted. "Of course not, but I don't think he cared."

Claire groaned but wasn't surprised. Since leaving the Oakhurst area, they'd been up and down the entire west coast, stopping only at locally owned lumber yards and scrap heaps. When they could, they bought pallets of reclaimed wood, and not for any purpose as noble as preventing deforestation. The reality was simple…and grim. Large shipments of lumber could be tracked or red-flagged. Anyone looking for Maisie would have done their homework by now on Owen Grady. And with the land and wood he'd abandoned at his original build site, he was sure that the next Dr. Wu out there just might get the idea to track large shipments of lumber going out to remote locations like the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

"Hello-ooooh?" a voice came bounding back in earshot and they spun around to see Maisie motioning for them to hurry. "Have I told you how many books there are in this place?!" she stamped her foot impatiently.

"One-million, nine-hundred and ninety-four thousand, five-hundred and forty-one!" they both called back in unison. And Maisie laughed in spite of her endearing impatience.

"Well then come on already!" she whined.

"All right, Mary Poppins," said Owen, "keep your pants on!"

Maisie huffed dramatically, flailing her arms about, then hopped back inside the camper.

He shook his head and laughed in a way that prompted a look from Claire. "I know I'm no expert?" he answered the question in her eyes, "but I'm pretty sure parenting isn't supposed to be this easy."

"This is easy?" she asked, her hand slipping naturally into his and they started walking outside.

Owen gave her a squeeze. "We told her to pick any tourist spot in Portland to see first…and she picked another library. Yeah, I think this is easy."

Claire offered a small smile but mused sadly. "You know, my sister used to say: 'little kids, little problems? Big kids…big problems.'"

He stopped and turned to face her. Claire didn't often talk about her sister. "And…which one is Maisie?" he trod carefully, trying to gauge where exactly she wanted this conversation to go.

She raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Little kid…big problems?" And when Owen's brow furrowed with worry, she added, "She was asking about the lumber again."

"Ah," he sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Hence the pop quiz."

"Yeah," she said quietly, looking down and kicking at a few stray rocks along the mill's gravel driveway. "It just…I dunno, it feels like we're lying to her."

Owen blinked, his mouth a bit faster than his brain. "We are lying to her."

Claire bristled and glared up at him, her response clipped in irritation, "Yes. Thank you, Owen." Then she spun on her heel and stalked off to the camper.

"No it–Claire–I just–ah!" Owen shook his head and wiped his hands down his face. Shit. He started to follow her, then abruptly turned in the other direction. It was a stupid thing to say – however true – and Owen had learned by now that when he said stupid things, it was best to give her space. They had a bit of a drive to this amazing library of Maisie's and he didn't want to kill her mood by adding their tension to the trip. With a deep sigh, he turned back toward the gift shop. Besides, he thought. He had an idea.

.*.*.*.

They approached the Portland skyline about an hour later, after parking their motorhome at a campsite and unhitching the station wagon for the drive into town. Maisie talked a mile a minute about the Hawthorne bridge, the Museum of Science and History, the World Forestry Center, and a half dozen other places she wanted to explore next, "but first…the Multnomah County Central Library!" And despite the mid-November sunset approaching sooner than they'd grown accustomed to in their late summer excursions, there was still plenty of time in the day to explore Multnomah's three-story historic landmark.

Ironically, this had all started as Claire's idea. She'd become adamant that in caring for Maisie, they'd not neglect her education. And since they couldn't exactly enroll her in school, Claire had insisted that in every city they passed through while buying up materials for their cabin, they would spend at least one afternoon at a local library, choosing a new subject to dive into for a structured lesson, and then set Maisie loose among the children's and young adult shelves, while Claire and Owen watched over her…like hawks. And although Maisie wasn't always a fan of Claire's homeschooling – she had been tutored by Iris after all – she couldn't complain about this particular ritual. She simply loved these old buildings that housed such glorious collections of books, and she'd developed quite an eye for seeking out the most unique and unusual libraries in every city they visited.

So by the time they'd turned Maisie loose under the famous brass "tree of knowledge" by the children's circulation desk, it had been almost two hours since Owen's snappy retort had set Claire off, and he felt…relatively safe broaching the subject again. "Hey," he said softly as they leaned against the chest-high ledge that partitioned off an area of young adult books where Maisie was engrossed in a volume of Mrs. Peregrine's. Claire looked aside, expectantly. "I'm sorry," he nudged her elbow with his. "I wasn't trying to be flippant."

"I know," she sighed, looking away again, "and you weren't wrong."

Owen hesitated. He didn't want to fight, and she didn't seem to be looking for one. But they'd promised each other they wouldn't be stupid anymore. "Do you…want to tell her? Now, after all this time?"

Claire's eyes fell closed as she sucked in a breath, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I just…" but she shook her head and trailed off. "I don't know."

Owen placed his hand lightly on the small of her back and turned her to face him, concern in his eyes. "Look, I'm gonna follow your lead, Claire, but you're the one who said you didn't want her feeling awkward or guilty–"

"I know," she nodded, another tired sigh.

"And we're practically done now. A few more stops on the way back to California, and we've got all the lumber and most of the hardware."

Still quieter. "I know."

Owen's jaw tightened, and he started counting backward from 10 in his head. He really didn't want to fight, but this sort of defeated acquiescence of hers was almost worse. He tried again, hoping he sounded more patient than he felt. "Then what is it? Tell me."

Claire took a deep breath and finally found the words. "I just…didn't realize how curious she would be, you know?" she said, turning more fully toward him. "I guess I kinda hoped that by turning it into this whole…cross country…road trip…thing, that she–I dunno–wouldn't notice? Wouldn't realize that we've been buying up lumber for this cabin, like, one log at a time?"

Owen nodded, glancing back at Maisie who remained engrossed in her book. Thankfully, she hadn't looked up to check on them yet, else she would have picked up on Claire's mood immediately. Wanting to avoid more awkward explanations, he gently nudged them away from the partition and over to a small study nook.

Claire rubbed her temples as she allowed him to guide her into an easy chair, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "It's just…every time she asks, it feels more and more like a lie. Like we don't trust her." And she thought not for the first time that day about a heartbroken nephew who–after the dust settled on the Indominus incident – didn't talk to his mother for days after confirming his fears she'd just sent him away to get divorced. "It just…" she swallowed back a few tears, "It's never a good place for a kid to be."

Owen covered her hand with his and let the silence linger a bit as he watched the gears spinning in her head. There were a dozen reasons why telling Maisie the real story behind their three-month tour of the west coast scared him, but at the moment he wasn't sure which would be worse in the long run – a moody tween or a guilt-ridden mom. "If you really want to tell her," he began slowly. She met his gaze. "I'm not gonna argue with you."

Claire cocked an eyebrow. "But?"

And then it was Owen's turn to sigh. He dropped her hand and gazed across the way to where Maisie had started leafing through a new book – and even from here, he could tell that she'd already found this library's copy of MacMillan's Baseball Encyclopedia. Claire followed his gaze and then glanced back, not at all surprised by the bleary-eyed half-grin on his face. "I like this Maisie," he said finally, in a low whisper. "She's happy, you know?" he turned back to Claire. "She's excited by everything. She's not falling to pieces every time we hear a bad news report. She can talk about Lockwood without crying…" he trailed off as Claire started nodding. "It's like…she just gets to be a normal kid for a while, instead of being constantly reminded that she's different." He paused and looked down at the floor. "If we tell her…that all goes away. She goes back to being this scared little girl who thinks everything is her fault and she's this big inconvenience to us." And finally, he drew his eyes back to Maisie. "Which she's not," his voice hitched again as he finished. "She's our daughter."

Claire watched him steadily as he listed off all the reasons why they both came up with the "be-good-to-the-environment-while-seeing-the-world" cover story in the first place, but when his voice cracked at the word 'daughter,' she felt it in her own heart. They'd certainly posed as Maisie's parents in public before – in stores and restaurants. Maisie herself had joined in on Owen's joke, calling it "playing house" in circumstances and towns where it was easier to just appear to be an ordinary family. But in private, they usually just called her Maisie, and in rare moments, their 'girl.' This was the first time either of them had used the word 'daughter,' and Claire kinda loved that Owen said it first.

Remembering something, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I guess I'll always wonder," she said as she pulled back. Owen looked down at her quizzically. "Something else Karen used to say," she explained, which again surprised him. Karen and her nephews were sensitive subjects; the reality of how her family might be used or threatened to get to Maisie through Claire was too disturbing to think about. "'You'll always wonder if you made the right call,'" Claire quoted her sister now with a sad smile. "'And you'll never know the answer.'"

Owen clasped her hand again and brought it to his lips, kissing the back softly with an extra squeeze. "Only the best parents even wonder at all, Claire," he said, holding her hand now in both of his. "I don't think you're doing it right if you don't." Claire cracked a grin which soon spread into a full, loving smile that so dramatically shifted her mood, Owen straightened up, a little startled. "What?"

Claire chuckled and shook her head. God, she loved this man. "I thought you said you weren't an expert."

Owen opened his mouth to reply when suddenly Maisie was bounding toward them. "Owen, look!" she cried out in a loud library-whisper, carrying the encyclopedia opened to a two-page spread about the Boston Red Sox and their 'curse of the bambino.' "Just like you said!" she said cheerily, remembering the legend he'd told her about Babe Ruth as if it had been a bedtime story.

Owen laughed out loud. "Did you think I was kidding?"

And Claire watched as the two of them poured over their trivia, noting with resignation that she couldn't…wouldn't ruin this little scene for the world.

.*.*.*.

The afternoon passed in relative calm after they left the library, stopping for dinner at a place called Cheryl's and then burning off some calories in Washington Park. A small playground occupied Maisie for about a half hour while Owen and Claire sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the crisp, late autumn breeze. A younger boy and his father were also taking advantage of the relatively empty playground and Claire was uncharacteristically relaxed as she watched Maisie playing pirate adventures with someone her own age.

A late evening walk through Hoyt Arboretum, with the promise of returning the next day to see the forestry center and rose garden, meant it was pitch black by the time they got back to their campsite. Maisie had fallen into a dead sleep in the back of their station wagon, and Owen carried her gently into the camper while Claire started up the firepit close by.

So it was a long time between their talk in the library and their late-night campfire before Owen had a chance to say, 'Thank you."

Claire turned, a bit startled as she added some kindling. He'd approached so quietly and stood quite stiffly, hands sunk deep into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"For what?"

Owen gave her a pointed look. "You know 'what.'"

And she did. "Owen," she sighed as they both took seats on giant stumps which had conveniently been arranged by previous campers. "You don't have to thank me. This is…" she paused, "this is how it's supposed to work. Talking things out. Getting on the same page. And I said from the beginning, you weren't wrong."

"I know," he picked up a pile of thrush and threw it on the fire, watching it crackle and snap brightly through the pitch black of night. "But I can't help feeling like I sort of…" he cleared his throat, "like you're not really on the same page. You just…gave in."

"Honey–"

"And I don't want it to be like that again," he added quickly. "I don't wanna…win by emotional blackmail."

"Ow-en!" she chided him, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. "Gimme a little more credit than that, huh? Jeez, where did you even get that phrase?"

At that he couldn't help but scoff, giving her a look that said Seriously?

Claire blinked a few seconds and then it dawned on her. "Ooooooh, I used it on you, didn't I?"

He nodded, openly grinning. "Yep, right before I left."

"Right before I left," she teased, and they both got a little lost in each other's memories. "Look," she said, facing him squarely. "It's not about 'winning.' It doesn't feel that way, I promise. You made a good argument."

He sighed and rubbed his palms together as a swift breeze blew through his thin fleece. "But you still want to tell her." It wasn't a question.

"Honey–"

"And I'm not sure you're wrong."

Claire reeled. "What?"

"What you said about trust back there. 'Bout it being a bad place for a kid to be?" he said in earnest. "I can't get it outta my head."

"Oh lord," Claire couldn't help but laugh. "Have we actually switched sides?"

Owen threw his hands up helplessly and then covered his face with his palms. "I dunno," he mumbled into his fingers. "I'm so tired."

She knew exactly what he meant. "Hey," she reached forward and pulled his hands away from his face, letting her own hands settle in his, and started tracing lazy circles in his palms. "Listen," she began again, looking down, and she felt him catch his breath at her gentle caress. "My sister has been in my head a lot today," she admitted. "I don't know why. And honestly?" she looked up and met his gaze, "I don't know if this is just me trying to ease my own conscience or I genuinely believe it's what's best for Maisie." Owen nodded as he adjusted their hands, brushing his thumbs across the backs of her wrists. "But the fact is, Karen raised two ordinary boys in an ordinary town with ordinary lives. There's no rulebook for what we're doing here. No one ever wrote What to Expect When You're Expecting to Hide a Girl from Mad Scientists."

The joke was so unexpected, Owen openly guffawed, throwing his head back with cathartic laughter after a day spent tied in knots. "That sounds like something I would say," he said, still chuckling as he reached inside the pocket of his fleece.

Claire smiled broadly, proud to know she could still make him laugh like that. "Maybe you're finally rubbing off on me," she nudged his knee with hers.

But then Owen cleared his throat and produced a thin, narrow box from his pocket. "Maybe you are too," he said warmly. Claire started in surprise.

"What's–"

"Open it," he said and she lifted the lid up to reveal the silver necklace she'd been admiring that day, the one with the small teal heart.

"Owen!" she gasped as it sparkled in the firelight. "You didn't have–"

But Owen held his hand up to stop her. "I remember the one you had on the island," he said, simply.

Claire gaped at him. "You do?"

"And I remember when I saw it on you."

Another open-mouthed shock. She didn't even remember that. "When?"

He held her gaze and smirked. "Our first date."

"Noooo way," she gasped, looking between him and the necklace.

"Think about it," he motioned for her to turn around. Claire shifted around on her stump, her back to his chest. "You were in that teal blouse with your white skirt," he was saying as she lifted her hair and allowed him to slip it on her, "and you had on…" he did up the clasp carefully and then laid his hands on her shoulders, "that necklace."

Claire held the pendant in her hand, finding it even more beautiful now than she had in the shop, then slid her hand up to cover his at her shoulder. "I can't believe you remember that," she whispered, laying her head back which brought her cheek close to his.

"There isn't much I could forget about you, Claire," he murmured in her ear as he moved his hands from her shoulders to wrap around her waist from behind.

Claire's stomach fluttered in an adolescent omigod kind of way, and with an embarrassed giggle, she rasped through blinking tears, "Are you tryin' to get lucky or something?" It was a clumsy joke, she knew, but it prevented her from blubbering like a complete sap.

Owen cocked an eyebrow in mock alarm and turned her to face him once more. "I mean…no? But I'm not about to turn that down if you're offering," he added with a smirk. They both laughed as Claire lifted the teal pendant to admire it once more, then closed her hand around it and held it to her heart. Growing serious once again, Owen took her free hand in his and said simply, "I love you."

Claire let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for four years. "I love you," she said, then added in amazement, "Why haven't we said that out loud before?"

Owen chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know. 'Cuz I'm an idiot, and you're neurotic?" She laughed before he added, "and it's been true for so long, it just…felt like a given."

A quiet intensity settled between them, and they sat there by the fireside in an unspoken vow. Honestly, for Claire, he might as well have given her a ring, not a necklace. The effect was the same, and she could tell Owen was feeling it too. This was it, she thought. This is forever… An amazing little girl sound asleep in the camper 50 feet away had sealed the deal.

Owen reached forward to cup her face with his palm, massaging the back of her neck while resting his forehead against hers. Claire's eyes fluttered closed and a tiny moan escaped her throat. Using both hands now to frame her face, he tipped her head up ever so slightly and kissed her. She responded in full, fisting the lapels of his fleece in her hands as he stood up and brought her with him, sliding his hands down the length of her arms and wrapping them around her waist. She snaked her arms around his neck, forcing his towering form to meet her petite height halfway, and he responded in kind, lifting her form into his at the waist and pressing her close.

For long, blissful moments, they were content to simply lose themselves in each other. They got so little time together for intimacy anymore, these stolen nights always thrummed with the tenor of rediscovery. And when Owen finally pulled back, Claire expected him to say something quippy–something like, "Your place or mine?" But Owen was gazing at her seriously, something unfinished in his eyes. "I want to tell Maisie the truth."

Claire startled, "What? No. Owen, we don't–"

But he shook his head. "No, you were right. I want her to know that we trust her. And I want her to be able to trust us."

Claire watched the firelight dance across the love in his eyes, and her expression of disbelief dissolved into a smile. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding back at the camper while still holding her tight. "Pretending makes it easier…but telling her…makes it real."