Disclaimer: I do not own the Jurassic Park/World franchise or any of it's characters; I only own the characters and plots of my own mind.

40. Normalcy and Peace

"I know it's the new year, but… I still wish you would've waited a little longer to go back to work," said Billy Brennan.

Gwyn shot him a wry look as she opened the cardboard box on her desk. Billy was stood on the other side, pulling books out of a plastic tub sat in front of him. He returned the look she'd delivered, lips twisting and brows vaulting. For a moment, they were at a standstill, a familiar stalemate they'd come to time and time before.

"I'd go off the deep end if I didn't come back," she countered.

"Yeah, I know; you can't stand having nothing to do for longer than a twenty-four hour period. But it's January, Gwyn. You've only been home for a month. Not only do you deserve more time to wind down, you need it," he tried.

"Do you know what I was doing, Billy?" Gwyn pulled out a fist sized t-rex skull; nestled between its gaping jaws were her business cards. "I started to paint my nails. For fun."

At that, Billy grimaced a bit. An actual grimace, one born of the understanding that she only ever painted her nails for things like galas and fundraisers. Wearing nailpolish in the field was impractical, because it, and her nails, would chip. But it came in handy whenever Gwyn needed to hide how uneven her nails were from constant chipping and picking, and the dirt that never seemed to disappear from her nail beds. Billy understood that her painting them and growing them out for fun meant that she was about to lose her mind.

"Yikes," he hissed. He pulled a very 'yikes' kind of face as he took up a pile of books. That expression then morphed. His eyes narrowed and his lips quirked up at one corner. "You really must be reaching the end of your rope, then, making yourself look presentable."

With a mock-wounded expression, and a cluck of her tongue, Gwyn leaned over the desk and punched him in the arm. He shied away with a snort, and the two devolved into laughter. She rolled her eyes and took a moment to observe her nails. They were painted olive drab, and despite the fact she'd been doing nothing, they were already chipping. With a shake of her head, and a lingering smirk, Gwyn pulled a mug out of the cardboard box next.

"Your cheekiness is gonna get you in trouble one day," she deadpanned.

"With you or the world?"

"Which one's scarier?"

"You, definitely you," Billy laughed. He placed a copy of The Dinosaur Heresies onto a shelf. "Gwyn Grant, you could strike the fear of god into anyone living or dead with just a word." He turned away from the bookcase. "But you don't scare me." When Gwyn looked over at him, a significantly softer look had overtaken his face. One that spoke of years of caring and understanding. It managed to soften the look on her face, too. "I really wish you would've taken even a little more time off."

A sigh escaped Gwyn's lips. She tore her eyes away from Billy and focused on placing the MSU mug in the perfect spot. The perpetual tiredness that had been plaguing her caused her shoulders to slump a bit. Once she'd turned the mug a full three-sixty, she looked back over at Billy.

"I know. You're not the only one. I just… I need to be doing something. If I'm just sitting at home, twiddling my thumbs, I think. And right now, thinking is my worst enemy. I need to apply myself to something. Besides, I love it here. I've missed the museum. The people." Gwyn offered a pointed look at Billy, who chuckled softly. "I appreciate your concern, Billy, I do. I just think that this is what's best for me, at the moment. It's… normalcy. I need to get as much of that as possible, it's the only thing that's gonna get me through this."

The tenderness of concern in Billy's face slackened to something worn and distant. It made him look older. It seemed to emphasize the smattering of pale, thin scars that littered his visage. Most of them were hard to perceive if you weren't looking for them. But there was one just below his hairline, and another on the right side of his neck that were harder to miss. They had always been unmissable to Gwyn. She'd seen them when they were still thin, bloody lines. They stood out to her in this moment, however, because she could tell he was remembering. Remembering his own recovery period, how he'd grasped at every scrap of normalcy that he could.

Billy inhaled sharply, suddenly, and tore his gaze out of whatever memory he'd peered into. He managed a wry smirk in Gwyn's direction before he turned back to his task of shelving books and binders.

"I should know better than to argue with a Grant," he sighed. "Been working with you crazy people for sixteen years… can never get a word in edgewise."

"What a falsity!" Gwyn laughed. She dropped a handful of pens and pencils into the mug and planted a hand on her hip. The other one rose to jab in Billy's direction. "We listen to you! The only reason that you've worked with us for sixteen years is because we like listening to you. You've provided years of intelligent conversation and good company."

"Yeah, in this field it's a blessing to have been kept around by the Grants for so long… I'm untouchable so long as I'm in the favor of the Royals of Paleontology."

Gwyn offered a hefty roll of her eyes. Because Billy had known herself and Alan for so long, he knew they were likely to scoff at being called paleontological royalty. And that was exactly why he made a point of using the moniker as often as possible. She was convinced he enjoyed seeing the eye rolls, hearing the mutters and scoffs. In the trio of Alan, Billy, and Gwyn, Billy Brennan was always the one that was grinning and laughing. He always had a light touch or gentle point of view to lend to a situation. And that was something that she admired greatly.

Eventually, when Gwyn had her desk all set up, she moved to help Billy at the bookcase. The pair worked in a practiced, easy symbiosis. They passed books and binders between them, placed them on the proper shelves. Conversation flowed easily between them, too. It was a testament to the amount of time they'd spent with and around one another. All the long days at hot dig sites, conversations in the museum archives, talks in lecture halls at the university. But it also served as a reminder of all the non-professional time they'd spent together, too. Drinks at bars, stargazing in the badlands, late night trips to Target with truck windows down and music blasting. A lifetime of good natured memories, in all different aspects.

Gwyn knew Billy well. So well, in fact, that she knew she was in for something when he slipped her a sly look. She quirked an eyebrow and shelved a dark green binder filled with field notes. "What?" she deadpanned.

"You should invite Owen to my wedding as your plus one," Billy suggested. But his tone was light, but it still seemed like less of a suggestion, and more of how he'd like it to be.

With a hand still on the spine of the binder, Gwyn paused. When she turned her eyes to the man beside her, he was nonchalantly organizing the books he'd just placed. Her eyes narrowed curiously. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'd like to meet him."

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth. She propped an arm up on a shelf and placed a hand on her hip. "Yeah, 'cause inviting one's current boyfriend to one's ex-boyfriend's wedding is totally normal."

"It is when you've stayed good friends with your ex," he laughed with a good natured grin. That grin was turned to Gwyn, who couldn't help but smile back. But, still, she rolled her eyes.

"Don't turn your wedding into an interrogation, Billy."

"I won't, I won't!" More fond laughter, which Gwyn joined in on. And then he crossed his arms and leaned back against the bookshelf. "I just want to meet the guy that's got Gwyn Grant all moony-eyed. It's not often someone gets you that way."

The smile on Gwyn's face softened. It wasn't often that someone got her that way, he was right about that. There were only two people who had, in fact. One of them was in California, and the other was stood with her in the office. She quietly wondered if he knew that.

"I was gonna ask him if he wanted to go. I am gonna ask him if he wants to go. You two will get along, I think, maybe too well…" Gwyn grimaced playfully. "Maybe I shouldn't invite him…"

"No, no, no, I'll send him an invitation myself!" Billy insisted with a grin. "We've still got a couple extra. Give me his address, I'll have it in the mail by tomorrow morning."

Gwyn snorted, pushed off from the shelf, and turned to the pile of books on her desk. "Well, if he agrees to come, you can count on getting the rarest of wedding gifts."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Me, on the dancefloor."

"I like this guy already!"

Sacramento, California

Creedence Clearwater Revival had proved to be a form of therapy for Owen Grady. The twanging guitar, toe-tapping drum-beats, and soulful voice of John Fogarty were grounding. It felt freeing; the kind of music you cranked to max volume while you took a late evening summer drive. It made it easy to forget the stress, the anxiety, the lingering memories and live in that moment. So he blasted the music loud––or as loud as he could without the neighbors complaining––whenever he got the chance. If it weren't so cold, Owen would've let it spill out the windows. But, because it was an uncomfortable forty-three degrees, the soul-warming tones of 'Have you Ever Seen the Rain' remained encapsulated in his humble trailer.

Owen had just gotten home from a tiring day at work. He'd picked up a job as a mechanic at a local garage. It was owned by one of his dad's old military buddies, who said he'd not only be happy to help out a friend, but a fellow veteran. It wasn't what he necessarily wanted to be doing, but it gave him something to do. The days were long, the tasks were involved, and he was often worn out by the time he got home. And for that, Owen was immensely thankful. Because the more tired he was, the easier it was to sleep.

He scrubbed a towel over damp hair, mumbling lyrics to himself distractedly. Once he was satisfied it was toweled off enough, he chucked the damp fabric into a close to overflowing hamper. Laundry had been on Owen's to-do list for most of the week. He had a feeling that if he didn't get to it soon, his mother would give him a scolding, the like he hadn't had since high school. With a faint smirk at the thought, he silently resolved to do it after dinner. It would give him something more to do, keep his head distracted. Because he'd been needing a lot of distraction lately, and it was getting harder and harder to find things to occupy himself.

It had been a month since the Jurassic World disaster. Upon returning home, Owen had received a warm welcome from his family, whom he hadn't seen for a couple of years. Everything, at first, had been calm. But, quickly, that calm became too calm. The quiet evenings, too quiet. Restfulness became restlessness. Owen had fought to find a new normalcy––with a job, with his trailer, with his family. He had tentatively found it, and, at best, it felt tenuous. He'd felt guilty for feeling that way; that, at any moment, it would be absolutely shattered. That he couldn't find a stable comfort with his family. His family––his sisters, his mother and father; the latter of whom were likely waiting for him.

With a quiet little sigh, Owen shut the music off, scrubbed a hand over his face, and pulled the door to the trailer open. The thing was parked just off to the side of his parents' driveway; and it had been there for years, ever since he'd come home from overseas. It was his mobile safe haven. There was nothing like being home, but sometimes even home could be too much. Too much noise, too much activity. The trailer gave him a place to breathe, to calm down when he needed. And, of course, a place of his own. But Owen left that haven every night to have dinner in the house, even on the roughest days. Not only did he really, truly enjoy seeing his parents, but it had also come at his mother's insistence.

Owen waved to a neighbor as he slipped into the backyard. People were friendly enough in the neighborhood; but he could see the curiosity behind their eyes when he bumped into them. It was the same look they'd given him when he'd come home from the navy. They wanted to know what happened, but didn't want to ask. So they speculated quietly, tried to read his face. But he only offered a smile, a wave, and a nod. If they really wanted to know––they'd have to ask him themselves. Not that they ever would. No one did. All that was ever said was 'thank you for your service,' and now 'glad to see you're back safe.'

Upon opening the back door, which led right into the kitchen, a smell both warm and delicious wafted over him. Diane Grady, his loving mother, stood at the sink, rinsing off a cutting board. Owen kicked the door shut and approached her. He looped an arm around her shoulders, squeezed, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Smells good," he greeted.

"That's because it will be good," Diane commented, with a bright, motherly tone. She nudged the tap off with her wrist and shook the water off her hands. Just as she reached for a dishtowel, she clucked her tongue; the towel was waved at his feet. "Shoes!"

A smile quirked the corner of Owen's mouth and he trod back to the door to toe the offending items off. Behind him, the muttering of 'after all these years, you'd think he'd learn…' made him smile even wider.

"And to make up for tracking dirt into my kitchen, you can get to work cutting that bread." Diane pointed to a loaf of french bread, already sliced in half, sitting on another cutting board.

"Yes, ma'am," Owen chuckled. Diane clucked her tongue again––likely for the formality––but she was smiling. He picked up the bread knife and started to saw it against the crust.

"How was work?" she asked, bustling over to the stove, where a pot of something bubbled away. The steam curled upwards, wafting through the soft, greying blonde curls of Diane's hair.

Owen shrugged. "More of the same. Riley called, though; he's having car troubles."

"Doesn't he live in San Francisco?"

"Yeah, I was thinking of driving down there on the weekend, give it a look. No reason for him to pay for repairs if he doesn't need to." Riley was a navy buddy, one that Owen had kept in close contact with over the years. There was an unspoken agreement that he'd help Riley out with any mechanical issues, because the man knew next to nothing about cars.

"That'll be nice for you, you haven't seen him in a while," Diane said.

He agreed with a hum, focused on slicing off chunks of bread. But the slices were uneven, because his attention was divided. Half of it lingered on the other call they'd gotten at the garage. Another reporter asking for a quote. Whether they were an independent journalist, associated with a major news channel, or a tabloid, Owen didn't know. But the minute they asked for 'an Owen Grady,' and then followed it with 'in regards to the events of Isla Nublar,' he'd hung up. Just as Gwyn had warned, the vulture had circled, and they had started to take dives at him. The stress of the press potentially lingering around every corner was suffocating. It was, in all honesty, terrifying. They threatened what thin, tenuous semblance of peace Owen had managed to grasp. He was scared that his family would get dragged into this whole media circus. He feared, every day, that someone would show up at the house. Or that they'd show up at either of his sister's apartments. It was bad enough that they'd gotten the home phone, his cellphone, and his place of work. Who was to say they wouldn't appear in the drive-way, or pop into Teddy's Garage?

Gwyn had given him advice on how to handle it all. She advised simple statements and requesting they leave professional inquiries. There was a tired ease with which she spoke about the media. About their quirks, their tricks, their tendencies. It was a testament to how long that she, and her family––blood related or otherwise––had been made to deal with it all. She'd had to deal with all of it since the age of eleven.

Jesus, she'd had to deal with all this shit since she was eleven.

It was tiring enough to deal with as a thirty-four year-old. But to have to handle full-blown adults hounding you down as a child? To exploit your trauma and pain, to utilize you for a sadistic form of entertainment? No wonder Gwyn had a less than shining view on the media. Owen had always understood it; but now he understood it. It was invasive. A breach of privacy and decency. It had him eyeing people with paranoia, wondering if they were about to pull out a voice recorder, notepad, and pen. It elevated his anxiety even more than it already had upon his return from the island.

"Are you going to introduce Riley to Gwyn when she comes to visit?" Diane inquired.

Owen looked up from the last slice of bread. He hadn't realized that his mother had briefly left the room to grab the oven-safe soup bowls. Diane set down the three bowls one at a time, all while quirking an inquiring brow at her son.

"She's only gonna be up here for a weekend, so if I can either get Riley up here, or we can make the drive to San Francisco, definitely. And if not now, some other time," Owen reasoned.

Diane nodded, and then smiled sweetly. She came over, presumably for the bread, but paused to place a hand on his back. "Are you excited to see her?"

The question had Owen forgetting all about the stress at work, the stress of the media; it had a smile splitting across his face. He ducked his head, as though to hide the boyishness of it. But he couldn't hide it, especially not from his mother. For Christmas, Gwyn's gift came in the promise of coming to visit him in California. Just after New Years, she'd sent him a screenshot of her purchased ticket. Gwyn was due to fly in mid February. She cited the need for the media to settle down and back off––having just had a reporter ambush her in the grocery store––for waiting so long. And while he'd understood the reasoning before, he really got it now.

"Yeah, I am," he admitted. He set the bread knife aside and took note of some crumbs on his hand. He brushed them off on his pant leg. Quietly, he looked over at Diane and let the corner of his smile wane a little. "I, uh… I didn't expect to miss her as much as I do, Mom."

The hand that Diane had placed on Owen's back started to rub comfortingly. But the smile on her face remained, sweet and happy. But a gentle furrow had pinched between her eyebrows, like she understood the pain the professed to feel.

"I know, sweetie. But the pain just reminds you of how much you love someone. Whenever your dad had to leave for training? When you left for training? Oof!" Diane slapped a hand down into the middle of her chest, shook her head, and let her face contort. It showed what stress and pain such experiences had left her with, what lingering shocks of it still existed. But then her easy smile returned, and she turned it on her son. "The pain you feel now in missing her, will only make your reunion sweeter."

Owen looped his arm around her shoulders and gave her another one-armed hug. "Thanks, Mom."

"Of course, sweetie." Diane pat his back one last time, and then went about snatching up some of the bread slices. "And you told her that she's welcome to our guest room, right?" She shot him a look then, one so intensely motherly. It presumed that, as her son, he'd been the gentleman and offered; but it also warned that they'd have words if he hadn't. So, to assuage her fears, he nodded.

"I did, don't worry. She said she'd be more than happy to take the guest room," Owen assured.

"Good. It'll be much comfier than that lumpy bed in your trailer."

An unbidden, embarrassed, instinctive groan rose from deep in Owen's chest. His head lolled back as a hand rose to scrub over his scrunched-up face. "Mom."

"All I'm saying is that you should clean the trailer up a bit if you want to bring a girl back home!"

"Mom!" Owen gaped at her, unable to subdue the harsh pink that flushed his face. She had made a point of saying such things, such embarrassing insinuations after he mentioned Gwyn would be coming to visit. He understood, now, where he really got that snarky sense of humor––he got it from Diane Grady. She hadn't even said stuff like that when he was a teenager; she was taking great pleasure in embarrassing her son.

"I swear, your father with the garage, you with the trailer…" Diane shook her head as she ladled onion soup into each bowl. "And you're both against my getting 'man cave' signs…"

The trailer was something that, as much as Diane accepted, she also tutted over. She thought it was too cramped, too old, and could do with a couple good deep-cleans. But she never made a move to do anything without permission. Because she knew what the trailer was to him. A place to escape, a place that he could control. But Owen knew that, for as much as she respected that, his escaping to it worried her sometimes. He lived with the aftermath of being a combat veteran. His anxiety was fragile at best, and everything that happened on Isla Nublar had made it even more tenuous. The way he was handling that added stress was a little more practice than when he'd returned from overseas; but he knew that Diane was drawing parallels. And he knew that it hurt her to do so. So he always tried his damndest to ensure her that she was okay.

"I was planning on cleaning it before she came…" he mumbled. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. Diane snorted and shot a look over her shoulder.

"You were never the best at keeping your room clean. Remember the moldy pizza box I found under your bed?" she posed.

The groan that shoved its way out of Owen's mouth was riddled with laughter. The teenage memory was something that he'd never live down; the whole family teased him about it. But he'd long since gotten past being defensive about it. Now a playful ire came in the wake of it being mentioned.

"How can I when you, Kristi, and Jessica never let me forget about it?" Owen asked.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Gwyn," she teased. "But I will get the photo albums."

"Mom."

OOOO

Bozeman, Montana

Gwyn let out a long breath and dug the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. With her eyes closed, she blindly reached out and slammed her laptop shut. She'd been working on an inventory report, mindlessly listing what bones were missing from some of their display skeletons. It had been her project for the day, and it left her eyes feeling dry. She'd forgotten how needlessly exhausting it was to work indoors. Within the four walls of her office, time passed both too quickly, and far too slow. The light from her laptop screen burned her eyes. The office chair made her back ache. After months of working outside, it was easy to get restless. And Gwyn often found herself thinking that the office got too quiet sometimes. There were times that she missed the incessant drone of tropical insects. Those moments were remedied by playing music softly as she worked.

The desk phone rang suddenly and shrilly. It caused Gwyn to jump, spurred a swear to fly from her mouth. She snatched the phone off the receiver and drew it up to her ear.

"Dr. Grant speaking."

"Hi, Dr. Grant," greeted the pleasant voice of Josie, who worked at the information desk. "There's a gentleman here from the American Natural History Museum that says he's here for you"

"Right, yeah, it's two o'clock already isn't it? Tell him I'll be right down, Josie."

"You got it! Should I send him over to the Siebel Complex for you?"

"Yes, have him wait for me in the Hall of Giants."

"Sure thing!"

"Thank you!"

With a clack, Gwyn placed the phone back into the receiver and rose to her feet. She'd genuinely forgotten that she'd had a meeting that afternoon. A self-reprimanding grimace pulled across her face as she bustled out of her room. She needed to reinvest in a watch, clearly the clock on the wall wasn't doing much for her. Time had been escaping her lately, for any number of reasons. A co-worker had joked she was still on 'island time'; it was with horror that said co-worker seemed to realize how bad that could be taken, given the circumstances. They'd sputtered to apologize, but Gwyn had just laughed and assured them that they were right. Working on Isla Nublar, though stressful, had been marginally more laid back. The days were long and hot, and taking frequent breaks to beat the heat were commonplace. The museum, though quiet and relaxed, was still faster paced. More paperwork, more calls, meetings, more footwork. She really was still adapting to being back on a more rigid schedule, so Gwyn assured her co-worker the phrase wasn't offensive.

But, of course, Gwyn was still on 'island time' for other reasons, too.

The Siebel Dinosaur Complex was a popular attraction at the Museum of the Rockies, and the number of visitors it received was always respectful. But the numbers had a major bump following the fall of Jurassic World. Their attendance rate was up, which meant more people were wandering through their exciting collection of impressive fossils. But that meant that finding her visitor from New York would be more difficult. It was then that Gwyn realized that no one had told her who she was meeting. She didn't know if she was meeting with the paleontology collections manager, the curator, or any number of their associates. With a furrow between her brows, she started to search for someone wearing a suit. People from New York always showed up to meetings in suits. But even with that in mind, it was hard to pick someone out in a crowd.

"Dr. Grant?"

Gwyn stopped her purposeful wandering immediately. She turned on her heel so fast, the I.D. card clipped to the waistband of her pants flapped wildly. Stood behind her, with the biggest, cheesiest grin, was none other than Tim Murphy. A delighted, surprised laugh bubbled out of Gwyn's mouth. That was why she hadn't been able to spot her New York colleague; Tim was not one for suits. He'd managed to blend in with the crowd of visitors in his dark blue button-down, which was dotted with tiny salmon pink brachiosauruses. A professional visitor's pass hung around his neck, tucked beneath his collar, the only thing that gave away he was there on business.

"Tim!"

With another peel of laughter, Gwyn grabbed him in the tightest of hugs. Tim, laughing delightedly himself, curled his arms around her middle to return it. Then he hoisted her off her feet in a display of strength not many thought he had. Still laughing, Gwyn let him turn her in a full circle before he set her back on her feet. She didn't give a damn how many people were staring, if anyone was muttering about professionalism––she hadn't seen Tim in person in so long. When they stepped apart, Tim's hands remained on her waist, and hers stayed planted on his shoulders.

"I heard you were the woman to talk to about an ankylosaurus scute," he chuckled.

"You could've told me you were coming!" she countered, still grinning.

Tim shrugged his shoulders and beamed brightly. "Wouldn't have been a surprise, then. The boss man back in New York has been griping about needing a scute for a skeleton we want to display; so I told him I had some connections in Montana. It was a good excuse to get out to see you."

Gwyn clucked her tongue in faux reprimand. Then she shook her head and just let herself look at him. Tim was one of her dearest friends, and it was a shame that they didn't get to meet up too often. Their work schedules either ran them together or shoved them apart; and there'd been a lot of shoving in recent years. She squeezed his shoulders fondly, before her hands dropped away.

"You look good, Tim," she complimented. "You're doing well?"

"Yeah, yeah!" He nodded eagerly. "Work is good, health is good." He continued to nod, even though he'd stopped talking. Despite his reassurances, there was a tiredness in his eyes, in the faint tension at the corners of his mouth. Tim rocked a half step back and reached out to take hold of her shoulders. His dark, soulful eyes took a thorough, slow path over her from head-to-toe. "And you? You're good?"

Gwyn's smile quirked sideways, and she laughed gently. Tim had been almost hysterically frantic when he'd gotten in contact with Gwyn after the Jurassic World incident. He'd rambled, as he did when he was nervous, asking question after question regarding her safety. He spewed tearful admittances of how scared he'd been, how every time the news mentioned her name, he thought the worst. If there'd ever been a doubt that Tim was her best friend, that phone call had squashed it; and so did the video call that followed it because he'd needed to see that she was okay in order for his frayed nerves to calm.

"I'm good, Tim," she promised.

Tim's brows vaulted sharply. "Are you sure? Arm's healing up well? You're getting enough sleep? 'Cause if sleeping is an issue, Lex got me into these neat wall plug-ins that distribute essential oils. I have one next to my bed, and––I swear to god––I've been sleeping better since I put it in," he rambled. "I also find that tea before bed is really helpful, but you have to watch out for the caffeinated stuff. You gotta go for the herbal stuff, otherwise you're gonna be bouncing off the walls all night."

"Falling asleep has been kinda rough, actually; send me the info for those plug-ins and I'll give 'em a look." Tim nodded an eager promise which had Gwyn smiling. She tipped her head sideways and started to turn in the same direction. "C'mon, I think I've got a scute downstairs that might work for you. We can walk and talk business and pleasure, Dr. Murphy."

The pair started to weave their way through the Hall of Giants, chatting about Tim's trip to Montana. The plane trip had been decent, if not a bit bumpy. He complained about the frigid temperature, and Gwyn laughed at his insistence that 'man was not meant to live anywhere that dipped below twenty degrees.' All the while, people watched them. Some did so blatantly, others covertly from the corners of their eyes. It was like Gwyn Grant and Tim Murphy were part of the exhibit. And, perhaps, in some odd way, they were. They were a duo made famous by their connections to dinosaurs both living and dead. And, as a testament to how normal this was to them, neither paid the attention any mind. They just continued on their way, absorbed in their own little world, which people were straining to get a glimpse into.

OOOO

"Here we are," Gwyn announced. She placed a small cardboard box on the table and took the lid off. She slid it towards Tim, took a seat, and folded her arms on the tabletop.

Tim reached out and pulled the box towards himself, with a quiet professionalism. He reached inside and carefully withdrew an oblong fossil about the size of his palm. At first glance just looked like a neatly shaped brown rock, which sloped up into a small peak. But to a trained eye, it was clear that this was an osteoderm. Gwyn watched as her friend carefully inspected it, turning it this-way-and-that, running his fingers over its surface. There was a faint furrow between his brow, a serious purse to his lips. They may be friends, but they were also colleagues; they both took this work seriously. They were both a 'no holds barred' kind of professional, even with each other. If they thought an offer made by the other could be better, they'd let them know.

So Gwyn watched as Tim measured the base of the scute, squinted at it, murmured to himself as he checked his notepad. And when his eyes finally rose to meet hers, she arched a curious eyebrow. He looked back to the scute and then started to nod.

"This is beautiful," he admitted hushedly. He then laughed, shuffled in closer to the table, and brought the fossil closer towards his face. "This found here?"

"Yeah, Hell Creek Formation," Gwyn confirmed with a grin. She sat forward a little, weight leaned on her arms. "It is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah!" Tim enthused. "If you don't mind, I'll send a picture back to the boss man, see what he thinks… but I think we've got a winner here."

"By all means." Gwyn gestured to the fossil and pushed the box aside, which gave ample room for a good picture.

Tim set about taking a couple of pictures, lining it up beside the ruler for its length, width, and height. Then he took a few 'glamour shots' in good lighting. When this phase came, he giggled a little under his breath. "Everytime we do this, I feel like this is some sort of black market deal or something," he joked.

"We've had those," Gwyn said, completely seriously. Tim blinked at her, wide-eyed. "Remember in college? I sent you a piece of t-rex jaw so you could impress your teacher. That's gotta be some black market shit, right?"

Laughter burst forth from Tim's mouth; a gleeful gleam had risen to his eyes at the memory. "And it worked! Dr. Foy was very impressed." He placed the scute back into the box and replaced its cover. "Now, with that aside…" The box got nudged aside again, and Tim smiled at her broadly. "We can talk."

The smile painted across his face was heartwarming. It hadn't changed a bit since they were kids. It was perpetually sweet, so much so it was almost disarming. It reminded her of college-era roadtrips, road-side ice cream shops, and tipsy karaoke performances in their living rooms. Tim Murphy, for all that he'd been through, still somehow managed to radiate warmth, happiness, and excitement. All qualities were infectious, and they tickled something in Gwyn that had her smiling just as wide as he was.

"What've you been up to lately?" she asked. "How's Lex? What's happening in good ol' NYC?"

Tim pursed his lips and rolled his eyes ceilingward. As he thought, his pursed lips pulled to the side and his brows furrowed cutely. "Lex is good; she's been on a lot of business trips lately. She's getting into meditation––hence the touting of essential oils. Oh! She wanted me to pass along an invitation to come round and have a girls' night… which I will totally crash, but don't tell her that."

"I won't," Gwyn chuckled.

"New York is New York. But it's a lot more pleasant this time of year than out here."

"I beg to differ! The windchill you get in the city probably makes it just as cold as it is here."

"Nah, it's better. You've just become a mountain-worman, you're used to it," Tim teased with a wave of his hand. He then patted his hands on the tabletop and sucked a breath in between his teeth. Seriousness started to settle in place of humor. The hand-patting stopped, and he folded one on top of the other. "Lex and I… we're, uh… we're trying to see what we can do to get Isla Nublar closed off for good."

The pronouncement had Gwyn's entire being freeze up momentarily. Then a breath wooshed from her mouth in a surprised exhale. "Shit, does that stuff fall to you guys now?" she asked.

Tim pulled a face and scrubbed a hand through his hair. His fingers pulled red-blonde strands out wildly, and then smoothed them back down gently.

"We've decided to make it more of our responsibility. Mom and Dad have dealt with it fine and all, but… we've got a different drive, y'know? They were hurt by what happened in a different way than we were. After everything that's occurred, someone needs to take the steps to shut it down for good. So… we're seeing what we can do. There's been lots of talks with lawyers, lots of shuffling through old paperwork… There's stuff of Grandad's we need, but it's in storage in California, so we're trying to get out there to grab it. The nuances of this kind of stuff is astounding, it hurts my head…" Tim huffed a tired laugh and dropped his chin into the cradle of his palm.

"Do you need anything from me?" Gwyn asked.

"Hm?"

"Is there anything that you need from me? Like… witness statements or something. First hand, primary accounts, that kind of thing."

Wrinkles formed on Tim's forehead as he turned the inquiry over. "Um… not sure. But I'll ask." He started to nod subtly, which grew into a full-on bob of his head. "Yeah, I'll ask around, see if there's anything you can do."

"If there's anything I can do, at any point… let me know." Gwyn stretched her hand out across the table, palm up and inviting. There was barely any hesitation as Tim reached out to grasp hold of her hand. She could feel the varying textures of the skin of his palm. She could feel the scar that cut across it, a permanent reminder of their day in jurassic hell. "Isla Nublar has caused enough pain." Tim squeezed her hand tighter, and she squeezed back. A resolve had overtaken his face, the likes of which she'd never seen before. But Gwyn nodded in solidarity, in understanding. "It's time we did something about it."

Afterword: Surprisingly, the driving factor of this chapter getting done was my realization that Owen is a big Creedence Clearwater Revival fan. Also, I haven't gotten to write Billy or Tim in so long, and I was so excited to get them back into the storyline! I'm back on my bullshit of realizing how much I adore Tim Murphy, who deserves the whole world and more.

Review Replies!

ZabuzasGirl: Dear sweet Echo! She's probably thriving on Isla Nublar, though, being an absolute terror to all creatures she hunts. A delightful terror. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! And another installment of Balance should be up soon! Thanks again!

MsRosePetal: Gwyn finally admits her love! Boy, howdy, their reunion is gonna be so good. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

AsAmyAsAlways: I know you said I don't have to reply to this comment, but I wanted to send out a thank you! I've had to re-evaluate this year how well I take care of myself, 'cause I'm very used to just working, working, working. So taking a break was nice, and I've been reminding myself that it's okay to take some down-time. Thank you for your lovely reassurances! I hope you're doing well!

xenocanan: Ingrid is gonna be the tragic ghost that haunts Gwyn for a good long while. I'm glad that the reporter scene read well; I was worried it would seem over-dramatic. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

NicoleR85: I've been planning that Ellie reunion for most of the story. I always knew that the first person, aside from Alan, that would come to make sure she's okay would be Ellie. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

Makokam: I thought the grocery-shopping anxiety would be a very relatable thing to the times. With the reporter, I was trying to get that this is the first time one of them has approached Gwyn in a place she considers safe. I imagine that they've approached her and Alan at work––being involved with museum staff means your info is on the website, and they can go to the front desk and ask for them. But I also wanted to get at the idea that media/press coverage has become more assertive, that there are boundaries that aren't taken into account anymore. Especially because this is the first big thing that Gwyn has gone through in years, she's getting the onslaught of new media habits.

There is gonna be more talking about the Girls. I tried to make it more in-depth for last chapter, but it felt forced. I realized that it's probably because, as much as Gwyn might be ready to start talking about it, Alan is probably just floored by what she's already divulged. He wasn't expecting his daughter to be singing the raptors' praises, nor the fact that she willingly put herself in harm's way with leading Rexy. But we'll get more Alan/Gwyn convos about the subject, and more glimpses at the lingering effect the Girls have had. I just want to establish Gwyn in a post-JW world before she starts deep diving.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

AmerianNidiot: My feelings about the media leak into this story quite a bit… I love whenever I get to write Ellie and Gwyn together! This is the first time I've had the chance to write them in person with Gwyn as a full grown adult, so that was a lot of fun. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

TheSilverWolf: First off, I'm happy that you've enjoyed the story so much! I'm also very happy that Gwyn has had a believable arc through the story. It was both fun and challenging to figure out how Gwyn was going to handle everything, how she was gonna grow and develop through it. And Echo is a sweetheart; her fate was mostly undecided till only a couple months ago. The idea of leaving her to her canon fate was too painful to consider, so now we'll get more of her in FK!

It was hard to think of this story without including the OG characters. Because so much of what happened to them, and what they've done since has shaped the world that birthed Jurassic World. I don't think we get enough of that in canon, so I wanted to try my hand at keeping them integrated! We'll have more Alan/Gwyn moments for sure! What's so fun about them is that, while they have a defined dynamic, it's still developing and changing. We're gonna have some fun convos about the Girls with Alan, who may get the chance to meet Echo––we'll have to see what JW3 has in store.

The 2D-ness of the Indominus is also something I really wanted to fix. Because she, in the films, really is just this frankensaur on a rampage. I wanted… an explanation as to why. Why did she choose that day to escape? What influenced her to kill her sister other than hunger and instinct? Because, unlike JP where Rexy is freed because of a freak storm, the Indominus made choices to get her to where she was. I think the Indominus could've had a better chance if people had taken more stock in realizing the weight of creating a new creature.

Again, I'm so happy (and flattered) that you enjoy the story so much! I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter just as much; thanks again!

monkeybaby: Thank you so much! I've been so used to working non-stop with school, that I've had to really remind myself it's okay to slow down. I'm feeling ever better each day! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

AkariWolfPrincess: I can't imagine living a life where you have to fear people ambushing you for quotes and comments and pictures. And because of the culture we have around paparazzi and tabloids, which is relatively new, Gwyn's gonna have a time with it. I feel that she'd be the kind of person to find the camera, stare it down, and make the paparazzo uncomfy.

We got a glimpse of how Owen's been doing this chapter! As well as a sneak-peak at the Grady family.

And ah, yes, the Battle at Big Rock… the release of dinosaurs onto the North American continent… Gwyn is… it's gonna be rough. But maybe not as rough than if she hadn't gone through what she had at Jurassic World. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

Angel JJK: Just wait till word gets out that Gwyn's in Cali, which is just rife with paparazzi. I love writing Ellie! She's the absolute sweetest, and so underrated. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

Guest: I've been having a lot of fun mapping out the aftermath that JW would have left behind––both in a personal sphere and a global sphere. And I'm always happy whenever I get to write Ellie, which I haven't had the chance to do in absolute ages. Ellie and Gwyn have such a special, unique relationship, and it's one I look forward to exploring more. And, speaking of exploring more, I cannot wait to get Owen and Gwyn with each other again. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

RJ North: You're right about what I was gonna say––no need to apologize! Life gets crazy, and god knows it's crazier than usual right now. I know my own views about media coverage have crept in on this story. I think that the coverage of a lot of things (tragedies and disasters, namely) has become steadily more sensationalized. It's like 'oh, let's turn on the news, find out what happened next.' So I wanted to inject that into this story, because I fully believe that the media would exploit what happened at JW for their benefit. And giving Gwyn a reporter to dress-down was a happy little throw-back/reminder that that is absolutely how she handles that kind of stuff. Once a Grant, always a Grant, sharp-tongue and all.

Gwyn deep-diving into everything with the Girls and Ingrid is definitely gonna be hard. And it's definitely something she's gonna keep putting off, but with all the court-related stuff that's gonna be popping up prior to FK, and with the Murphys trying to shut Isla Nublar down… she's gonna be made to face it.

Also, I hadn't given thought about a memorial service for what had happened. But I guess that would probably happen––so many people probably died. There'd probably be candlelight vigils and stuff; I imagine that, thanks to social media, it would be vast vigils organized on Facebook or something.

And Gwyn did, indeed, get her old job back! I had decided that, while she was recovering, she was definitely in constant contact with the museum. Billy was there to help out, too! We'll get to meet his fiancé/wife at some point ('cause, c'mon, we know Owen's gonna be the plus-one).

It's like you predicted half of this chapter, 'cause Tim was in it, too. And, as of right now, I do not have any Tim stories… but… I'm back on my loving Tim Murphy bullshit, and I'm reminded that I do have ideas for one. 'Cause he's… the absolute sweetest, deserves so much love, and I want to see him tripping over himself and in love. There was a period of time where I was like "I know I already canonized Gwyn and Billy dating, but, damn Gwyn and Tim should've dated." And then, I decided, in some alternate universe that definitely happened.

And I haven't touched on it yet, but I think that Gwyn definitely keeps in some kind of contact with Claire. Not regularly, but definitely texts back and forth, check in in on one another. Because, also not touched on yet, she's also in contact with the boys. Again, it's probably sporadic, but it exists.

And now, next chapter… following Gwyn's admission of love… they'll finally be back together again! Ugh, I cannot tell you how excited I am to have these love-struck dorks reunited. She gets to meet the Gradys (the embarrassing stories, I cannot wait), and maybe, just maybe… there'll be some admissions. Also, reunion smooshes, look forward to those! Also, Owen would totally punch a reporter. I can picture it, I can see it happening. We're getting glimpses of how he's handling them now, but things are probably gonna get worse before they get better. If Gwyn's the one asserting dominance by staring the paparazzo down, Owen is the one holding up a sign that says 'go pay attention to something important.' I'm very excited for next chapter, so very excited! I hope you enjoyed the newest installment; thanks again!
Duchess of Lantern Waste: Thank you so much! I really wanted to portray Gwyn's recovery faithfully. 'Cause she's not gonna wake up one day and be like 'I'm okay.' It's gonna take years, and it's gonna be a constant push-and-pull of good and bad. I think we don't get enough of this kind of recovery struggle portrayed. I have a family member with PTSD, so I've lived with seeing the struggles of dealing with this kind of shit (and he's a combat veteran, so Owen's struggle is real, and I wanna portray that faithfully, too). I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

MageVicky: Last chapter had everything––Grant style dress-downs, Ellie Sattler, grumpy Alan Grant, love confessions… and there's so much more to come. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

WriterGirl1198: Thank you for your kind words about my having taken a break! I'm learning to be better to myself, and not having to apologize for taking care of myself. Slow process, but it's gettin' done! Last chapter, writing the dress-down of the reporter was so fun. It's been a while since Gwyn's gotten the chance to do that to someone, and I was like 'it's high time it happened again, and it makes sense that it's this guy.' I believe we've sensationalized the press coverage of tragedies and disasters, and I think a lot of people (consciously or unconsciously) view it as macabre entertainment. I adored getting to write Gwyn and Ellie together; I got the chance to do so when I wrote the prequel, but now that Gwyn is an adult, the dynamic is different. Writing their relationship is so fun, because––like with Alan––it's so unique. You take care of yourself, too! Thank you, again, for your kind words!

Tohka123: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Alex B Goode: Thank you so much! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter!

And thank you to those that added this to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!

That's all for now, but I'm already working on the next chapter! Lots of fun stuff is ahead… Gwyn's trip to Cali is gonna be fun for so many reasons. Not just because she'll see Owen, meet his family… but she does have another friend in Cali who may make an appearance. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again, y'all rock!

~Mary