Claire raised her eyes, scanning the crowd. She wasn't worried that he had gone. She realized that she had developed an extra sense about Owen. She just needed to locate him amongst the throngs of people. She had just finished final goodbye hugs with her nephews and sister. She was beyond relieved that Karen and Scott had somehow managed to get there as soon as they had. She figured that her sister had likely taken a come hell or high water approach to getting to her children when she learned what had happened. The Dearing sisters were very similar in how they reacted to challenging circumstances.
Claire had tried to make a final teary eyed apology to her sister. Karen had immediately shut her down and instead had told her yet again that she had saved her sons. Karen and Scott and the boys had profusely thanked Owen when they were first reunited. Owen, true to form, had down played it all, even though Claire was fairly certain they'd all be dead if it weren't for him. He had politely excused himself, saying that he wanted them all to have some family time and told Claire that he was going to go see what he could do to help around the hanger. Claire had witnessed him delivering blankets, water bottles, and carrying medical equipment for the doctors and nurses who had arrived to care for the injured. She had also seen him offer a warm smile or a gentle touch to the shoulder to anyone who looked like they would appreciate it.
She located him, a row or two back and to the left, talking to an older couple. A second after she visually placed him, he lifted his eyes to lock with hers. Apparently she wasn't the only one with an additional sense, not that Owen didn't already have her beat by a mile on that one. He excused himself from the couple, and moved towards her as she began to meander around groups of people to get to him. They met about halfway. He stood in front of her, thumbs resting in the front pockets of his filthy work pants, not that her clothes were any better. She had long removed her heels. Her feet ached and were blistered, but now that she didn't have to fear running for her life, barefoot seemed a better option. Just standing in front of him and being in his presence, a warmth and calm immediately washed over her. Looking up into his eyes, she could almost ignore the thousands of other people immediately around them. It was an incredibly comforting feeling. She also couldn't deny the desire that was bubbling just under the surface of propriety.
"So what do we do now?" she asked with all honestly, hoping for an answer she wanted to hear.
"Probably stick together," he paused staring into her eyes, "for survival."
Owen couldn't stop himself from looking into her eyes, the crowds around him fading into background noise. He figured that was a damn good thing considering his dick was pushing so hard against the front of his pants that he figured anyone looking at his figure silhouetted in the sunlight from the hanger door would think we was wearing a frigging codpiece. He had tried to squelch his desire for her after their disastrous, he supposed really infamous, first date. He tried to hide it through his banter with her. That had all fallen away when she had saved his life, using the end of the rifle to bash that winged prehistoric monstrosity off of him and then shooting it dead. She somehow looked smug when she had done it. Like hey bitch, he's mine, get the hell away from my man. He had been shocked, awestruck, running on adrenaline, thankful and strangely turned on, in some crazy mixed up swirl of emotions that had him locking his lips on to hers the second he had caught some semblance of breath as she pulled him up off the ground. Similar fucked up emotions were with him now - more specifically his overwhelming carnal desire to bone hard the sexy red head standing in front of him. Call it what you will, needing to celebrate being alive or what not. His brain knew it was crass and completely inappropriate, being surrounded by the crowds of traumatized people, but he and Claire had certainly been through their own trauma and his body was apparently trying to tell him something.
Claire smiled softly up at him. They both turned towards the open hanger door, not touching, walking about a foot apart, but somehow just sensing that they needed to move this way together. Owen left his thumbs hooked in his pockets as he walked, not daring to allow himself to touch her. He didn't know if he had the effort required to stop himself if he did. He didn't have a plan, apart from the fact that he knew he didn't want to be anywhere that wasn't with Claire.
They reached the large open hanger door and stepped outside into the sunlight. Owen looked around, hoping to find somewhere, anywhere that was a little more private and innocuous. His initial scan wasn't proving hopeful. The hanger was in the middle of a large open paved area, no obvious coverage available. Most people were inside, but a few had also moved out into the open and there were several soldiers and base personal milling around. Seemingly undeterred by the lack of anywhere to be alone, Claire had taken his hand and was leading him along the side wall of the hanger. Owen was grateful for the contact, as small as it was. They got about halfway down the wall of the hanger and Owen stopped them. He partially figured they were far enough away and partially just stopped caring. He leaned his back against the hanger wall and pulled Claire against him. Lips found each other in less than a second. It was hard to decipher whose kiss was hungrier. After a good several minutes of feasting on each other's mouths, Claire pulled back just enough to wrinkle her nose. "You still stink of gasoline," she commented, reaching back in to recapture his lips. The odor was unpleasant, but not enough to deter her desire for contact.
"You're not much better sweetheart, but it ain't gasoline," Owen retorted, pausing in his own exploration of her lips merely long enough to make the statement.
The next moment hit Owen with a shockingly sudden and overwhelming reminder of exactly why he smelled like gasoline, flashing him right back into the moment, probably scariest of his life, and there were more than enough contenders to shortly follow. The stench bringing him back to how close he had come to death, followed all too soon by multiple instances of how scared he was that he'd lose her too. He recalled the consuming fear, not just of death, but of a painful and horrible one. His strength finally broken, the first tear fell, quickly followed by second. Owen let out a choked sob and sank, utterly overcome, down the outer hanger wall to the ground.
Looking back, Claire realized that she had no idea how he had held out as long as he had. She certainly had not meant to be the straw, so to speak. On the other hand, the catharsis was requisite. She had had enough psychology classes in college to know that smell was one of the most powerful memory triggers.
She immediately crouched down to him, holding him by his upper arms gently, but firm enough to let him know she was there. He started to shake, and seemed to stare straight ahead into nothing. The tears stopped almost as soon as they had begun. His eyes came back to hers and he pulled her into him. She wound up straddling his lap. He placed his forehead against hers and just breathed with her for a few wonderful moments. Then he captured her lips with his once more, firmly but soft enough to tease and explore, encouraging her to open her mouth to him. She returned his kisses, and then ground down on his returning erection.
Owen broke the kiss with a moan then voiced out "God, all I want is go somewhere and get clean, like an hour plus long hot shower and then just spend days being naked with you."
Claire recaptured his lips with hers, silencing him, and then between moist laps and sucks managed to get out "Me" (kiss) "too" (kiss).
That was the exact moment her phone rang, followed two rings later by his. On the third ring, she managed to fish it out of her pocket and breathily answered "Hello? Yes, this is Claire."
Owen ignored his phone, peppering kisses to her neck as she answered hers. His phone ceased after the fourth ring as he moved to suck a particularly inviting spot on her neck that he had every intention of leaving a mark on, when his ringer went off again. He groaned in utter annoyance, and some discomfort, shifting back enough to fish his own phone out of his pocket. "Yeah?" he bit out gruffly.
Claire had at this point hung up from her own call and was staring at him, her expression unreadable.
His phone call was equally brief, for his part partially due to not giving an ever living fuck as to what the caller was trying to convey. "Go to hell!" he barked, hitting the end call button. He had to stop himself from slamming the phone into the concrete.