ENTRAPMENT
Claire and Owen, in the aftermath. Again. In which Owen is the one suffering.
This is a lovely prompt given to me ages ago (sorry, life got in the way) by kamarooka, one of my star reviewers, of 'Claire being the strong one for Owen'. Hope this doesn't disappoint.
Disclaimer: Still doesn't belong to me.
Whilst he's busy, everything's ok. He's on the last boat off the island, he helps until the hangar's empty. Claire left hours ago with Karen, Scott and the boys – he insisted – but he's sure he'll find her again, if she wants to be found. He doesn't think on it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, lingering, is the concept that less than 24 hours ago, they actively disliked each other. Sure, he'd always found her slightly more attractive than you should find your boss, but she'd made it clear from day one that he was nothing but an annoyance she had to tolerate.
Running for their lives, sheltering from a deadly predator and finally breathing freely again together seemed to shift everything, and suddenly, he's not sure what they are to each other anymore. He knows she's something else to him, and suddenly, he wants more than anything to be something else to her.
But he's not going to think on it, for fear of what he might reveal to himself. He busies himself bandaging wounds and helping people onto each and every boat until there's no one left to look at and he has no choice but to get on the boat heading for the mainland. He watches Isla Nublar as the ferry chugs away. He doesn't let himself think on Blue for more than a second, but in that time the thought clutches at him roughly, an unexpected lump rising in his throat. He honestly has no idea if she has it in her to survive out there, on her own, surrounded by all those other predators. He swallows, and busies himself assisting an aid worker handing out bottled water.
When they reach the mainland, he's one of the last to leave the boat. Like setting his feet on dry land where all sorts of dinosaurs aren't running free is some kind of finality. He watches, somewhat detached, as the last throng of survivors disperses, and he suddenly fees inexplicably alone, in the bustling port. He wanders, aimlessly, away from the shore.
Without looking back.
There's a motel just outside the main town that still has a room, and is offering to put up survivors free of charge. He's suddenly too tired to even notice the creaking doors, the dripping pipes and the stained floors, and he finds himself perching on the edge of a threadbare, lumpy mattress in a tiny, draughty room. Exhaustion overwhelms him in the silence, and he finds himself sinking back against misshapen pillows, losing contact with his own harsh reality.
He's running, and he feels like he's on the edge of something – like he won't be able to run forever, like he's losing speed.
He's running through the forest, and every inch of his body's crying out in protest with every stride he takes.
He won't look behind him, but something's following. And he won't be able to hold it off forever.
There's an eerie silence, he can't hear a thing.
But something's following him. He knows that much. He has to keep running.
Suddenly Claire's running beside him, and her eyes are heavy with the terror he saw flickers of in the last hours.
And he can't reach her, and he can't stop running, and he's losing her, she can't keep up.
He wants to slow down, stay with her more than anything, but he can't stop running…
He can't even see her anymore, he can't stop running…
A high pitched scream breaks through the silence.
When he comes to his senses, he's sitting up on the ropey, threadbare mattress, gasping for breath, his heart thumping. It takes him moments to work out where the hell he is, and it feels like some kind of electricity is zipping through his veins.
When he realises he's in the shabby hotel room in the even shabbier motel, he realises he can't be confined, not right now. He pockets the room key just in case as he strolls out of the building, and he's struck by the silence of the streets in the dark.
He meanders into the town, and he tries very hard not to think. Not to remember the dream, not to assess Claire's presence in the dream and certainly not to fear what might happen next. Because he's done this before, woke up in a cold sweat, his mind still in another place, his heart thumping, memories burning him. And it's never been just once. It took him five months and more than a month's wages worth of therapy to get past his last posting in the Navy.
Before he realises what he's doing he finds himself at the port, on the edge of the water, looking back to Isla Nublar. He swallows, Blue darting into his mind again. He remembers, vaguely, one of the over-priced therapists focusing on closure, and considers that he's never going to get beyond the last hours if he never knows what happened to the last of his girls. He sighs, listening to the silence.
He hears her before her sees her. Shuddering footsteps behind him, but they're not threatening. There's somehow vulnerability in that gait. He spins, and Claire's walking towards him, shivering in the 74 degree autumn heat, clutching her arms around herself, looking almost lost. She meets his eyes with an honesty that's almost choking.
"I can't be by myself." She whispers, and there's a harsh undertone to her voice. "I can't be just me. I'll think about what I did, and I-"
"It wasn't your fault, Claire-"
She stops him, holding her hand up, fatigue glowing around her features. "Don't." she sighs. "Not now. I'm not looking for sympathy, I don't need reassurance…"
He takes a step towards her. Because someone else's struggle is not his own, and maybe that's what he needs right now.
"I could use not being alone, too, you know."
She gives him a half smile and moves a little closer still, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Surprised, one of his hands finds its way to rest at the small of her back. She stiffens almost imperceptibly, but looks up at him.
"Come back with me?"
"Sure, I'm sure there's somewhere still serving drinks…"
She gives a dry chuckle and looks away for a moment. When her eyes spin back to his, they're somehow darker. "How about we don't pretend this is anything it's not?" Her voice is low, breathy, and there's no denying what she's asking him. All of a sudden he's painfully aware of how close she is, how good she smells, all clean and Ms Dearing again, like nothing had ever happened, and how this has been lurking in the back of his mind somewhere since their disaster of a date. When she breathes "come back with me" and snakes her fingers into his he finds himself following.
She's Claire Dearing, so of course she's managed to find herself a penthouse suite in a decent hotel despite everything. He has a moment to glance at the four poster bed in wide eyed wonder before she double locks the front door to the suite and crashes her lips against his, like there's never been another intention. She tastes like strawberries, strong black coffee and regret, and he doesn't want to think about anything at all in that moment, so he kisses her back.
She's everything he'd imagined her to be and more, seemingly endless extension of pale limbs, dustings of freckles he maps with his tongue, and gasps and mewls that come close to undoing him.
She lays in his arms afterwards and smiles slightly as he traces his fingers across pale, perfect skin. She presses her lips against his one last time before rolling over, closing her eyes, but she doesn't ask him to leave. So he sinks into Egyptian cotton pillows and slopes an arm towards her, his hand resting gently on her hip. With her warmth against him the exhaustion catches him again.
This time, they're hiding. In a tiny enclosed space hardly big enough for one person, let alone the two of them, and he can hear the beast searching not far from them. Claire's heart's pounding against his, her whole body shaking, and somehow it's all his fault.
He hears the approach moments before the attack, and somehow, although he's blocking Claire into the alcove, he's on the outside, he should be the prey, suddenly Claire's being dragged away from him and she looks so frightened and she's screaming…
He sits bolt upright, sweat pouring off him, struggling to catch his breath. But this time, as he feels his thumping heart slow, he feels another against his skin, and two arms snake around him.
"Shhh…" he hears her whisper, and feels lips press against his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and wills her not to say anything else, for fear of the answers.
That's only the first time. They come to some sort of wordless agreement after the first night that he's staying in her bed, and they don't speak of anything. He finds himself pressing her into the pillows, lips travelling down over her collarbone the following night like he's been doing this all his life. Tonight she buries her head into his shoulder and he feels her breathing slow against him. He allows sleep, seemingly both his enemy and a dear old friend, to overtake him slowly.
Tonight, it's Zach and Gray running beside him, and this time, he feels something grab his foot and pull him down as the boys come down with him, and there's so much screaming, and so much pain, and then Claire's screaming their names from someplace close and he wants more than anything for her to run as far away as possible, but he can't seem to scream anything to her…
"Run!" he shouts as he wakes up, and then he can't stop gasping on thin air, choking, almost, and she's running her hands down his back gently, kissing the nape of his neck, whispering something he can't hear yet.
It becomes some sort of sordid routine, something hunts him out of sleep every night, and as he gasps, crashes back to reality, her hands and her lips are on him somewhere and he's reminded of what is real. He wonders, briefly, what will happen when this isn't happening anymore, when he's waking up to this alone, because they won't be here forever. Surely Masrani Global will stop needing her for legal work every day at some point.
One night, maybe two weeks into their arrangement, he wakes screaming her name, and he finds her hands on either side of his face, leaning her forehead against his.
"You gonna tell me what's happening?" she whispers, closing her eyes.
"It's always you, Claire." He gasps, bringing his hands to her waist. "I always lose you."
Her lips press against his almost fervently. "I'm right here." She whispers, threading her fingers through his hair, "Nothing happened to me."
He thinks if he keeps her limbs entangled in his all night, he might begin to believe it.
Over a drink the next evening, he lets her a little further in.
"I've been like this before. After my last tour – it's some variant of PTSD. I… the moment I wake up, I know it isn't real, I know it's my mind playing tricks on me… but in that dream it's the cruellest reality…"
She frowns slightly. "How did you fix it before? What are we going to do about it?"
What are we going to do about it? He considers, briefly, that maybe she's not going to disappear.
He laughs. "I spent a lot of money on a lot of therapy."
She raises an eyebrow. "Ok… but what did you do in the therapy?"
"Oh, y'know… therapy stuff. Talk about all your problems. Something like that."
She seems to muse for a moment. "So we talk about it."
"Tell me what happened." She breathes that night when he shoots awake, lacing her fingers with his.
"You don't need to…"
She frowns, and kisses his fingers. "I'm helping to fix you again."
He laughs. "Why are you so worried? Wouldn't it be easier to escape the slightly crazy nightmare man and find someone more normal?"
She sighs, loudly. "And there was me thinking we were sticking together, like you promised."
It silences him for a moment, the dreamlike reality he'd never allowed himself to entertain.
She cocks an eyebrow. "But if you're not interested in survival anymore, I don't have to help you… in fact you can go back to your crummy motel if you-"
He silences her, crushing his lips against hers. "I am interested. I am more than interested. But, Claire… I'm broken… this wasn't easy to get past before, and it might be worse the second time, and you don't need to feel like you have to stay and help…"
"Maybe I want to stay and help. Maybe I want to be the one to celebrate with you in the morning when you sleep through a whole night without a nightmare, whether it's tomorrow or next week or next month or the other side of Christmas… maybe I want to hold your hand, maybe I want to love you all the way through, no matter how hard it is, how long it takes."
He chuckles, his breath catching. "I love you too."
He's sure if there was light he'd see her blushing. She threads the fingers of her other hand up across his chest. "So, tell me what happened."
He sighs, but squeezes her hand. "We were running down the main street…"
They're in that penthouse for one more week, until Masrani Global ends its legal tirade and washes its hands of all its Jurassic World employees. Then Claire starts talking about where they're going to go, and Owen finds himself getting a flight directly to San Francisco with her, and looking at job ads in a local paper.
The first night he sleeps through completely isn't until week four in their newly rented flat, but Claire's idea of celebration in the morning is breakfast in bed quickly interrupted with her new purple negligee, and he finds himself collapsing beside her, exhausted and spent, and for the first time contemplating being able to get past this. She twines her fingers with his and presses her lips against his shoulder, before letting her eyes drift closed.
Before sinking into a light sleep himself, Owen considers briefly that Claire's a healthy alternative to therapy.
Hope that sort of answered your prompt! I started writing it with a lot of different ideas, and it took its own course entirely! Would love to hear what anybody thinks, even if it's only a few words. Leave me a little review.